Hijinks at the DMA, or, How I Became an Art Thief

There is a girl, she is older than me so I should say "woman," at work that is not my co-worker. She works with Preggo so she's Preggo's co-worker. I do not claim her at all, though I have nicknamed her The Thing. Yes, that's a shocking nickname. What's even more shocking, at least to me, is that she answers to it. You may be wondering why, if she is such a non-entity, I am introducing her to you guys. The answer is simple; she made a thief out of me.

It all started on a relatively uneventful Monday when she mentioned she would be going to the DMA (Dallas Museum of Art) that Friday. Apparently, the museum would stay open late and she asked if I would like to go. Normally, I would have rebuked such a blatant attempt at attaining my friendship, but she mentioned that the exhibit was Greek themed and my determination wavered slightly. She added that there would also be a free lecture on the Greek Gods and Heroes. Once I heard that, all my protestations went out the window. I have been a fan of Greek mythology since I was a child. In fact, I was kicked out of ESL (English as a Second Language) classes after two and a half years because the teacher caught me reading The Odyssey. I am such a fan that I can still list the twelve Olympian gods from memory. Prove it, you say. Here goes: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hermes, Apollo, Athena, Artemis, and Demeter. I swear to any god, though my favorite was always Athena, that I did not look that up. Also, the twelve Olympians changed from time to time and place to place. For example, I know some people, at some place or point in time, included Dionysus. I am not sure who was demoted or replaced I just know that it happened. I feel like I am digressing. Once I heard about the lecture, any qualms I had had about going were assuaged. I was actually very excited about it. There is nothing like a good lecture to start off your weekend. If you disagree with me, you are plainly, obviously, and unequivocally wrong. Despite all my excitement, I was not about to let The Thing know my true state so I told her that I would think about it and get back to her. I asked her who else was going and she said that another friend of hers was joining us. I was appalled at her assumption that we were friends. I quickly corrected her by telling her that it was not "another friend" that was joining us but just "a friend" as I was not to be considered her friend and that the use of the word "another" was inappropriate. She admitted her fault so now it was just a matter of waiting til Friday.

During the course of the week, we come to find out that the exhibit of Greek sculptures was a loan from London and thus had a cover charge of sixteen bucks. As much as I love the Greeks and their propensity for male nudes, I was not about to spend sixteen dollars when there are many free nudes on the internet. I am kidding... Yes, I am kidding. I had to think about that for a while but I decided I was kidding as there is a big difference between pornography and art (or pornographic art as Medea would call it). I did decide against paying for the exhibit though for two reasons: I had never been to the DMA before so there was plenty of stuff to enjoy that did not require purchasing a ticket, and I really did not want to spend any unnecessary money.

When Friday rolled around, I met The Thing in Highland Village and she drove the rest of the way. We had to stop in Irving to pick up her friend.  Unbeknownst to me, she had failed to mention to him that I was coming; therefore, I had to wait in the car while she went and knocked at his apartment. I felt like I could have called CPS (Child Protective Services) or at least animal protective services (if such an entity exists) because she left me in her car with the doors locked and the windows up. I started to see my life flash before my eyes but she came back so fast that I did not even get a chance to make it to puberty. Anyway, she introduced me to her friend and we were on our merry way. The drive there was only just a bit awkward due to the fact that I am uncomfortable with uncomfortable silences so I tend to fill the time with awkward comments and questions. I am not saying I felt like a third wheel; but, they were friends and I was the outsider. Other than that, the drive was uneventful. Well, I did have to look up directions because, even though The Thing offered to drive and had been there before, she did not know how to get there. She said that she usually would park at her sister's and take the, and I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster this was her word, trolley. I asked where her sister lived. She said Carrollton. By this time, we were already on I-35E close to the Medical Center Area. If you are unfamiliar with the geography of Dallas, we would have to drive about 20 minutes away from our destination from where we were to reach Carrollton. When I protested that this was not practical, The Thing said that she had meant to say that she would park at her sister's work. It was too bad that she did not make that clear earlier but she is not the great conversationalist that I am. Then again, few people are. Another hurdle we were not prepared for, due to The Thing's lack of un-trolley travel experience, was parking. We found one of those lots that you pay for at a machine a few blocks away. When we looked for the machine to pay, we noticed there was a line for people to pay. It turned out that the machine was malfunctioning so it took us about thirty minutes to be able to get a receipt to put in the car. All in all, what with the detour to Irving, the traffic of Dallas, the inconvenience of the parking lot, and a very needed bathroom break as soon as we got to the DMA, we were not ready to enjoy the museum experience until about seven thirty.

The lecture I mentioned earlier, the one that convinced me to attend the museum with people who were not my friends, started at seven. The restrooms were right next to the lecture hall so we asked a lady that was sitting at a desk if we could still go in. She told us that the lecture would probably only last about fifteen more minutes but that we were welcome to go in. We went in and The Thing's friend found three seats together for us to have a seat. However, the seats were not aisle adjacent and they were theater seats. I knew I would not be able to sit in one comfortably if I had a person on each side of me. As I was not close enough to The Thing yet for us to invade each others' personal space, I found an aisle seat two rows down and, with an apologetic hand gesture, motioned that I was going to sit there instead. Once situated, I was able to enjoy the droning monotonous voice of the lecturer whose soporific quality caused the gentleman behind to doze into a restful slumber. How do I know? I could hear his subtle snoring over my shoulder. His nap did not prove too distracting though as the lecturer was really only covering the basics and her lecture, or the last end of it which was all I caught, was very Heracles-centric.

After the lecture, we decided to roam around through the galleries in a meandering manner as we did not really know the layout of the place. At least, I did not know the layout as I had never been there before. We entered a gallery that contained myriad tribal art statues. I am not gonna accuse those cultures of being phallocentric but I lost count of how many penises I saw. However, I did learn that it is not polite to point them out to your fellow museum-goers since that is seen as "immature." It's not like they were realistic anyway. I thought of taking a picture but I did not know if that was against the rules and I did not want to get kicked out.

During our trajectory, we crossed Africa, South America, India and parts of Asia. We finally made it to Europe and went through Impressionism, Cubism and Renaissance. In the area between Cubism and Renaissance, we saw some stairs going down into another exhibit of which we could see a blown up picture of a very creepy clown. We decided against venturing into the nightmare gallery and decided instead for the more formal Renaissance paintings. However, we learned that the Renaissance gallery looped around to the Impressionist area. Since we did not know where else to go, we decided to go back and venture into the nightmare gallery.

