She'll never admit that she's wrong.

Tonight, while wallowing in my self-pity that I have begun to think of as an art form in the past two months, I finally had the last straw. I keep saying that every single bad or shitty thing that has happened to me in the past two months is the last straw - but this one, well, this one was the very very very very last straw.

Financially I am just way in over my head. Where I thought I was ahead, I am now significantly behind all due to an unfortunate mishap with the scheduling of my payment with the auto insurance company (As Chris Rock would say... my "in-case-shit-happens" policy).

For God knows how long, my mother has been OCD about lists. And before you try to read that sentence again, don't. It's not worth wasting your time. You read it right: lists. She loves lists. No, no, let me scratch that. She ADORES and IDOLIZES and maybe if one day a magical wizard turned a List into a man she would probably marry that List and run away and adopt babies to supplement his lack of love for her.

It's become this sickening obsession for her and when I was younger, I used to think that it meant she was organized and that I, by being one who did not keep a list, was severely unorganized. However, twenty-three years of living as a terminally SANE human being and a few years of puberty and a month of homelessness has helped lead me to the conclusion that the lists do not help her at all. In fact, I have come to the clear diagnosis that the list itself is a manifestation of her insecurities and her lack of being able to control and handle even the smallest minute detail of her life. So to make up for the discrepency of say........not being able to function like a normal human being like the rest of the world, my mother writes a list. Every day.

AND THEN PROMPTLY LOSES IT AND SPENDS THE REST OF HER DAY SEARCHING FOR THE LIST BECAUSE WITHOUT IT, GOD FORBID SHE BE ABLE TO FUNCTION.

Now in her defense, this does not happen every day. The great event of "losing-the-list" is one that happens often, but not every single day. But she does write one.

So of course, when I first lost my job and realized I was going to be way in over my head if I didn't find a job to supplement my income fast, you could guess what advice my mother had for me.

Mom: "Hi dear. How are you?"

Me: "Lousy. I just lost my job... I have bills to pay this month... I just filed for unemployment but I am not going to hear from them for another two weeks or so and shit is already starting to become due. I don't know what I am going to do."

Mom: "I know what you need to do. It'll solve all your problems." (said very matter of factly)

Me: "Do you know of anyone who might have a job opening? Or do you know anyone I can send my resume to?"

Mom: "No, of course not. You'll have to find that on your own. I am talking about writing a list. A list dear. A list of all your debt. Once you see it all laid out on paper, it'll all become clear."

Me: "Mom, do you realize you're asking me to slit my wrists?"

Mom: "What was that?"

Me: "Nothing. I am not going to write a list. Not now, not ever."


But tonight, Jesus, maybe the stress got to me, but for whatever reason - she was standing over me in the kitchen and I am sitting there with tears starting to form behind my eyes and she kept talking about this damned list writing --- so I did it. I wrote a damn list.

-=Me writing numbers and scribbling calculations on a page then handing it to her=-

"There, Mom. There it is. In black and white. What do you have to say? What happens now? What does the list do now?"

-=My mother stares blankly at the page. Blinks again and takes on an empty look.=-

Mom: "Wow. Didn't know it was this bad. Don't know what to tell you. But don't you feel better now that you wrote it all down?"

Just in case people would like the Cliff Notes version of this story: NO, I DID NOT FEEL ANY STINKIN' BETTER!! I felt crappier actually because I now had numbers and figures that are higher than the year I was born staring me in the face. So much for lists.

Oops! :-)

-=EDIT=- to the weekend update post...

Goosey brought to my attention that I never addressed the fact of where my father was all those hours --

He was in another hospital room sleeping the entire time!!

His nurse who had released him at around 4 AM had suggested that it might be too early for him to call his wife for a ride home, so therefore she offered him an empty hospital bed to sleep in.

What she failed to remember to do though, was the write it down on his chart that she had promised to wake him up around 7 AM so that when her shift ENDED at 7 AM that the next nurse that took over would know that some dude was sleeping in the empty hospital room in the ER.

