The Broke and the Boring

It's Friday night and so far, I've spent the past thirty minutes listening to the people walk around the courtyard outside of my balcony while flirting. It's actually pretty interesting... she'll giggle, he'll say something trying to look cool, and I'll wince and attempt to keep Shadow from lunging off my second floor balcony in an attempt to protect me.

there he goes... vicious, vicious dog :o)

Being broke is the least fun thing in the world. I thought once I got out into the real world, I would be making bank and have all kinds of freedoms... lots of shopping, all the manicures I want, eating out with my friends, happy hours...

NOT TRUE. More money and more freedom also introduces me into the scary world of "more responsibility". I have my own apartment (cha-ching), I have a cute Scion TC to take me over the mountains to work (cha-ching!), I have utilities so I can shower, eat, and see (chaaaaa....ching!), and I have a dog that went through the worst four months of any puppy's first six months of existence (two parasites, distemper, worms, and a ruptured back disc... all resulting in CHA-CHING!). Now, I'm sitting at home trying to see if I have enough money to go with my friend danielle to a hotel bar for a dance/booze night.

While I might not have money to actually have friends, Boyfriend pays for Netflix, which allows me to pretend like I have friends by watching The Hills over and over until Lauren, Audrina, and Whitney seem like honest, real-life people that might swing by to take part in my exciting night of listening to two people attempt an awkward hookup outside of my apartment. <----- longest run on sentence ever? I had a point to make.

Also, on a side note, I just heard the Sean Kingston song "Take you There" on The Hills and there were lyrics that go, "We can go to the slums, where killers get hung, shorty I can take you there". Is that supposed to be a proposition for something desirable? I do not, ever, want to go to the slums to see men that got hung (which is improper grammar, because the past tense of "hang" is "hanged" no matter how grammatically incorrect that sounds). Unless... he knows more about grammar than I thought and really is talking about hung men. You know. You know. Dirty.

I wish I had more to say so that this post doesn't end with me talking about men being hung, but I'm boring and broke. Awesome. Enjoy your night. I know I will, at least until the two people outside head inside to someone's apartment to shack for the night and I lose all of my entertainment except for an old episode of the Hills.

Cleaning Machine

I had a really good shot at getting what I refer to as  the "clean gene". I think it's a dominant gene, like brown eyes, compared to the "dirt gene", which might be like blue eyes. My grandmother has very strong clean genes, while my grandfather had maybe one clean gene, and maybe one dirt gene. My mother got a clean gene and a dirt gene, but maybe her clean gene was uber powerful. My father probably has one of each.

My sister, lucky/unlucky girl that she is, got the two dirt genes. She can be blissfully happy surrounded by 3 week old chip bags, old half-empty bottles of wine (this is an example as clearly, she would not leave wine behind), and trash from sophomore year. She is the dirt gene carrier.

I, however, got hit with the ultimate clean gene combination... two strong clean genes. Boyfriend is just starting to experience my cleaning prowess. I can behave like a normal human being as long in the following situations:

1) My car is clean, but my purse and my house are messy
2) My purse is clean, but my house and my car are messy
3) My house is clean, but my car and my purse are messy

But when two of the three are messy... I snap like one of those women on Snapped!, a show about women that flip out and bury their cheating husbands alive or something like that. I get a look in my eye. I start planning my attack.

"Why do you have a crazy look in your eyes?" Boyfriend asked.
I ignored him; so much cleaning to do, so little time.
"Oh God." He watched me dig out bottles of bleach, lysol wipes, my swiffer, and my scrubbing bubbles, along with my rubber gloves and new sponges. "Cleaning time?"

I attack. I throw away old receipts from my purse, sweep and swiffer my tile surfaces, and windex my car windshield from the inside. I bleach and scrub and clean, clean, clean.

