Tag Archives: friends


12 Apr

Yes, hello, did you call me?

Little miss too-cool-for-school, independent, totally capable of shanking an intruder, go to the movies by myself and don’t feel weird about it, play with my Nerf gun, have a fun blog, yadda yadda yadda.

The truth is, I’m also a crybaby.  But I’m aware of this. So it’s OK.

Want to make me cry? Show me a malnourished stray dog. Or play a particularly good romantic song, show me images of people hugging at airports, make me watch The Land Before Time (especially the part where Littlefoot sees his own shadow in a cave and runs after it, thinking it’s his dead mom), ask me to talk about my family, or my friends, or my dog… whatever. I cry easily, so I try to laugh all the time. Otherwise the tears well up and, fight them as I may, the bastards will trickle down my cheeks, exposing me in emotional defeat. And I hate that.

It’s especially embarrassing when the person who sees you crying more than anyone else is your best friend – a boy. Oh my god, you’re such a crybaby, he’ll say, as I choke on laughter and tears, thanks to fucking Sarah Mclachlan and the ASPCA.

Naturally, when I found out that he and his girlfriend were moving in together, I had to fight the eye leakage.  He didn’t tell me – there’s a sensitivity chip missing in men that doesn’t pick up on the importance of events such as moving in with your girlfriend for the first time in your life – she did, because she understands. We hugged, I told her how excited for them I am and proceeded to fan myself and look away because we were at his birthday party and I’m supposed to look cool.

I’m fighting back tears right now (not anymore, they won) as I search Craigslist for rentals I can forward to them, as they’ll need a larger (read: actually livable) space to share than the fantastically located bachelor’s sandbox where he now resides. I’ve known this boy since we were 18.  He taught me Calculus through irrational tears, never failed to show me the bright side during hard times, and has patiently waited for me to come around and finally follow his advice, time and again (except for when it comes to watching Lost. Don’t care, not doing it). He is the most righteous dude and bestest friend a girl could ask for, and he is moving in with the nicest, funniest, prettiest, sweetest, coolest chick I’ve met in a long time, whom I’m happy to call my friend.

Except sometimes I wish he’d be more of a girl.

me: [attached link of awesome rental available five blocks from my building]
i think that’s exactly where you should live
stop looking elsewhere
want me to call and arrange a viewing?
the hallway has 4 closets
she won’t need to get rid of any of her clothes
you can tan on the roof and no one will laugh at how white you are

him: youre frightening me
im frightened

me: no, no, it’ll all be OK

he signed off

Actually, I take it back. He signs offline when I start going off the deep end, explains physics to me, and occasionally introduces me to cute boys. I’m glad he’s a guy.


I’m not a loser

11 Apr

Because if I am, my friends are too. And since there’s no way my friends are losers, it is concluded, readers, that I am not a loser for spending some of my free – 3am on Tuesday – time, shooting my Nerf gun around the apartment.

You have that? Why?
No, it’s really fun! I promise.
Oook, Weirdo.

Friends from New York were visiting, and after many text messages, we decided to go out dancing later in the evening. At a time of such zest for planning a night-on-the-town,  we did not account for the aggregate levels of laziness that are often reached when we get together and try to come up with one plan that will suit all of our extremely easygoing personalities. I, with my indefatigable – even if exhausted – tongue, persuaded the majority that we were all much too tired from the previous night’s festivities and that it would be wiser to congregate at home to shoot the shit for a few hours than to deal with the Boston nightclub scene. And so it was, that the seven of us would meet with beers, cannabis, and cell phones with internet access to Foodler. Except this time I would throw a little something into the mix.

Instead of debating with, laughing at, and torturing one another with idle hands, we would do it all while shooting the Nerf gun. My toy was received with nods and mild curiosity. Then targets were set up, instructions were given, turns were taken, and voilà – the Nerf was suddenly the awesomest idea ever. Inner ninja assassins were invoked, decorations were displaced, dining tables became barricades – we were in a war zone where only canines were spared.

An hour later, everyone wanted a Nerf gun. A certain Russian bear became so obsessed, his eyes moved around the room all night, in search of new targets, new challenges. All the while, we put our liberal brains to work as we denounced the political atrocities plaguing American life.

Nerf guns are fun. You can line up toys, cups, dry erase boards with drawn on targets, and spend the night engaging your brain threeway – with shooting, socializing, and doing the aforementioned while intoxicated yet barred from using ‘intoxication’ as an out for inefficiency in shooting or conversing. I may be of Brazilian blood, Shakira-like hips, and hopeless modesty, but the older I get, the harder it is to forgo “staying in” for adventures with Boston taxis and Red Sox caps. Before you label me as “grandma,” remember that I’ve offset this elderly propensity with the adoption of pre-pubescent diversions. I’m still young; just going through some updates.

Before I get too drunk…

16 Mar

It’s 5:01pm and I need to leave work to shave my legs because I’m putting on a dress for my dear friends. I do love dresses and wear them all the time in warm weather, it’s just… been cold. For a long time.

I’m 27 and it feels a little strange. Does it? Or do I just say that because I feel the need to say something when asked “how does it feel???”

