Late To The Party: October 2010

Lorraine Says: Casi Casi and Adios [UPDATED]

Last night, as I tried to cure the worst headache ever invented with an M&M McFlurry while watching old episodes of Fringe in my boxers, I was reminded how much I hate it when people on TV don't say goodbye before hanging up the phone.

(For whatever reason, the video I tried embedding has been disappearing on people. If you are looking at this post and there is no video, consider opening this link in a new tab, eh? LINK.)

I'm supposed to buy that Pacey (Joshua Jackson will always be Pacey. And Pacey will always be so nommy to me, even during the season when he's actually with Joey and fat and sort of gross looking but it's okay because he's still nommy) isn't on the other end going DAMMIT! WHAT ABOUT THE KID? HELLO? HELLOOOO?

Because that's exactly what I would be doing.

That very unlikely phone conversation all in the name of exposition would be SO MUCH BETTER if we could just sneak in an "oh, okay, goodbye" at the end. Growl.

I have a similar real life problem and I think I can trace it all back to being Hispanic.

Dearest readers, when we last spoke I was all "YAY, I'm going to Disney!" and you guys were all, "Boo, I want to go." And, in a manner very unfitting of this blog and the plans we make on this blog, we actually went to Disney.

I am now not going to talk about Disney.

(As a side note, the weirdest thing just happened to me. I'm eating a sandwich, and was working on a mouthful when suddenly I got the urge to sneeze. In an attempt to not spew my food, I tried holding in my sneeze which in turn resulted in me snorting down and swallowing my sneeze. Seriously, I could feel myself swallow the sneeze. Someone please tell me you know what I'm talking about?!)

I hope none of you have your underwear in a bunch, because Rox and I fully intend on rocking a tag-team post all about the magic of Animal Kingdom and Epcot, how much of a nice guy Bret is, how we survived a roller coaster and the worst effin' restaurant ever invented. Ever.

Please hold for all of the above.

Suffice to say that my weekend was made of win. As we pulled out of the gas station on Saturday evening, ready to head home with enough munchies to last us for a drive to California, Penny looked over at me as I chomped on my King Sized Kit Kat bar and said, "this wasn't the worst idea you've ever had."

Uh, thanks? I smiled a bit, ate some more Kit Kat and thought about that.

I don't have bad ideas! Do I? Guys?

I asked my lovely partners in crime: "So, what was my worst idea ever?"

It took a minute to digest and after discussing a few ideas in the car, and sitting here on a Monday, I bring you:

The Worst Ideas Lorraine Has Had During the Course of This Friendship

So, I'm pretty sure that Rox, Penny and I are going to Disney World tomorrow.

Never mind that during our trip to Universal for my birthday, we pretty much decided that we? We are not theme park girls. Why?

1.) These things are OUTDOORS

b.) Roxanne and I don't do roller coasters

cat.) it involves a lot of walking and

4.) large crowds of people make us itchy.

We're ignoring all of these facts because we need a mini-spontaneous-cheap-adventure-getaway.

I've been saying that to everyone who's asked me why I'm going to Disney. Dude, did I miss the memo? Since when does one need a reason to go to Disney? Anyways, that's what I've been saying. I need a flippin' break, that's why!

And then I think about how I essentially sit on my butt all day at work, and talk to people who live in the Internet, and occasional fold some paper, and fine I do some work but not a whole lot. What exactly do I need a break from? Dinners with my friends? Shopping at Target? Waking up at 8am? Eating chocolate? Being a lazy face?

Well, as if to correct the balance of the cosmos, or something, the Universe gave me the morning from Hades and now I really do need a break. It was the type of morning that only Dumbo and Thunder Mountain while harrassing a Prince (or two) can fix.

Just kidding, guys. I'm going to see the castle.

Anyways, a scattered morning calls for some scattered thoughts. I'm warning you before you read this. I have no clue what I'm saying or what's going on in my head. WARNED.

Lorraine Says: The Best Laid Plans

Hey kids! Want to know what I'm really good at? (Yes, that. Oh, that too. I'm very good at that. But all of those guesses are wrong.)

PLANNING. I am a woman with a plan.

Hey kids! Want to know what I'm really bad at? (No guesses right? I know. I'm not bad at many things.)

Following through with my plans, apparently. In an attempt to make myself look less like a losery flake, I'd like to blame my total weekend-plan break-down on a few things. Namely, not me. Mostly, these things:

1.) The blog. Seriously. If I write it on here, I think there's an 92.6% chance it isn't gonna happen. I have this thing where I think if I tell you guys about it, I might hold myself to it. Yeah no. Blog = plan killer.

b.) Venus and Fetus. This is not a complaint. I spent the entire weekend with these girls, because of a small emergency they had and somehow we managed to turn it into a giant adventure.

cat.) Roxanne. (And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Promise!)

