1. My wedding dress was almost ruined because I hiked a 2 mile nature trail in it. Seriously.
2. It is dirty around the neck and there are bugs in it. It can’t be dry-cleaned without me signing a waiver that states if something happens to it I won’t sue or something. It will definitely shrink if dry-cleaned.
3. I can’t lose anymore weight. I have become immune to my pills.
4. I don’t care anymore if the reds match on the centerpieces.
5. I spent so much time and energy making centerpieces, only for people never to notice them.
6. I think my head will explode if I get one more migraine.
7. Better yet, I will explode if I ingest anymore Aleve, Pamprin, or Advil.
8. Even after my fiancé and I both proofed the RSVP insert for the wedding invitation, I still managed to get the wrong number printed.
9. Some people in my future family are trying/have tried to wreck my wedding and/or life.
10. I think that I may have the worst menstrual symptoms in the history of women.

SO – when you see a white stretch

Excursion limo out Saturday night

at Barney’s or Cactus, just know

that the bachelorette inside

desperately needs a drink.

And a Twizzler.

I would not suggest trying Coca-Cola Blak if you want to sleep anytime soon. Blak is a new drink Coke has recently let loose upon the public. It is a saucy concoction of Coke and Coffee. It is low in calories and it is 98% caffeine. I am not giving a shout out to Coke, only explaining why I am up at 4 a.m.

Before you blame Coca-Cola, there is another culprit in this story.

(click on the picture to make it larger)

It is hard to make out what you are looking at, so let me explain. They are building an ACADEMY RIGHT BEHIND MY HOUSE. I took that picture about ten minutes ago. That means as of nearly 4 a.m. they were working with heavy machinery about 50 feet from my bedroom window. Not only do I have the most disrespectful neighbors, I now get to listen to construction workers at 4 a.m. See all those red and white lights? Those are trucks and big noisy things and workers are all in between those lights.

Let me clarify something else: They did not just start working early. They never STOPPED.

Seriously.

It is a madhouse here. I am surprised that any part of my body is functioning at all. I mean, isn’t there some kind of noise law? When do I get to sleep? I was taking a shower at two in the morning, because I could not sleep for some reason, and I could literally hear the voices of the workers while I was in the shower. With the water running over my ears, I could hear people working outside, and their big trucks. Does anyone know if this is legal?

I went outside to document this catastrophe and was blinded by this huge spotlight. It looks like one of those lights they use at the football fields, except this one is closer to the ground and closer to my HOUSE. It’s not shining directly at my window, but it is shining pretty brightly on my neighbor’s window. I wonder how she feels about that. The light I am trying to describe is in the top left part of the picture. That huge bright blob there.

I want to complain about not sleeping for the past two nights because I have workers screaming right outside of my bedroom window, but who to complain to? Come on, my peeps! I know one of you holds the key that unlocks my mystery (misery). Not only can I hear people yelling back and forth, but there are four or five trucks that are so loud (when they are moving), that they drown out virtually all noise.

On other fronts, I am on schedule with my diet – almost. I need to weigh myself tomorrow morning to see my exact progress. My friend DOT is coming to visit and we all know how she can make you put on the pounds quick. I think I may wait until she is gone to weigh myself again.

Boo.

Until next time my peeps, have a great Easter, find out who I can gripe to about my noise issue, ignore the scale until next week, and keep on munchin’ on the sugar-free Twizzlers!

Or is that my neighbors making that Bumpity Bump?

Grey’s Anatomy is a rerun tonight. AGAIN. You can’t just introduce Chris O’Donnell in the very last seconds of an episode and then make us wait two weeks to see Meredith sleep with him. Have some compassion, Shonda.

I know this is old news but this is ridiculous. I mean – Seriously, Tom.

Do you really expect us to think this is real? Wait – do you expect us to think that any of “this” is real? (Disclaimer: I do not intend to make Tom Cruise feel insecure about who he is or am I making assumptions about his mental health or his highly real relationship. End disclaimer here.)

