Sunday, July 31, 2011

Bachelorette parties and Terraria

I was talking to some of my friends who are getting married or already are, and they were talking about how much fun they had during their bachelorette parties, which I honestly don't have any idea why they have them. I mean, you aren't going to die or anything, you're not moving away (if you are, then fine, but just call it a "farewell party" or something), and you are definitely not going to stop seeing your friends and family.

Anyways, whilst we were (woohoo for alliteration... is it? I forget...) talking about their parties, they asked me:

Friend: Omigosh! Did you have fun?
Me: (awkward)..... Uhm.... Sure.
Friend: What did you like the most?
Me: (even more awkward) Uhm.... everything?
Friend: (sparkly eyes) I'm so glad! Because I just loved it! Specially the wrap the bride with toiler paper! The dresses where so original!

Can you tell I was bored out of my mind? No? Well, I was. I'm not saying that it wasn't nice or pretty, I'm just saying it's not exactly MY kind of fun.
MY kind of fun involves video games, or comics, or movies, or a combination, or all of them.

Now, to the guys who read this blog, you are about to learn what goes on in bachelorette parties.

For starters, there are two kinds of bachelorette parties: the "good" one and the "bad" one.


A lot of women (all ages) get together to talk, drink and eat. Usually there will be large tables for groups of 10 women to sit together (even if they don't know each other) to talk and work together as a team during the bridal games.
Bridal games usually are:
1) Dress the bride with toilet paper.
2) Play bridal bingo, with images with sexist stuff like "broom", "dish washer", "baby", "cook", "oven",  "meal", "soap", "mop" and all the rest of things that women are supposed to do, work with or take care of.
3) Match the words, where you're supposed to match the alike words together (also, sexist stuff, like "foot-massage", "cook-his-dinner", "wash-the-dishes", but I never see any "tell-your-husband-to-get-out-of-the-couch-and-help-you-clean" sentence, because apparently we are still in the mid 30's and women aren't allowed to work).
4) Write a cooking recipe for the future bride-to-be (and I only know one, so I always stick to that one).

The games aren't that bad really. What I really hate is the small-talk you are forced to have with complete strangers.

Good thing I have a smart phone. I can be on Facebook or Twitter or Safari. If I didn't, I'd be lost. Completely lost.

Another thing the "good" bachelorette parties have is music. Music I usually don't know the lyrics to or can't dance to (that's actually my fault... I'm not such a good dancer. Every time I try to dance, I look like Johnny Bravo).

Crappy games, I can take. Small-talk, I can deal with it.
But there is nothing worse than complete strangers forcing you to play "naughty games".


I am not sexy nor wild or any of the sort; I don't go to bars or discos, I don't drink, I don't smoke. Fun for me is staying at home playing a video game or renting a movie. That's the perfect win for me.
So when it comes to flirting or any sex thing, I'm stumped.

The "bad" bachelorette parties usually have a stripper (a very bad looking one too... they aren't like the ones you see on TV or movies), or sex games (using fruit and rubber stuff, okay? I don't want to explain, my mom reads this).

When those games are about to start, I usually get an emergency call or something (again, thank you smart phone with awesome apps).


1) For starters, if my friends really wanted a stripper or something, I would make him wear a Clone Trooper outfit. Make it funny, you know? Spice things up so everybody would enjoy it.

2) My kind of games would be "Okay, you have to build a house in Terraria. Find the best materials in the world and make it look really good. But be careful with the zombies 'cause they could kill your NPC's, meaning your husband. Aaaaaaand START!"

3) Music? Easy: GLEE, Michael Bublé, Coldplay, Nightwish, Angela Aki.... or something you really can't dance to, but can enjoy.

4) I wouldn't sit people randomly around. I'd make a list and cards.
"What kind of person are you?"

Make the small-talk easy for everybody, you know?

I think my idea should be used more often: it really sums up all the things women should have and do during a bachelorette party.
No one would be stuck talking with someone they don't like, it would be funny and no way near embarrassing, AND it would be different and awesome!

Monday, July 25, 2011

Chatis: the unusual collector

Do you remember my tiny half chihuahua half pincher dog? Chatis? Yeap, well this is her:

Well, my dog isn't the smartest nor the most usual dog in the world. I love her with all my heart, but I'm not blind. She has the strangest dog body I've seen, and she keeps hitting her head on the floor every time she jumps. Not. Very. Bright.

