OH ROMEO WHERE ART THOU

Dear Husband developed, since we married, a severe case of ‘don’t-know-how’. He forgot how to cook, how to do laundry, how to put laundry away, etc. Even though at times (all the time) I find that insanely provoking and it makes me want to cause bodily harm, all it takes is a girl’s night out for me to be thankful. Thankful that DH is patient, supportive, sweet, communicative and willing to put up with my never ending family drama.

The fact is I am thankful that I am not out there, single anymore and having to peruse through the seriously slim pickings. I hate the fact that I have become one half of a smug married couple like the ones Bridget Jones feared, but I hate even more the fact that the many lovely single ladies that I know are out there being victimized by the overwhelming amount of dickheads, women haters, douchebags, arrogant, classless jackasses that roam this earth.
I like guys. I do, I think they are refreshing in their honesty; you don’t have to dig for the truth or worry about insulting them by saying the wrong thing like it happens way too often when it comes to women. But what in the world is happening to them today? I think I had forgotten how they all seem to have escaped from the horrid pages of that disgusting book written by Tucker Max “I hope they serve beer in hell”.

There is no escaping them! I was listening to the radio the other day and one of the DJs was talking shit about women and how he always likes to fuck the ugly ones because they know better than to be clingy. I was so outraged that I almost swerved off the road. The thing is, being pretty doesn’t protect women from their behavior either.

I had to take a refresher course on “elbow to the solar plexus” and “withering glances” last Thursday when my cousins came over from D.C. and my sister, my two cousins and I decided to go to ladies' night at the bar below my work place. Now, I really have no idea what I had expected since it is ladies' night and alcohol is free and men seem to know that night is the night for them to get lucky, but I was surprised at how bold and obnoxious men can be.

Whatever happened to asking one to dance instead of shoving their crotch on one’s ass? Whatever happened to an introduction before you grab my arm and pull me, or show up with a drink I neither want, nor asked for?

I know I already discussed this a few weeks ago, but I had to again since I have the experience fresh in my head. Since when my standing dancing with four other girls gives a man the right to approach me from behind and start humping me? As satisfying as it is to shove my elbow as high as I can up his ribs, as satisfying as I find it to hear them gasp in pain, the fact is I am left with a sense of dissatisfaction at not being able to give them a proper set down.

They all seem so incredibly normal and decent too! None of them seemed drunk, or leery, or disgusting, or lecherous, just your normal, horny twenty-somethin early-thirties loser who thinks he is Casanova.

So what happened to them? Is it the bad guy syndrome? Do they really think that act is attractive? I don’t need poetry being spouted but how about a smart line? Hell any line at all would be preferable than just shoving your dick at me, regardless of how attractive my butt is (because it is) it is still MINE, not public property to rub against.

It has gotten so bad that we even avoid making eye contact so they don’t take it as an invitation to fuck. We were ignoring this guy for so long he ended up having to pull one of us and then we realized it was the waiter! I made the silly mistake of asking a guy to take a picture of all of us and then spent the next five minutes trying to shake his slimy paws off. Short of kneeing him in the balls I couldn’t have been any blunter! I even pointed at my wedding band (which I have never done till that night) and told him to go take a hike and the fuckhead had the nerve of saying “Well your husband isn’t here is he?” And more nerve even to be annoyed that I wasn't flattered. Since when did they all start assuming they are God's gift to womenkind? Assholes!!

I was saved from committing assault by one of my cousins who pulled me away and saved the jackass from me. I am sure he was left with the impression that he had me and the only reason he didn’t get anywhere was because of my intervening cousin.

Men, I have discovered, are horribly deluded. What happened to those days when all a girl had to do was roll her eyes and the guy would take the hint? Now not even using the cuntiest face will save you from being accosted. If wearing skirts bellow the knee and glasses doesnt protect one anymore then what else is left? What does one has to do to get some respect around here? And since when demanding respect makes you a bitch?

I have been reading lately a lot of historical romance and there are two types of men in the books I read. The ones who would force themselves on an unsuspecting female simply because they can and their title afforded them with complete immunity, and the ones who wouldn’t.

It’s disappointing to think that men haven’t changed that much, the only thing that protects us women from being assaulted today is the law. It's sad to say so, but I think I think that most men wouldn’t stop at “No” if the law didn’t protect us from them. Men whose principles are nonexistent and their immediate needs to be fulfilled their only worry seem to be everywhere, and the thought is disheartening. It’s like they think our presence in a club, bar or any place where music and alcohol is present it’s a tacit consent for them to do as they please with our body parts!