See? Not my fault. And even if I do have flaky tendencies, I'd like to think that I'm an awesome flake. Like Frosted Flakes. And not a bad flake. Like dandruff. Gross.

What I'm saying is, my weekend did not go according to plan.

Lorraine Says: Losing Friends And Making Enemies

My mother likes to give me lectures on men when one of two things happen: 1. She starts to get desperate and feels like I'm never gonna meet a man ever or b. She thinks I'm getting desperate and fears I might just marry the hobo down the street, because let's be honest, what better things does he have to do?

When she starts to get desperate the lecture usually goes a little something like, "you can't be an anti-social jerk and expect to meet anyone. Is there anyone, ANYONE on this earth that you find attractive? Please, just let me know if you like another human being ever invented."

Oh momma. Don't be silly. You know I don't like people.

Now, when she thinks I'm getting desperate (which I don't know why she ever thinks I am... Definitely not because I ever taunt her by yelling, "I NEED TO GET MARRIED." It instantly stops her. She just starts thinking about white gowns and grand babies and I no longer have to listen to the latest thing she found on Facebook.) (My mom is Facebook CIA, omgosh. It's baaaad. She will find you. She will track you down. )

Uh... what?

Roxanne Says: 9pm Narcolepsy

Dude, WHYYYYYYY am I falling asleep already? Someone tell my body that 9:30 is entirely too early for a 23 year old to start randomly zzz-ing off. I would tell it myself but I'm entirely too tired, *stretchyawnsnuggle*.

Holler for a dollar at Lorraine for doing all kinds of amazing renovation around these parts. Isn't she the best beef evar? (that's a rhetorical, y'all - since she's ONLY my beef, none of you would know what kind of beef she is :-D HA! I WIN AGAIN!)

She has such a habit of making it so pastel-ly and inviting here in Party land.

You know what I hope is just as pastel-y and inviting tomorrow? JURY DUTY. I have flippin jury duty tomorrow - for the first time in all my inconsequential years on this stupid Earth. I'm fully equipped to exhaust every possible news link accessible to my Blackberry and/or take "Eat, Pray, Love" and stuff in my not!suitcase purse - for entertainment purposes, of course. Perhaps even a constant stream of Tweets documenting my observations at the Courthouse? These things can be bloggertainment gold, if you ask me.

Although truthfully, I do plan on going in there and spouting off about how my family is full of police officers and how I think that if a criminal is arrested it's because they did something wrong and deserve to be punished for it, which will PROBABLY clear me from any further obligations at that point. Seriously, it's nice to have such a rigid view of the law sometimes.

While I'd totes enjoy to actually do jury duty, I can't afford to get caught up in a trial and miss mass amounts of work. The gamble > the payoff.

Elsewhere in the world, RiSK is currently at his first ever football game, cussing out men wearing Yankees shirts and sending me drunk texts like : "this is commercialization at it's make". HOW, pray tell, can you be piss-ass drunk (because he is - we spoke earlier), spell commercialization right and then spell "max" WRONG? Not only that, but it's a totally different word! I'm amazed at my boyfriend's ever-wavering grip on inebriated cohesion.

Seriously. So sleepy. I'm not even sure what my problem is but onlyyy sleep can cure it.

Perhaps if I get out at a reasonable time tomorrow I'll catch up on my 30 Days of Truth? Except maybe we'll call it : A Time Lapsed 30 Days of Truth, Condensed Like Eagle Brand Milk.

&rox

Lorraine Says: Housekeeping

My mother hates dishwashers.

If you even dare say the "d" word in our house, chances are you'll get the story about washing dishes in the Dominican Republic and how many miles they had to walk to the river. As soon as my aunts were old enough to reach counter tops, they were old enough to walk to the river with a bucket, walk back with it balanced on their head or something, and wash the pots and pans that fed 17 children, various uncles and cousins, and the grandfather I never met.

"Dishwashers can't do a better job than me," my mother claims. The idea of soaking or rinsing dishes before you load them in the washer gives her hives. "So you basically have to wash them before you wash them?!"

My mother sure does love her stove, though. A couple of years ago, when we finally ripped out the olive green cabinets that originally came in the house in 1989, my mother also bought a new stove. Goodbye gas stove, hello glass top.

I used to have a theory about all electronic appliances and gizmos getting together and chatting about the lady in the house with a Dominican mailbox. She'll either hate you like she did the dishwasher, or obsess over you like she does the stove. It really explains to me why everything, everything, in our house goes ghetto. Bounce on the bed for proper cable reception, knock on the toaster oven three times before it starts up, have a clothes pin on the iron cord, and speak nicely to the refrigerator or else, type of ghetto. The appliances: they know.

Though there are no rivers to fetch water from near our house, I know that my mother has always been secretly preparing my sisters and me for marriage. She wasn't very stealth about it. Every Saturday, we'd be awakened to the sound of banging pots and pans, old gospel music and our mother happily chirping prayers to herself as she busily moved about the kitchen.