From the picture above, we can see all the different parts of her body that aren't quite usual for a dog.

Exhibit "A" shows us her non-chihuahua ears. Even thou she is part chihuahua (by her head that is), her ears never fully lift, but quite the opposite.
In fact, they are the ears of Dobby from Harry Potter:

Picture taken from

(It's creepy, I know... But you can see the similarity, right?)

Exhibit "B" shows us a lump on her back. According to the Vet, her column is too long for her body.

(Poor little quasimodo Chatis).
The Vets actually recommended me not to have her "hook-up" with other dogs. They're afraid that her possible puppies might not be "healthy".

Me: "I'm thinking about getting her a boyfriend."
Vet: "No. You don't want to do that."
Me: "Why not?"
Vet: "Well, her spinal column is way too long and crooked."
Me: "But she can still get it going on!"
Vet: "Uhm, yes, well---I-I don't know what kind of dog would be good enough for her."
Me: "Maybe a pincher, or a big chihuahua."
Vet: "Yes, well........... Let me explain things better: even if you get her the most perfect male dog, we can't assure you that the puppies will be okay. She is one of a kind."

"F" you man... She is awesome!

Moving on.

Exhibit "C" shows us her rat tail. It's way too skinny and long. If it weren't covered with hair, I could assure you it was a rats tail. Honestly.

Exhibit "D" highlights her unusually long legs. They are so long, that she has to sit crooked.
Her legs might not be easy on the eyes, but they sure let her jump high enough to steal food from the table. She's like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh.

Another thing that lets me know that Chatis isn't entirely a normal dog is that she collects stuff. On her house or bed. She COLLECTS.
Cockroaches, tissues, socks, toilet paper, candy wrapping, food, rugs, towels, shirts, even shoes (and just as I am writing this, she took out some banana peels off the trash and took those to her bed).

If it's in her reach, she will collect it. And height isn't a problem for her; I think she considers it as an obstacle course.

I thought "well, maybe she won't be able to have puppies, but she can win in an obstacle course!" So I took her to a dog show.
We were both very excited. She didn't flinch or anything when I gave her her bath. I even put a little bit of perfume AND a pink bow on her back. She looked gorgeous!
I took the papers and filled the registering form with full haste. Then we went inside and took a sit. They called our names and I got up and carried her with me.

Woman: Mariel Garcia and dog Chatis?
Me: Yeap! That's us!
Woman: (looking at Chatis) And uhm... Exactly what kind of breed is your dog?
Me: Chihua--Pincher!
Woman: I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we can't accept her.
Woman: Because she doesn't look like a pincher.
Me: Did I say pincher? I meant chihuahua.
Woman: No, you said pincher.
Me: I sneezed.
Woman: Ma'am, can you please not make this more difficult?
Me: I am not doing anything difficult, and it's "Miss" not "ma'am" please... I'm not your age.
Woman: I'm sorry, but as I told you, your dog can't qualify for the competition.
Me: Why... You-You are a racist! A DOG RACIST!
Woman: Miss, that term doesn't even exist.
Me: Yes it DOES! And you're a hater too! She is crippled! Did you know that? Look at her back! LOOK AT HER BACK! SHE CAN'T HAVE BABIES! All she has left is jumping! JUMPING IN AN OBSTACLE COURSE! And YOU want to take that away from her! You MEAN, MEAN WOMAN! How can you be working in a place like this if you clearly hate dogs? Huh? How? HOW!?

And then I was banned from that dog show for life...

No Vet can tell me exactly what kind of dog Chatis is. They look at her and their minds go blank. They love her thou, 'cause she is really really nice: she doesn't act all possessive as other chihuahuas do. But still... My poor little Chatis is weird and not fully accepted in society.

She's crazy too. She's afraid of leaving her house, even if it's for cleaning.

So, between her phobia to leave her house and my OCD, it's a tough match to win.

One time, I saw the entrance of her tiny house filled with stuff. There was no way in, no way out for her. She was stuck inside her house, but she refused to let go of the stuff. Why she does this, I have no idea.

I do have a theory thou: she is part bear.

She is 2/8 chihuahua, 2/8 pincher, 1/8 bear, 1/8 Dobby, 1/8 rat and 1/8 rabbit ('cause she jumps way to high for any sort of dog).

