The Things You Always Do

The song I posted on the last blog is one I just heard last week and loved immediately.

Sorry I haven't posted since then.

My mother knows me so very well. This morning, she said to me "I brought you breakfast." Breakfast came in a Portillos bag. Breakfast was a greasy, delicious Italian Beef/Sausage combo. Not very many people can stomach such a massive meal so early in the morning, but heart-attacks on a plate are what tickle my palate's fancy.

I like that she knew that about me. I like the little habits and quirks that we know about each other simply because we spend that much time together.

I like knowing that Jess is home because I hear her stomping all the way upstairs. I like how I know that daddy falls asleep at approximately the same time every evening while watching soccer or a movie- or how he knows which days I shouldn't park on certain sides of the street because of street sweep. We live on a corner, so we have to watch out about parking on a few streets.

My phone rings incessantly in the morning. LORD only knows who calls THAT much THAT early in the morning because you can bet your ass I don't get up to answer. My family already knows how much I love to sleep.

Well, off I go to find something to drink. Preferably, something unhealthy.

Leave me some comments about the quirks and habits of your loved ones.

"SHE DON'T TELL ME TO"

Every now and then, on my way home, I stop at a spot where the wild flowers grow, an' I pick a few...
'Cause she don't tell me to.

I go out with my boys all right,
But most of the time I call it a night before they do,
'Cause she don't tell me to.

Sunday mornin', I'm in church-
And my butt, and my back, and necktie hurt, but I'm in the pew,
She don't tell me to.

Any other woman I know would have tried to control me and it would be over-
Plannin' on my goin' on my own way attitude.
All of that stubborness melts away when I wake with her head on my shoulder,
An' I know I've got to love her until my life is through,
'Cause she don't tell me to.

Well, I got demons and I've got pride
But when I'm wrong, I apologize like she's mine to lose
'Cause she don't tell me to.

Well, I got dreams in this heart of mine, But nothin' that I wouldn't lay aside if she asked me to.
'Cause she don't tell me to.

An' she don't even know that she keeps me lookin' for the next right thing to do-
'Cause she don't tell me to.

Any other woman I know would have tried to control me and it would be over. Plannin' on my goin' on my own way attitude.
And all of that stubborness melts away when I wake with her head on my shoulder.

And I know I've got to love her until my life is through
What else can I do?
I love her...
'Cause she don't tell me to. She don't tell me to.

Every now an' then, on my way home, I stop at a spot where the wild flowers grow, and I pick a few, Yes I do.

BY: MONTGOMERY GENTRY

Taking A Dive

Daddy came home last night. I missed him and I was eager to hear his stories, and I was eager to know if he brought back my guitar.

Well, I was so freakin eager, that on my way down the stairs to the living room to the front door...I missed about 2 or three steps and went flying into the living room, twisting my right ankle in a way that caused such immense pain, I had enough time to think that maybe ankle twisting is how they should punish criminals. No offense, Dril, my Turkish reader, but I'm just sayin'.

My sister Boner got to see it all and as I was laying there on the floor screaming, I heard her trying not to laugh. I wasn't mad- it WAS pretty funny.

But, here I sit, 15 hours later with a swollen, possibly sprained ankle.
Funny how I thought it was symbolic....me having fallen. That's how I've felt these past few days, as if I had taken a painful dive, face-first.

Before I get too sentimental about that, I'm going to tell you one of my dad's stories.

Daddy essentially went to visit my grandmother (his mother) who has a severe case of Alzheimers, who has been living with the pain of having lost her spouse (my grandpappy, Ramon) about 4 years ago.

One of the nights that he was there, he decided to sleep next to my grandmother, who had already fallen asleep. He said that when he lay down next to her, she didn't stir, she was fast asleep. However, a few hours later, he heard her wake.

She touched his face in the dark, she touched his ears, his hair, sat up, and asked:
"Eres Ramon?" ::translation:: "Are you Ramon?"

My dad told her it was her son.

Tears. She cried the rest of the night. I guess the sweet gesture of sleeping next to his momma while he still had her turned out all wrong for my pop, and I felt so bad for him.

He always comes home with heart-touching stories. Daddy's pretty deep, but no one really knows it. I am starting to see that he is where I get that from. What I got from my mom is being outwardly over-emotional, and IT SUCKS! I think I scare people sometimes. But depth....I'll take depth anytime.

p.s. Daddy came through and brought me back a BEAUTIFUL acoustic guitar of which I will post pictures later.

QOTD
"Yay, a message!! And it BETTER be from someone attractive."
-Jeremy-

"It was as if he had found the cure for cancer...or gained two inches on his penis and lost two on his stomach."
-Jeremy-

Alaina's Mom: Oh my God! I'm 45! I'm middle-aged, I should start knitting or something!

Alaina: You don't knit!

Alaina's Mom: Well now I have to!

bonerbonerbonerboner

You know the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt?
Well my mother made me laugh THAT hard tonight.

We were on our way out of the airport where we had just blown kisses and waved goodbye to daddy.