My Dad didn't realize that there was all this commotion going on around him until at around 8 AM, a nurse bringing another patient into the room woke him up. She quickly pulled the door closed again and behind the door, my father could overhear her saying to the other nurse, "I had no idea anyone was in there."

At that, my Dad decided to glance at the clock on the wall and realized that he had never been woken up and that he had overslept. So he grabbed his clothes and jacket, and headed for the bathroom out in the hall.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, three police officers approached him.

"You wouldn't happen to me [insert Dad's name here], would you Sir?" asked the police officer.

At this, my Dad said he turned white and kinda gulped when he replied "Yes".

"Well, you have a LOT of people looking for you," replied the police officer ushering him towards the patrol car outside.

A Great Weekend!!!

(I have been behind in my blogging duties to myself so bear with me.)

Thursday Night (of last week): Made sure to leave work right at 5 pm to get over to FFCU on Bel Air Road. (Because that's the location that my coworker, Code Name: F. Sanchez used to work at and had given me a friendly connect by being able to drop her name there.) Once I got there, I nervously sat and waited for someone to call on me in the line. What about credit unions made me think of them as forbidden secret societies? As if the word "union" constituted that I must work at a place where I get a special secret coded name tattooed on my ass and a name badge that had access into government facilities. And then, one day, while conversing with Code Name: F. Sanchez about car loans, she informed me that I, little ole me, could hold an FFCU account. Is it because of my newly G.I. Jane haircut that made me a formidable opponent as a secret agent (if not for skill, just for the mere fact that it has made me look like one tough motha sucka)? Or could it be the fact that I know her, Code Name: F. Sanchez and she is part of their covert society based on former FFCU workers who meet and have lunch at some posh restaurant every Thursday?

Alas, no, it is because I am a student, she tells me. A God-damn student?! What's so effing special about that? It's THAT easy to be a member of FFCU? Well, Jesus, I thought, I should go in and apply for a car loan.

And that's just what I did. And I was told that I would have to wait for the response. (which I received and will talk about in another post in the near future, if I ever get my ass back on blog schedule.) What bugged me the most was that my mother showed up at the last minute. Now, understand, she had to show up sooner or later because she was my ride, but she sat there so quietly, not asking any questions, even though the whole point of her being there was for her to ASK QUESTIONS. My God! I guess she forgot to put that on her list of things to do.

Friday: God, I wanted this day to be over so badly. Not just because I was excited about going to see Carl Cox @ Buzz (which I was) but because my week had been ridiculously packed with endless projects, and never ending piles of financial yada and bullshit. The more and more I stay at the this job, the less respect I have for people who have money and flaunt it. I can't tell you how many times in the past week I have had customers keep me on the phone, complaining about how much money they have and how much they had to spend in cash for their $22.6 million home in Milan. Blah, blah, blah.

Friday night: I rushed home from work and immediately tried to clean up my room, get my laundry done and get into my costume for the party. I was going as a schoolgirl. I even bought the sexy pantyhose that only come up thigh-high. Oh yeah, baby. But then I realized at the last minute that I had gotten rid of my black boots and only had brown ones to wear. Well, that wouldn't work. But I didn't really have time to worry about that. J was to be over any minute (close to 8) and I wanted to have the place cleaned up from my work week (because I have a tendency to throw things everywhere during the work week because I come home too exhausted to do anything but sleep) so that he had a place to nap. By this time, as exhausted as I felt, I was too filled with excitement for the party - and I was up and raring to go.

He showed up close to 9. Collapsed on my bed, and the sucka was out like a light. And despite my award-winning cleaning skills, I had failed to get the text that he had sent just minutes before telling me that we probably weren't staying at my place this weekend. All that work for nothin'. Well, at least the room looked pristine to my satisfaction for the most part.

I had the TV running while he was sleeping and I decided to finish getting dressed. Now was the time to focus on the fact that I didn't have matching boots. So after trying different variations, I finally gave up and just threw on a pair of jeans, and a black laced tank top and a black hat and a matching sweatshirt and was done. I put my make-up on and then checked the time. It was close to 11.