We walked back to where we saw the stairs and descended into the clown photograph gallery. We soon realized that this gallery was showcasing different photographs by the same artist. I would tell you her name but, to be honest, I can't remember it. There were different rooms with different motifs. The creepy clown room contained about four or five blown up pictures of clowns. There was another room with the artist dressed in many different costumes. The most disturbing room contained pictures that were sexual but morbid and macabre at the same time. It was very entertaining if a bit unsettling. We walked through all the rooms; each of us taking as long as we wanted with each piece. Because of this, I found myself ahead of the group as I entered the last room we had to see. I was looking at the few last pieces of the exhibit when something peculiar caught my eye. First, one of the two main entrances from the outside to that first room was cordoned off sending all traffic through only one entrance. Second, I noticed that there was a pedestal letter board that showcased different prices for adults, seniors, children and students. Third, there was a gentleman at the entrance that had a handheld scanner and kept asking people for tickets. It was then that I started to think that we may have stumbled into a gallery that was not free. I re-joined The Thing and her friend and informed them of my suspicions. We then walked back into the room where my suspicions were confirmed and the first onset of panic began. What did we have to do? Should we go to the front, admit our mistake and pay our belated admission? We were not willing to do that. The admission fee was sixteen dollars and, if I was going to pay that much money, I was going to pay it to see some sculpted penises in the Greek sculpture exhibition.  We decided then to quickly, yet nonchalantly, trace our steps back and leave the way we came in. We headed back to the stairs and, as we were ascending back to the Renaissance area, we noticed there was an "Exit Only" sign written on the wall that stipulated the stairs should not be used to gain entrance into the priced gallery. We had not seen the sign when we went in and there was no one there to stop us. There is no excuse however and we unwittingly became art thieves. We remained paranoid for the rest of our stay at the museum, constantly looking over our shoulder and scanning the walls for cryptic messages that would incriminate us in any way.

The rest of the stay was uneventful. Come to think of it, the rest of the night was uneventful if you don't count the two times The Thing almost got in a car wreck and which made me decide I was not riding anywhere else with her if she was to be the driver. As for now, all three of us are still at large. I don't think police crack down on people who shirk their admission for an exhibit they stumbled upon inadvertently. Still, I believe I am now a seasoned criminal. Perhaps even more so than those who've spent time because I was smart enough not to get caught. Then again, bragging online about not being caught is how some real criminals have been apprehended so I better not admit anything offhand. For all you know, I made this story up. After all, my life is terribly boring and I am always looking for new stuff to post so I could have, and quite possibly did, make it up. That's for me to know. Well, me and The Thing and her friend.

Although I Have a Roof Over My Head, I Find Myself Homeless...

I know the title seems a little bit over-dramatic. It is. I shall explain it later. First, I want to make good on something that I had promised you guys earlier... sort of. See, I had told you guys that I would post a recent picture of me whenever I took a good picture of me. However, that hasn't happened yet as it is very hard to take a good picture of me. Especially, since I don't take pictures often as I don't believe I am very photogenic. This brings me to last Friday. In order to raise our esprit de corps, or morale (I just wanted to sound fancy), every month we have a "munch day" at work. This "munch day" consists mainly of items brought by each employee, potluck style, and usually some sub sandwiches contributed by the management. As soon as I find out the sign-up sheet is posted, I rush over to write my name on it and write "sodas and sweet tea" next to it. I could try to come up with something else, but so far sodas and sweet tea have been the most low maintenance things I have come up with as I am sure as hell not willing to cook. Anyway, to add an aura of celebration to what would otherwise be a common potluck event, these "munch days" are often themed. The theme last Friday was "Wig Day" and we were encouraged to bring our most whimsical wigs. Fortunately, I don't own any wigs. Unfortunately, Dottie does so she let me borrow one and this was the result:

Forgive the bad picture but I did not have a good one and did not want to keep you waiting longer.

First of all, yes that is a wig. Be advised that my hair would look nothing like that if I let it grow out because it gets wavy when it gets longer. Don't ask me how I know but I will admit to owning a straightening iron so you can infer what you will. Also, feel free to leave all kinds of comments about what or who I look like in the comment section, but I have already heard them all. I have been called an ethnic Fred from the Scooby Doo cartoons and that I was a bandanna away from looking like a hippie. Personally, I think I look like a native indigenous Mexican but I know most people can't relate to that so I will just get a bandanna and start saying "groovy." Anyway, I have fulfilled, at least in my mind, my promise to post a recent picture of me as that picture is less than a week old. If I come across any good pics in the future I may, notice I am saying "may" and not "will," post it so you don't have just a horrible picture as a visual aid.

Now that I got that out of the way, I will get to the reason why I am homeless. As stated in the title, I do have a place to live but a house is not a home. I am not house-less so there is no need to call the local shelters to ask for vacancies. I am homeless and the reason for that comes down, once again, to Medea. More specifically, Medea and Dad. See, they had been living in their house, which is where I live. I am trying hard not to say that I live with them because, especially at this precise moment, I don't live with them. Or, they don't live with me. I am unsure which one is right. The point is that we don't live together. Medea had it in her mind that she wanted to go back to Mexico ever since she did not die in 2008. I guess I should elaborate on that. For a few years before 2008, Medea was convinced that she was going to die in 2008. I am not sure if there was any real conviction behind her belief, but that did not stop her from trying to guilt us by constantly reminding us that we should appreciate her since she wouldn't be around for long. Once January 1st, 2009 rolled around and she found herself still breathing, she decided she was going to build a house in Mexico and move there. Unlike her threat of dying, she followed through on the house. I had moved out of the house last year, after a particularly terrible fight which involved the whole family, but moved back in when their house in Mexico was nearing completion so I could take care of their house here. Now, they left to live in Mexico last December and left me alone in the house. That is when the Old Man moved in to help with costs. However, they came back in February for the birth of Emily. Since then, they had been staying at their house, without really contributing to the bills so it was a pretty sweet deal for them. As for me, I did not have to cook so it definitely had its positive side.

This all came to a halt this Saturday. See, Friday night Medea and Dad loaded their jeep, truck and a tow trailer with most of their stuff and headed back to Mexico. I know me and Medea clash a lot, but I must admit that I like having them here. It feels natural and like everything is right. Therefore, as I knew from experience from when they left in December, I knew I was going  to be depressed when they left. In my defense, I did not cry this time. My eyes did water and I did get that horrible sinking feeling in my stomach every time I stepped out of my room into the common areas but I did not blubber, all snotty and sobbing out loud, like I did the first time they left  That was due in part to the fact that I had planned ahead and arranged for my nephews to spend the night so they would be there in the morning when they left and I would not have the freedom to weep like a Jew at the wailing wall. Instead, I got them ready and went to have breakfast with my sister. That took care of my morning and, in the spirit of planning ahead, I had made plans with two different friends for the afternoon and evening as I knew staying at home would only depress me more. Unfortunately, the afternoon friend, which you all know as Preggo, had cancelled on me the day before as she had familial obligations. Thus, I had to return home, after breakfast with my sister, to the empty house and the first powerful pangs of loneliness.

I must say that the Old Man still lives with me but he is really a non-issue as I don't have a relationship with him and because, other than the help he offers with the bills, he might as well be persona non grata. I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth. Plus, I am depressed so I have to cheer me up a little and being mean cheers me up. Anyway, you may be asking why I did not consider hanging out with the BF during that trying time but unfortunately he was out of town on business so I had to find solace elsewhere. Not that he wasn't there, mind you, as we had several conversations on the phone which could have gone better since I am a real smart ass when I am in a bad mood. Since Preggo cancelled on me for the afternoon, I settled down to nap and watch some TV until it was time for my evening plans. Around four I get a message in which my friend informs me she is not feeling well and that she is taking a nap and will contact me when she wakes up. We had made plans to have dinner so I figured I would have a snack to tide me over until she woke up. When the little hand on the clock hit eight and I still hadn't heard from her, I decided I should have dinner as it was impractical to wait any longer (i.e. I was too hungry to wait any more). I was already stressed because I had not heard if my parents had made it to El Paso safely and my plans being cancelled just didn't help the situation. My parents were traveling without a cell phone, since Dad's cell was from his work and he had to give it back and Medea left her cell for Younger to use, so I had called the aunt at whose house they were going to arrive and had asked that they give me a call when they made it there. According to my calculations, they should have arrived at six and it was already eight and I still had not heard from them. It was obvious to me at that time that the situation clearly called for some wine.