"Mis hijas!" she would call to us when she was tired of cleaning alone. "Time to clean!"

Saturday morning never had cartoons for us. There were never lazy hours spent in warm pajamas. There were no friends over, or running around in the yard. There was always, however, a chore to be done.

"Good morning to you too," was usually the grumpy reply.

"Ay, perdona. Good morning. Time to clean."

It was always time to clean. The house was always dirty. Someone was always coming over and what would they say if they saw the mess?

I thought about this all this past weekend, camped on my bed, painting my nails and watching my mom move busily outside in her kitchen. She occasionally peeked in my room with quizzical eyes, wondering if I might try to clean anything at all.

Yes momma. I cleaned up the blog.

Please notice:

Roxanne Says: Square Pegs and Round Holes.

Can we just take a moment to observe how shameful my blog count is in comparison to Lor's? Did you guys know that some people think that I don't even exist? TRUE STORY! Some people just think that Lor is a kooky bish with disassociation identity disorder - and while that's wildly entertaining, it's not true, y'all.

In my quest to prove that I'm more than just some Jeezy girl's foul-mouthed alter ego, I've completed my "25 Before 25" list. If overly simplistic and "holy shit, you're just NOW getting to that?" kind of goals are your thing, then you'll love my 25 Before 25. I'll have you guys know that painstaking editing went into that thing! I mean, how many times should one person be allowed to put "sleep for a week straight" and "own 250 bottles of nail polish" before realizing that those goals are just progressive leaps and bounds above those of the masses? In lieu of this realization, I decided to water it down, adding things like *gulp* reading and >lurch<...getting engaged.

Although it's taken 8 months (woahhhhh, it's been 8 months?!) to get there, I'm starting to think that the honeymoon phase is ending. While I'm still blissfully happy with RiSK and anticipating many, many more happy months with him, I'm starting to miss what makes Roxanne, Roxanne.

Now, I haven't consciously given up any of these things for him - it's not like he came along and I was like "Sayonara, blog! Buh bye, gym - I gotta man, I don't need you no mo'!" - no, not at all.

But priorities shift and suddenly, I'm favoring the boy over other things and before you know it, new habits are formed. Habits that include sleeping until the last possible minute on work mornings, spending entire days vegged in front of my laptop, and dropping excessive amounts of money on alcohol at sporting events. Money that I don't have - so perhaps I'll rephrase and call it "credit." While none of these are particularly BAD habits, they're just not really ones that make me feel whole.

This whole "being in an adult relationship" business is sticky indeed. What you have to understand about me, blogosphere, is that I'm a serial monogamist. I'm ALWAYS in a relationship. They were not always the greatest quality of relationship - most quite juvenile, in fact - but they were there nonetheless. And in the past, my issue was always blocking out the world COMPLETELY for a boy. I had many an instance through my teens where I alienated my friends in favor of a boy. Luckily, those friends were very forgiving (I love you, Penny!) and they also taught me to learn from my mistakes.

In my relationship with RiSK, I've rationalized all along that I was doing a good job because I still had my friends in equal amounts to what I had RiSK. Good job, me - I was doing it right! But what I failed to realize is that even though I was making time for him and making time for them, I wasn't making time or priority for ME. Spending an entire day watching baseball with my cat doesn't quite qualify as quality "me" time. I've basically been this drained shell of a "me" for the last few months because I've been too tired and lazy to be anything else.

"Wah wah wah, I have a perfect-for-me boyfriend and amazing best friends, but I'm still whiny about life!"
This is not meant to be a sob story by any means, but more of a realization. As I learn to manage all of my "big girl questions", I like to think through my answers just to make sure I'm not supes psycho. ;)

I'm excited to get back into the gym. I'm excited to get up in the morning and do my makeup (err, eyeshadow. I'm good at doing the rest but never have time to do elaborate eye makeup, which I really love) and look NICE for work. I'm excited to blog and music blog and work on a website and tweet! I'm excited to have a list of goals and petty things to work towards - just to say that I did SOMETHING. I'm excited to be a person again!

Now blog, if you'll excuse me, I have credit cards to cut up and laundry to finish. :)

BTdubs, none of you will understand how serious this is but RiSK, Lor and Pen, but I totes activated my SunPass today. A SunPass, mind you, that has been sitting around my house for almost 2 years now. Prior to this, I've always made a game of finding change or stealing random dollar bills from around the house - whatever I had to do to make sure I had toll money. RiSK would get SO mad at me, not understanding why I wouldn't want to make it easier on myself by just having this little electronic voo-doo box sitting around to pay my tolls for me. Whatever - I liked the drama of always challenging myself to find money, lol. Oh well - big girls don't feed off drama. They feel off responsibility and other boring stuff, like asparagus and tupperware parties. LE SIGH.