OH MY GOD! I just realized! She is a chimera! ---A somehow dumb chimera, but still.
What do you guys think? 

Have you guys ever had any pets like her? She is different, yes. But still, very VERY awesome (even if that woman from the dog show disagrees).

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

I feel old

Have you guys ever felt old in your lives? I have. A lot of times. Specially today.

Remember how I told you I have been working since I was a teen so I could pay for my college? Well, one of my many jobs included being an elementary teacher for first and second grade.

I was an English teacher and I taught them Math, Science, English and Reading Comprehension.

I like kids, and I have good English skills so I thought "what the heck! I can totally do this!". Aside from the constant "like this, Miss Mariel?"

or "am I doing it right, Miss Mariel?" or "can I go to the bathroom, Miss Mariel?"

(...) my students were really cool. Every day I would get a drawing with "Yu ar teh bezt ticher Miss Mariel",

(...) or a drawing with one of my students dancing disco music (why? I had no idea since all of them were born after the year 2000, but apparently they had the disco fever going on). I would also get the most cliché thing for a teacher: an apple. I actually got an apple! Wheeew!

Turns out, five years later, some of my students are still adding me on MSN to chat with me. Don't get me wrong, I love that. But sometimes they start talking (well, writing) like "k, omG, lol" and so on. Of course, I'm a gamer and I KNOW about it because I write like that too while playing World of Warcraft, but my students seem to think otherwise.

Student: "omG, im sry xD, u probbly dont know it, but the :) is a smiley face, just tilt ur head and ull c it"
Me: "Of course I know it's a smiley head. Don't worry about it."
Student: "u sure? cuz i can write better if u want. the other teachers don undertsand sometimes"
Me: "Well, that's because they're older."
Student: "how old r u?"
Me: "I'm 24."
Student: "u R old!"
Me: "No, I'm not. Old is like mid 40's or something."
Student: "r u married?"
Me: "No, but what does that have to do with anything?"
Student: "oh, nothin, nvm"

It's GREAT to know that you're ex-students think of you like an old person. And even better when they think you're lonely and single because "you're old and you're not married yet". Just peachy!

But today.TODAY I felt even older than I thought.

My toe nail is getting this really weird color, so I thought I should see a doctor about it. I didn't know any Podiatrist in the town, so I had to ask around.
A friend of a friend recommended one. "She's really good with any feet treatment," they said. I thought, "well, this doctor must have a lot of experience if she is really good in what she does; all those years of medic school and her office is IN a hospital. She MUST be awesome. I must see her at once!" So I called her workplace and she kindly gave me an appointment at 4:20pm.

I asked my mom to come along and we arrived there at 4pm sharp. The office was neat, but it did had that "old doctor's office" look. "She must have years of practice," I thought.
We sat in the reception until our turn was up.

And then... "OH MY GOD, HI!" I turned around and there she was, this tiny pretty girl with a doctor gown on.

Me: "Hey, I know you."
Doctor Kid: "Yes!"
Me: "We were in the same middle school, right?"
Doctor Kid: "Yes, we were!"
Me: "But you're younger than me! You graduated a year after I did."
Doctor Kid: "Yeah!"
Me: "So... you're a doctor now?"
Doctor Kid: "Sure am! Now, come on in! What seems to be troubling you? Is your foot giving you a bad time?"

I went inside her office and, what do you know? She really was a doctor! She had all these diplomas on the wall and tons of papers and statues.

A kid. Younger than me. Was a DOCTOR! MY DOCTOR! I felt so confused and OLD.
And do you know what made me feel even older? She didn't charge me. Anything at all. Not even for the ointment she gave me for my toe nail.

I mean, I guess it's cool when they don't charge you any money, but I kinda felt it was because I was older than her. I know this because I usually don't charge older people for video editing or any designs or photo edits.

I feel old. And strange. And old. Very old.

PS.- On the "old" note, I'm turning 25 this week! So I feel even older because 25 is almost 30!

Anyways, wish me a happy birthday so I'll forget about getting older! Wheeew!

Friday, July 15, 2011

One of the most embarrassing moments in my life

Ok, so I was reading a few of my very veeeery past emails, and I came across one in particular that made me laugh A LOT.
As you can probably tell by the title, this one is actually pretty fun and I decided to share it with you guys.