I had some super-cool things to blog about, but evidently not today. I am going to go see a movie tonight, and in between typing out the last few paragraphs and now, my son demanded my attention. So I played with him for a while, and when I came back to sit down I realized that I needed to go get dressed so I am not late to the movie.

I hate missing the previews to the movie. I really HATE it. I am paying a gazillion dollars to go see the thing – I want to see all of it. I have been seeing previews for “Take The Lead” for some time now, and since my fiancé won’t go see it with me, I am leaving my son with my visiting grandma for a couple of hours. B doesn’t really like “chick flicks,” but I don’t mind him not going. It gives me some (much needed) “me” time.

On another note: what is up with neighbors who have ZERO respect? It is nearly 9 o’clock at night and their music is so loud that I can hear the words to it pretty clearly. I have been listening to it for about 5 hours now. Their speakers are mounted on the wall that connects to mine. I have seen this because they leave their windows open, and you can see it from outside.

The dining area and the living area are about 30 feet across. Their TV is on the other end, and half of their surround sound system is attached to the wall that connects to my wall – 30 FEET away from their TV. Wait. Let me attempt to draw a graphic.

I guess that is a good visual. Anyway, the point is that they have their speakers mounted WAY over here up against my wall, and their TV is on the OTHER wall in their living room. I mean, that is a wide surround sound effect, plus who can function with most of their house in surround? If they really like that, fine. It isn’t my place to tell tem how to set up their sound system, but it is my place to calmly ask them to turn the music down a little at 2 or 3 in the morning.

To sum it up, I have asked more than a few times to turn it down when I can literally hear exactly what they are watching at 3 a.m. They turn it down and everything is fine. Then a few days later, the volume is outrageous again. The last time, I asked them if they could possibly move the speakers off the wall that is attached to mine. I thought that maybe that would help. Guess what?

IT DID.

Then the girl that lives there decided that it did not look right, and they moved the speakers back. Seriously. I could not make this stuff up people. Let me assure you that I would not complain if this just happened sometimes. I also realize that I live in an apartment, so other noise is expected. However, this is an EVERY day thing. It lasts from about three or four in the afternoon until 2 or 3 in the morning. These people must sleep like logs, or they don’t sleep much.

I called the police to see what could be done, and they told me that if they could not hear it at least 10 feet away from the front door, then nothing could be done about it. Of course, it isn’t exactly loud once you get 10 feet away from the front door. I asked the property owner about it, and he said he would talk to them. That was a couple of months ago.

That is my problem right now. What should I do? I can’t keep asking them every few days when I can’t take it anymore to please turn it down a little. The police can’t do anything about it, and my landlord is just as helpless.

Help me my peeps!

Until next time, I await your wisdom, and I am off to soak up the noise of a theater and eat some Twizzlers… only to return to my own personal theater.

(Grumble…)

I hate being busy, but I hate not being busy. Either way, I end up feeling like crapper-crap (official Toni word). I really do not think that my diet is helping much either. I was talking to Christina (super cool BFF) this morning, and I told her that I knew my real issue is not my weight gain, but my sleeping habits. At least I think that my sleeping issue causes my weight issue.

Speaking of issues, I am down to 132. That means I have lost 5 pounds total. Go me! I have not been exercising really at all. (BOOO!) The verdict on the Leptopril is still out. I am only taking half doses now, and I seem to be feeling better. The problem with these pills is that they take away nearly all of the appetite I have, and make me feel a little nauseous. I am not sure if I am getting sick, or if it is the Leptopril, but if I don’t feel better after today, I am going to have to trade in the pills for something else.