Well… it feels like Tuesday after three hours of sleep. It feels lucky that, after days of nonstop rain, we have clear skies and a bright shining sun. It feels safe to hear my parents’ voice on the other end of the telephone line, singing Happy Birthday in unison (with dad making a funny voice). It feels relaxed to have my doggie at work with me today, even though I let her outside and forgot about her for like, 20mins… it’s OK, she got tired of waiting and barked, so I opened the door for her.

I guess I feel alive, lucky, loved, and hopeful. I’m here and I’m healthy and that’s all I can ask for. Everything else will fall into place.

Happy Birthday to all the March 16th dreamy Pisceans whose hearts sometimes feel much too big to fit their chests, but somehow they make it work with an honest smile and a decidedly insatiable thirst for life and love.

Thuper Thanks Post!

4 Mar

I joined 20-something Bloggers last week and all these awesome people are on it then all of a sudden they started reading my blog when before it was only like, four of my friends and not only are they reading it but some of them actually like it and one of them likes it a lot so she gave me an award and now I get to write seven honest facts about myself! Mmmm…

Thank you, Mercurial Wife! You are lovely! I hope I have a pretty vase for my award 🙂

OK, here go my seven things:

1. I like dares for money. I’ve samba’ed on the sidewalk for a dude playing “drums” with buckets in The Alley for $3, I picked my nose in public and took a picture for $5, and I drank vodka that had been left unopened for months and had collected fruit flies – which I also ‘drank’ – for an amount of money I cannot recall (I wonder why).

2. I like some very stupid things and I’m ashamed, but only a little bit. Things like this and this. I also like disgusting things like this. They may be stupid to you, but they make me laugh over and over again. And sometimes vomit in my mouth a little.

3. I blog in part because I’ve had awesome and encouraging friends willing to read, critique, and give excellent advice, such as: “not everything will be great. you have to write a large volume and the best stuff will float to the surface. like poop” and “Can I be honest? You use too many words.”

4. I have watched porn on my iPhone. Things don’t seem as… big.

5. I used to think panic attacks were bullshit and/or for the weak minded. Then I had one. That shit sucks. And I’m not weak minded. I’ll kick your ass with my mind.

6. There is a very obese girl living inside of me. She eats pints of dulce de leche Haagen-Dazs and mozzarella sticks while I’m sleeping.

7. I think marijuana smoking can make a helpless addict of its victim within weeks, causing physical and moral ruin and death. That was not honest. See tags to the right.

Sha-weeeet. OK, now it is my duty and honor to pass this award (not my vase, get your own) to seven blogs I enjoy. I think these ladies and gents are original, talented, and I’m always entertained by their posts. Also, it would be my pleasure to read seven sordid secrets from each. Check ’em out!

Subject-Verb Agreement
Signed Sincerely, Me
My Masonic Apron (pssst! vote for him for featured blogger here)
The Anarchist Project
TwentySomething Test Dummies
John F. Sullivan

Widgets: Blogging of the future

22 Feb

Yeah, I changed blog URL and layout one more time. I have a problem. Except this task takes longer than the usual re-arranging furniture at 3am, so the likelihood of sleeping is super tiny. Though I must say, I love all-nighter snacks.

My mom thinks I don’t take care of myself and eat crap all the time. I told her she’s cuckoo; most of my friends don’t even really grocery shop; their fridges are empty, and when there’s something in them, I usually hear, “uuuh I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.” Then I check the expiration date, and it’s been bad for two months. Saturday night was an extra special similar moment. My friend had some chips, cheese, and tomato sauce. I figured I’d throw it all in the microwave for some ghetto nachos. “Uh, I don’t know how long that’s been in there.”  Well, it’s tomato sauce, it lasts for a long time. I opened it and the smell was pretty freaking fowl. It had expired in June of 2009. He probably had that thing for two years in there.

I, on the other hand, try to keep a stocked fridge. I’m a poor planner, so I might have to pop into the market more than once a week, but my shopping’s mostly done on Sundays. With a stocked fridge and a well-rested body, staying up doesn’t seem so scary.

To give the blog a face-lift, I tried to create a new wordpress username with an e-mail address I rarely use. It was already registered and so I was reminded of a forgotten blog I once created. It only had one entry (I guess I got bored REALLY quick). It seems I wasn’t into capitalization that month. Here it is:

i had a blog while in college. a livejournal. it was a lot of fun; write down your thoughts, your friends read it, next day you think “wtf did i make that public,” and change the setting to ‘private only.’

wordpress.com’s layout is rather sleek and important-looking and nowadays respectable people and drunk students alike are socially accepted members of the blogging community, so why not?

i’m a big fan of customization. i even enjoy customizing professional hair cuts (because years of schooling and experience do not a perfect stylist make – if i fail, i call it “wearable abstract art” and maybe invest on bobby pins). so before writing a post, i head on over to the elusive ’settings’ section (wordpress is pretty but it’s not quite intuitive) only to find that i can apply some widgets to my page and/or change the css. i don’t know what this means. i was hoping i’d be able to enter some html tags to change some colors and fonts around. I check Wiki for ‘widgets’ and get: “bladibla bla social networking bladibla.”   i ask my friend ben for help. he’s gonna be an IP lawyer one day. he taught me what IP lawyers are. he said: “it’s like a functional “banner” of sorts. basically used to describe a miniature functional application that links to some bigger functionality/site.”

now, why wikipedia couldn’t just have put that on their definition, i don’t know. after all this, i realize i need some widgets on my page, and so i add them. but i still don’t know how to change fonts and colors. so we’re back to zero.

