And I'll Say What About Breakfast At Tiffany's?

It starts with a butterfly flapping it's soft dusty wings all through your intestines until you feel like your going to burst inside from excitement and anxiety. No relaxation comes until your eyes meet his, till your hand touches his, till your lips touch his, till your heart touches his. Till you have officially sunk your claws in and can finally fly him away to your nest where paradise awaits and that's exactly what it is. His embrace is all you're yearning for after a day bombarded with phone calls, complaining, day dreaming, and back ache. A day you would have much rather spent getting your nails did, hair did, feet did, everything did. But you didn't and all that stress built up right between your shoulder blades fades away with one strong & warm embrace from your knight in shining armor.

You have a love others can only dream of. A love that many pretend to have but when times prove tough their love proves transparent. A love that can't be defined in one single love song played on the radio but instead an ocean of songs that characterize every motion your bond endures. You finish each others sentences, can make each other laugh with just a glance, know what to say to lift each others spirits and know what to say to crush their soul. Know how to annoy them with a single word, push their buttons until they're jammed, caress their being with a cuddle.

Other forces may come and disturb your tranquility in the form of people, family, money, kids, t.v. shows, movies, alcohol, drugs, cars, bills, to the point where you feel like you may never recover but you always do. After all is it their fault that their family is crazy, rude, impulsive, quick with the tongue slow with the brain, inconsiderate and disrespectful? The truth might be said about your own family as well. Or can they help the fact that some of their friends carry these same qualities? Or that sometimes when these subjects are discussed your babe has these behaviors as well?

Sometimes there is no dodging these circumstances. As much as you wish them away you can bet your bottom dollar they will be back time and time again. You begin to question why you are even in this relationship in the first place. No matter the part the kids might have in keeping you guys together, you know deep down that isn't even half the reason you stay united.

And every once in a while when storms are calm, chaos level is minimal and stress has dwindled down to a tolerable level you flash back to that butterfly. That innocently pure, excitedly calm monarch that would visit you as soon as his face would creep in your thoughts. With her soft wings brushing every surface of your stomach causing ripples through your chest helping you to remember your passion and love. Not all is lost in these folds of life. He is your home base as you are for him. Growing together and never apart, every calamity making your combination fiercer and more indestructible erasing any previous doubts.

And I'll say, 'Well that's the one thing we've got!'

Everyday Is A Struggle How To Hussle Some Dough

Being an adult is hard. A lot harder than I was led to believe growing up. As a kid being an adult looked like fun. You could sleep in, party whenever you wanted, have friends over whenever you wanted, leave your kids with who ever would take them or by themselves, work part time jobs and still make it, mooch off welfare, go to concerts, go to night clubs, drink the night away and live in oblivion the next day.

Imagine the disappointment I faced when I realized that adulthood by no means was actually lived this way. Yes you could sleep in but only if you wanted to waste the day away and have nagging kids every 20 minutes bug you for cereal or any kind of breakfast while they sneak in their valentine candy. Or while they try and pry open your eye lids to disturb the one time you actually dream a story that's not horrifying. Or if you can sleep through the million calls that come in back to back from absentminded callers that assume you are awake at 8am just because you have 2 children and in the end suck the pure joy of sleeping in altogether.

Party, sure! Whenever you wanted?? Not so much. It's a process when you have children. You have to plan in advance and make sure that your potential babysitter hasn't recently been bombarded by another farm of children. Or you think of clever ways to bring it up to them or better yet have your children ask themselves! You try not to wait last minute but you don't want to ask with too much advance notice due to cancellations or new found sicknesses that sometimes tend to loom.

Have friends over every weekend? Sure, if you want. Unless of course you live at your in-laws house for a good portion of that time and everyone is scared to go to a pastor's house in fear of being converted.

The rest go hand in hand. Adulthood is no easy road. Especially when all the tools you need to succeed must be learned and achieved on your own. Going to work is hard. Making it to work on time is especially hard. Making everyone else money except for yourself is hard. Working side by side with your boss who is also part owner of the company is hard. Coming back to work after lunch is hard. Working 8-5 everyday and still getting paid like you work 12-4 is hard. Knowing that that's the worth you are putting on the time spent away from your children is hard. Working all day to come home and cook and clean and take care of a home is hard and expected so you best drink that 5 hour energy and hope you don't crash, crash craaaaayaaashh into a ditch.