It is a sad state of affairs indeed, when one thinks about it. I am sure some would blame it on female’s search for equality; some would claim that we wanted to be treated like men so we are treated like men. I never asked to be treated like a man, I do expected to be able to hold the same position as a man, receive the same salary as a man and have the same rights as a man, I don’t know how wanting my rights to be respected as any other citizen of the world needs to translate into “go ahead and grope me”.

I don’t expect men to stand up when I enter or leave a room, or for them to defend my honor when it's brought to question, to fight in duels at dusk for my virtue, I don’t expect to be treated like a delicate flower about to wilt.

We ask for very little, how about some common courtesy, some respect, some acknowledgement that our personal space is ours? How about showing some fucking manners? Do you guys really think that you are closer to getting any by acting like a jackass?

Believe me, you may be getting some but whoever you are getting it from happens to be as trashy as you are.

So let me be blunt and summarize:

• No, I don’t want that drink you probably roofied. No means No.
• I don’t like your “eau of douche” so stop bathing on it, the entire place can smell the cheap cologne.
• Yes, I am dancing, yes I am standing, and it doesn’t mean you can rub your crotch on my ass.
• No, I really don’t like you and no, that doesn’t make me a bitch.
• I really meant it when I said I am here just to hang out with my girls so back the fuck off.
• Yes, I am bitch. Whatever you wanna call please just do it far away from me.

MESSING WITH THE WRONG BITCH

The unlucky residents of the community I live in have united against my husband and I. Retirement is indeed boring business and the bluehairs in my community haven’t been able to get used to the fact that the community can no longer keep their houses from foreclosure without renting. They lose not one opportunity to remind us, or Dear Husband since he is the one they talk to, that they made an exception with us and we should be thankful. These people have way too much time in their hands.

Today, on our way to work, we got a call from the management company saying that several residents had complained about Zoey, my part pit bull part hound dog. Apparently the residents are afraid of Zoey. Yes, of Zoey, my dog who pees in the floor if you yell at her and squats into submission to the Chihuahuas in the street. Yeah that's my mauling, dangerous beast.

There is one problem in this whole equation that these too-much-time-in-their-hands fools didn’t count on. ME. MOI. YOURS TRULY. They probably thought they would complain and we would slink away from the community, dog in tow or simply get rid of Zoey to appease their fool fears of a dog that has never shown any sign of aggression. What they didn’t count on was on my crazy ass. Because let me tell you something I am ready to take this as far as it fucking needs to go. If I have to hire lawyers, contact the ASPCA and PETA if I have to bring the fucking newspapers to my house I will. I have way more energy than they do and I have being right on my side and more importantly they couldn’t have chosen a worse bitch to mess with because of all the people they could’ve gone against they chose to go against the one that is itching for a fight.
The issues about pitbulls was brought to light to me when I got Zoey. I knew people were afraid of them but one gets hand to hand knowledge of just how deep that fear goes when you are the one walking them down the street. I have never been afraid of them since I am not stupid and choose to form my own opinions on things instead of being told what to believe.
If people bothered doing some research about it they would find out that the pitbull's reputation is unfounded and the gangster rap movement is one of the many things to blame for giving Pitbulls the bad reps they sport today. Between that and the dog fighting problems the Pitbulls have become victims of a witch hunt, pitch forks and all. Before that the American Pitbull Terrier used to be the dog that represented the U.S. during WWII.
Everybody thinks that Pitbulls have a genetic predisposition to be aggressive, when in reality they were bred for companionship and to be service dogs, therefore any dogs that showed aggressive behavior was immediately terminated. Drastic measures if you ask me but it is what makes the pitbull the good dog it is today. Helen Keller’s dog was a Pitbull and many other Pitbulls serve today as search dogs and service dogs for the blind and handicapped.

I wish people would stop eating every spoonful of shit the media feeds them. In reality beloved Labradors have a higher number of attacks in the U.S. than Pitbulls do but the media doesn’t find that as entertaining as putting in the news that a Pitbull bit his owner or a neighbor.

I truly hope this doesn’t get to the point where I have to be a major bitch and then alienate ourselves from the community but my personality doesn’t allow for me to bend over and take it. If they think I am going to take in consideration their age or their fears they are sorely mistaken. So I guess we are going to the mattresses.
Residents of Community don’t “Beware of Dog” but definitely Beware of this Bitch.

