Thursday, February 26, 2009

Hopelessly Addicted

I've had it with DP, so we're breaking up. She's costing me a fortune: $730.00 per year. And I feel embarrassed when I roll up behind that woman whose cart is filled with "caffeine free." She's so spiritual. Then I have to cringe when that ol' Word of Wisdom topic comes up because I know I gotz a habit. So today, I told my kids that it's over between me and DP. Sam responded, "Yeah, yeah. You'll quit...just after you have about 80 million more 12 packs. He knows me too well. He's right; I'm hopelessly addicted.

It all started with the late night shifts I had while working at the Gap. Combine my shifts with going to school full time and living next door to Maverick's drive-thru, I had no hope. I was tired, desperately searching for something to kickstart my dragging rehind (our word for buttocks). I'd be breaking the Honor Code if I used meth., so I opted for a little DP.

I loved the ritual of it all: pressing my 32 ouncer against the the ice dispenser's metal arm, watching the small ice cubes drop until the cup was half full, and then shuffling over to the soda fountains so I could push DP's "fill'er up" button. I'd slap that plastic lid atop my full cup, slide in an extra skinny straw, and pay my .69 cents. She was the cheap, fast energy that I craved.

But now I have kids who are growing wiser by the day. And they're giving me grief for making them drink Green Machine while I sip my glass of DP.

They say:

"Soda is bad for you, Mom. It makes your bones shrink and your teeth rotten."

I tell them, "But I drink diet."

They say, "It will make your rehind big like a bag of wet clothes."

I tell them, "At least my big rehind won't be draggin' "

They say, "You really should stop."

I know I should, so I will...just as soon as I finish the 12 pack that's sitting in my fridge.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

All the Single Ladies...All the Single Ladies

You may think that I'm invading her privacy, but we have a rule. If your mom has to clean your room because she can't stand the wet towels and the scorpion attractin' candy wrappers all over the dresser, then anything that's left laying around is free game. So when I found this little "Top Secret" booklet in mi homgurl'z dresser drawer, I couldn't wait to see what it said. It was seriously like striking gold or winning Publisher's Clearing House.

(A little aside: some of you may think that I'm betraying mi homegurl, doing things like stabbing her in the back. Not so fast, chica! I used a little bribery and asked her permission to publish her "Top Secret" booklet in exchange for a trip to Wet Seal. Anyhoo....all the single ladies out there better listen up because this "Top Secret" booklet will change your life.
  • The "Top Secret: The Girls Guide to Love Rules" was published with permission and copied verbatim.

The Girls guide to Love rules

1. Never tell a boy you like him. He may spread it and you'll probably be humiliated.

2. If you like a boy this is what I do: I bump into him and say OMIGOSH! I'm so sorry and give him a cute smile.

3. The boy doesn't really care how you dress just your personality and your facial looks.

4. Tell a trusting friend that you like the boy. But make sure your careful he/she may spread it.

5. You could have one of your friends ask if the boy likes you. And she/he should say hey_______ what's up. Just wondering if you like that person. If the person asks why just say. Well I'm just wondering. If he says no. Just shrug and if he says yes smile. And if he asks does she like me just shrug and walk away.

6. You also can sense if a boy likes you if they stare at you or smile and glance at you. That's all for now!
Mi Homgurl has got some moves goin' on. I think I'll take her advice and try rule #2 and #6 on mi Amor tonight. You never know, her advice might spark up some love magic.

Monday, February 23, 2009

The Sabbath Rules!

At our house, we have a few keepin' the Sabbath day holy while attending sacrament meeting rules:

1.  No bathroom passes.  You better go before or bring yourself a change of clothes, just in case, 'cuz you ain't going.
2.  No drink breaks.  And I don't care that you're getting a sore throat, or having a little cough, or forgot to get a drink before bed last night!  
3.  Tic-Tac-Toe on the itouch against the reigning champion, Mi Amor, is allowed after the first talk is given.
4.  If you're not reverent during the meeting, you will practice reverence for 15 min. on a real church pew when you get home.
5.  No falling asleep during the meeting unless you're under 8 years old, serving in the Bishopbric, or on the High Council.

Unfortunately, Sam broke rule #5. I felt bad for him because his previous night's sleep was filled with nightmares and sleeping on a little cot next to my bed.  He was tired, bless his heart, but the RULES is the RULES!  I gently nudged him, waking him from his blissful slumber.  "Wake-up!  And listen to the speaker.  There's going to be a quiz when we get home. And you better be able to quote Isaiah Spanish."  He sat up as straight as he could and reverently folded his arms but quickly fell back to sleep.  I whispered in his ear, "Now you're going to have to take a 10 hour nap when we get home, and no watching T.V. when the Sabbath ends at sundown (a little aside: We have a PERSONAL family rule that limited(no Sponge Bob) television can be watched at sundown. It's around that time when our kids start beatin' each other and whatnot due to Sabbath cabin fever).  Anyhoo, he sat up and looked at me square in the eyes and said, "Can't you see that I'm just getting ready for the next prayer?"  To my surprise, it was actually time for the next prayer.  Doggonit! He was totally off the hook.  "I'll get you next time, my pretty," I thought to myself.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


Crapola. Crass you say? Even a bit vulgar? Definitely not the sort of word that comes out of a true lady's mouth. But it's the word that this lady uses when she's thrust into dire straits, and I'm not talking about the band here, chicas. Nothing sends me there quicker than taking a little looksy at my bank account balance. "Negative 13 cents?" How can this be? I jump up from the computer and run over to my desk calender. "13 and a half days until my next allowance? What the crapola!" You feelin' me?