I've never been rich and I still aren't. Thing is, I graduated from a really good private university here in Mexico, but in order to pay for it I had to work (I had a good scholarship, but it was still a pretty expensive college).

If you read my older posts, you'll notice I moved away from my parents house when I was 15, but I still came back to town during vacation time. And I liked coming back; being able to sleep in you own bed, having your mom making super awesome breakfast, don't have any worries about paying rent or bills or doing the laundry... It was awesome! I had my own "get-away" vacations every six months. AND I LOVED IT! (I love it so much, that I am actually visiting my parents right now, hehehe).

College was fun, I still miss it sometimes; seeing your friends every day ('cause now everybody works and it makes it harder for us to get together in one place at a certain time), having only homework to worry about, being able to skip class sometimes and not have any trouble... It was fun.
What I DIDN'T like about college was that this college in particular was like living in a fashion runway, and being all fancy and important, the school was FILLED with rich snobby kids who didn't know anything about life and hard work; they took everything for granted, never studied or did their homeworks, always skipping classes and then getting mad at the teachers for flunking them, and always trying to make the average kids' life a living hell.
One of those rich snobby kids was------let's call him BOB. So, BOB, was always trying to show off and was one of the few (before he eventually had to drop out 'cause he was stupid) who tried to make MY life miserable.
I know, I know, it sounds very mean of me to speak like that about him, buuuuut I have my reasons: he really did do everything he could to make my life miserable, including using his media influences... but he FAILED!!! Mwuahahahaaaa!!!! Victory dance for me:
<( '.' )>      <( '.'<)       <( '.' )>      (>'.' )>       <( '.' )>

Anyways, college was cool in spite of all the snobby kids, but it was really expensive. So, every time I came back to town to visit my parents, I had to get a job to raise money to pay for the next semester's tuition.
One of my first jobs during college was being a hostess for a fancy restaurant. I was actually aiming to be a waitress, but the manager had a "only man waiter" policy, for no reason whatsoever. Ergo, I was stuck as a hostess.

At first, I didn't think it was bad, I actually thought it was a way better deal: I would receive customers and send them towards their table. DONE. Pay up.
But, as always, I was wrong. Very wrong. Turns out, part of my duties included:
1.- Cleaning tables.

2.- Cleaning the windows (and there were TONS of HUGE windows all around, including the doors which were made of glass).

3.- Taking out the trash.

4.- Cleaning all the menus (including the ones with baby drool).

5.- Take the appetizers to each table, or the food in case all the waiters were busy.
6.- Take care of the bills when the cashier was out.
7.- Give kids their special menu and crayons.
8.- Clean the bathrooms (both men and women), and boooy are people messy!

9.- Help out in the kitchen if they need help.
10.- And smile :)

So, yeah... I had to clean the bathrooms and do the dishes. FUUUUUN, huh?
Anyways, my shift started at 5pm, and I had to wear black suit pants, heals and a shirt that was too big for me 'cause they didn't have any of my size. In other words, a Large Male shirt. ORANGE. The manager said they would bring me a new shirt tomorrow, but I had to wear this one for now. I looked ridiculous. Ugly. Fat but tiny at the same time. It was awful.

The first couple of hours were pretty smooth, only old people would come to have some coffee and cake or pie ('cause the cake is a lie, of course). But as soon as it hit 8pm, it was CRAZY. The restaurant was full and people would still be coming, waiting in line for their table.
Babies were puking, kids would keep smudging the windows, people would spill their drinks, and others would scream angrily because their table wasn't ready.

The end of my shift was something I was looking for eagerly. The clock was just a couple of minutes before 1am. The last duties for me where to sweep and mop the floor, so I quickly got to it.

And then........... DUN DUN DUN!!! Who do you think walks through the door? Come on, try to guess. Come on. I know you can do it. Give up? Ready? Yes. It was the one and only BOB! BOB was visiting MY TOWN (my lovely and peaceful town) with a couple of his friends, and now they wanted to hit the bar at the restaurant.

Can you imagine my surprise? Picture this: you have been working really hard all day, in spite of all the people who were making it real hard for you, cleaning bathrooms (that's the pee of other people you don't even know), moping vomit from the floor, wearing a ridiculously huge orange shirt, with a messy hair bun, and looking forward to head to the safety of your home to take a long bath and then sleeping warm in your bed. Now, have all of that taken away from you and being punched in the face by a gorilla with shark teeth and sunglasses, wearing a pale pink polo shirt with the neck up, and his hair looking like a mango chupado.