I woke up Sleeping Beauty and we were off. And of course, like always, while I was sitting in the car driving there I started to get sleepy - meanwhile, J got wide awake. So by the time we got there, I was exhausted again and he was energized like the pink bunny.

God, was it fun!! I got to see D - who hadn't seen the G.I. Jane look yet. He pulled me aside and admitted to me that he was never worried from the start - due to my "great bone structure" I think is what he said. It was really loud - but then he pulled away and motioned towards my cheek bones, so I think that's what he meant. I love that my guy friends are the kinda dudes that pay attention to things such as "great bone structure". It really meant a lot to me. He kept telling me that it looked great. Probably because D knows I am the type of person that needs to be told a bazillion times.

J got to see his friend J-man. Although J-man's friend was gettin' a little frisky with me. It was flattering in the beginning - you know, the kind words, the look up and down. You ladies know what I'm talking about! Especially when you're not feeling like you have your A-game on (I mean, yes, I took the hat off for the whole night, so it was the first night out as G.I. Jane in a club) and some dude says you're hot. That's always nice to know. But not when they come from behind and get all freak-a-leek on the sides of your body and then crouch down low like they are in a constipated squat trying to press their face close to your booty. Oh, hell no. Not cool.

D caught it though. D saved me! He went to J-man and told J-man I was his sister, and I was kinda "involved with someone" and I didn't want to be touched like that. That was pimp, D, very pimp of you. Much appreciated, my friend.

There was some other creep later on with some massively large and seizure-infested lit glow sticks that was running around and then trying to hit on me and Esther-unni while we were sitting on one of the blocks. J saved us then. Yay J!!!

I was happy to run into Eugene and Kuya EARL!!! Even though Kuya Earl was f*cked up, he recognized me and rubbed my head "for good luck". Asked me how I was doing, and gave me a big big hug. He told me all about what was going on with his family as he always does. I felt like I was part of that family at one point - so he knows I still care. Until he gets to Corp. He suddenly said that Corp was in the market to buy a house in Towson. He started working for Sinai as some sort of respiratory something and had been asking about me. Kuya said he didn't know because he didn't know. J is convinced that Corp is trying to find me. I don't think so ... I think he gave up on me a long time ago - just like I gave up on him before that. Regardless, it was nice seeing Kuya - even though this is the upteenth time I have seen him out WITHOUT a girl!! Hmm... (I have my thoughts about that)

Ohhhh, before I finish Friday night's expo - I gotta point out one thing that really GROUND MY GEARS!! This dumbass piece of no-good white trash of a bouncer (I don't know your name, and you better be so glad I don't) that works at Buzz... for the past few times that I have gone there, he has always been the one who checks my ID. So when he checks it, and I get up there, he takes the ID and he stands there for a good two minutes - moving his eyes from the card, to me, to the card, back to me. Giving me this "I'm a bad ass motha f&cka" look with these piercing eyes and these pursed lips. The first time it happened, I got scared. Second time, annoyed. Third time, pissed off. This time? I looked this motha f&cka right in the eye. IN THE EYE. Try to tell me that's not me, stupid ass. So I shaved my head, bitch - go get some glasses. I didn't have any plastic surgery. It's the same person. Grrrrrr!!! Then he has the audacity to ask me "Do you have any cards on you with the same name?" WTF?! You want my passport? You want to check if I am a legal citizen while you're at it? Grrrrrr!!! I showed him my credit card and then he finally let me in. That bastard... I swear. One more time and I will probably be banned from the club forever for kicking the living shit out of him.

Saturday day/night: Right after Buzz, we all left together. Gen-Gen begged me and J to come to his place (because we didn't go the last time) so we headed over there with the code to his garage door. When we got there, Gen-Gen asked us to take Elvis (his puppy) out. In the rain. In the cold. At 3 or 4 in the morning. Yeaaaahhh...