I got in my car to drive to the store. As I was driving, I called Sister to see if she had heard from the parents. She informed me that they had gotten to the Aunt's house about an hour ago and that they had called her to let her know. When I mentioned that they hadn't called me, Sister said that she was about to send me a text when I called. This bothered me more than it probably should have but she had talked to Medea about an hour ago and she hadn't bothered to text me yet. Also, was I really supposed to believe that she had picked up her phone to text me when it suddenly rang because I was calling? Now, I believe in synchronicity but, considering that she uses that excuse a lot, her claim just did not ring true to me. I was glad the parents had made it safely but I was upset that they had not bothered to notify me and that Sister was so indifferent and lax in letting me know as well. On top of that, I got a text from my friend saying that she had just woken up. This just made me mad because it seemed inconsiderate to take a four hour nap when someone is waiting for you to have dinner. Don't they realize that I need to eat and that the world revolves around me? Finally, I was so upset that I called the BF to vent a little but he was busy so the call went to voicemail. Now, there is nothing wrong with that. I knew he was out with friends but I already felt very alone because my parents left, plus I had two friends cancel on me, plus Sister was being stupidly callous so I ended up walking out of the store with this;

No, I did not drink all of them that night. It was not for lack of trying though.

That is eight bottles of wine, four Cabernets and four Merlots.. Considering that I was by myself, it seems a little bit like overkill. I must say that I did not spend that much money. The six with the similar label were three for ten dollars.  I was very shocked the minute I walked out of the store. I could not believe I had bought eight bottles of wine. That's a lot. It was kind of overwhelming as even I knew that was too much. I called the BF again and this time he answered. I told him that I had just bought eight bottles of wine and he asked if I was okay. I guess I wasn't, since I had just bought eight bottles of wine, but I could hear he was having a good time so I told him I was okay and that I would talk to him later. He said he would call back later. I drove back home and chilled the bottle with the blue label, it's a Merlot if you are wondering, while I had dinner. After I had finished my dinner, and just after I had poured my first wine of glass, the BF called. I told him I has just poured my first glass of chilled wine. He was surprised that I had chilled red wine since, apparently, you are not supposed to do that. I figured it was my wine so I could chill it if I wanted to. I am not going into details about our conversation but I was in a bad mood and was very mean. I did catch myself though so I took a minute to change my frame of mind and apologized to him before we hung up and he went to bed. I still felt bad the next morning so I made sure to apologize again the next time I talked to him. I have learned that it is possible to apologize too much, that's a story for a different time, but I felt this occasion warranted the extra apologies as I had been truly mean and was truly contrite.

The rest of the night was uneventful. I did however learn that three bottles of wine is my limit. I didn't really learn that that night though. I learned that the next morning when I woke up and I counted the bottles as the last thing I remember was finishing the second bottle. Don't judge me.  I am not an alcoholic. At least, I don't think I am.  Plus, I drank while in the safety of my own house, remember it's not a home it's a house, instead of driving all over the place so I'm not that irresponsible. Besides, I spent the whole next day taking a 6 hour long bath while reading, I had to catch up on my book club and I was several chapters behind, and I only had two glasses of wine that time.  I want to say the wine helped but the house still feels pretty empty and, unfortunately, I cannot be drunk 24/7. I know it will take about a week before I get used to the parents not being there again, it's just that it's a very crappy week until that happens. Also, I did receive a text from Medea last night that they made it safely all the way to their house in Mexico so at least I don't have to worry about them driving anymore. It still baffles me that they think I am a bad and uncaring son but I guess they don't see how badly I feel every time they leave. Then again, I am twenty-nine years old already so it may be time to cut the umbilical cord. Or I could wait until I am thirty. Yes, that sounds better. I will wait til next year.

A Love Letter to Arrested Development

Back in the year 2005, I was a poor college student living with his parents at his sister's house. I was working at Mardel at the time and had not yet fully come to terms with being gay. I am not implying that the former caused the latter but there was definitely a correlation since I was still deeply religious at that point. In fact, one of the reasons why I first applied to work at Mardel was because they closed early on Wednesdays and were closed on Sundays so people had a chance to attend church. Being so devout did have its caveats though. It hindered my accepting myself for a couple of years. I had known I was gay for a while and had been fighting occasional bouts of depression for a few years. Around this time, I stopped reading as much and delved much deeper into my TV addiction. Granted, I haven't watched TV in its traditional sense in a long time. I always either stream content online or wait til shows come out on DVD and watch entire seasons at once. 2005 was a few years before Netflix became relevant so streaming was not a practical way to watch shows for me. However, there was this chain of video rental stores called Blockbuster, you may not remember them but they used to be huge back in the day, which fed my addiction before the Netflix days. Blockbuster had this membership program where you could rent as many movies as you wanted for a flat fee every month. I took full advantage of this offer and soon found myself wandering the aisles in search of something to rent that seemed entertaining.

They say you always remember the details of important times of your life. Unfortunately, I think that is a bunch of b.s. I don't remember much about that day. I remember I picked the first disc of the first season of Arrested Development because the cover looked interesting. I was so tired of picking up stuff that turned out to be boring duds that I did not have much hope for it. I drove home went into my room and popped the disc in the DVD player. I went to the episode menu and was annoyed to find two versions of the pilot: the regular version that aired and the extended version. I believe human beings like to have choices. I also believe that too many choices make people unhappy. At least, they make me unhappy. I decided for the extended version, which would seem normal to me as I had no frame of reference since I did not know the aired version, and plopped myself down on the bed half-expecting to fall asleep out of boredom.

That was the beginning of a love affair that has lasted eight years and has even survived the cancellation of the show seven years ago. The show captured my attention with "Breakfast." It made me giggle like a schoolgirl with "Ten cents gets you nuts." It made me relate to Tobias when he said, "No. No, I am not gay, Lindsay. How many times must we...?" It brought a tear to my eye when Buster declared that "obviously, the blue part on the map is land." And, I was hooked when I saw my first ever "On the next Arrested Development..." which held promises that were not always fulfilled. It used a full arsenal of tricks, I'm sorry, illusions, to draw me in even further and make me lose myself for two seasons in the convoluted world of the Bluth family.

One of the biggest regrets in my life was never watching the show while it was still on the air. Although I found out about it while it was still airing, I was unaware of that and just looked forward to the time the next season would be released on DVD. Little did I know that, because of a lack in ratings, that season would only contain thirteen episodes and would be its last.

Since its cancellation, I have watched all three seasons at least once a year. I bought "The Final Countdown,"  not because it is a great song, but because it is the one Gob plays while performing his illusions. I have watched all the episodes that have a commentary track and wondered why they even called it a commentary if they hardly ever reference the episode. I have teared up, not to say cried, every time I watch the last episode on the Queen Mary. I would often recite most of it as it played to the point that my parents started questioning my sanity for watching the same thing over and over again. But it was not me that was crazy, it was the people at Fox that had cancelled the show that were crazy. I soon found out that there was a huge and growing following of people who had discovered and appreciated the greatness that is Arrested Development. I signed so many online petitions to bring the show back and this weekend, this weekend it all pays off my friends. Arrested Development is coming back. A new season will be debuting on Netflix on Sunday, May 26.