Having a car is hard. Registering it on time is hard. Getting it a smog on time is hard. Making sure it's not overheating is hard. Paying for gas is hard. Cleaning it is hard.

Paying rent is F*CKEN hard. Pay day loans that promise prompt payment while secretly butt ramming you in fine print is disgusting. I've tried really hard to stay away from those. The commercial for Cash Call has Lucifer himself as the spokesman. You try your hardest to not cry at work because you really don't know how the hell you are going to pull 300 dollars out your ass before the day is done and are wasting valuable time at a desk when you can be out turning trixs for that change instead is definitely hard except that I value my dignity and that's one thing you can never get back after going down that road.

Enjoying moments where folding clothes is enough to keep struggles off my brain. Moments where combing my babies hair or painting their nails relaxes me. Tedious tasks like scrubbing the kitchen floor and rearranging the refrigerator help take me to a far away place. A place where I can live and let others around me live. A place where I can watch The Bachelor and not be called WHACK! I care about who he tooted and booted danggit, he met their families.

Cheers to adulthood!

The Fruit of Her Womb

Every time I feel like writing something the first thing that comes to mind is writing something tragic or sad or devastating. Hardships in life that help me reflect on those instances and what kind of person they have made me today. How I can take these calamities and mold them into examples of how not to be tomorrow or how not to be with my own children. I guess that's what I try and do with all my past experiences. I write them down so I don't forget and also so I can forgive what has been done and just move forward. I like to sometimes envision myself as a cave of wonders, not a sensual cave in any way more like a scary cave that I too at times am scared to venture in. A cave I'd rather just lock away or cover with boulders or pretend is not really there like a stinky fart.

And I know that if ______ read this blog she would be very disappointed. She would hate my cave and would do her best to make sure that no one step foot in it or even have a view of the entrance. It's a result of her memory being quite different than mine. She remembers things with a certain edge and perspective that I lack. A view that rarely accepts any other insight or correction. A view askew and my cave would force her to face the one person she has been avoiding all these years.... herself.

The choices she has made differ from the choices I have made or will ever make and not just as a _______ but as a human being. You can't question what was done or why it was done because so much has been covered up from certain people that you already know better to just leave it alone. What is encouraged more is a 'don't dwell in the past' type attitude. Which is respectable, until the one person who continues to proclaim this conviction is the one person that seems to own a home in that area. You get so much bullshit from every angle every time you hear it you just want to laugh cry get angry and then laugh and cry again.

I always held in what I really felt in all occasions for the sake of argument and to avoid the tag teaming on my ideas that in essence prove different than what else is being thought. And if you aren't with it you are most definitely against it in every sense of the words. If I didn't agree with how she felt in certain things than it's because I am not in her shoes. If I didn't understand or went against an idea she has said than I am obviously her enemy and a reason why she doesn't have girlfriends because her _______ is worse. Anger, pride, sadness, emotion and narcissim are what drives her and fuels her and shields her in her bubble of principles.

I don't like to hurt peoples feelings intentionally. If I offend with no basis or the basis is over ones head than I feel like an idiot which is rare. I like to help people realize a little about themselves by realizing about myself. I fear ______ will never come to terms with reality and will never accept the choices she has made and how they have made me feel as an adult because in her mind what's done is done. She has dealt with every single choice she has made and she sleeps beautifully at night. Frankly, that's beautiful.

We shall never do the dance that _______ & _______ sometimes do. A frolic to a beautifully difficult tune of revelations, discoveries, confessions, heart ache, realizations, acceptance, and tears.

Without reserve I wonder if ______ even asked for my hand while this song began to play that in my mind frame today I would even accept ?

Please Don't Pity My Insecurities.......