I also want to clarify again: I really do not weight 132 pounds. I made my starting weight 136, because I wanted to lose 36 pounds and I will not tell the world how much I weight now. Some minds needed easing on that so … moving on…

I visited our fine Victoria Advocate offices yesterday. Actually, my son and I did. I don’t know if any of you remember the whole episode about the day I took my engagement pictures, but they finally came in. They turned out a lot better than I thought they would, and B ended up changing out of his work clothes. Go B!

I filled out my form to put an engagement announcement in the paper, and we took off into the building. Once we got inside, a woman told me I would have to go upstairs to drop off the form. I was carrying a 26-pound baby on my hip, so she kindly let me use the elevator.

After we handed in the form, we went back downstairs to pay. While I waited for the woman at the front desk to process my credit card, I let Landon linger by the stairway. He kept getting on one step and saying, “Bye!” Then he would act like he was going to some far distant place. I smiled and thought it was cute, but told him not to go up any more than the first step.

Then I turned back towards the woman to grab the paper she was handing me, and I saw a HUGE sign that said something like, “Parents don’t let your kids play on the stairwell. Watch them! That means you! Yeah – you!!!” Okay, it didn’t say exactly that, but that was the message it was sending.

Talk about feeling stupid. I got my receipt, grabbed my son, and we left. The only thing I could think of was that someone was going to recognize me from my blog picture and then tell the whole world I was letting him go crazy on the stairs. Or – they would recognize me and ask if they could have a Twizzler.

Ah… the perils of being a superstar.

I will leave you with a picture of the heathen in question. He is adorable, and I love him – craziness and all. We came home Friday afternoon, and my neighbor and his friends were getting ready for a weekend of Harley madness (near San Antonio somewhere). My son is in love with motorcycles, so of course he just had to take a closer look. We walked across the parking lot, and one of the guys standing there was either a dad, or he was going to make a good one someday, because he didn’t flat out ignore a little boy’s interest in a motorcycle.

He revved up the bike for him, and then he let him sit on it, amazed that my tiny son was not the least bit scared of the bike. So here is proof that my son did sit on a motorcycle. I am preparing for the day when he asks me for one, or asks me to ride on one and I tell him “No. Are you insane?” Of course, he will come back with something like, “But I have never even BEEN on one! It isn’t fair!”

That is when the photo below will come out. My case will be won, and all will be good. (Or something like that…)

 

The Mechanic

A mechanic was removing a cylinder head from the motor of a Harley motorcycle when he spotted a well-known heart surgeon in his shop. The surgeon was there waiting for the service manager to come take a look at his bike when the mechanic shouted across the garage, “Hey Doc, can I ask you a question?”

The surgeon, a bit surprised, walked over to where the mechanic was working on the motorcycle. The mechanic straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag, and asked, “So Doc, look at this engine. I open its heart, take the valves out, repair any damage, and then put them back in, and when I finish, it works just like new.”

“So how come I get such a small salary and you get the really big bucks, when you and I are doing basically the same work?” The surgeon paused, smiled and leaned over, and whispered to the mechanic…

“Try doing it with the engine running!”

A mechanic was removing a cylinder head from the motor of a Harley motorcycle when he spotted a well-known heart surgeon in his shop. The surgeon was there waiting for the service manager to come take a look at his bike when the mechanic shouted across the garage, “Hey Doc, can I ask you a question?”

The surgeon, a bit surprised, walked over to where the mechanic was working on the motorcycle. The mechanic straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag, and asked, “So Doc, look at this engine. I open its heart, take the valves out, repair any damage, and then put them back in, and when I finish, it works just like new.”

“So how come I get such a small salary and you get the really big bucks, when you and I are doing basically the same work?” The surgeon paused, smiled and leaned over, and whispered to the mechanic…

“Try doing it with the engine running!”

Grey’s Anatomy is a repeat this Sunday. Last Sunday the previews suggested that this week’s episode would be a new one, and they showed a teaser for a new episode for two weeks from now. I auto program shows that I want to watch, because usually by the next day, I have forgotten what it was that I wanted to watch.