I am giddy with anticipation. I have re-watched all three seasons in order for it to be fresh on my mind and not miss a single callback which they are sure to include for their devoted followers. I am even making BF watch all three seasons before Sunday (it is now Friday and he just started the third season), even though he does not really love the show the way I do. Then again, not many people love the show the way I do. I even went out and bought me this shirt someone told me they were selling at Target,

I made sure the size is not shown on the picture because I was not comfortable disclosing it. My obsession with Arrested Development though is fair game.

Yes, I plan on wearing that shirt all day Sunday. For the rest of the weekend, I will be wearing a t-shirt given to me by an old friend which features one of Matisse's blue nudes as Tobias in his never-nude cut-offs and blue man group paint. I am making this an Arrested Development weekend, not to offend anyone who takes Memorial Day seriously. Honestly, Memorial Day enthusiasts should just let me have this one. They get to celebrate Memorial Day every year but Arrested Development only rises from its own Phoenix ashes once in a lifetime.

I can hardly wait for the new episodes. Will I be disappointed? Maeby. Does it matter? No. Yes, Arrested Development is a great show. No, it may not be the best show ever for everyone else. For me, though, it was the show that made me laugh out loud during a very dark time in my life. It was the show that, for a moment, made me forget the hell that I was living through. I sat down to watch it that first time expecting to be disappointed but Arrested Development, with its witty sarcasm and dark humor, reminded me that there were things in life that I liked. It pointed out that my own tendency towards dark comedy was okay and that being different was okay. It showed me a family of misfits that still cared for each other and made me care for them at a time when I barely even cared about myself. It's for that reason, along with the show's great qualities of course, that Arrested Development will always be the best show for me. So, with a tear in my eye and a glimmer of hope and anticipation I say, "Welcome back, Arrested Development. It's been too long."

According to Dottie, I Am a Whiny Little Bitch

I am not sure what my stance has been on swearing on this blog. This is at the front of my mind considering what the title of this post is and because I will have to use the word "bitch" at least a few times during this post. I do know my regular stance on cursing. I do not believe words are inherently good or bad but that it is our usage of them that assigns them a moral connotation. That is, however interesting for me, not relevant. I looked through the settings to see if there is anything that would indicate that this blog contains profanity but the only option I saw was one that asked if it contained adult material. I don't consider curse words adult material so I chose the "no" option. Thus, it will be up to your discretion whether this blog is appropriate for you and yours. I will not use profanity lightly but I do believe it has a place in our culture and, in instances where it is relevant to the story, I will not shy away from its usage.

All that will come later though. First, I want to keep talking about the wonderful weekend I had. Why was it wonderful? Well, it's mostly because of a single person, the BF. It all started Saturday when I arrived at his house so we could ride together to the wedding. We had not seen each other in two weeks because he travels a lot for work and, even though he had been in town the previous weekend, I had been sick and was unable to meet up with him. I got to his house and he was ready. This is important for two reasons. First, it shows that he is dependable to be on time. Second, it shows that I was running late and thus am not dependable to be on time. When I walked into his house, he announced he had something for me and unceremoniously presented me with this;

Note that the patriotic motif was the BF's and not mine as I consider patriotism to be a granfalloon.

That star-spangled emblazoned key that he gifted me grants me access to his house. I must say that I was moved by the gesture. Especially since earlier in the week, two days earlier to be exact, I was talking to Preggo about how I am a horrible boyfriend since the BF had asked me to help him put out his trash on collection day since he was out of town and I had forgotten. Twice. I had forgotten two weeks in a row. I told her that, in my defense, I had asked the BF to remind me and he had not done so because I was sick. I still felt bad about it, though. I also told her that I did not know where his trash cans were. Preggo asked me if I did not have a key to his house. I replied that I didn't and that I wasn't sure when and if I would get one. Cut to two days later and he is giving me a key, however gaudy, to his place. That right there put me in a good mood.

I was nervous about the wedding as the BF hadn't really ever seen me in a social situation. Plus, I was planning on drinking and he had not, and still has not, seen me drunk. I am taking it one day at a time. After all, easy does it. First things first, I want him to get to know me before I can scare him away with drunken antics. For those of you who noticed; yes, I used three of the slogans used by AA to refer to my drinking. Thank you for noticing as I only knew two and had to look up a third. It was hard work and I hope it pays off. If you read last week's post, then you are aware that there was an hour wait before the ceremony began and that I get antsy easily. I kind of felt bad for the BF because, when bored, I become very childish and immature. I went as far as to send him a text, even though he was sitting right next to me, asking him to entertain me. When he responded, I replied with a text saying that I was busy and would text him later. I found that funny. I also kept asking if I could go get some water and I even started making up illnesses, i.e. fever and stomachache, to see if he would let me go for a walk. He was unyielding and I had to sit there for the whole hour and I was not too happy about that.

As I may have mentioned in last week's post, I don't remember and I am too lazy to go back and re-read the post to make sure, I knew more people at the wedding than I expected to know. Therefore, at times I felt like I was neglecting the BF. I apologized to him in case I did while we were driving back to his place and asked if he had fun and if I had embarrassed him much. He said he had fun and that he had only been embarrassed when the honeydew incident happened. I would explain the honeydew incident but, if you haven't read last week's post, maybe this will serve as incentive for you to go back and read it. The BF did point out though that he was surprised at the ease with which I talked to people that I had told him that I strongly disliked, not to say hated. I had told him in the past that I was a very good hypocrite but he had never seen me in action. He also said that he was surprised that I introduced him as my boyfriend. I explained to him that there were two reasons for that. The first was that this was an event attended by people who were not my family, they were co-workers and friends, and therefore knew that I was gay so I felt comfortable presenting him as my boyfriend. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I wanted to make sure the co-workers knew who he was. If you remember, he had bailed out on me once for a co-worker event and they had taken to calling him "the imaginary boyfriend," implying that I had made him up. I had to put a stop to that and show them that he was real so it was almost a requirement to introduce him as my boyfriend.

When we were getting close to his place, we noticed that a cop was driving behind us and, about a block and a half from the BF's house, he pulled us over. It was very entertaining because the BF freaked out. See, I have failed to mention that he has been having problems with some back pain. To alleviate the pain, he has been taking over the counter medication. He is not a fan of "western medicine," as he calls it, and follows the instructions on the labels to the letter. At the wedding, even though I had many glasses of wine, he only had one glass of wine and nursed it all night long. I thought he'd had two glasses and kept telling him he'd be okay to get a third. I came to find out, while the cop is checking out his license in the patrol car, that the BF was relieved that he had only had one which is a lot fewer than I had. I mean, when the cop asked if we had been drinking, I gleefully raised my hand and cheerfully announced that I had, at which point the BF just pointed at me and said that he had been the DD (designated driver for those not in the know).  Luckily, the BF only got a warning since the reason we were pulled over was because one of his headlights was out. He was still freaking out about it though and I had to explain to him that a warning was nothing more than the cop justifying his time by explaining that he had pulled over someone with a headlight out.