(Mango chupado is a term my clever mom invented to try to explain the spiky-metro-upward hairdo men sometimes use... I guess you can translate it into sucked mango, it looks something like this:)

Here's a picture 'cause I really can't draw a sucked mango:

Picture from "Edible Tropicals" Blog

Well, in any case, the feeling I got was worse than having someone deleting your save game just before you kill the final boss. I would know. I've been there.

I quickly tried to make myself disappear. But my boss was all like "why are you hiding in the VIP room? Go and get those people a table at the bar". How could he be so mean? So heartless! He didn't know! He couldn't understand! If BOB saw me like that, he would win the battle (but not the war thou, I don't go down that easily). And I like winning, well, LOVE winning, and I couldn't give this battle to BOB! So I quickly ninjad myself to the ladies bathroom and gave myself a little help by brushing my hair and my sweat off.
I came back, and they were still there. But now there was a spilled drink in the floor.

"Here, they told me to bring it to you so you could clean the floor. Sorry," a waiter said as he handed me a mop. And BOB was looking. Standing right there. Looking at myself with a mop, and a huge orange male shirt. FAILURE.

But then I thought, "alright, if I am going down, I will do it with glory and dignity". I took the mop and started moping. And I rocked it! I moped so awesome, sparkles began to show (hypothetically, but you get the idea).

I quickly finished and headed towards BOB and his snobby gorilla friends.

Me: "Hi, welcome to NAME I AM NOT GOING TO SAY restaurant. Table for how many?" I really should have ended that sentence with chimpanzees, but I was still on the clock.
BOB: "Six, please."
Me: "Alrighty then, this way please. Follow me." Yeah, you do that. FOLLOW ME. 'Cause you're so stupid you'll probably get lost in the way.
BOB: "Hey, I know you, you study in my school right?" YOUR school? I didn't know you freaking owned it. And great job pretending you don't know me.
Me: "Yes, I do."
BOB: "But you live here?" Uhm, unless I have a twin sister, I guess I do. DUH!
Me: "Yes, I live here. And why are you visiting us?" Yeah, what the 'F' are you doing here?
BOB: "Oh, well, WE got invited to join the Government speech group, and WE also got to attend a couple of conferences and see the inauguration of a new building, blah blah blah, I'm important and you're not, blah blah blah." 
Me: "Wow, that sure sounds important." NOT.
BOB: "It IS! I am SO lucky to be apart of this. OH! I'm soooorry, I guess working here must be pretty darn cool too, huh? Aaaaaanyway, see you later."
Me: "Yeah, enjoy your drinks." They will be poisoned, just so you know.

I quickly left them and then BOB whispered something to his friends and they all began to laugh. Awesome.

And then my shift ended and I hated my job even more. Hahaha!!! Sorry, but I really disliked it 'cause of all the "clean the bathrooms" thing... I have freaking OCD. It ain't a walk in the beach.

But yeah, that was pretty awkward and embarrassing and silly.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Why I hate the smurfs and creepy tales

I hate the smurfs. I'm sorry (no, I'm not). I really am (no, I'm really not). But I HATE the smurfs. Period.

It wasn't like this before. I used to watch their cartoons when I was younger, and I actually remembered that I liked it---heck, I even knew the song (la la la la la laaaaa, laaaa la la la laaaaaa, la la la la la laaaaaaa, laaaa la la la laaaaaaa). But not anymore more. Oh no. Nowadays, I won't even watch the trailer for the 3D movie that was made.

But there is a very, VERY reasonable explanation why I hate the smurfs: older kids ruined them for me.

When I was a kid (like 8 years old) I went to one of my older brother's classroom's Halloween party. Let me say that each year, they would always get together, dress up, and play all sort of things.

As the clingy little sister I was (and sort of still am), I had always dreamed about going to one of their parties. I wanted to be just like them: cool and awesome and older... 'cause back then, being older was the coolest thing ever.

Level of coolness:
1) Know how to dance.
2) Have an awesome scar.
3) Can pull wearing shades without looking like a douche.
4) People make way when you walk.
5) Never look at explosions.

Big kids were a "level 5". I looked up to them, I wanted to be included too, but my older brother NEVER invited me.

