Rawr.

Jesus Christ I'm not sure if it's the job or the cold weather but I'm a bitter fuck. Oh wait...I just started a Raw Vegan diet. That explains everything.

About a month ago, I started  working for a city agency and became the Deputy Director for the agency's hotline. I used to work here before but as a Resource Specialist which is just a formal way of saying "Bitch who answers the phone". I started about the middle of 09' and quit around December of
2010 to embark on a 5 week uchi deshi training. Everyone was extremely confused. They thought I was going to defend myself from a group of bullies by training karate in a handyman's backyard.

Now I'm back at the agency, practically an uchi deshi again (I'm at the dojo at least 4-5 times a week) but now with mo' powah. I was excited when I found out that I had landed the job but I have to be honest, I just wanted to be selfish, young and stupid. I was already happy, working part-time, going to school and doing karate. I knew it was a great opportunity but I knew I was going to have to make some sacrifices. I took the job because I knew that my mother would be proud of me. I wanted to make her feel grateful for every ounce of sweat and I wanted her to be proud of her investment.

So here I am, a month later, stressed,  trying to keep my eye lids above the halfway mark and itching for another coffee break. I'm fighting the temptation not for the sake of the raw vegan diet (there was no way I was giving up coffee) but because there is no sugar, spoons or coffee stirrers in the kitchen...EVER. Now every day, someone takes the time and brews about 8 cups of coffee for everyone in the office but there is no milk, creamer, sugar, napkins to add and mix it with.

Looking to mix something with your coffee? Use your finger bitch.

I'm sorry but I find  the whole thing disrespectful and I refuse to grow accustomed to black coffee because the agency refuses to spend it's change on complimentary coffee items. I mentally flipping off all of you.

Love is One Hell of a Drug.

I took a physics course this semester and I was pretty much lost the entire time but one concept really intrigued me: Newton's law of universal gravitation. The law states that two bodies of mass in this universe exerts an attractive force on one another. Somehow, I've come to apply this to daily human interaction and attraction. About two months ago, my friend and I went to Jackson Heights, got stoned, walked through this Hispanic venue and ate at a Colombian restaurant. It was awesome. My eyes were glazed in weed and the street lamps and signs were so vibrant that I could feel them shaking in color. That night, I was able to remember parts of my childhood that I thought I had forgotten about. Like the restaurant my father once took me to when I was younger, where the walls were made of thin wooden panels and the seats inside the booths were made out of leather, red and plump. I don't know why remembering this meant so much to me but it did. The next day I texted my friend and thanked him for taking me on the "high" tour of Jackson Heights. We've been friends for more than 10 years and always felt that my relationship and love for him was strictly platonic but that night, I could finally describe the physical force that kept us so close. I felt it in my core, where point blankly, is behind the deep center of my chest and the soul that was intangible, had density inside my body. I remember texting him and saying that our relationship isn't chemistry, it's physics. He was confused but I tried to explain that no matter what happened between our friendship, the universe will bring us together. So I began to think, is this how love works? Does this explain the kinetics of two soul mates, meeting for the first time?

I brought the idea up to my best friend who couldn't quite understand the concept, my sister, who completely disagreed with me for the sake of disagreeing and used it as a conversation on a first date with this guy, who surprisingly didn't run away and leave me with the bill.

Wow. Really Danessa?  You just insinuated  to this guy (that you just met) that you two are soul mates .Great job conductor. You sure do know how to drive this date off a bridge.

Interestingly enough, he remained silent and nodded as he tried to digest the idea. Then, with a pensive look he said that I might of  physically explained what love really is and for a second, I felt my chest pulse.

Dassit.

So I've decided. I'm getting rid of my colored contacts.

Forreal ma? That ain't yo real eyes? --Nah B. My natural eyes are black, like strong, hot, mean coffee. And they're beautiful.

My life runs by the seasons. I hate routine. I need consistent change or else I get very bored. I don't have a set "style" and I like to try on different things. I've chopped off my hair twice on impulse because I can't bear to always look the same. I don't know how long its been but I started wearing green contacts a few years ago. Not because I didn't like my natural eye color but because I wanted to try something different. I saw it more as an accessory than anything else. I personally liked the way they looked so I ordered prescription lenses and haven't gone back to clear lenses ever since. Every once in awhile, I get asked if those are "my real eyes". I mean, I understand that they're referring to the eye color but it's a stupid fucking question. What the fuck? Do they look like bionic eyes to you? There's really no point in lying so I answer truthfully and say that they're contacts. Usually I get the whole "Oh really, well they look real. Even though it's fake, it still look nice though" and it kind of annoys me. Niggah be real and say you're disappointed. It never really bothered me though until more recently, when I started being asked more frequently and then it got me thinking,

Wait a minute. What's wrong with my natural eye color? 