I know you're thinking that everything so far sounds perfectly pleasant and you would be right. We got to his place, had a few more glasses of wine and went to bed. It was the events of the next morning that are alluded to in the title. As I mentioned before, the BF travels for work sometimes. He had just gotten back on Friday and he was flying out again on Monday so I knew he had errands to run. I also knew that he had to meet a friend of his at ten thirty in the morning and would be occupied for the rest of the day. Now, I am not a morning person. I used to be. When I was a senior in high school, I would get up at six in the morning every day even though I did not start getting ready for school until seven. It has been a long time since then and I have become more of a night owl. The BF, on the other hand, considers getting up at six thirty sleeping in. So, he got up at his usual early time and I decided to get up with him as I would not see him for two weeks once he left to meet his friend. We got up and had some coffee. I then suggested going somewhere for breakfast but he said he had to do some things first before he left the house. Apparently, I still looked very sleepy because he added that I should just go back to bed and take a nap/finish sleeping. I was tired so I went back to bed and promptly fell asleep. I felt him moving around the room a few times and considered getting up but I was very sleepy. Plus, it felt like I had only been in bed a few minutes every time I heard him and woke up. When I finally decided to get up, I looked at the clock and it was ten fifteen. I must explain here that along with not being a morning person, it takes me a while to fully wake up and become the wonderful person that people know and love. Point in case, if my sister ever happens to wake me up when she calls me, she knows to hang up and wait for me to call her back in about ten minutes or the conversation won't go well as I will be very upset for no reason. Okay, keep that in mind as I tell you what happened.

I woke up and saw what time it was and had this sinking feeling in my stomach that the BF had left without saying good bye. I stumbled groggily to the kitchen and looked out the window to find his truck was gone. I am not going to say I was mad, but I was upset. I wasn't going to get to see him for two weeks so, in my head, he should have woken me up to say good bye. Because I was upset, I got dressed very quickly, grabbed my stuff and went to my car. Once I was in my car, I called him. He answered in a very happy tone and asked me how my morning was going to which I very drily replied with a simple statement. "You left." He did not say anything to that so I added that he left and that he hadn't said good bye. He said that he did not want to wake me and I told him that he should have. He then asked if I had eaten the breakfast he had left for me in the fridge. I told him that I hadn't opened the fridge because I left as soon as I found out he was gone. He informed me that he had gone out that morning and purchased some stuff for breakfast and left it for me in the fridge and told me to go back inside to get it. I told him I was already down the road and did not feel like turning back. At that point, he arrived at his friend's place to pick him up so he had to let me go and we hung up. I thought about the fact that he had bought me breakfast and that it was a nice gesture but I was still upset that he had not woken me up before he left. A few minutes later, while I was still driving back to my place, he called me and asked me not to be upset. I said that I wasn't upset but that I was sad that he hadn't said goodbye. He then asked if I had seen the note he left me. Apparently, he had left a note for me on the floor in the entrance from the bedroom hall to the living room. I saw a piece of paper in the ground but I figured he'd dropped something and did not pick it up and read it because I did not want to be nosy. He had actually written two notes as he had left one when he went to buy breakfast, in case I woke up then, and he left one when he left to do what he needed to do. When he told me that, I knew I was being difficult, but I still felt a little slighted.

After we hung up, I called my friend Hillary so she could tell me that I was wrong. Unfortunately, she did not answer. I decided to call Dottie then since I needed someone to tell me I was being spoiled and stupid. I knew I was wrong on some level, but I was not fully awake and I needed someone to set me straight. Fortunately, she did. After hearing what had happened, she said;

"Carlos, get over yourself. He was trying to be considerate so stop whining like a little bitch."

When I articulated my surprised over being called a "little bitch", she responded;

"I meant to say "big bitch" but figured it would be nicer to use "little" instead. You need to apologize to him though."

As much as I respect Dottie and her no-nonsense approach, and because I wasn't fully awake yet, I took her advice with a grain of salt because I still felt my point had some validity to it. When I talked to the BF later that day, I did apologize and explained that I was not fully awake when I talked to him and thanked him for being so considerate. He asked me if I was mad and I reassured him that I wasn't so everything worked out in the end.

However, the next day, still trying to find a leg to stand on, I decided to share what had happened with Preggo and some other co-workers. This did not work out to my advantage. Among the many things that they told me, I was instructed to make it up to the BF for the way I had behaved and was told that I needed to appreciate having such a wonderful person in my life that is willing to put up with all my b.s. I talked to the BF about it that evening and told him what I had been told and that, although I was not gonna make it up to him as I still think I had a little bit of reason for acting like I did, I was apologizing one more time. He deserved at least that and that was as far as I was willing to go.

I guess the whole point of this post is to acknowledge that I have it very good with the BF and I should be thankful for him. Yes, he does not understand sarcasm and most of my jokes fly right over his head, but he more than makes up for it by being so caring and considerate. Also, he told me to write something good about him as he felt I was being too mean. So... here it is. I said something nice. Take a picture (screenshot) of it because it doesn't happen often. On a serious note, I am glad to have the BF in my life and I hope to have many more stories to share with you all about him.

Apparently, My Wedding Etiquette Is Subpar

Last week, I tried to write a random post in order to have a back up in case of unforeseen illness in the future. Unfortunately, my record for writing random posts clearly shows that I am incapable of doing so, or, at the very least, doing so in an entertaining manner. I still have the failed attempt saved and I may use it if I ever am in dire need of content to publish. You will recognize it by its title, "This May Be an Exercise in Futility." Luckily, I will not be posting that this week as I had a very eventful weekend. I am thinking I can actually get two posts out of it. For one, it will help me have content to write about for two weeks. Secondly, splitting the weekend into two will help me have two shorter posts instead of a very long one which should help with those who complain that my posts are too long. I am, of course, talking about the BF even though I am not even sure he reads this. Thirdly, concentrating on one topic may help make the article more focused instead of the convoluted mess it usually is. As the title to this post indicates, I will be concentrating on the events surrounding a wedding I attended Saturday.

I have known this wedding was coming up for some time, as evidenced by the fact that I mentioned it in the last post. This may have something to do with the fact that I have known the bride for about eight years and that I currently work with her. I have known the bride, let's call her Nikki, since before she started dating her now-husband. I mention this to establish how long we have known each other and hoping it explains some of what happened at the wedding.

The first problem I had with the wedding, and no it was not that gay people can't get married yet, was that Nikki explicitly told me I could not wear jeans. The last two weddings I attended, one of which she attended with me, I wore jeans. They were nice jeans that I dressed up with a button-up shirt and a vest so it did not look bad. However, this time she explicitly told me no jeans. I must add that there was a guy at the wedding that wore cargo pants and a polo shirt so jeans would have looked a lot better and a lot less sloppy than that. I ended up wearing just slacks and a black shirt with a tie that I bought the day before because I did not like any of the ones I had. I looked ok, but was not totally satisfied with the end result. At this point I will interject that I know I had talked about taking a picture at the wedding but I was not about to take a picture when I was not truly satisfied with my attire. At one point I noticed that everyone was taking pictures with the bride and I had to ask if that was a requirement because I really did not need that wardrobe choice to be saved for posterity. Needless to say, I did not take a picture with the bride. I figured I did not want one and she already had too many so she wouldn't miss it.