But this year, THIS YEAR, was going to be different. All of the parents decided to contribute to the party by organizing food, beverages, games and competitions.
My mom (awesome as she still is) obviously became one of the leader parents and came up with a lot of cool things for the party. Since my mom was a head in this new organization, WE (my little brother and I) were for the first time included ('cause my dad worked all day and we didn't have a nanny, so my mom was actually stuck with us). And not only that, oh no. I was also included as part of the show! I was the fortune-teller's assistant.

The game consisted in my mom dressing up as a fortune-teller, and letting each kid come inside our tent and she would take their hands and "predict" their future. I would do something stupid like hand over some cards to my mom, but I was reaaaally into it: I was finally a part of the coolest big kids' party ever!
My mom's game was the most successful one at the party 'cause she was right EVERY time! You know how some kids try to hide their feelings for each other? And how it is just stupid because EVERYBODY CAN TELL! (kids don't know how to hide their crushes... especially in elementary). And parents, well, it's not that hard for them to tell that his/her daughter/son has a crush on someone. 

My mom picked up on almost every kid's crush (as all the rest of the parents do). So when she was "predicting", she was actually telling them what she knew. Every single kid was like "WOW!!! How do YOU KNOW!?!?!" Easy: MAGIC (and being smart enough to tell when a kid has a crush or not).

Anyways, after that game ended (that is, after each 10 year old proved their crushes right to my mom), we were going to take a break.

My mom went along to have her girl-talk with the rest of the moms there. But I had other plans. Now that the big kids new that I was cool (for being a "legit" fortune-teller's assistant, that is), I was sure they would now include me in their stuff. 
I headed towards a girl that I knew pretty well because she hanged out with my brother a lot, and I asked her what she was doing. She said she was getting some chips for the group that was inside of the house. She IMMEDIATELY invited me to join them (that's a WIN, a "I'm finally as cool as the big kids" win). So I did. 

We went inside, and they were all sitting in a circle. I sat next to her, unaware of why they were sitting like that.

"Ok, I wanna go first!" another girl said. "Once upon a time, there was a kid that had a dog. That dog slept in his room's floor every night. Every time the kid had a bad dream, he would put his hand down the bed and his dog would lick it. That made the kid feel safe.

Every night, he would start having bad dreams, but his dog would always lick his hand. One night, he had the craziest dream and he put his hand down. It got licked. Then he had another nightmare. He put his hand down, and again it was licked. And this went on for three hours. Until he felt little drops on his forehead. He put his hand down again, and it was licked. But the drops still fell on his forehead. He turned on the light, and looked up, trying to discover the source of the liquid on his forehead. He then saw his dog, tied around the ceiling's fan, DEAD!!! And his blood was pouring down on the kid's bed. The kid screamed in horror, as he wondered WHAT had been licking his hand all this time. THE END!!!"

Scary stories... Scary FREAKING stories were being told!!! And I was the worst person to listen to scary tales. I still can't watch horror movies, and I'm 24 years old!!! Imagine me, a little 8 year old, listening to scary stories, about kids in bed, hands being licked, and a dead dog on the ceiling's fan!!! I HAD A DOG TOO!!!!!!!!

I wanted to get out of there, but I had finally become "cool". I had finally become a part of the big kids' group, and I wasn't going to let my scariness ruin it. So I took a deep breath and stayed there.

The next story was up.

"There was this little kid, Timmy, who really loved the smurfs. He had tons of toys, a big plushie, and even blue curtains with the smurfs playing around. He would always play with his imaginary smurf friends. He would even take food into his room and say that it was for his friends. His parents didn't like this too much. They were scared that he would become obsessed and all crazy about them. So, one night, just before he went to sleep, they asked him to stop playing with his imaginary friends. They asked him to 'grow-up' and start thinking about other big kid things, like soccer and football. The kid was sad, and a little upset. But he loved his parents so much, that he said he would do it... he would act more like a big kid, starting from tomorrow.
The parents went to bed happy, feeling victorious and safe about their son. It wasn't until the next morning when little Timmy didn't show up for breakfast, that they sensed something was wrong. They went upstairs to his room, they opened the door and turned on the light. And there was little Timmy, dead, sewed to the blue curtains, only now, there weren't any smurfs in it... THE END!!!"

Let me just say, that THAT was the scariest story I had ever heard (it's been stuck in my head all these years, so yeah, you can pretty much say it marked me for life).

