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Say WHAT?

I’m about to leave the house and I notice I’m a couple of minutes late. Okay, that is not that big of a deal, I know, especially because I always leave the house with enough time to be where I’m supposed to be at least 5 minutes early. Still…

So I start looking around for my keys. I can’t find them. They are not by the back door where I always put them. I pat my pocket. Of course, they’re in my pockets. I left the house earlier in the morning (as in still-too-dark-outside early) and kept them in my pocket.

I reach for the door knob to open the door. It doesn’t open. Well, this shouldn’t surprise me, since I didn’t even unlock the door yet.

I unlock the door and leave. Then I remember my cell phone. I go back in. I can’t find it. I look at the normal spots where it should be and nothing. Then I look at my left hand. Oh, there it is! I’m already holding it.

I finally leave the house (for real this time and by now I’m really late) and shake my head.

Apparently waking up at 3:30 a.m. can transform you into a grandma looking for glasses that are right under her nose.

P.S.: I arrived at work 3 minutes late. Say WHAT?

 

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Live life to the fullest.

“Eat the damn chocolate cake, get your hair wet, love someone, dance in those muddy puddles, tell someone off, draw a picture with crayons like you’re still 6 years old and then give it to someone who is very important to you. Take a nap, go on vacation, do a cartwheel, make your own recipe, dance like no one sees you, paint each nail a different color, take a bubble bath, laugh at a corny joke. Get on that table and dance, pick strawberries, take a jog, plant a garden, make an ugly shirt and wear it all day, learn a new language, write a song, date someone you wouldn’t usually go for, make a scrap book, go on a picnic, relax in the sun, make your own home video, kiss the un-kissed, hug the un-hugged, love the unloved, and live your life to the fullest. So at the end of the day, you’ll have no regrets, no sorrows, no disappointments.” (Author Unknown)

 

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You wanna mess with me? You wanna mess with ME?

Today we had this group project to work on. We had to work on a problem and suggest solutions for it. So not as fun as it sounds. And before you tell me it doesn’t even sound like it would be fun, let me clarify that if doesn’t even sound like it would be fun, what do you think that means? Exactly.

So my group is trying to come up with problems and we keep going back and forth in a couple of ideas. And by a couple I mean ten. So this chick from another group asks us what our topic is and we tell her it’s going to be soap. You know, the differences between anti-bacterial and non-anti-bacterial soap, plus how had-sanitizer is not really that helpful. And she has the guts to look at us with that “I’m so much better than you and my group’s topic is so f***ing great” look on her face. I wanted to punch her. Especially because when we asked her about her topic she didn’t even answer us.

But then we talked some more and thought soap was really not that great, and kept changing our mind every two minutes. I wasn’t even keeping track of all the topics. From time to time I would agree with something, or say I thought soap was a good topic. After a while I think they started ignoring me. Or maybe it was just my imagination. But then Ms. Nosy came back, and I couldn’t contain myself. When she asked us about our topic, I said, without even blinking, “We’re going to discuss the importance of killing puppies in order to prevent rabbits from contracting rabies.”

Her eyes seemed to pop out of her head. Like she was a cartoon. Probably because she liked my idea and thought hers was crappy compared to mine.

At least she stopped bugging us.

P.S.: We’re totally against killing puppies here, and I only said that so she would leave us alone. It worked.

 

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Forgetting: not just for old people anymore.

A few years ago I accompanied my grandma to one of her lunches with her friends. My grandma was 76 at the time and all the other ladies were either 85 or 86. They said my grandma was the baby of the group, since she was so young. The lunch was very long, with each of them taking their time to chew their food and still manage to tell stories, but it was a great time. Mainly because of the stories, I didn’t care much about the chewing.