When I auto-programmed this week’s episode, I noticed it was a repeat. It is a big deal to me, because looking forward to Grey’s Anatomy every Sunday night is like someone who works full time, looking forward to a Friday.

Except for the fact that after the show is over, I go right back to work…

I read today (source) that if a stay-at-home-mom was paid for the hours she worked plus overtime, she would make just over $130,000 a year. It is an impressive amount, and some people might even feel cheated, but as much as I would love to earn that much, nothing could replace the payment I receive now: an unlimited supply of hugs and kisses.

I thought a lot about that today, mostly because my youngest sister told me that she was going back to work. Her baby is 5 months old, and I know the feeling of not wanting to put your baby in daycare. I can’t complain too much about daycares though, as I do not have the experience to do so. I just know that I am extremely lucky to be able to stay home with my child, even though there are a few exceptionally tiresome days here and there.

So now, my Sunday will be spent putting in a little overtime with my son. Maybe I will rent Chicken Little and grab some Twizzlers.

Those Calgon commercials used to make no sense to me. I would watch them as a teenager and I just knew there was some sort of sexual meaning behind all of it. The lady (naked) in the bathtub, the bubbles covering just the right spots, and the breathily way she spoke those four simple words.

Sex. It was all about sex. I just knew it.

I would giggle to myself at how yet another commercial was getting away with polluting young minds in seemingly subliminal ways. It was so obvious. Did the advertisers really think I was that stupid?

No. They knew it.

I see now that whoever decided on that slogan was undeniably brilliant. They ever so carefully planted a small seed inside every female that saw that commercial. They knew that one day we would grow up and have children.

Those advertisers knew that one day we would be in control of the shopping. We would pass by the Calgon in the aisle next to the tampons and baby soap. Our two year olds would be in the back of the basket with the shampoo – shampooing their hair. There would be at least 5 cookies stuck to various parts of your body. The adhesive would most likely be candy or snot, naturally.

In that instant, it would be so painfully obvious. We would know that the only thing connecting Calgon and sex was the fact that sex made children. Mommies took care of the children, and mommies needed (read: NEEDED) Calgon to take them away.

Very. Far. Away. Also known as: the bathroom.

The bathroom is every mommy’s sanctuary. It is our private place. It is our put-your-face-in-a-pillow-and-scream place. It is where you go to talk on the phone, so you will not wake your sleeping demon. It is where you pretend to have insanely embarrassing problems, just to be alone.

It is where you let Calgon take you away.

I only have but one complaint to the makers of Calgon. There should be a small disclaimer on the back of your box-o-miracle. I wrote a little something to help get your started:

“WARNING: Calgon’s effect only lasts five and half minutes. After this time has passed, your child will burst into the bathroom (after finally figuring out how to open the door by himself – miraculously) and throw your phone into the bathtub. You will want to drown yourself, but we urge you to instead laugh with your son, as he is the reason for your existence.”

Thank you, Calgon, for planting the seed. You are everything I ever wanted, but never knew I needed in a bath product.

I grew up in Shiner. I know it is not exactly true, but I think I was the only Mexican in my school until I was a sophomore. In Yoakum, less than 10 miles away, there were Mexicans everywhere. It was a completely different world as far as I was concerned, but I didn’t live there so I tried not to dwell on it.

As I type this, I realize I have already said “Mexican” twice. It is just another side effect of growing up in a “white” world. I find that I offend people sometimes when I say “Mexican.” People either correct me and tell me I should say “Latino(a)” or “Spanish,” but most of the time I just get stared at funny.

I used to work in an office. I had a nameplate on my desk that said “Toni Gonzales.” I can’t tell you how many people would talk up to me and just start speaking Spanish. I want to be clear on the fact that it never offended me. What did offend me however was the looks and comments I got when I politely said, “No habla espanol.”