Sometimes the urge will hit me while Boyfriend and I are driving somewhere, like to meet his mom for lunch. Suddenly, I can't help but clean his car. It's so messy and cluttered... and even without a Walmart bag to throw everything away, I can't stop myself from gathering all the receipts and old labels and wrapping and napkins that accumulate in his car. I hold them in my lap. I use old water bottles to wet napkins to clean out his cupholders. I dig around in his backseat as far as I can reach without unbuckling my seatbelt, which Boyfriend will not let me do to clean.

We arrive at lunch with me looking like I just got out of a wind tunnel, carrying a huge wad of old papers, and a happy smile on my face.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. I blame you.

The Color of Love

In a competely unrelated to anything, completely random topic, borderline inappropriate way, I'm going to write about race today. No, I'm not going to talk about the prejudice or the discrimination, or the difference between whites, hispanics, blacks, etc.

I'm going to talk about how I love black men.

Since I was a little girl, I've always been more attracted to men with darker skin... both hispanic and black alike. I think part of this stemmed from following the NMSU Aggie Basketball team with my dad since I was four or five (think season tickets, every year for 13 years. i'm a fan). I also maintain that I might have been black in a different life. Either way, men with darker skin tones were much more attractive to me than white men.

I grew up in a home that saw no racism. My parents are in a mixed race marriage: my mom is white and my dad is hispanic. That's pretty common around here in the southwest, but it's not as common in my mom's hometown of Jefferson City, Missouri. But my mom loved my dad and loved his culture and they got married. They encouraged my appreciation for black men. They even bought me a black ken barbie doll, which I would have dating my Jasmin (Disney princess) doll, which I picked because she looked the most like me. My black ken would also date my white dolls... he was my favorite, along with Aladdin (who, really, looks hispanic). I don't think I even had a white ken doll.

My first boyfriend/kiss was black and I adored him for years. In fact, he was my longest relationship before Boyfriend. His mom works with  my mom at an elementary school and they joke about our past relationship.

I play a game with my friends called "marry screw kill". You pick three people that you like/think are attractive (or you pick the opposite as a joke) and have to choose one that you'd marry, one you'd spend the night with, and one to kill. My "ultimate" marry screw kill candidates are my favorite three men in the world (celebrities, that is): Michael Jordan, Barak Obama, and Will Smith. I always choose Obama to marry because, hello, he's attractive, elegant, and the president! The other two I alternate.

It wasn't until I got older and played the "marry screw kill" game with some aquaintance at a bar that I even thought of my attraction as abnormal. She wrinkled her nose at my choices. "You like black men, I guess." The tone of her voice was so judgmental that I forgot how to respond. I lifted an eyebrow at her... "um... yeah, I guess."
She shrugged. "I just don't see it." But her tone was pitying. Pitying! I was shocked and horrified at her. The fact of the matter is, who I am attracted to is my own business. I've had some white boyfriends since... some tall, blonde haired blue eyed boys. But in my limited experience, the culture between black men, hispanic men, and white men is very different in my community. I've noticed that the black men and hispanic men i knew were more polite and respectful toward women. i really started falling in love with hispanic men as i got older... leading to Boyfriend, who is Colombian and Mexican. I love that his skin tone is darker than my pale color. I love that he never sunburns. I love that he grew up in a home where women were strong, treated well, and respected.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that picking a man has nothing to do with a color but really a culture. There are some hispanic men raised in a white culture, some black men raised hispanic. what is important to look at is the culture that you want.

And Boyfriend is the culture that I want.

Twas the Week Before V-Day

I know, I know, I haven't posted in a while. To both of you that read this blog, lo siento. I'm sorry, truly, but really... you didn't miss much. Boyfriend, Shadow and I were stranded in our apartment with no water (so no way to wash dishes, cook much, flush the toilets or shower), with leaky pipes and a bathroom that was not even in service because we had a leak so the apartment people came in to fix everything and left a HUGE MESS.

ugh.

So we high-tailed it to my mama's house and stayed with her! My parents are keeping my sister's pitbull Lula Mae while my sister is in Portland, waiting to start law school (she just got accepted into UNM!), so Shadow had the time of his life there.