One of them started complaining because her son wanted to hire a maid to help her out during the day. How dare he. She was incredibly upset about that. She said she told her son that was not an option, because if she didn’t have the work around the house to do, she wouldn’t have enough things to occupy her throughout the day. Then another one started talking about how she had a maid and she’d send the girl to wipe the leaves of her plants. She’d send the girl to the porch (apparently she had a lot of foliage there) and give the girl a tiny cloth to go wipe the plants. This way the girl wouldn’t bother her and she could cook as she pleased.

That lead to the cooking topic. They all shared how much they loved to cook. Then one of them started saying she liked to knit while she waited for the food to be ready, but it was hard but she’d go sit down to knit and forget about the food. So one of them said “You should do what I do. Put a chair in front of the stove. This way you won’t forget about it.”

I just remembered all of that because I was sitting on my couch and though “Something smells good,” and after a second I thought “My food!” and ran to the kitchen to rescue my lunch.

Maybe it’s time for me to start putting a chair in front of the stove.

 

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Because we all have stories we’d like to pretend never happened.

The book for intellectual misfits.

Remember when I was so excited because I started reading the book that’s like laughing at a funeral? Well, I just finished reading it. If I were to be honest, I could have finished this book a few days ago, but I wanted to take my time, to savor it. I was never one to enjoy reading something too fast. I believe part of the fun in reading a book is when you catch yourself pausing at a random sentence in the book to think about what’s in there. And this happened a lot when I was reading this book.

No, I never found myself with my arm stuck inside a cow’s vagina, or got a bathtub full of baby raccoons for my birthday, but I had my fair share of embarrassing moments in life. But I think we all do, right? Can’t you think of one single moment of your life that if told someone would make you feel like a weirdo?

I could tell you about the time I was dressed as a homeless person as a child and was blinded by stage lights on someone’s shoulder. I was on that person’s shoulder, not the lights. Why would someone have stage lights on their shoulder? That’s just ridiculous.

Or I could tell you about waking up before the sun to drink carrot juice. Okay, maybe that’s not so insane, but it was this orange thing that had a hard time leaving the glass, since my grandmother refused to add water to it, so it was almost like baby food in a glass. And she’d wait for you to drink it all before she’d let you fall back asleep. My uncles had perfected the skill, and would drink without even waking up. I had to fight the urge to throw up. Fun times.

Or I could tell you about when I ran through a glass door and only realized what had happened when I saw all the blood. Best seventh birthday in the history of ever! It involved broken glass, stitches, a broken key, and popping balloons under my dress while this strange guy fixing our door had birthday cake with us.

Hey, remember how I started talking about a book and all of a sudden changed it to talking about myself? Yeah, that’s how that book goes. Well, it won’t talk about me, but it does talk about the weirdest things and at moments makes you wonder if she’s still talking about the same thing she was in the beginning of the chapter. If you’re ADD you’ll love it! It’s just like an ADD mind works. Or maybe you’ll get even more lost than usual, hard to tell. It worked for me, though.

This book made me laugh so loud my neighbors probably wondered what was wrong with me. Especially when I’d cry a few minutes later reading about how she saved her daughter from being attacked by potentially wild dogs. By the way, that chapter gave me nightmares. I had a dream where my mom was bitten by animals and then they found a tooth inside her foot and I yelled at her for not telling me about it and letting me find out about something like that through my half-brother, who’s not even her son to begin with. Insane! I mean, I’d never yell at my mom. Ever.

Anyway, if you want to laugh, and cry, and basically find out you’re not the weirdest person alive, buy the book! Now! To me, the message of the book is: we all have our own embarrassing stories we’d like to forget about, to erase from our memories, but the truth is, we are who we are because of them. Cherish them, don’t hide them.

 

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Of being stabbed and learning lessons.