I never was one for material things. Never had a silver spoon and I kinda convinced myself as a kid that being on welfare, not having new school clothes, having to steal uniforms for school, having to steal bus money for school, no lunch or lunch money, any moral praise or support wasn't necessary, affection was for babies and I didn't need it was just standard. I avoided thinking about other kids and the things they had because I didn't want to hate myself or the cards I was dealt. I just dealt with what I was given. I really had no other choice. I remember my step-brother & sister (at the time) use to come back from their weekends from being with their mother with bags full of things and my sister and I would just hope they would share.

I remember the ONE time I did feel proud of myself growing up was when I was asked to take a test for the GATE program because a teacher had seen my potential and I took the test. I felt I did really good and when my mother received the results of the test, they had sent us the results of another little girls test, her name started with S or something like that , and she hadn't passed. They had mixed up our papers. I will never know if I passed that GATE test because my mother never bothered to investigate. But since then I knew that I had no one to stand up for me. I had no one that had my back. Or maybe she DID investigate but didn't have the heart to tell me that I really didn't pass and in which case I apologize.

I built walls around my humility. I hid them and then before I knew it I really didn't care about those things anymore. Time healed all previous wounds of desire. Desire of material things, desire of wanting a real mother, a real father, a real family, a real life. I made my own world for myself and in my world I deserved these simplicities. Even though I never got them, I still deserved them. And I guess in my brain that's how I began to process these things, that I didn't deserve them. That maybe since I was born to a couple that wasn't meant to be that I too was not meant to be. That I was unworthy of these things. As ridiculous as that sounds I was a kid and that's how I interpreted my life.

So where would I go from there? I was determined to be everything opposite of my mother. I fought like hell to get into college, struggled and stayed up late at night. Graduated high school with a 1.2 GPA, living at my friends house because my mother had since kicked me out, and then did a rigorous summer program to get into SJSU. And for that, I felt worthy. I worked my ass off during the week, and worked two jobs on the weekends just to feel competent and deserving. Also to keep my mind busy.

Having grown up with this stupid way of thinking it became really hard for me to take compliments or words of praise. Free food or gifts was a no brainer but actual heart felt words were foreign to me. I never got a 'good job' or 'I'm proud of you' or any of that growing up from the one person that should have been saying it so when I do get them now it's kinda hard to accept them as genuine. I feel like they are fake, forced even. Like people feel obligated to say them in fear they might hurt my feelings, offend or insult me.

But lately I have had a 'fuck-it' attitude. It is what it is. I can't be insecure anymore about how I feel towards certain things, about what I didn't deserve then versus what I most definitely deserve now. So what if I did or didn't pass GATE (even though I KNOW I did) I am passing through that gate and I'm closing it behind me. I am good enough. Maybe not to the entire world but certainly for myself.

I will move forward and not harbor childhood regrets and fears. Do my best to not feel insecure cowering inside when someone tells me something nice or downplay myself with a smart ass answer regarding their compliment. Instead I will reply with a simple and sincere thank you. That shall be my New Year's Resolution # 4.

Last Night's Make-Up

I always feel a sense of pride when a woman accomplishes something. No matter how big or small it may seem it always induces a warm fuzzy feeling inside and if the accomplishment is big enough you might see my eyes water. Things like doing a man's job better than he can. That includes taking care of a family in his 'absence'. When she looses weight and looks and feels great. When she gets promoted or finds some dope clothes on clearance. When she has been trying to get pregnant for a long time and then finally God blesses her. When she knows how to cook and clean properly even when there was no one around to teach her. When she can take a beautiful picture of herself and crop it appropriately. When she finally finds the man of her dreams after wading through a swamp of mud ducks. When she realizes what must be done and DAMMIT JUST DOES IT! When she finally gets her license. When she accepts herself for who she is and is pleased and proud to put her true self out there for the world to see. When she conquers her fear of pumping gas for the first time. When she finally learns to appreciate the little things in life. When she overcomes cancer or is victorious over addiction. When she understands that no one but herself stands in the way of her absolute happiness and that no mediocre soul should ever be granted that power.