Dogs and pictures and pictures of dogs

21 Feb

I like looking at pictures and thinking back to the moment they were taken; what was so funny, surprising, clever, or ridiculous that I absolutely had to capture forever. Stand still! Don’t move, I need a picture of this!

I have lots of good ones on my iPhone. Quite a few are of my dog (I’m kind of pathetic). But many are of friends.

There’s one of my best friend sitting on my couch, left foot on the floor, right foot pressed against his chest, held up by his arms. He’s looking at the camera with a retarded smile on his face. His girlfriend’s left side is in the frame, casually seated with her legs crossed, a glass of wine in one hand and a horizontal peace sign in the other – yea, scissor shaped hand. And that hand is directly in line with, and in front of, his crotch. So in the picture it looks like she’s cutting his penis. While drinking wine. And he looks demented. Holding up a leg.

That is a funny picture. She capitalized on a ridiculous moment of his: he was holding his right leg up because she and I prohibited him from placing that foot on the coffee table, where I had just laid out food and drinks. So he didn’t know what to do with his leg. And held it up.

Another great picture is of my bedroom, circa 11pm. The bright blue wall is dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand. Two pillows lay on the bed, side by side at the head. The left side, by the nightstand, is empty. The right side… there’s my dog. Laying on the bed, head on pillow, like a person. By 10:30pm or so, if I’m still on the couch, she’ll get off it, stretch, drink some water. Stretch, walk to the bedroom. Stop. Look at me. Go in and jump on the bed. And rest her head on the pillow. On the right side. Because she knows it’s her side. And then she falls asleep.

There are plenty of photos of her licking my feet. I know your brain might go all erotic on me right now, but it really shouldn’t. She’s grooming me. I’m her pack leader. She’s licking my feet ‘cause I go out into the world and bring her back food and take her out to the park and shit. I make things happen for her. I’m like a freaking hero. So she licks my feet in appreciation. And it feels good. My feet (and hands and nose) are always freezing, so it’s awesome when she just volunteers to warm up my feet with her warm tongue.

And she magically knows to apply some pressure on the most stressed points of my feet. She’s a spiritual dog, I tell ya. She can sense things. And so she diligently works through my feet, section by section, one and the other. Then it’s sleepy time, with her head on the foot she just finished licking. Tori’s the best. And so are pictures.

Valentine’s Day

9 Feb

I was driving to work this morning, annoyed that WBUR was cutting into my news time to advertise their annual Valentine’s Day fund-raising partnership with Winston Flowers; make a contribution of $150 and Winston Flowers sends a dozen long-stemmed red roses to your significant other.

I really like flowers. They make me smile and they’re a quick, easy way to brighten a room. I’m not a fan of red roses, but I love sunflowers, tulips, yellow roses, daisies… they’re happy.  Unless you get them from your boyfriend every month because he spends so little quality time with you that he spends $50 each time in an attempt to buy your affection. Then you sort of start to hate the flowers and wish you could burn them along with his favorite video-game that he plays for entire Saturdays. But that’s another story.

I can only remember two V-Days spent with boyfriends. One of them bought me flowers and an expensive watch. I loved that watch. It broke about a month after he and I broke up. The other boyfriend got me flowers and made us dinner. We were poor students and he was lazy, like most guys, so I wasn’t expecting much. He picked me up and brought me to his place. I walked in and he had set up a small table for two with candle lighting. He actually cooked the whole meal himself. I think I cried a little, I was very touched.

It’s no secret that V-Day is a day for women. It’s about us; give us attention, give us love, spend time doing something for us. We are needy, so we established a day of devotion to us. I can get down with that. What I can’t get down with is the idea of spending lots of money on gifts. I think that’s entirely what V-Day is NOT about. It doesn’t take a lot of thought or commitment to enter your credit card number on a website and wait 3 days for the goods to arrive.  Getting stuff is nice, I’m not complaining. But there’s no denying that the candle-lit dinner, prepared by a boy whose best dish thus far had been microwavable oatmeal, was a sweet and thoughtful gesture I will always remember. I hope any boys reading this will take note and take a little bit of time to prepare something sweet for his girl/boyfriend; a short scrapbook, a mixed CD, a made-from-scratch meal, some love coupons… or anything related to a passion your other half might have.

I don’t have a boyfriend and “finding a valentine” for one day is pretty lame, so this Sunday will be like any other Sunday for me. But I’ll be thinking about the people that make my life special: the people who listen to my nonsense without judgment, the ones who trust and confide in me, the ones who drag me out of crappy moods and into laughter. My warm thoughts on V-Day are for you 🙂