I also had curtains (with flowers, but still). What if that happened to me too? I looked around and everybody was laughing; just two or three other kids were as afraid as I was. I was so traumatized. I couldn't get the image of the kid sewed to the curtains off my head.

And guess what? ANOTHER story was up! Being with the big kids had taken away my mental health. I got up, and decided that it wasn't worth it. I rather be a looser than having constant nightmares with deadly handcrafting smurfs.

I got up, my brother looked at me and said: "What's wrong? Are we leaving already?"
"No," I said. "I think my break is over. I have to get back to help the fortune-teller."

I went outside with the grown-ups, and I ran into my tent of safety.

I've always thought about those scary kid stories. As hard as I try, I can never let go of them. I still won't put my hands down my bed. I'm scared. I'm scared that a demon or something is going to lick my hands and then kill me or my dog.
And the worst part is I KNOW that there is no such thing as a hand-licking, under bed, dog murderer demon, but I'm still scared.

Moral of the story: DON'T HANG OUT WITH OLDER KIDS!

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

My tiny pet gecko

Most of you don't know I also have an older brother. We made our lives miserable when we were kids. Turns out we get along awesome these days (now that we both moved out of my parent's house actually... it must have made grown-ups out of us).

When I was in high school, I used to live with my grandmother because my school was in a different city from which my parents live (so, yes, technically I moved out since I was 15). Aside from her constant smoking, living with my grandma was a pretty sweet deal: I had my own room with my own tv, and I also had my own bathroom (I just had to clean it for myself thou).
One day, I found a tiny baby lizard (actually gecko, but I like how "lizard" sounds like) on my shower's floor. Forgive me, but when I was a little kid I used to watch "Henry's Amazing Animals" and I looooved Henry (a gecko and protagonist of the show):

So what did I do? I decided to adopt the lizard AND call him Henry.

Henry and I were very close friends (he used to shower with me, so yeah... preeeetty close). And our friendship lasted for almost two months. He never once came outside of the shower... he liked it there, it was his home. And I never dared to deprive him from that.

It wasn't long before my older brother decided to move in with us because he was going to start college. Now we had to share the bathroom. But I never bothered to tell him about my relationship with Henry because I knew he wouldn't understand.

So far, Henry was the smartest most amazing gecko friend I could have. He never got in my way, never asked for food, never made a mess or anything. And he knew how to be a ninja: he never came out to play with my brother, just with me.

It wasn't until a few weeks just after my brother moved in that he walked in my room and said those dreadful words I will never forget:

Brother: "Hey, I saw a lizard in your shower. Just killed it for you. So don't worry."
Me: "HENRY?!?!"
Brother: "What?"
Brother: "Who's Henry?"
Me: "My pet lizard!!!"
Brother: "You mean you kept him as a pet? That's disgusting!"
Me: "Shut up!!! Where is he? WHERE IS HENRY?"
Brother: "I flushed it down the toilet! You are so weird."

I hurried towards the toilet, but it was too late... Henry was gone... My best-tiny-gecko friend was long gone.

I hated my brother for what he did, and I was tormented by the picture of Henry's corpse being eaten by crocodiles (yes, I still believed there were crocodiles in the sewer).

But there was nothing I could do, only mourn my friend's death.

Everytime I was going to play Gaia Online, I would remember him. Everytime I felt like singing in the shower, I didn't because there was nobody who could look up to me with big-lizard-confused eyes. My life was empty now that my friend was brutally murdered and then disposed of so easily and without care.

I decided to face my brother and give him a peace of my mind. I told him about how I felt, and that he was an awful person for killing such an innocent little creature. And then he made his point.
(OH! I forgot to tell you he's a doctor.)
He began explaining all the possible germs Henry carried with himself, especially from leaving IN a shower. And being the obsessive clean freak I am, I decided to leave it like that. I wouldn't want evil germ thoughts to replace Henry's dead corpse thoughts.
Things were clear now. Henry was now my scape-goat: he had sacrificed himself in order for me to leave in a clean environment. And I wasn't going to make justice for his honorable sacrifice, because he wouldn't want that; he would want me to leave in a clean place, right? He loved me, and he would only want the very best thing for me. And that was for me to be germ-free!
He was now a hero, and I would pay tribute to his memory by leaving his memory rest in peace.
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