And then there are times when I just want to puke in my mouth. Women on superficial paths seeking a 'career' in modeling when you just don't got 'it'. Women who get dressed everyday in front of a circus mirror. Ladies who pump themselves up to be more than what they really are on the internet and then you meet them and are like, 'damn you're not THAT cool'. Women that don't take care of their kids and simply use them for tax credits or deceitful profile pictures. Ladies who fail to see the truth about themselves even when someone so kindly points it out to them. Women that know they are big but refuse to dress accordingly. Women that breastfeed their men instead of their children. Women who don't know the meaning of 'snart' when they have done it a million times. She dolls herself up exhausting every method of hair dye, hair-cuts, fake nails, weaves, extensions, mascara, eyeliner, foundation, cover up, eye shadow, concealer trying to conceal the sad truth. Trying to hide what she really is inside because she knows that the Gucci and the Prada can only warm her up till the next new line comes out.

But the sun always rises and sheds light on last night's make up. Eyelashes on your pillow, there is no where to hide. It's you. Regardless how hard you try and dress yourself up or paint your face, you can never cover her up from yourself.

I personally think I fall into both categories. I too have a circus mirror at home but I'm never too scared to face last night's make-up.

Blog Directory Blog Topsites


Blogs Blog Tools Allie Marie

Because My Biological Didn't Bother

I was around 11 years old when I realized that my father wasn't ever going to be there for me. I was 7 when him and my mother separated and even though they weren't together, I never thought he wouldn't be there for me or my sister. His visits would be every weekend at first, then every other weekend at best, and then fizzled into nothing. Not hearing from him, not knowing where he was at, and finally not caring where he was at or who he was choosing to spend his life with were the phases I eventually went through.

I remember one of our last visits together when I was younger, we had just finished eating somewhere (Dairy Belle probably) and I knew I wanted to spend more time with him. He always had an excuse. I was tired of living with my mom and not feeling wanted, I wanted to feel the way I felt with him. Special, number 1, nothing else mattered but us and the love he had for us. I rarely felt that with my mom. In fact, the only time I would feel that way was when she was breaking up with someone. Anyway, a song came on as we drove over the train tracks, Always and Forever by Al Green. There was one part where the Reverend sings, "and we'll share tomorrow, together..." that part I felt so deeply riding shotgun with my father that night. I wanted to share tomorrow with him. Of course that never happened.

I neither hate or love my father. Being a parent today, I really can't understand why any parent would abandon their children regardless of who the other parent is, what lifestyle they are living, or what jealous spouse they are hitched with. A child never asks to be brought into this world and when they are born are given two people to absolutely count on. When one parent checks out and decides to live her own life and the other parent disappears and decides to live their own life, what is a child left with? Who does this child seek for advice, comfort, love, understanding? I'm just glad I never turned to a gang.

This past Sunday something happened to a little person very very dear to me that rehashed these old feelings of abandonment. My little Chloe seen a picture of her mommy and daddy together when they were younger. She stared at it intensely and I seen it in her face. The emptiness, hurt, anger and love in her eyes. The yearning for a more familiar time when she knew she would see her Daddy and he would be there for her. She could count on him to do the things mommy couldn't or wouldn't do. A time when she can feel his arms wrap around her and she knew and felt that at that instant everything would be okay. Even if her mommy and daddy weren't together he was a father that would always be there for her. Feeling her pain I grabbed her and rocked and cried with her. I knew that sting all too well. Realizing that my little Chloe would grow up with this same pain regardless of how much everyone around her would try and fill that void broke my black heart to pieces. No one can replace a father. Especially when a child has already felt his love.

Children dwell on feelings, they hurt, they cry, they scream, throw tantrums, they harbor emotion some more fiercely than others. They also love and adore their parents with a passion we as adults soon forget. We are the world to them as they should be for us. Nothing can replace a father's love once it's felt. Nothing...

Distractions & Infractions...

Where did the road turn? When did you lose sight of what you wanted from life? What you wanted to be when you grew up? The things you wanted to see, the people you wanted to meet, the person you wanted to be...

All I know is that in kindergarten my favorite color was pink and I wanted to be a doctor. Not a ballerina, not a princess or a fairy. A doctor. I guess you can say I became a doctor in my own way. I prescribe bullshit to customers. I listen to their complaints, sorrows and woes, I nod my head, sigh and then send them on their merry way with a bill higher than the sky and food to make their business more successful. Or so I like to think. My favorite color is no longer pink and since I have had children that place such importance on favorite colors and I must have just ONE I have since chosen purple for arguments sake.