Because I have known the happy couple (that just sounds cliche, doesn't it?) for a long time, it turns out that I knew a lot of the people at the wedding. I had dragged the BF along so that I would not be by myself and in the end I felt like I neglected him as I kept running into people I knew and talking to them, whether I liked them or not. I talked a lot that evening. I talked from the minute we sat down for the ceremony til the minute I climbed into the passenger seat of BF's truck. It wasn't all my fault though. I had to talk to keep myself entertained sometimes. For example, despite my better judgment and despite my Mexican upbringing that has taught me never to be on time for anything, we arrived at the wedding ten minutes early. Now, you may not know me, but ten minutes is a long time to wait for me. I am not impatient, at least I don't think I am, but I do get antsy easily and sitting still in a ceremony hall communicating in hushed whispers while trying to behave and not criticize people is not my idea of fun. Thus, I kept turning around to talk to people and asking how much longer it would be until the wedding started. The wedding was supposed to start at six o'clock but it did not start til ten minutes to seven. Now, if you remember that we got there ten minutes before the appointed time, that means that I had to sit and squirm for a whole hour. I am just saying that, despite my best intentions, I ended up criticizing some people and annoying others just to keep myself entertained for that long. Thankfully, the ceremony was short and we were served wine the minute we made it into the reception hall. I have said it before and I will say it again, wine makes everything better.

Finding a place to seat at the reception was also nerve racking. There were only six seats per table and there were more than six people I wanted to sit with. There was the co-worker group and the people I have met at previous parties. I ended up just sitting with the BF, two friends of the bride and two people I did not know. Thankfully, the people at the table did not find me annoying. I daresay that I was very entertaining but, as much as I like it, wine can be deceiving. If nothing else, I had a good time.

So far, except for the talking a lot, I felt like I was behaving in an appropriate manner. Unfortunately, I can't be trusted to behave for extended periods of time. Especially not when I am around people I feel comfortable with. Everyone was lining up for the buffet so me and the BF decided to go congratulate the newlyweds before lining up ourselves. When we got to their table, Nikki was talking to someone else so I said a quick congratulations to the groom while waiting. I thought about giving him a hug but I decided we were not that close. I probably did not need to tell him that aloud though but hindsight is 20/20.  While we were waiting, the servers brought the new couple their dinner plates. I would describe the dinner but that is not of consequence right now. What does warrant mentioning is that after saying congratulations to the bride, and informing her that I was not giving her a hug either because it was awkward, I mentioned that her plate looked good. You may know where this is headed but don't get ahead of me. I will get there. So, I mentioned that her plate looked good and she asked me, politely, if I wanted to try anything. I found this a bit odd but we have shared whataburger egg taquitos after a night of drinking so it did not seem too inappropriate. Still, I declined by saying that I would just get in line and get my own plate. I guess that should have been the end of that but she asked me if I was sure and told me that I could try something if I wanted to. At that point, I looked around her plate to really ascertain myself of its contents. Even I knew that it would be inappropriate for me to take the piece of chicken from her place but I noticed that on the side there was a piece of honeydew melon. I told her that, if she didn't really mind, I would take the piece of honeydew. She told me to go for it... so I did. Upon clarifying that my hands were clean, I picked up that piece of melon and ate it only to look around and find that the BF had deserted me and that he and Dottie, one of my co-workers whom he'd just met, were standing in the buffet line pretending that they did not know who I was. I thanked the bride for the fruit and excused myself so I could stand in line and get my own plate but, apparently, I had crossed a line. I kind of understand that what I did may be considered inappropriate but the bride asked and shouldn't the bride get anything she asks for on her wedding day? That is why, even though the BF and Dottie acted as if they were embarrassed by my actions, I maintain that I did nothing wrong. Especially since I am not a particularly big fan of honeydew, I will eat it if it is there but I won't go out of my way for it, and I ate it because it was the least obtrusive item on her plate. See? I am a little bit considerate.

After we got out plates, we sat down to eat and dinner was fairly uneventful. I mean, I did at one point had a piece of chicken on my lap and had to use my napkin to clean the sauce from my shirt, but that was an accident. Accidents happen to everyone so I am not taking responsibility for that one either. After all, I was just sitting there trying to cut a piece of chicken off when all of a sudden it flies into me and lands in my lap. I don't like wasting food so I still ate it and then I cleaned my shirt off but I don't see how any of that is my fault. You may say that it's my fault for now knowing how to use cutlery properly. I think I do pretty well considering that, growing up in Mexico, we sometimes only used a tortilla to eat instead of cutlery. If anything, I should be offended that their wedding was not culturally inclusive as it discriminated against those that use tortillas as cutlery by not having any tortillas around. I may be on the losing side of this one too, though.

I am happy to report that the eating of the cake went off without a hitch. Also, even though I had a total of seven or eight glasses of wine, I only spilled a little bit of it on the tablecloth and it was only noticeable because I was drinking Merlot and the tablecloth was white. Speaking of wine, I learned that wine is not the best of beverages to try to drink while dancing. Me and Nicole have gone to clubs many times. We have danced with our drinks in our hand more times than we can count and we are very proud of the fact that we have never spilled a drink. Now, don't be scared, as our perfect record of unspilled drinks remains unbroken. When it was time to dance, I was going to leave my glass of wine on the table. However, I saw Nikki take her glass of beer onto the dance floor and, you know, when in Rome... They played two line dances. One was the wobble, which I don't know how to dance, and the k-wang, which Nikki and I had agreed we would dance at her wedding. I jumped in at the end of the wobble and as we were walking off the dance floor the k-wang started. The bride and I lined up on the dance floor and, although some people tried to join us, we pretty much danced the whole song by ourselves. This is when the wine became problematic. The k-wang is a line dance that does not have a lot of down time. I wanted to take a drink but the movement kept the wine away from my lips. To make matters worse, I would end up exhaling into the wineglass and spraying my face with wine. Having a face full of wine does not promote good dancing so I kept messing up the steps. Also, I wish I could say that I sprayed my face full of wine only once, but that would not be true. I did it at least three times. The more I danced, the more I wanted a drink and the more out of breath I was causing me to exhaled more and spray more wine in my face which made me really want a drink thus becoming a vicious cycle. The good thing about the whole situation was that, even though I kept missing steps, everyone thought we did really well because no one else knew the dance. That is the benefit of practicing beforehand.

The rest of the wedding went of without a hitch. Especially since the bride and groom got "hitched" at the beginning of the wedding so the "hitch" was already done. I am sorry for the horrible pun but I could not help myself. If I could have stopped myself from typing that, I would have. After the line dancing, I went over to the table, wiped my face clean with my napkin, polished off my glass of wine and returned to the dance floor unburdened by any liquids. Having taking care of that, dancing went more smoothly and was more fun. There were no more inappropriate shenanigans that I can think of. Still, even with the few mishaps I have mentioned, I think it was a fairly successful wedding and I deem my behavior appropriate, if not stellar.

The wedding ended shortly after and we bid the newlyweds adieu. After that, I made sure to say hello and good bye to the bride's mother and to a few people I wanted to make sure I said hi to and me and the BF departed. We still had a long drive ahead of us and I would like to say that the drive went off without incident but that was not the case. However, that is fodder for another post.

Back From the Brink of Death With No New Knowledge to Show For It

It won't be apparent to you, dear reader, but it has been exactly two weeks since I wrote my last post. Thankfully, I had planned ahead and the staggering release of posts worked as planned so there will not be a week without a post. Why have I not written in two weeks? Have I done nothing new lately? Was I slacking and losing devotion to this blog again? How did Medea like her present? As the post title indicates, was I on the brink of death? And, most importantly, have I gotten a haircut yet? All of these answers, and more, shall be discussed on today's entry. Stay tuned.