We did, but Elvis only seemed to want to piss. So we went back inside and waited for Gen-Gen. Thirty minutes pass by - no Gen-Gen. This is where it gets hazy for me. I know we were there for what seems like a while. I remember laying on Gen-Gen's comfy white couch and collapsing... I remember seeing the dog jumping all over the place and J sitting in the chair adjacent to me. How long we were there, I have no clue. J said I started talking inaudibly again...hehehe. Oh well. We all have our moments.

Finally, I just remember J grabbing my hand and telling me we were getting out of there because Gen-Gen was never coming after all.

The rest of the night was AWESOME!! It was just great to hang out with J and be goofy, retarded people. Talk about everything and anything, sing karaoke until we have no voices left, listen to music and make commentary... (he still won't let me live up that damn discussion we had about Irony) it was just really relaxing.

Sunday: I woke up wishing it were Saturday and that weekend wasn't over. But it was Sunday, and we were too tired to do anything but lay in bed, eat something, and then go back to sleep. We did stop at Target really quick so we could pick out a gift for lil Drew. I told him to buy the Duplo (because what kid doesn't like Legos?) but J was thrown off by the fact that the set came with a Duplo cat and he insisted that we not make Drew "sissy"...so instead, we opted to get some some mini cars and trucks (which J dubbed as "manly"). I was so impressed with J's coordinating skills!! He got a blue bag and then got a card that said Happy 2nd Birthday with a dump truck on it! (I am sucker for wrapping gifts with a unified theme and I guess it rubbed off.)

J dropped me off at home, and he headed to the party. I saw the pics on LP's site - looked sooo cute!!! I collapsed in bed, and then woke up to work on Chemistry. And then found that my phone was seriously missing. J called me at work later on to let me know I had left it in his car.

How To Fit Your Life's Story in Four Lines

I am staring at this Appeal Suspension of Aid form on my desk at work. I should be worried about my deadline for these four files today, or the fact that my tracking report is due tomorrow and not even half of it is completed yet. But I can't take my eyes off this damn form.

The words "suspension of aid" look and sound so ugly. Like some sort of anti-financial aid disease. I felt my heart sink down to my stomach when I saw it on my online transcript this morning. I figured I'd be proactive since the Financial Aid office last night told me that I wouldn't be able to apply for a student loan until June 4th, and just log on to the student website to see what type of financial aid availability I had.

Let's see....um, none, perhaps?

And now here I am with this form in front of me that I need to fill out to appeal the school's decision made back in the fall of 2005.

There is so much that has happened in the past year and a half and even the prior year leading up to that semester. But I only have four empty available lines to explain myself. The process is so frustrating.

In four lines, can I tell you how it felt to be kicked out of my parents' house the night before my 19th birthday because my mother said "You hate me because I am white..." not because I ever made her feel that way but because of some innate guilt that she had formed from adopting me? Or how she threw all my clothes in trash bags and let them sit in the frontyard while it poured rain? And how that night I had to sneak into my father's place of stay (my uncle's home) because my uncle "has a thing against Asian people"?

In four lines, could I tell you how my mother refused to let me back in the house to obtain my textbooks (books that I paid for with my own money) so that I could study for final exams?

In four lines, do you think you'd care that I had to find a ride to the school library, sat there at the computer and wrote emails to all my teachers to explain the situation and only had one teacher respond?

Probably not. And that's what's so difficult. There are no words I could use in just four lines that could ever amount to how I feel right now. That could equal the want and the desire that I have to learn and to better myself now more than ever after having dealt with my obstacles and trying to get back on my educational feet.

But I'll try. It's worth the world to me to at least try.

And so I begin to fill those four lines...

The $150.00 Connect-The-Dots game

I don't think my life could get anymore complicated at this point. I went to the GS Hospital on Friday morning to get the "clinical rehab evaluation" through this MVA-certified program. First off, that alone is a bunch of bull sh*t because the first lesson I ever learned from this is that "honesty to NOT the best policy". Just because it says "cerebral palsy" on my records, and the technical term of "spastic diplesia" makes it sound even worse... the MVA decided all on their own that despite a letter from my doctor writing specifically that he thought I was capable of driving - that they needed me to attend a rehab facility to show that I was capable to them.

