They are a-changin’.

Something tells me all the change I have been recently craving and wishing for… is coming. Whether I am ready or not.

I hope you are full of merry happy good cheer and shit. I also hope you got whatever new gadgets and over indulging pieces of bling you begged Santa/Krampus/Yule/Solstice Master etc.- for.

My kids and my stomach are happy.

My mirror image is not. Good God.

SO therefore, I am ready to shed some serious poundage but not really sure how when I fucking love food. That paired with latina fat genes, well. We know what that means.

This entry is a clusterfuck.

I guess it’s an update sorta thing. I need to make some changes around here starting with the shitty entries from 2004 that I left high and dry and unattended to once I tried to combine old blogs.

Bring on the new year, damnit. I got a lot of things to accomplish.

Can I tell you that I hate being broken out like a teenager in heat?
I DO.

For the past month or so I have the worst zits that a 35 year old woman can possibly imagine. I just don’t get it. Where the hell did this come from? I haven’t been wearing huge amounts of make up because first off, I hardly have time to get dressed with the kids home for the summer, let alone do my hair and my make up. So I rarely remember to put on moisturizer let alone a full face of the stuff I love the most.

Is it stress?
Is it hormones?
Is it pre-menopause?
OMG…. it can’t be. WTF???

I seriously have tried it all.
Vinegar. Apple cider and regular diluted acidity Woeber’s.
Neutrogena Spot on.
Queen Helene’s mint julep mask.
Witch Hazel.
Perfume free soaps.
You name it.

I’m so damned irritated over irritated skin.

I’m cooking dinner and fighting some sort of infection- maybe bladder or kidney. Not sure what, but according to my husband I have to go to urgent care. Meh. I hate urgent care.

I decided I was gonna eat a good steak and provolone cheese sub sandwhich before I went anywhere. So while I cook it, I had to post my favorite Jerky Boys prank call of all time. I found it on youtube and have been sitting here laughing over and over as I keep rewinding it.

It’s “Rosine Like’s Balloons” Or as my brother and I call it “Rosine likes Balloonce & Lobstahs too”.

During random spurts through any certain day, you can hear my brother and I bursting out into this imitation. Driving in the car, out in the pool, or even just as we’re eating a meal. No we’re not children- he’s 24 and I am 35. But sometimes, you have to laugh.

I bring you my fave prank EVER:
Rosine Likes Blue Brown Balloonce & Lobstahs too….

Here’s the words… you can’t help but laugh:
Reciever 1: ***** Markets
Caller (Rosine): Do you guys..do you have balloons?
R:YeNo (kinda of inbetween yes and no)
C: Y..Y..You don’t have balloons?
R: You what?
C: You guys don’t make balloons?
R: Yeah
C: So can i order balloons from you?
R: No, you have to come in.
C: Do you have any lobsters?
R: Hold on one second… (Puts him on hold)
Reciever 2: Hello?
C: Hello?
R2: Yeah can I help ya?
C: Yes, I’m looking for ballons.
R2: Ok. What kind?
C: I like the balloons, the blue big brown balloons.
R2: Sure!
C: I like to blow them up and than let the air out..
R2: Oh, come on in and you can do that.
C: How many could I touch and lick?
R2: As many as you want. You can touch and lick em’ all.
C: I like those balloons those ballons are nice too.
R2: Whatever you wanna do man.
C: I likeded that shit we drink that shit.
R2: Whatever you wanna do bro.
C: I like to eat lobster too.
R2: Ok, you can eat lobster.
C: I used to eat… I used to order lobsters n’ shit.(R2: Yeah) And I wouldn’t eat that shit, I’d lick that shit. (R2: You’d lick it huh.) And then I slap-ded that shit right off my table. (long pause) That shit was good.
R2: Yeah.
C: I slap-ded that shit.. (R2: alright man see ya later.) Right. (Hangs up)
(Jerky Boys crew chuckles)

I have been a bit busy lately, so please accept my sincerest apologies with not writing on the blog in about a week or so.
Just a quick update and then hopefully in a day or two I can get back into the swing of things.
I will bullet, to keep from writing an entry that is so long I could get it published as a memoir.