So many things to talk about and yet I have so little space. I have already had people complain that my posts are too long, and by people I mean the BF, but brevity is not, has never been, and will never be my strong suit. Point in case, the previous sentence was unnecessarily lengthy and this sentence, which is doing nothing more than pointing out the obvious by focusing on the length of its predecessor, is not helping cut down my word count at all. In fact, that second sentence may have been longer than the first and thus it is definitely not helping me be more concise. I should end this paragraph right now. I think this paragraph is complete as it is. Yes, I quite like how pointless it is while at the same time making a point of the pointlessness of my writing.

Speaking of my writing, and more explicitly, of my editing, I feel I should apologize. As I said before, I wrote the last post over two weeks ago. Usually, I will write a post and revise, tweak, clean, and edit it a few days letter. Unfortunately, I was not able to do so with the last post and, upon reading it, found many simple mistakes that I cannot forgive myself for. However, I did enjoy reading the post. I know it is gross to be self-congratulatory but I thought it was a funny and entertaining post. Also, I got a comment from Anonymous and that is the first time I have gotten a comment on one of the posts since I started writing again. Getting that comment felt really good so I will overlook the mistakes this time. Especially since the reason I did not get a chance to edit it was because I was... on the brink of death.

Well, not really. I have been sick for about nine days now. I am feeling better so you can save your concern for people that really matter and that really need it. I appreciate if you were trying to be concerned but there is really no need. Thanks, though. After all, I don't think I was that ill.  It was just a cold/flu/allergies/strep throat kind of thing. What was it exactly? I don't know. I know that for the first 5 days I tried to get over it with just over the counter medication. I also know that over the counter medication was not enough. Luckily, right before I made my mind up about going to the doctor, I found some old antibiotics. Now, I am not going to admit online to self-prescribing old antibiotics in order to cure myself because I know better than that as I have been told the evils of self-medication and I am unclear on how legal it is. However, I feel better today than I did last week so praise whichever deity deigned do throw me a solid (that's still an expression, right? Because I am not sure where I picked that up from). Irregardless (I am unsure if "irregardless" is a word or not but I felt like using it) of why I am feeling better, I am just thankful that I am.  However, illness, and not a lack of devotion, did stop me from writing, or even editing, any posts so now I find myself needing to write a few posts in order to buck up my reserves once more in case of some unforeseen obstacle rearing its head in the future.

I had forgotten all about Medea's birthday until I read the stellar post (please allow me to indulge in self-adulation once more) I wrote about it. If I know you at all, which I probably don't as evidenced by the fact that the only person to ever comment since I started writing again was anonymous, you are dying to hear how the whole birthday celebration went down. Well, my sister bought a cake and I bought some wings and we had dinner. I, at one point which may or may not have been while singing Happy Birthday, uttered the words "happy birthday Medea." I am also happy to report that the hug situation was avoided and that my arms have not embraced my mother since December of last year after our fight when she stood there with her arms hanging listlessly at her side while I awkwardly clasped my arms around her bidding her adieu. So, all in all, it was a fairly successful evening. I feel I must point out, whether for the sake of the reader or for my own sanity or for posterity, that no acknowledgement was made of my gift and no thanks were given either verbally, orally or kinesically (by gesture or movement). However, this was expected so I am not too bitter about it. I would say I am just bitter enough.

The last two weeks have not been all bad though. I did go to my first bachelorette party ever. It was nothing to write home about. Fortunately, this is not home so I can write about it here. I feel I should have known it wouldn't be a good experience as I have a low tolerance for drunken women. This was exacerbated by the fact that I was wearing new shoes. Now, don't get me wrong, I love new shoes. I just wasn't expecting to be doing much walking and they are not quite broken-in yet. At the rate the breaking-in process is going, I am starting to think that shoes break-in feet instead of the other way around. I am not saying the night did not have its moments. Dancing was fun and my shoes were not killing me at all at that moment. The maid of honor fell while we were walking on the sidewalk and that provided me with a few minutes of hilarity after which my sadistic shoes reminded me of the painful reality that was walking in them. I also had the chance to have a drink with a leaf on it. Don't believe me. Fine, take a look for yourself.

I believe this drink qualifies as one of the 5 daily fruits and vegetables nutritionists recommend.

Boom, baby. You thought that it was gonna be a small leaf, didn't you? You were wrong. That is a... darn I forgot the name. The point is that is a martini made with cucumber vodka with chili powder on the rim and with, what I learned later was not a lettuce leaf, a big basil leaf in it. I must say that the leaf threw me off at first. That is until I realized that you did not have to eat it and could just drink the martini through the two straws without bothering with the leaf at all and everything was better. I must say that this was probably the highlight of the night. Other than that, driving a bunch of drunk women around, though I do it often enough, is not my idea of fun.

Lastly, because I have managed to answer all the questions I asked at the beginning of this post but this one, I will just say that I have gotten my haircut already. The reception has been lukewarm. The usual people have told me that they like my hair short and the BF told me that he liked my hair better when it was longer. When I accused him of not liking my haircut he stated, begrudgingly methinks, that he liked it but that he preferred it longer (insert "That's what she said!" joke in here). That was when I stopped talking to him for two minutes. I figured that was sufficient punishment for such a slight, and maybe even imaginary, transgression. You may be wondering, I will not assume to know you anymore since I established earlier that I didn't, why I haven't taken a recent picture then. Well, I have been sick and that is hardly the time to take a photograph of oneself. I have good news on that front though. I will be attending a wedding this weekend, yes it's the same bride from the bachelorette party so stop asking, and I hope to take at least one decent photograph so that I can update you on the continuing deterioration of my youth and looks. Thankfully, you don't read this for my looks or I would be screwed.

Mission accomplished. You are all caught up now. Feel free to commend me on how my picture-taking has improved as the picture of that drink up there is way better than the one of my mom's flowers. On top of that, I do believe this is a shorter post than some so maybe I am learning some brevity after all. I guess we'll have to wait and see what the future brings.

Fear and Loathing in a Target

Today is Medea's birthday. Not today as when you will be reading this but today as of when I am writing this. You probably won't read this for a few weeks. I am staggering the publishing of posts doing only one a week so that I can hopefully keep a constant stream of posts in the future. Anyway, per usual and as it is accustomed, me and Medea are not in the best of terms. She is still mad at me for the fight we had in Mexico. On top of that, she is now also mad at me for a recent fight her and my sister had and in which I dared stick my nose in. As I stated before, since she came back from Mexico in February she has been saying that she has "divorced" me and that she was no longer my mother. As of the second fight, we have apparently become even more disenfranchised. Now, I am supposed to think of her as is she were dead. These are her words, by the way. I have never said that she is dead to me. She is instructing me to think of her as being dead because I obviously don't care about her. Ironically, these instructions were given to me during the last fight we had which started with me offering to drive the ten hours to El Paso so that she wouldn't have to. The irony of that is lost to her. My dad had informed me a few days before the fight that they were planning to go back to Mexico on May eleventh and that they were planning on taking both the truck and the jeep. This meant that my mom would have to drive one of the cars for the whole trip. That's when I decided to offer to drive to El Paso in one car so they could ride together in the other. I like driving long distances and I figured this would work better for them. It was when I made my plans public to Medea that she let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was dead to me and then went on to tell me how much I have hurt her in the past and how much I don't care about her. She kept trying to drag me into an argument but I just kept reiterating that I was just offering to help. All in all I would say that it was a good talk. It could have gone worse although I am not sure what is worse than finding out that your mother is supposed to be dead. I am also worrying what she will say next time we have a fight. I mean, if she is supposed to already be dead to me, is the next step pretending that she never existed? And, if that's so and I am supposed to pretend she never existed, wouldn't that bring my whole existence into question? If she is not supposed to exist, how did I come to be? I am telling you she is deeper than even she realizes.