So I walk in, sit down, wait for this woman. She comes out, smiles politely and then leads me into this room.

We sit there and she suddenly sits down in front of me and realizes that...I am not as "slightly mentally retarded" as she thought I was going to be. As she chuckles out of pure uneasiness she looks at her paper holding her pen above it and asks, "So...why are you here, exactly?"

"Ma'am, quite honestly, I have no clue. The MVA just saw two little words of Cerebral Palsy and started freaking out. So they placed a hold on my license, and here I am."

"Well, wait, I see you've already completed and received a certificate for a Driver's Ed program...so that means you've had in-driving instruction already?"

"Yes, I have."

"Oh...so in that case, I am not going to require that you take the driver's assessment testing today...you already have proof that you can drive," she said for her own relief more than mine.
That's awesome, I thought. I get to save myself $150 dollars and I am not too stressed out or nervous then. Cha-ching.

"Okay, let's begin the clinical assessment. It's just going to be testing your cognitive abilities," she said, spinning around in her chair with a black binder and some pages. She turned the table around and sat in front of me placing the pages on the table flat.

Now let me give you some insight - my thoughts on this clinical test in the very beginning were skeptical...but as time wore on, I tried to find some good in it, some sensible reasoning behind it. Thus, I began to think that possibly, it had to do something with the clinical testing that I had done in the past as a child. Being hooked up to a machine with wires to test brain activity, being asked a series of psychological questions to test my ability to answer and handle myself in an "average/above normal" fashion. So here I was, bracing myself for whatever this lady had in store for me...

"Here ya go! This is the beginning of the test. This will be timed now. Please connect the dots 1 through 15 as fast you can," she said whipping out the paper and placing it in front of me while handing me a pen.

I freaked out. Inwardly...but freaked out. Out of pure disgust/pride/surprise/horror [please continue to insert whatever horrible emotion you can here], I paused. I am sure my slight pause in reaction probably embalmed her assumptions of me being an utter retard even further into the recesses of her brain, but I just couldn't contain my surprise.

As I connected dot 14 to dot 15 she exclaimed, "Wow, that was fast!" Not even trying to hide her incredulous tone.

Then she whips out another paper. At this point, I was still in shock over the first...and was praying to give her my slight good graces of hope when...

"Okay, now this is a bit trickier now. That's why I am giving you an example first so you can get a good feel," she explained, "This one...this one involves matching numerics and the alphabet..."

What?! Wait a minute...what is going on? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher along with J, Gen, or Cheryl, or hell, even L-Boogie going to come out from behind the curtain and shout "You've Been Punk'D!"

No, sadly.

There were more tests to be done. More degrading tests.

As I walked out to the front desk the girl at the computer said, "Miss, I am ready whenever you are..."

I walked up with my purse and glimpsed over at the receipt she was writing out.

"It will be $150.00 total today."

I felt my stomach start to get queasy as I signed the check and handed her the most I have ever spent on a connect-the-dots game.

Things Under My Skin (at the present moment):

1. my phone bill (RIDICULOUS! AHHH...when's June coming?!)

2. the fact that I only have 3 more weeks or so until the end of my history class and have yet to begin working fully on that stupid paper about the Glorious (whatever) Revolution.

3. my student loans. Sallie Mae is the Devil's wife...I am sure of it.

4. my job: I sit in a cubicle all day. 'Nuff said.

5. Certain people...grrr...people who are just...ughhhhh... (Me-Cavewoman, me-eat-meat, UGH UGH!)

6. This comment (disguised as a compliment): "I love you just as much as I would love my biological child. I want you to know that I love you just as much as if you were my own. Even if we did adopt you. I just wanted you to make sure you knew that." (I'm having another random fit of KAD-itis. Please refrain from approaching...)

7. Bars. You heard me. I am 21 and I HATE BARS. Go call the press.