We didn't do much... we really just played Donkey Kong on the Wii, read, and enjoyed watching cable. Now, I looooove cable. I love trashy MTV reality shows (flavor of love? rock of love? i love money? teen mom? 16 and pregnant? made? sign me up!), so I was really, really looking forward to having cable again.

Turns out, cable? Not as great as I had remembered. Half the time there is NOTHING ON and you spend your time flipping between channels hoping a sitcom rerun is coming on. Boyfriend and I have netflix, so we have been enjoying watching the shows that we love whenever we feel like it.

Spoiled, spoiled, I know.

But it was fun all the same, a kind of mini vacation where Shadow had a yard to run in and a friend to play with. It definitely showed us that he needs a friend (a full time friend), so as soon as we purchase a house, we're getting another puppy. One dog in an apartment is enough for me!

What was the original intent of this post again? Oh yeah. Valentine's Day! I, personally, am waiting for the 15th of February... discounted chocolate day! woop woop! Boyfriend and I celebrated our V-day early, by going to the Melting Pot and seeing Wicked (so so so good) in Albuquerque. Plus, Boyfriend works on V-Day (as do I), so we are going to be pretty low-key... I'll be picking up Sonic and we'll watch a few episodes of the Office before he goes to work. Hey, we'll make sure to watch the cheesy Jim-Pam love story episodes, just to make it romantic. I mean, it is Valentine's Day after all :o)

Now, we're off to see the Fighter! Hasta!

Wicked, Busted Pipes, Snow

Today was the first day back to the real world after a nice two-day snow break in the middle of the week. While I really loved having that break, it was actually kind of nice to get back to work. I thought I'd have a lot to do but since everyone was snowed in on Wednesday and Thursday, almost nobody had their monthly reports done, so I was left with little to do.

Things quickly perked up when Boyfriend called with some news.
"We have a leak."
"A what?
"A leak. In the master bathroom."
Panic panic panic. "Uh... uh... okay. okay! what do i do first?"
"I already called. They're here, fixing the pipes. But we have a three-foot hole in our roof."
Thank God for Boyfriend taking care of things for me!

Then, a few hours later...
"We have another leak."
"ANOTHER LEAK?!" Panic!
"Took care of it. They're here. But they might have to re-pipe our bathroom." Which would take FOREVER!

Plus we're going out of town this weeked to Albuquerque to see Wicked! I'm so so so excited. I've been looking forward to this since I got the tickets back in October!

tonsoftickets.com

Just as long as my apartment pipes don't bust, I'll be there with bells on. If I have to miss this due to a flooded apartment, I will be so mad.

Let it Snow!

This winter has been one of the most mild in southern New Mexico memory, at least for me. On Christmas Day, I wore a short-sleeved blouse with no jacket, in sunny temperatures of around... 65? With the exception of the FREEZING Sun Bowl I attended (see some of my previous posts), this winter has been really nice.

Except for this week.

The snow started on Tuesday evening, falling steadily and almost sticking to the ground. Shadow had his first experience with it and... hated it. At first! He kept growling at the falling snow from the window, in this deep deep growl, like it was a predator about to come through the sliding glass door and eat us alive.

But because he loves water, he got over it. Now he loves it. :o)

I went to sleep and woke up to a city of white. Everything closed down on Wednesday in my sleepy little town. Since we do live in southern New Mexico, we are not equipped with any cold-weather equipment... such as snowtires, snow plows, salt for the roads, anything. So instead of face a horrible insurance nightmare, we all shut down over some ice on the roads and 2-4 inches of snow. County offices shut down, the schools shut down, my work, most work. Pipes froze and burst. We are in the midst of rolling electrical shortages because our electric company can't handle the extra pressure of all the heaters going crazy.

It's been a middle-of-the-week vacation for the past two days and I loved it!

But it's back to work for me tomorrow. If we close tomorrow, we'll be completely screwed next week, so I really hope everything works out.

Back to snuggling in my snuggy with Shadow, drinking tea, watching Gilmore Girls!