Now mi Amor wised up to my budgetinglessness (made up word for can't budget...ever) skills about two years ago. He kindly suggested that I try using my own bank account. I agreed and have yet to stick to my biweekly allowance. It's so embarrassing when I have to confess to him, almost D-A-I-L-Y, that I had to make another transfer. I always cross my heart and hope die, promising him that I'll be better. I even started keeping track of what I spent in a little notebook. But after a couple of days, that got kind of hard and oldish. The truth is, I don't want to worry about it. I want to buy whatever, whenever. I don't want to write it down. I don't want comparison shop. And I don't want to think about the consequences of not doing the aforementioned.

I hope mi madre isn't reading this post because she taught me better than that. She's the kind of chica who keeps vigilant track of what she spends. As a girl, I remember looking through her checkbook register to see if she had purchased a certain Christmas present for me. I knew that if she'd purchased it, I'd find it there, perfectly recorded: date, store, amount spent. Yep. I found it. Her account was never negative. If she didn't have enough money, she'd hold off spending until she did.  Maybe it was easier to save back then.  Maybe she didn't give a care that all of her friends were out buying the new latest and greatest.  Or maybe she just had a little good ol' self control. 

 This chica could use a little dose of that.  So starting today, I promise to live within my means.  No more transfers, and I mean it this time.  When I get that little flirty Nordstrom Rack sale email, I'll just delete it.  When I get my new Domino magazine,  I'll enjoy the pictures and be glad that I don't have to redecorate anything right now. And when I don't feel like making dinner, I'll make it anyway.    Then at night, before I go to bed, I'll check my bank account to see how I did.  It will have a positive balance, and I'll thank the heavens above that tonight I won't fall asleep with visions of crapola running through my head. 

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

FHE: Sweeter Than Apple Pie!

Life just got a little sweeter. That's because last night mi Amor gave the F.H.E. lesson. You guessed it! And I'm here to confirm that yes, indeed, he IS patterning his life after those sweet translated souls from the City of Enoch. But I'm thinkin' that last night's kindness was due to something else. Something like me rantin' around the house, utterin' things like: "I'm about to go berserk....have a nervous breakdown....someone....anyone please, for the love of good,....plan the Family Home Evening lesson cuz' THIS SHIP's asinkin'!" My words motivated mi Amor so much that he googled: F.H.E. : Lessons for the Desperate and came up with the above pictured lesson. 

All my wailing and gnashing of teeth also sent my Hannah to aplannin' some F.H.E. fun. A little aside: It's nice to know that the only other girl in our household has got my back. You know, she's my the core!

We gathered together for our F.H.E. and to my surprise, we had two prepared lessons: Mi Amor's and mi Homegurl'z. Mi Amor only had patience for one lesson...his. And, so a little scuffle ensued between the two. Mi Homegurl sensed that our sweet F.H.E. mood was achangin': the dog started abarkin', the other kids started founchin', and the Spirit was escapin'. She quickly made some necessary changes to the F.H.E. program. Yes, I said program. Refer to picture above.

Mi Amor's lesson was given.
Tears were shed.
A prayer was said.
Sweet treats were devoured.
And yes, we had fun!!!!!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Word to Mi Madre

Spanglish translation: Word to my mother. That's right. I dig my mom big time, mostly because she is so good at letting me be ME. Por exemplo, when I was in the 7th grade, I wanted to be a Chola (Mexican-American gangsta' girl). There were some Cholas in my typing class, and so I sat by them every day. After I told them I was 1/8th Mexican (a total lie), they kinda-sorta tolerated me. They even let me walk with them during the passing period, and that's when big changes started happening in my life. I thought to myself, "I'm going to show mis amigas that this 1/8th Mexican girl can rock that Chola look." I went home and did the following:

1. Got some huge claw bangs goin' on.
2. Bought some black old skool Vans and wrote mi barrio, Casa Blanca, around the white rubber part. (It's a real barrio, look it up.)
3. Carried in my purse: Aqua Net, the darkest shade of Wet 'n' Wild lip liner available, and a black permanent marker, just in case I needed to write a message on the bathroom wall. You know, things like: new boyfriends, girls I (we) didn't like, or the ever changing "list" of amigas in "our" group.
4. Gave myself a nickname: La Tiny (usually given to you by your homegurlz, but I was cool with naming myself).
5. Practiced saying tough things like: "Don't be lookin' over here. I saw you lookin' over here."
Monday came. And when I walked out ready for school, mi Madre said, "Your hair looks taller. That must have taken hours." She was right. I went to school and told mis homegurlz that
I had a Mexican boyfriend and my nickname was La Tiny. Our conversation went something like:

La Sad Girl: I like your shoes.
La Casper: I like your bangs.
La Flaca: Casa Blanca, rifa!
La Tiny (me): I know, huh!!!!

I said goodbye to mis dias de las Chola at the end of 7th grade. In 8th, I was a total Valley Girl. Like, oh my gosh! Gag me with a spoon! To this day, mi Madre says: "Like, totally!"