So, this brings me to Medea's birthday. Now, this is not the first time I have a hard time deciding what to do for her birthday. Her birthdays are always tricky. More often than not, we are either not talking or not completely happy with each other. Also, her birthday is only five weeks away from mine and that is never enough time to forget that she does nothing for my birthday, up to and including simply saying "happy birthday." Now, I know the Bible says to honor your parents (hell, it's even one of the commandments and the first one with the promise of a long life) which she is too fond of reminding me. But, what am I as an atheist to do? I mean, I don't know how long I want my days to be since there is a history of stroke and Alzheimer's in my family and I also have no land that my parents' Lord God hath given me. Still, I always feel like I have to do something. She did give birth to me and all, which coincidentally is another fact that she enjoys reminding me of constantly. Fortunately, this time things seem to have fallen into place serendipitously. This morning she woke up to this:

Do not focus on the very Mexican apples tablecloth or the plastic cover as that is all Medea's doing and does not reflect my decorating style at all.

Please forgive the picture quality but I was using the camera in my phone and I am a lousy picture taker, otherwise knows as photographer but I did not want to insult real photographers by inviting the comparison. What you see is a bad picture of some flowers in a vase and a card on top of a wireless keyboard and mouse. Except for the vase, which I borrowed from home, I bought all that for her birthday. As I said, it all just kind of happened and fell together of its own accord. I had decided a while back that my parents needed a wireless keyboard. They like watching their soaps online so they plug their laptop to their TV, but then they had to get up every time they needed to do a new search. I had looked it up online before and had found a cheap one, my parents cannot be trusted with expensive electronics, at Fry's. Well, I went out to dinner with BF yesterday at a very delicious Chinese restaurant. Seriously, it was very good. After dinner we had nothing to do so we decided to go to Fry's to get the keyboard, not thinking that today was Medea's birthday but because I wanted to get it for them before they went back to Mexico. On my way back from dropping BF at his place, I decided to stop by Target because they had Pepsi for sale and I usually stock up when soda goes on sale. When I walked in, I saw the flowers near the entrance and I thought that it would be nice for me to get Medea some flowers. I must point out that Medea is not a big fan of flowers, or chocolate, or jewelry. I figured that I could get the flowers since she did not like anything anyway. Then I made the mistake of deciding to get her a card. I had no idea that choosing a card would be such a herculean task. There was a section that was dedicated to birthday cards for mothers. I have never seen a stack of such sappy bullshit. It was downright disgusting. They all said stuff like "to the most wonderful person" or "you deserve the best" or "I love and cherish the time we spend together" and I knew I couldn't get those because it would not be fair to lie to Medea in writing on her birthday. Obviously, she is not the most wonderful person and she may not deserve the best. I can tell you that there is an untapped market of birthday cards for people that have tepid relationships with their mothers. I went over to the funny card section and there was one that I liked but figured it might be inappropriate. It featured a horsie piñata in a therapist's couch saying something along the lines of "and the worst part is that I kind of enjoy it when they hit me." The inside said something boring like "go out and have a punchingly good time on your birthday" or something like that. To be honest, the inside sucked. I liked the card though because of how much abuse Medea says she always takes from me. I wanted to write something inside along the lines of "thanks for always being there for me, even if it's just as a punching bag or piñata." See what I did there? This would turn the piñata in the cover into Medea and that is fitting because of two things. First, she is always saying that we just abuse her. But, secondly, and most importantly, Medea is way overdue for a visit with a therapist. I figured the card might give her some ideas and she may seek out professional counseling on her own. I decided that, as great as that idea was and the fact that it depicted her idea of our relationship perfectly, she may be offended by it. All this to say that I did not buy it. I ended up buying a generic card that just said something like "best wishes" or whatever on it. Yes, I was that thrilled about it.

I know that, so far, it doesn't seem like I had such a bad time at Target and that I misled you on the title.  Fear not for I have yet to lie to you. Although the piñata card was enjoyable and made the card experience bearable, that was only about two minutes of the whole hour I probably spent at the card display area. All of that wasted time to get a crappy generic card whose only advantage was that it was cheaper than all the other ones and it did not make me want to puke while reading it. Yes, I may have issues. Moving on, I went back to the flowers after that. I know enough about Medea to know what her favorite flower is. I am not telling you though because it is the same as my favorite flower and I don't want to share that because I am not an open book. I may be an open window on a computer screen, but I am not an open book. Needless to say, but I will say it nevertheless, they did not have her favorite type of flower. They had tulips for six bucks, some flowers I did not know for fifteen bucks, and some roses for twenty. I naturally wanted to go for the tulips because; a)she does not like flowers, b)I did not want to spend so much, c)if I spent too much money and she found out she would berate me for not being careful with my money. I could not make up my mind so I decided to go looking for a vase to see if that would help me make a decision. I don't know if Target sells many vases or if there is a vase section. I only found one aisle with some less than stellar vases. I picked one that I thought would work and then headed back to the flowers. I still couldn't make up my mind but decided against the tulips because I did not want people to think I was cheap. I ended up picking up one of the fifteen dollar flowers and headed straight to the register before I could change my mind. By this time there was only one register open and there was a lady in front of me that had a full cart. She was not even done unloading her cart when I decided that the vase did not work anymore. I left the checkout line, there were already two people behind me and I hated losing my spot. I walked all the way back to the aisle with the vases and put it back. I looked around a bit more but could not find something that looked appropriate so I decided to just buy the flowers sans vase. I headed back to the register. By this time I had already been in the store for about ninety minutes. I was pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel, I had to have a cart for the soda which was the whole reason I went to Target in the first place, and with every step and every squeak of the wheel I hated myself a little more. The whole endeavor was torturous. I was afraid she would not like what I had. I hated being so indecisive. I hated that the cards were all tacky and disgusting. Mostly, I hated myself for taking so much time to do something which I kept pretending I didn't care for and which, even though it took me very long to put together, would look like a last minute afterthought.

While I was driving home, I decided to incorporate the keyboard and mouse as part of her present. I must say once I got home everything went a lot smoother. I found a vase I cut the flowers and poured most of the little packet of powder into the vase (some of it may have inadvertently ended up on my bed). I translated the card and signed it and I set everything on the table for her to find in the morning. Today, everything had been moved to make room for people to eat, I guess. I don't know if she will acknowledge it or what will happen. I still have to say "happy birthday" to her but, with luck, I will not have to give her a hug as the thought of it makes me cringe inwardly. Not a big cringe, mind you, but enough for me to be dreading the situation. We are not a very touchy-feely type of people. At least Medea is not and I learned from the best.