When people say they felt as if they were being stabbed in the back I tend to say “I know exactly what you mean.” People say that when you consider someone a friend and that person does not consider you one it’s like being stabbed in the back. And although I’ve been betrayed before, I’ve never been stabbed in the literal sense of the word. Not once in my life I had a knife puncturing my body in such a way, so I can’t really compare. So here’s a comparison I know:

I lived in an apartment on the 12th floor. Pretty high and with a great view of the city. At night I liked to sit on the window and sing my heart out. I was convinced no one would ever know I was the crazy girl singing on a window, since it was dark and they wouldn’t see me. I’d even turn my lights off, just to be sure. And I’d sit there, with my head immerse in the darkness singing songs I’d improvise on the spot. I’d keep my legs inside, of course, so my body had to be a little twisted, but it worked out fine. And I always kept the windows just open wide enough for me to fit in, so I could hold onto the wall on one side and the glass on the other. Because I was that smart.

But one day I lost my balance. My hands immediately glued themselves to the wall and the glass. I panicked. For the few seconds that took me to get my body all back to safety I thought I was really going to die. The air left my lungs, my heart was slamming hard against my chest, my palms were sweating like crazy, blood was pumping in my ears, and the air felt suddenly so heavy I wouldn’t dare to breathe it in. I finally pulled myself inside and just kneeled on the floor, trying to get my head to stop spinning.

I want to say I never sat there again, that this was enough of a warning to keep me away from the dangers that a window on the 12th floor without a security net can offer, but I can’t. The truth is that we are human beings. We make mistakes, and keep making them until we’ve learned whatever lesson we have to learn. We just have to hope we’ll learn them fast, before we actually fall from a window.

 

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A memorable birthday.

My seventh birthday was the most memorable so far. That year my birthday fell on a Sunday, a hot Sunday. I remember we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s for lunch, and then there was a birthday party at our apartment. But that was not it, that was not it at all.

After lunch my cousins invited me to play tag with them. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, since I was always too slow and never won any running game. I was the child who never wanted to climb a tree because she was too afraid of falling or getting hurt. I’d do it, but only the low branches. I was always so afraid of hurting myself I’d never dare running any faster or jumping any higher or anything like that. But that day was different. I was seven. I was a whole year more confident and fearless than my old self. (Gosh, I can’t even type that without laughing.)

So I said yes. I was resolved to win. And so I ran. As fast as I could. As fast as my legs would take me. I could see the back of my cousins head, bobbing right in front of me. I just needed to run a bit faster, to force my legs not to feel the pain, to push myself just a bit more. I could feel the sweat on my forehead, the icky, disgusting sweat, but I couldn’t let that slow me down. They were so close. And then they turned.

You don’t know the place, so allow me to explain. We were running on a hallway connecting buildings. At the end of it was a glass door leading outside the building, and to the left of the door, stairs leading to the garage. And that’s the path they had chosen to take, down to the garage. Now, why did that come as a surprise to me, I have no idea. I knew that building like the palm of my hand. If anything, that just shows I wouldn’t recognize my own hands if they were attached to my own arms. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sound.

But regardless of the circumstances, there I was, running too fast to turn on my own, risking falling down the stairs if I didn’t slow down, but not wanting to lose the game yet again. So I did the only logical thing: I used the door to push myself towards the stairs, hoping for all that was sacred I wouldn’t hurt my knees too bad.

Next thing I know I’m on all fours. I get up fast, not entirely sure of my surroundings. They don’t look right. I’m not in the garage. I’m outside. How did I get there? How did I pass through the door? The door was locked. It was always locked. Right?

I turned my head towards the door. There was no door. There was only the trim that used to hold the door in place. Something caused my left eyelid to close. I touched it. It was thick and red. Something on the floor caught my eyes. Shattered shiny pieces all around my feet. A line of the red liquid was running from my right knee to my foot. Little crisscrossed red lines marked my legs.

A scream reached my ears. My own scream.

As I said, a birthday to remember. And that was just the beginning. Then there was the going to a hospital to get stitches for the first time thing. Followed by having to go to my own birthday party with a blood-splattered dress and black lines sprouting from my face and leg. Add that to the fact that my aunt broke the key in the door and everyone had to stay outside, because it was Sunday and it took us forever to get a locksmith. Oh, and did I mention it was hot? Yep, definitely a birthday I won’t forget.

 

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