• Myself and my children all had a hellacious virus/flu thing. I am still hacking up a lung like a smoking, drunkard and barefooted hill woman. But I am feeling better ;D
• The time change. My kids get all flabbergasted and me and the husband can’t figure out what time or year it is for about 2 weeks.
• Lay Offs from Hell going on at my husband’s job. So far- he’s ok. But Oh My God- PLEASE keep everything ok, or I will be working at your local craft store as a cashier to help make ends meet. (Hey the employee discount is tempting- supplies for %’s off??!)
• The Collab channel I was a part of has closed without notice. I have no clue what happened. I know a few of the women have real life issues going on.
• Life.

So- yea! I haven’t forgotten about the blog. Shit- I am not even sure I have readers. Are you a reader? Let me know

I will be focusing on my own Youtube channel and am in the works with a very special guru that will be collaborating with me on some really cool stuff, so stay tuned for that one.
I will also most likely bring over my WTFriday moment’s from FRW’s channel to those of you that liked that little segment.

So- there you have it.
Thanks for checking in and stay tuned for more goodies.

Wink Wink,

Mari

Gonna be doing a new layout soon. I need to get this thing going.
I hope this code works for my vlog update.

Oops guess I need to install this plugin. I shall do that later, lmfao. No time.

Ahhh.
Welcome, Hello there. Where shall I start? I have done so many blogs before. Half done blogs left to stale over years and ignored on the interwebs. A long 6 year private diary/blog. Blogger. Two entries I wrote on other various sites that I have long lost the desire to remember their passwords or even the desire to finish what I started. And let’s not forget my random blabbing on my myspace.

I decided this should be it. The one. Where I write it all down. The ideas. The desires. The happiness. Life’s comedies and tragedies. Where I write about me. I think I may even throw in a short story or two that sit in the dusty files of my computer.

I won’t bore you with the usual “hello, I am Maritza and I am a married 34 year old woman. Married 10 years with three children…” crap. Well, wait- I guess I just did. But I promise you that will be the only part of this entry post with that sort of boring information.

I will begin with explaining why I love this form of self expression. I began writing thoughts and ideas in my tiny little leather diary when I was around 9 years old. The lock hid it’s contents from potential outside intruders. I hid the lock inside a book on my shelf. Easily accesible, now that I think back. Why hadn’t I hidden the key somewhere much more obscure? 
I realize now, that part of me wanted my thoughts to be read. To be analyzed.

That brings me to where I am now. Sharing all I am with you. So you can read, and analyze. Laugh, ponder and at times I am sure- you will totally scratch your head and not have ANY clue whatsoever what I am talking about, but you will hopefully be able to share a quick laugh with me as I babble about my life.

So sit back and enjoy. Leave comments.
And remember- the key to life should never be hidden.

… there’d be days like this. Where your baby is screaming and you don’t know what is wrong.

Where you have been up all night with a total of 2 hours sleep, and your hair is bigger than texas because you have been sitting in a steam bath to help your baby breathe better.

That your husband’s week off vacation to celebrate your 31st birthday, would be filled with a baby that has a spiking fever and won’t eat because it hurts him.

That you would be running to the pediatrician’s office, with sick baby in tow and big nasty matted hair and bags that look like luggage under your eyes, in a practical walking coma, hoping PRAYING that your baby will maybe sleep tonight.

My baby is sick. And when my babies are sick, I feel ten times worse than they do. Because I wish I had a magical potion to make them smiley and shiney again.

Off to the Ped. Hopefully they can diagnose Ryan, so he and I can both get sleep. Before I turn 31 tomorrow and find grey hairs on my head.

My children have a bad habit of peeling paint.
It’s something that irritates me beyond belief.

While cleaning the other day, I realized that they had peeled the paint off of the area on my bedroom door, that once was a small little nick.
As I stared at it, it looked familiar.
What was that?
Better yet, WHO was that?

I saw this…

And my God, it was the image of Shaggy from Scooby Doo.
St. Shaggy of Scooby I call him.

I even made up a prayer I say to him at night, after laying flowers in front of him and blessed Santo candles:

Oh, St. Shaggy of Scooby
Bring to me the holiest of mysteries.
Help me to understand your hair on
your chin.
And bring the lord baby Jesus, within.
Amen.

Should I let people come and see the St. Shag? Should I call the local networks and tell them I have the holiest of mysteries on my bedroom door? Should I remove the door and put it on Ebay?

I’m going to hell, ain’t I?

WHO: Bird flu is imminent.

And we all thought I was in need of stronger mental drugs.

Start building those crystal bubbles people.

::Mariposa runs off screaming::

More interesting entry to come later. When I have time, and when I can gather me thoughts together in me head.

I have bad gas.