Please check out: http://www.thetruthaboutpitbulls.com/.thetruthaboutpitbulls.com/

UPDATING LIST OF UNWANTED KNOWLEDGE

There are, I am sorry to say, plenty of things in life I wish I had no knowledge of. Things I wish I remained in the dark about. Things that I wish I could unlearn, things I wish I didn’t know. The list is eclectic and all encompassing from what goes in a “morcilla” sausage (pig’s blood and rice) to the fact that a high percentage of middle school age children have already had oral sex.

How to ship the remains of a loved one to his home country is now at the top of the list. Dear Husband is right, sometimes, life gets in the way of your plans. I am sure Alfonso wasn’t planning on dying an ocean away from the son he adores and the woman he has been married to for 20 something years. I am sure he wasn’t planning on ending his month vacation in the U.S. with a heart attack. But shit happens, life happens, death happens. Still I wish I didn’t know. I wish I didn’t have to deal with it. I am immature enough to wish that I didn’t feel so scared about my own parents; my other loved ones who are his age. I wish I wasn’t suddenly scared shitless that someone I love is simply going to slip away from me without me being able to do anything about it.

The moving of a body to another country is complicated business let me tell you. I wish people didn’t have to go through with it but apparently it happens all the time. My recommendation to those who are unlucky to go through this is to contact the consulate, embassy, church, friend, high school sweetheart, or the man who sold you your refrigerator. Every person always knows a person who can help and maybe, just maybe, that person that you contacted can have an answer that can make your life so much easier.

That person in my family’s case (lucky for us) wasn’t so far removed that we had to hunt him down. That person was Uncle V. Who was angel, God send; lifesaver all wrapped up in one and happened to have a contact in the Colombian Consulate who helped us a lot.

I wish I could be one of those people who have the privilege to fall apart. Okay I really don’t but I wish I didn’t have to do so many things I had to do. Pick the casket, sign the paperwork in the hospital when all I wanted to do was curl in a ball, ask questions, find out, hear the cause of death, and see him dying. The list is never ending. More than anything I wish I could un-live the moment in the emergency room when my mom looked up at me daring me with her eyes to give her good news, that very moment when I had to translate what the doctor had said. I wish I could’ve told her he was alright. I wish I could’ve told her that he was going to make it. I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell her that he was dead. Another thing I guess I have to add to my list of unwanted knowledge.

There were so many papers to sign that I don’t even remember. So many faxes, emails and payments I cringe at the thought but again it could’ve all been so much worse. I cannot help but think that we are all in all lucky. Because I have heard that the process is usually so much longer. No matter what we went through to get it done the fact is Alfonso flew back home to be with his family Saturday at 4:00 pm.

We did our best. We tried our hardest. We prayed for him, got our hearts broken and sent him home whole. He will be viewed by his wife and son who said bye to him a month ago, not knowing it would be for the last time.

This post seems horrible selfish. Talking about his death affected me instead of how it affected his family or even him. Maybe I should wonder what dreams he left undone. What things he wanted to do. Maybe I should concentrate on him…but at least here I can indulge in feeling what I am feeling and not worry about keeping it together to get shit done. Personal blogs are by nature, self-centered and self-indulgent. So I will say what it felt like to be there, what it felt like to live it or to go through all the cold paperwork that says nothing about feeling and all about impersonal generalities.

It felt weird filling out the forms knowing that his name was one of many, that his death meant nothing to the people who read the paperwork I was filling out. They didn’t know he had a booming voice or that he was polite and never spoke ill of anyone. They didn’t know that he was amazingly nice to my mom or that he never said anything back and was eternally patient when I was stupidly mean, and rude. They didn’t know who he was and who he left behind.

I am so incredibly filled with regret for the things I said and didn’t say. For the times I might have make him feel unwelcome, for the times I criticized his driving, for the time I complained he was too loud and woke me up too early in the morning.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that Alfonso, wherever he is, is thankful that we got him back to his dear family to be buried in the town he was born in. So unwanted knowledge or not I am happy that only seven days after his death we accomplished what it takes other people a month. To move him from one country to another so his family can grieve properly. So, who cares if I wish I didn’t know? The fact is I DO know and no matter how much it sucked knowing it is over with; done.

Saturday he was home and Sunday he was buried; our part in this story is over. Last night we prayed the last Rosary for his soul, the last day of the Novena putting an end to the whole ugly episode. We threw away the flowers that sat next to his picture, blew away the candle, sprayed some holy water around the house and with hot chocolate and spicy empanadas said goodbye. So I raise my glass of Merlot as a final goodbye to him: Safe trip Alfonso, and Godspeed.