Green, blue, hazel and pretty much every non-black shade of eye color is seen as beautiful, setting a high standard for ideal facial features, but what if our western conception of beauty is everything that is non-black period? I may be going on a limb here but on behalf of minorities, maybe this is why we hate ourselves. Every time we dye our hair blond or put on a fresh pair of color contacts, maybe there is something inside telling us that we are not beautiful in our own shade; in our own curls. We don't set a definition. We comply to the notion of "white beauty" by unwillingly masking our very distinctions and in the end, when we're standing, carrying every conception of western beauty; barley scratching the standard, we are nothing but imitations. Let me tell you something, that fucking hurts.

Fuck.That.Shit.

My dark eyes are beautiful because they are dark as the tree bark of papa's plantation, because they are dark as the humid-Dominican night sky, because they are dark as a cup of  Bustelo, waking my mother in the morning, because they are dark as the sap that falls out the platanos and dark as they are ripe.

I'm Going to be a Terrible Mother

I don't plan on having any kids anytime soon but I do admit that sometimes when I have to babysit or look after someone, I get excited. I call it "Mommy training". Acknowledging that I am a adult, in her mid- twenties, living in her prime and incredibly selfish, I feel like I need to mentally prepare myself for the day I give my mind away. This weekend I'm looking after my friend's daughter Sofia. She's ten years old, adorable and super smart. Best of all, because her mother only cooks organic and/or minimally processed meals, she looks like a normal ten year old and not a ten year old stuck in an eighteen year old body. Jesus, have you seen these tweens lately? Just take away their privilege of speaking and you'll have women before you. That's why the more I hang with Sofia, the more I realize that she is exactly how I want my daughter to be. I honestly could just kidnap her, preserve my vagina, skip through the terrible twos, threes ,fours, fives, sixes etc... and raise her in this critical moment of womanhood. Though I will admit that raising a teenage daughter is fucking terrifying, especially with their hormones exploding everywhere. I think that's why when teenagers go through puberty, mothers go through menopause. It's like they suck all the hormones out of the room until you see it popping in their acne, voices and their swelling, gender defying regions. God, if you exist, please help me raise my children to have morals and manners so that they become productive members of our society. In other words, please send me nerds. If you can't, it's okay I'll train them. I still have my Super Nintendo , N64, GameCube, some Batman comics, Nova specials and a recording of Discovery Channel's "How The Universe Works". I got this.

My mother recently mentioned how extremely happy and proud she was of  my sister and I and  how we turned out to be. I would of taken her pride more seriously but the reality is, she's just proud that my sister and I got through college without getting pregnant. Want to know an effective way of practicing abstinence? Grow up with a mother that constantly reminds you that you are investment, promises to denounce you if you ever got pregnant and (my favorite part) randomly hold string "virginity tests" as soon as you start dating.

Yup. I just said virginity test. Not the logical (and convenient) pregnancy test. That would have been just too normal.

So what the fuck is a string virginity test? It's when a crazy old fashion woman (probably from the Caribbean) takes a string, measures your neck with it, asks you hold the string with your teeth and then tries to see if the loop goes past your head. If it does, it means you are not a virgin. I can not make this up. Google this shit.

A special note to my future boyfriend/husband regarding my complicated sex drive: I am so,so sorry. 

Will I do this to my daughter? Abso-fucking-lutley. Again, have you seen these fucking tweens lately? If I'm going to invest all my time into someone that is practically the miniature version of myself, I expect her to succeed in the things that I didn't. I'm trying to build a legacy here.

A special note to my future daughter: I am not god. If you think free will applies to you, it doesn't. Now go reset your Super Nintendo and start Super Mario World  all over again. This time you will beat the game with all 96 exits and without a single tear in your eye.

Damn, Getting Old Sucks

My grandmother returned from DR on Tuesday. It's nice having her around but ever since my grandfather passed, she's starves for attention. The first week, she's usually happy, satisfied with her sleeping arrangements and verbal about living improvements (e.g running hot water, no blackouts) but then she starts feeling sick, or dizzy rather  and spends the majority of the day rocking her chair in the living room counting the hours with the programs on Univision. Don't mean to go on a tangent here but I swear, about 99% of people who watch Univision are either widowed,old and/or both. I don't understand why most of the women on Spanish programming dress in revealing  attire when the majority of their viewers don't even remember having a libido.  Seriously, the women are ridiculously attractive for no reason. Where the hell do they find them? Is there a town in Mexico that genetically breeds them for Novelas and news stations ? That being said, I refuse to watch Primer Impacto. Why? Because the last time I checked, I dont remember wanting any titis with my news.

Girl I know you have some fine apples, but how am I supposed to pay attention to this terror alert when your lovelies are screaming borders with their cleavage. Do me a favor and button up your shirt.

It's hard to look at my grandmother now and see her somewhat peaceful after last seeing her six months ago at my grandfathers memorial. I expected her to be super emotional but when the ceremony was over she starting yelling at my grandfathers picture, which was the centerpiece of the living room. She screamed at his smiling face saying how much she missed him, how he left her alone and now has no desire to live. She then turned to me and said, "Danessa , I'm alone in this world. I have no mother or father and now, no husband". My eyes were already swelling but at that point, the tears came down and I held her and told her it wasn't true.