But my real problem here is, where in the hell did I go wrong as far as where I am at? I always believed that success was measured by the amount of 'love' you have in your life, not by the amount of benjamins you have in your bank account. As I grew up a little bit more (more so in the last few weeks) I realized success is how you feel too, you may not have a lot of money but you are content with what you have done. I just don't want to be that person that finds out she has cancer in 3 years and tries to rush everything in the last few months or so of her life to feel complete. I want to do everything now. I want to explore everything now. I want to enrich myself and my family by doing so.

I will no longer let Treasure Madness, Tetris Battle, The Bachelor, American Idol, Sorority Life, cooking, cleaning, day dreaming, Judge Judy, Dr. Oz, meaningless chisme (jk neva this one), dominate my life. Their roles will be minimized and controlled. Is what I am saying today and is what I would like to maintain for the remainder of my life until I die.

I want to write, I want to draw, I want to dance in the moonlight sky, I want to do graffiti again, I want to have a six pack, I want to dress sexy for myself and my husband only, I want to truly once in for all stop making excuses for myself and just move forward and progress and not waste away or get lost in motherhood and the bottomless abyss that engulfs mothers and wives. I am woman and I am something aside from these things. I am a fat force to be reckoned with. And you will reckon, I reckon.

Bummed Out Guy (Project)

You come from a good family. Your parents stayed together. You graduated with honors and enroll in a good college, community of course cause there's still a little bit of slacker in you from your mother's hispanic/afro uncle. You buy a car nice enough to get you around town but sure won't get you automatic valet service at Westfield. You party enough to maintain your social cool and still manage your grades well enough to transfer to that university your father was pissed you passed up in the first place. And as much as you swore to God you would never drink again as long as you survive hugging Mr. Kohler all night you somehow find yourself en route to that typical Saturday night shindig . Here's where you find her. That choice encounter that changes your life. You crossed your heart and hoped to die that you would never do it. You were gonna finish school first, do some traveling second, but who could resist those tits? Before you know it you're married with children doing that job that had nothing whatsoever to do with your major and as you sit there bickering with an arrogant, pompous, self-righteous customer you secretly wish for a better understanding of how the fuck you got here.
WORK, WIFE, HOME, BILLS, KIDS, SHIT, SHOWER, CRY, MASTERBATE WITH YOUR TEARS, READ, ARGUE, SHAVE, SLEEP, CRY, MASTERBATE, BATHE IN SELF-LOATHING... then it stops. All sense of caring, emotion, effort, feeling, devotion, out the window. You are there dude. You didn't think it would happen so soon but there you are, in FuckitsVille. You weren't meant for this shit. You were meant for something way greater than your wife and kids would ever understand with their needy, grubby, greedy minds. So instead of going home you opt for a night out with the guys instead. Drinking leads to more drinking leads to loose broads leads to lost phone leads to adultery leads to regret leads to guilt leads to more self-hatred leads to more fights leads to divorce leads to isolation leads to a phone call leads to a pipe leads to an alley way leads to absolute paradise numbly perfect. Doesn't undo what's taken place, doesn't erase it just clears it from your brain for this slight moment of self indulgence. You're certain the pain will be back, but that's tomorrow's worry. This exact moment you will sit and just bask in your failures... wear that face of shame proudly good sir. It took a while to get here kid but you are here. Part of the elite, you my friend are no ordinary bummed out guy. You were meant for greatness.

When I Was A Young Wart Hog

Mommy's and Daddy's they fight for sure. I only remember a few of those fights between my mother and father. Although my mother says that's all they did was fight. The more I think about it the more I realize I don't really remember much from my mother and father's marriage. They divorced when I was 7 and my father ( who my mother so loosely nicknamed 'sperm donor') didn't really stick around for much time after their separation. The part of me that dwells on my childhood/upbringing hates him and the other part of that realizes I could have never been the woman I am today had it not been for his absolute abandonment, appreciates his absence. I am not going to get into the type of upbringing nor the type of mother I have cause God knows I will never end; if I did it would be a long road that would undoubtedly dead-end in tears, heartbreak, frustration, anger, embarrassment, shame, and eventually indifference.