I got a mixture of pity and disappointment. The older people felt sorry for me, and the younger ones just shook their heads and even inquired what kind of parents did I have that didn’t teach me about my culture. Then the other few just made snide remarks in Spanish about how I was embarrassed of my culture or how I though I was better than them. Remarks, by the way, that I somewhat understood, having taken two years of Spanish in high school.

What are you to do when someone of you own race is being prejudice towards you?

I was not aware that I was any different than anyone else until I was about 10 years old. I wish that I could have remained blissfully stupid for just a little longer. It was then that I learned how mean people could be. It started with the snide remarks about where I came from. I was told that I did not belong there. I was asked how long it took me to swim across the Rio Grande River. I was informed that I was a Mexican and not an American. Finally, one day I came home and asked my mom what a “wetback” was.

These taunts finally started to fade around my first year of high school. By that time, however, the damage was done and sadly, permanent. I was ashamed to put my last name on anything. It was hard to even bring myself to write it out, and if I was out of town, I just lied about it. I dyed my hair lighter brown, and wore horribly light makeup. I was convinced at the time that it was the reason why the remarks stopped. I know now that my classmates just grew up and forgot about it all.

I just never did.

I heard my first Tejano/Spanish song when I was 18. I never had a quinceanera (I had to look that up to spell it). I still cannot speak Spanish because I almost failed it in high school. I only took it because it was required to have a language to graduate and my school only offered Spanish. I still feel uncomfortable when I say “Mexican” because I don’t know if I am supposed to say “Spanish” or “Mexican” or “Latino.”

And I still feel inferior in some situations because I am Mexican. It is like it has been implanted in my brain that I am not good enough because I am “brown.” In the end, I am left in a weird limbo.

My “own people” feel sorry for me or think I am trying to act “white.” The other people made fun of me for something I was very unaware of for many years. I happen to be a lighter skinned Mexican/Latina/Spanish person and it leaves me with one thought:

When I get married in three months, and inherit a “white” last name, what will I be then?

I haven’t even gotten a hold on my culture/skin as it is. Will I feel like I am invading someone else’s territory when I have a “white” last name? Will I still have a right to be a Mexican?

Or will I become translucent?

“But the thing is, it’s hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely. Cause almost everyone still has that smallest bit of hope — of faith — that one day they’ll open their eyes and it will come true.”

I watched “Can’t Buy Me Love” twenty-seven thousand times. I loved Patrick Dempsey when he was just the dork mowing the lawn. I always tend to go for the underdog, but in this case, it was because I just thought he was fantabulous.

I can’t say I have seen all of his movies, but I have seen all of the ones I can rent. He was one of the first teenage obsessions. I used to cut out pictures of him, paste them on the pages of a cheap one-subject notebook, and then proceed to fill the notebook with stories about the love we found.

 

After a while, he was laid to rest, along with the New Kids on the Block tapes, and my other crush – “the senior.” I grew up. I moved on. I just never forgot. Every time I saw a movie with him in it, I took that extra few minutes to sit down and enjoy it. If I saw him doing some sort of interview on TV or in a magazine, again, my attention was on him for the moment.

 

Then, “Grey’s Anatomy” came along. If you don’t watch this show, you seriously need to spend the $8 and go rent the first season on DVD. It is only 9 episodes (two-discs) and very much worth your money. Start watching them early in the afternoon, because I promise you won’t be able to go to sleep until you have finished.

 

Then, just go find some good spoiler sites, catch yourself up on the action this season, and tune in on Sunday nights on ABC. It usually airs after Desperate Housewives. I used to be addicted to that show too, but if you don’t already know – your obsessions are extremely limited when you have a child (children… heathens…).

 

I haven’t been feeling well lately. I think that there is a pack of rabid wolves camped out in my upper esophagus. Whatever it is, I can’t seem to figure out what it is, and neither can the doctor right now, so… bleh on them?

 

Until next time, rent Season One of Grey’s Anatomy on DVD!