Outside, I say to my sister, whom I call boner, "I wonder if mom knows what a boner is." My mother primarily speaks spanish, but knows enough english to bullshit with you. So my sister, Boner, turns to my mother and says: "Mom, say boner."

From that moment on, I was laughing uncontrollably. All through the parking lot to our truck my mother kept saying "boner" repeatedly.

Upon entering the car, my mother then asks me "So, Nen, que es boner?"

That just made me laugh harder- to the point where I had to exit the vehicle.

"Mom pleeaaase stop!!" No dice.

I had to go outside because my stomach hurt so much, I was laughing that hard. So, I make the mistake of opening the door. Why was it a mistake, Nen? Because all I heard was my mom going: "bonerbonerbonerboner."

I slam the car door shut, and by this time, I am cackling outside, and passers-by will never know that it was because my sister made my mother say a dirty word.

Finally, I composed myself and found the strength to get back in the car.

I get in and of course she says boner again.

"Mom, seriously, do you know what you're saying?!"

"HahahahHahhah!!! Si, es un pajaro parado." ::Translation:: "hahahhahaha, yes, it's an erect wanker."

SHE KNEW IT ALLL ALONG, THAT LITTLE TWIRP.

Anyway, BONER.

QOTD
"I told you how to scratch a scrotum, right?"
-Edgar-

"I'm trying to keep a constant stream of wakey-wakey."
-Edgar-

"Nen, why don't you lock your doors? Anyone can jump in and kill your ass. You know negroes have a habit of doing that, right?"
-Randy-

I Had The Only Real Boobs In The Place

Really, I did. Granted, they're small, but they're real.

This past week, I accompanied Edgar to his boss' birthday party.

The boss was a trip and a half, man. What makes him so trippy?
Well, he had 6 of his ex-girlfriends there, and put two of them to work as bartenders. That, my friends, deserves an "LOL" as the kids like to say these days.

Anyway, as I looked around, I saw asses that had to have been forklifted into dresses and boobs that were carelessly...or, rather, purposely hanging out of tops. I realized that I had sauntered into "gold-digger" county. I now understand Mr. West. Completely. I mean, you should have seen the ears and boobs perk up when it was announced that one of the men there was a lawyer.

The party was fun, though, even if we were stuck listening to the musical stylings of KISS.

I realized tonight how much I missed my pal Jeremy at work. We all hung out tonight and I haven't laughed that hard in so long. He even let me take a picture of him with his pants down. I'll consider posting it up later, depending on how many of you approve of that in the comment section.

QOTD
"Hurry- mom's killin' us with her jokes."
-Cindy-

"I'm way better at thrusting."
-Jeremy-

My First Time

Instead of turning left onto Maple tonight, I turned right towards 31st street and made my way to Yorktown theater after work.
I decided to try something new tonight.

I went to go see Woody Allen's Match Point. Alone.

It was the best movie-going experience ever and I would SO do it again.

I've heard it said that going to the movies alone is enjoyable, but I always thought it was kind of lame, and who knows, it might be, but then if that's the case, I'm lame.

It really truly is enjoyable. Walking into the theater by myself was a little awkward, but once I staked out my little corner in the back, I knew this could become my new thing.

The movie itself was WACKED out and if you want to witness how horrible married adults can be, go see it. I only had a very vague idea as to what the flick was about, so when I saw the whole thing, I was blown away by the atrocities that people commit but never own up to. Crazy director, what did I expect?

Anywho, I won't ruin the movie. That skank Scarlett Johansson stars in it. She annoyed me in this movie....actually, all of the characters did, except for one, and he had a minor role.

So, in summation, my first time to the movies alone = TWO THUMBS UP.

The movie itself = I have a headache (Seriously, I do) but it was worth the $8.50 (God bless student discounts.)

QOTD
"I hate doing favors for women I'm not sleeping with."
-Jeremy-

"I'm still waiting for an erection from Sarge from that Viagra I gave him...::Giggles:: I can't see it!"
-My Boss, kinda drunk, talking about my manager, Greg-

"People should just date according to their disease."
-Laura-

My Larynx Is On Fire

Really, it is.

Friday night I had this raspy Demi Moorish thing going on which quickly progressed into a faint whisper which quickly progressed into monkey sign language because the only American sign language words I know are "cookie" and "more." This, of course, would benefit me if I wanted "more cookies" during my devastatingly sickly New Years, unfortunately, that was not the case.

So, now I'm back to the raspy voice, but if I don't keep my yap shut, I could probably regress, so I'll write.

I don't know if I can graciously take another "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse" joke. I mean, my own mother was ripping on me.

Strangely enough, this entire weekend, I've been drinking hot beverages, eating hot soups, but ate ice cream last night, and had a soda with ice and found my voice returning.....methinks the Mexican myth of not consuming cold edibles during a cough or cold or things of that nature is a pile of fecal matter! YEAH I SAID IT!

Well, I'm gonna go read now and watch some bad t.v. after that. Thank Brad and Anna for writing to me to bitch that they thought I was dead. They got me off my ass and back into blogspot. And that is why I will marry them. Both.