My mother always said that my father held her back. Back from school although I remember her going to nursing school, from work, from her family and from basically everything. That he wanted to have her caged up like a little animal-mother-hubbard type useful only for cooking, cleaning and minding her children. Heaven forbid she mind her children.
For someone who claimed her tyrant husband was holding her back from any employment on this particular night she was working a graveyard shift at a temp job and my sister and I had school the next day. The time that she usually came home had come and gone without her. Needless to say my father was 'desesperado', restless, anxious looking out the window every 20 minutes seeing if it was her pulling in at midnite the time she usually got home. To his dismay, it wasn't. Sad from seeing my father this way, I offered to take him where I thought she might be.

At the tender age of 7 and from brain cells not being tainted from any street drugs just yet, I had remembered an occasion a couple of days earlier where 'mommy dearest' took us to a 'stranger's' home. My sister and I either sat in the car or went inside, I don't remember exactly but I figured maybe my mother went there. Hey, it was worth a shot and certainly better than watching my father pace the floor all night waiting for this heifer to come home.

SO we took a little drive. My younger sister asleep in the back and me in front navigating my father to what would be the final encounter that ignited a second divorce for him. I remember falling asleep in the passenger's side as he drove, waking up or him waking me as soon as we got off the freeway. I innocently led him to the hood where my mother had taken us just a few days earlier. He sent me to the door and when she answered, you can only imagine the utter shock and disbelief on her face as she realized her 7 year old was there to rain on her parade.

Imagine that! My mother, evading her responsibilities as mother-hubbard to indulge in a night of drinking, slamming dominoes and hollering TEN-SHUN! You can imagine the anger that stemmed in my father. I led her back to our car where my father patiently waited probably hoping, pleading and praying to God that maybe she wasn't there and instead was working overtime so busy she forgot to call. I couldn't see it, but I imagine a combination of fury, sadness, disappointment and heartbreak on his face when he seen us approaching the car where she belligerently began to plead with my father to leave and stop embarrassing her. Almost laughable now as I type that.

I don't remember exact words during the confrontation, the drive home, the sadness and defeat my father and I felt that night but I do remember having a lot of 'what-if's' after that.

What if I wouldn't have led my father there and just let her come home on her own?
What if my mother would never have taken me to that dreadful place that would always remind me of the demise of my parent's marriage?
Or what if my mother would have just been a mother and came home that night instead of being selfish?

I always figured that once you have kids life is no longer about you, dominoes, beer or other men. It's about your children regardless if you love or loathe their father. Leave the relationship respectively maintaining your honor, your dignity, your integrity, and most of all the self-respect all mother's should value especially when they are blessed with little girls that would eventually look to you as an example.

My mother and father separated right before Christmas that year. She had arranged for us to move in to the 'stranger's' home we had recently found her at. I remember as we had finished loading up her car with our belongings, looking at our Christmas tree, holding my diary and foolishly thinking we would be back.

Instead in January, (less than a month later), I caught her kissing this stranger we had moved in with. I ran to the bathroom crying, screaming and feeling betrayed. You would think my mother would have been the one to come and console me but instead the 'stranger's' sister (also a stranger) came and told me everything was going to be OK. I suppose my mother was subliminally prepping me for an upbringing in which she would also be absent, mentally and almost always physically. A childhood where I would have to seek comfort, advice, warmth, affection and attention from other people. Where I would essentially be the one to care for my little sister and I in all these aspects.

Later that night, I secretly watched them dance from our new bedroom that we shared with his two children crying and vowing that I would forever hate the song they danced to and forever hate him for taking my mother away from my father and ultimately away from me and my sister.

First Days Of School (August 30, 2010)

First days of school can be nerve wrecking. Anxiety sneaks it's ugly toes in right around midnight (maybe sooner) and festers till about 5:30 AM when it magically switches to adrenaline and butterflies simultaneously. As much as you swear on every hood, gang, color, block, kid, dad, heart, God, car, wife, husband, mom and money that you are going to wake up early, get there early and start fresh you don't.