Eat wings and drink beer two nights in a row, and see how fucking horrendous your ass and mouth can act simultaneously.

I’m just sayin’.

After a romantic night with my husband, I got out of bed, and went:
“PWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW”
::giggle giggle::
then… “Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrp”.

His response:
“Jeesus Christ! WHAT the FUUUUUCK?!”

Me sooo coy and smexy.

My friend and I decided that we needed to get the FUCK out of our houses last night. So she came and scooped me up and we disappeared into the night as our husbands were left with three kids each.

Did we look back? No.

Shit, I didn’t want to come back.

I never thought I could make chicken wings and a drive around in the snow last for 4 fucking hours, but we did somehow.

I felt like I smoked a doobie. That’s how relaxed I was without three kids and a husband. I felt like I had just smoked a fat fucking doobage. I even giggled like I did.

I giggled so fucking hard, that my throat hurts today.

I didn’t want to come back people.

When I say that I am not kidding. I think maybe, that there is something within me that could run and never turn back. It’s scary. I think I could just take off and pretend that this all never existed. And become a trailer park woman who lives in the shadows.

But, I did come back. And here I am. Back in the land of poop and diapers and screaming children. It even smells like poop in here. Like baby poop. Baby poop and Kool Aid.

Can I shoot myself?

Please?

I have bad habits.

One is I stay up real late, and do stupid shit instead of sleeping like I should. The baby is now sleeping almost through the night, with one feeding in exception.

And well, I should be sleeping, right?
Wrong.

I blog, and play with my blog and I stay up and talk with friends, and do things, because I make myself believe, that I need to do these things, or else I will get PPD and go crazy.

Hmmm. Sounds good enough for me.

Then I am tired, but that’s what vitamins and coffee are for. Right? I guess.

One bad habit I used to have, is I smoked. I smoked for 13 years. 30-13=17. Uh huh. Long time. But I quit when Ryan was born. Because hubs said we should. Because we were killing ourselves and our wallet.

So we did. He did first, then I got pneumonia and then I did. Because I got pneumonia, and it hurt. And I said “if it hurts like this now, its gonna hurt real bad when I get cancer or emphesyma or some shit.” So I quit too.

We were doing well.

Now he is smoking cigars.

Um, babe, WHATS THE FUCKING POINT? MAN!?

He is also an unbearable… how can I put this lightly, ASSHOLE. He is so mean and freakish it’s insane. ALL AFTER THE 2 MONTH MARK, PEOPLE. WTF?

I like eating. I like giving … um… well you know… I like blowing things on my husband, and so, when I feel the need to get some hand to mouth action, I either pop in a bunch of chips or grapes, or I get real sexylike and I act naughty.

He on the other hand, well, if he won’t eat, he can’t give blow jobs, so I guess he will just use cigars.

WRONG.

I feel this is gonna be a long assed haul.

Maybe it’s because it’s in my old neighborhood.

Maybe because it was at a store I used to go to every morning before school started. and every afternoon after school was over, on my way to the bus stop.

Or, maybe the biggest reason why, is because this woman was a mother to two small babies the same ages as my own smallest.

For whatever reason it is, … it hurts. And I don’t understand why things like this happen in our world. In our backyards. In our faces.

Clerk and young mother fleeing gunmen shot, killed

Cold-blooded killings send shock waves through Hispanic community

Mother, husband talk of mom’s faith

I ache.

Real bad.

My kids have totally, made me feel like I just got done doing a double shift at the Mexican restaurant I used to work in, when I was a teenager.

Actually, I feel worse.

They have no schedule. There. I admitted it. None. Whatsoever. They don’t care either. And sometimes neither do I. The baby came and all sorta hell came bum rushing into my little scheduled, little creatures of habitfied family. Now everyone is funkafied, bootylicious and just don’t give a damn.

Bootylicious.
That’s my word for the day. Or night, cause, well, now it’s night. My day is non existent.

But my night, ohhhh my night is filled with tears and terrorizing, and tiny feet that stomp all about and take hold hostage of two adult human beings.

All I wanted was some alone time to myself, and I could not achieve that until now. And now, is not good enough, because I am achy, and I am upset, and I just want to go to bed.

I am going to bed. And I will dream of days when I was once a normal, selfish woman, that would sleep whenever the fuck she felt like it. Sooo soo lucky I was, sooo sooo stupid I was.

I don’t even think, that I am actually making any fucking sense, whatsoever.