If there is anything that I learned after losing both of my grandfather's (both sides) and grandmother (father's side)   in the same year, is that grandparents are like wisdom teeth; sometimes you're born with them, sometimes you're not but eventually, they have to come out. All at once or one at a time. 

I miss visiting my grandparents (father side) on the weekends. They had a one bedroom apartment in Spanish Harlem and my parents, sister and I would visit on Sundays, play Russian roulette with my grandmothers cooking and stayed until the 6 o clock news came on Univision. We didn't do much. I pretty much napped in my grandparents room or talked to my sister and laid on their bed until dinner was ready. 

My aunt is the only person living in the apartment now. I went to visit her recently and the apartment felt hollow even though the furniture hadn't move. 

Musicals Have Got Me Feeling All Sappy

You know what's awesome about being single? Dreaming about prince charming. And I'm not referring to a regular, chivalrous guy. I'm talking about  your cookie-cut, Disney prince charming; a man that is symmetrically handsome, takes part in some royal legacy and an incredible vocalist that has no shame breaking into song.

Some women would say that it isn't healthy to have idealistic expectations of men because the idea of  "prince charming" isn't realistic. I would tell those women to kiss my clean, powdered and proper butt. I'm going to find him.

For the past couple of months, my friend has insisted that I watch Phantom of the Opera. Being that I love musicals and finally had sometime, I watched it with her this weekend. We started watching it around 2 o clock in the morning and I was pretty tired but found myself strangely engaged, almost like in a trance. Every time the Phantom sang, I could feel the hairs standing; praising on top of my arms. After listening to the album on loop for the past 4 days, its official. I'm in love. There is something about the way the actor sings that makes me feel so...tingly! I close my eyes and almost feel the vibrations of his voice, caressing the side of my neck and it's like an injection of passion being pumped into my veins. If you're feeling queasy from all the sappy language, feel free to vomit here.

Am I being dramatic? NO. Listen to the album. If you don't feel  like being kidnapped by a masked man  that is half sociopath, half Frankenstein then my friend, there is clearly something wrong with you.

In all honesty, I rarely swoon over men. Especially good looking men. I don't like giving them the satisfaction. There are a few celebrity exceptions of course. Joseph Gordon Levitt and Robert Downey Jr. I'm not going to lie, if I saw them in a bar I'd be all over that. There would be no hesitation and in that moment, becoming a rapist might seem just. Eh, but those are just celebrities.  I'll probably never meet them unless you're Joseph Godon Levitt reading this ( Robert Downey Jr, I know that you're married. I'm just getting over it), then...hello, I think we should meet. Talk over a glass of wine? I can show you how pretty awesome I am. I'll bring my extensive collection of Pokemon cards-dammit I've already said too much...

There are pretty much two things that will make me swoon. A good singing voice and really good cologne. That's it. I could care less about looks, job, pastime and drug history. Sure, I guess they're nice to have but I'm talking about that first instant of attraction; the feeling of an invisible magnet pulling you towards someone as you physically restrain yourself from looking too obvious.

If I could sing a love song with a man without it feeling weird, forced and in-genuine, I think that moment would be it.

I'm Sorry

When I'm in a public restroom and I hear someone in the near by stall fart, sometimes I want to break out of  the verbal silence and tell them that its okay.

Dude I know you were holding your butt cheeks together but one of the gases slipped out. Don't worry its totally cool.  I wont silently judge you when you come out to wash your hands.

Yea I know. Its been weeks since my last post and I'm writing about farting? FUCK YEA.
I'll break the myth right now, women fart. Women fart and they fart a lot. Oh yea and when they do, sometimes it stinks too. You know what's really annoying though? The fact that this is common knowledge. Something you learn while sitting on carpet with your entire class during reading time in kindergarten.

Being a woman, it kind of sucks that you have to pretend that you don't perform the most humane act of our existence. One time, while working for this cash advance company, one of my co-workers mentioned how much he hated girls farting and then bragged how his current girlfriend never farted in front of him. All I kept thinking was that if you stuck a board in between her butt cheeks, she'd probably break it, in half and it would be so precise you would of sworn it went thorough a chain saw. After holding in her fart for three years, she must of had buns of steel. That's impressive. That being said, among all other things, I'm kind of a snob about farting...it needs to be done right.

Okay so before I lose you, here's what I mean. Like with most things, there's a way to release our bodily fluids and gases properly in public like covering your mouth before you sneeze and burp. What I'm trying to introduce to you is the idea of a "fart etiquette". I mean it sort of already exists but it's never talked about. When I'm with my friends, I'm pretty cool about farting. I don't mind if they do it in front of me...unless it sounds like a whoopee cushion. Then we have a problem. Here's the thing about loud farts, if they're not followed by an apology, it rude and obnoxious. Point. Blank. Period. So you're probably upset. What about the first three paragraphs and its implementation of our freedom of farting? Relax dude. You can still fart when and wherever you want. All I'm saying is to control your fart's noise level and if you can't, at least apologize. Nobody wants to smell the digested version of your two-day-old pasta.