I don't really remember many of my first days of school except one. It was right around the time my mother left my father and switched our schools. It was our first day of and we were starting mid year which was very typical of my mom to do. We were a modern day migrant farmer type family, minus the farming, and moved whenever and wherever my mother wanted.

I was starting 2nd grade and my little sister was starting first grade. From what I remember my mother would always drop us off, but on this particular joyous occasion she decided it would also be a great idea for us to ride a bus for the first time. I was scared more than I was anything else. I felt responsible for my sister. I felt like it was us against the world and I had to cling to her. I walked off that bus as a 7 year old with fear in my heart, big girl face on my head, sister in hand, ready to find our classes, and walk my little sister to hers. I was even more horrified by all the kids that were there. It seemed like all the elementary schools of the world closed down and only this one was available for attending.

I can't really remember if I asked or someone asked me which class we belonged to but I do remember my sister's 1st grade teacher grabbing my arm with a strength that only an old lady with a mean death grip could and started dragging me to my doom.... Would I have the courage to bypass all my fears and insecurities and speak up for myself? Was I really destined to be a first grader again? Uh, no. Not with those mooks and if this old lady can grip me this hard on the first day then I know for sure she wouldn't hesitate to do it again. I had to speak up or this heifer was going to retard me one full year. I said, 'HEY, WAIT, I'm not TurMater!'. She looked at me like SHE was crazy, apologized and I slowly felt the blood pumping into my arm again. My poor sister. I have to ask her that lady's name.

I still had to find my teacher who ended up being an older Japanese woman that taught us how to roll sushi, asked us to write conjunctions on the board and my ghetto ass wrote AIN'T. I really truly thought it was a conjunction and when everyone started laughing I didn't understand why. Then after I thought I was really cool because I made everyone laugh. They had thought I did it on purpose when I really hadn't.

I guess you could say I learned a lot about myself in second grade that I probably didn't realize until the last few years. My 7 year old daughter started her first day in second grade this year and it made me realize how young 7 years old really is and how much I had to endure by her age. Her day of course started off a little different than mine did. We woke up, I showered them and got their clothes pressed while Daddy made her and her little sister who also started preschool breakfast. And not just any old breakfast, they had fresh made pancakes, fresh raspberries, fresh blackberries, bacon, sausage, and eggs all topped in syrup. I never got that. I dressed them, combed their hair and made them as pretty as the time would allow.

Took my Samie to her preschool class where she made it clear that she would like to be addressed by her birth name Abigail. We left about 20 minutes after and took my Lali to her second grade class. Of course we were late. She's in a combination class and I don't mind as much as my in-law's do and naturally all concerns are valid. I just feel like everything happens for a reason. I was forced to grow up really fast and for that I will keep my girls as young as I possibly can.

Reflecting on this moment makes me wish I could hug, kiss, comfort, caress and soothe the little girl I use to be and tell her everything is going to be okay when she gets bigger. Let her know that she may not be able to re-do any more first days of elementary school for herself but that she can make her daughter's first days more pleasant than hers were. Mainly, I hope and pray that the day comes soon when I can think about that poor little girl who was all alone that day with just her little sister by her side not knowing that for the next 12 years that's how it would be, think of all the things she had to endure at her own daughter's age and not cry.

If the World Ended Tomorrow

If I had 24 little hours left in the day I'd would want to go looting, steal money, break windows, shit in public and not wipe my ass, tag on a cop car, stand on a cop car, shave my head bald, listen to a good song and dance to it, jump on a bed, drive really fast to nowhere, slide down a banister rail down a long flight of stairs, jump in a pool naked and wag the water off like a dog, eat all the junk food I can find, take a shot of Bacardi 151 to redeem myself, start a fire, take a hot shower and lay down naked in a warm bed with the heater on high, eat a Sonia's Kitchen sandwich, sit on a roof top smoking a joint reflecting on my life while trying not to cry........ is what I would probably have said circa 1999-2002.

The me today would truly only want to do one quarter of those things. But more than likely I would start the day with a huge breakfast for my kids and husband. Take a warm bubble bath with all 3 and splash and make a huge mess without ever bothering to clean up or let the mess bother me in the slightest, I'd get out and wag the water off and encourage all 3 to do the same. We'd lay in bed for about 20 minutes snuggling and having 'luvies'. Put on our best pajamas and watch a movie the girls would pick out. Go to a store after and rob all the best junk food, drive down to Grandma & Grandpa's house and pick them up. Go to a church and pray for another 20 minutes and then drive down to Disneyland for a final 'shabang'.

Before entering the park however, I would phone my mother and let her know that I forgive her for being the _______ mother she was/is, I would phone my Titi and let her know that it's ok to switch up routine once in a while and to forgive herself because Jesus forgives her. I would call all my sister's and brother and tell them I love them dearly. Then I would call Craig Olsen and tell him as a co-worker he is an obsessive compulsive piece of shit! As a human being he is a kind-hearted, neurotic, obsessive compulsive grandfather type. I would call Zulma and thank her for her unconditional love and friendship.

I know there are a million other things I could probably do but I wouldn't care because enough time has already been spent on others. I would go in the park and do absolutely everything we could do. Then I would break into a Disney Resort, the nicest room possible of course, and lay on their bed with the people I love most in those whole entire universe.

The truth is the world could end tomorrow. Perhaps not for the entire human race but definitely for me. I could get hit by a car, get shot in a drive-by, get stabbed by a stranger, be abducted tortured and murdered, get terminal breast or cervix cancer, fall down a flight of stairs, my car could blow up with me in it, a fatal car crash maybe. Either way would suck, but it could happen...

Sister Act

Someone always told me to take care of my sister. That she was all I had, that we didn't have a father and we didn't have a mother all we had was each other. I took those words to heart and ran with them. Realized that she was all I had and at times I was all she had. Did some crazy things as a big sister, I am sure I am not the only big sister that has. And as much as she may think that I have helped her, she has helped me even more. Help me realize what life is really about, what anger really feels like, what love really feels like, what patience really feels like, what annoying really feels like, what laughter really feels like... She taught me all these things before I had kids, a husband, responsibilities... I learned these things from my little sister. She is strong like bull, at times wise like owl, fast like ninja, ready like rabbit. She is beautiful and not just on the eyes, on your heart too. When she gives 100% nothing can top her. When I think she's mad at me, my day goes sour. When she was gone, so was a part of me and I fought like hell to get her back. Her laughter is contagious, obnoxious and melodious.

To hell and back we have been together, abandoned, ran wild, ran away, ran to, held hands, lost hands, found them again. Found hope, lost hope and found it again... There are very few keys to my heart, (about 4 to be exact), and she has one of them. She pisses me off with an anger only a scorned lover can have, an anger I have only felt for two people. With that same strength, the love I have for her is indescribable, profound, and endless... she holds a rank in my life that not really anyone else does aside from my babies and my husband and for all of these things I am most grateful to God that He has chosen me to spend her life with, to walk side by side in the highs and the lows, to hold her up when she feels down, to make her smile when she wants to cry, to make her feel empowered when she feels defeated, to update my Facebook every time we do something NEATO together...

Sister to sister we will always be, a couple of nuts off the family tree.

Happy Birthday Sistah Gordy Sac... May God bless you and your minions and may you spend many more of your birthdays right behind mine... forever. cause I'm first the worst and your second the best.... SIKE!

Sista, you've been on my mind

Sista, we're two of a kind

So, sista, I'm keepin' my eye on you.

I betcha think I don't know nothin'

But singin' the blues, oh, sista,

Have I got news for you, I'm something,

I hope you think that you're something too

Scufflin', I been up that lonesome road

And I seen alot of suns going down

Oh, but trust me,

No-o low life's gonna run me around.

So let me tell you something Sista,

Remember your name, No twista

Gonna steal your stuff away, my sista...

She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you still. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your student, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, and even your shrink...

Sisters function as safety nets in a chaotic world simply by being there for each other.To the outside world we all grow old. But not our sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.