Vacation: I've Missed You so Much

Okay, so I haven't updated in the last couple of weeks. There's a very good reason for that, they're called finals and the weeks leading to finals. The most mind-numbing, soul sucking last couple of weeks of the semester. Spring finals are perhaps the worst because it's the middle of allergy season.

The past couple of weeks I have been a sneezing, sniveling, mess of a person. And constantly sleepy throughout. At least I get a couple of months off from school. Didn't get all my grades back just yet, but so far I got two As and a B. Not as great as I did last semester, but pretty good over all.

A lesson learned

I don't know if this really qualifies, but around the time I was 10 or so, I was invited to a birthday party. The girl's name in question was named Sylvia, but I fail to recall anything other than she was Argentinian and had an older brother. We had talked from time to time and would sometimes hang out in the cement playground in the back of our apartment building.



The party was your standard children's birthday party. But for some reason she and a group of her friends decided to exclude me from the group. I wasn't allowed to be near them, I wasn't allowed to talk to them or participate in any of their activities. It was cruel of them, and it's something that stands out to me as a testament of a child's cruelty.



I left the party in tears, and I hated her ever since.

Talking

So I've talked to my parents. Well mostly my father, who is more prone to explaining things in a calm and rational manner. Although I still feel the way I do, it's made me understand their view point a little bit better, and has helped me feel capable of speaking to my mother. Although my father has rather unrealistic expectations of a curfew (9pm was his first suggestion, it's ridiculous. 10:30 isn't much better), he has his reasons. He's concerned about me. My mother expects me to know what she thinks is right and wrong without her telling me.

I can talk to my father. I cannot talk to my mother. Especially after today, when she accused me of trying to manipulate her by my reaction. Yes, it may have been over-dramatic, but what was I supposed to think her throwing me out of the house meant? She expects me to completely understand her viewpoint and using petty emotional manipulation in order to get my way?

It's insane, and something she tries to bring up every time she says something that makes me cry. For everyone out there, I can't cry on cue. I also can't make myself eventually cry. She feels guilty, but doesn't think that she should. So she thinks that I'm trying to emotionally manipulate her. She never tries to actually talk to me.

The relationship between me and my mother is fucked up. There are times when she treats me like an equal, mostly because she's looking for a way to deal with my brothers, and there are other times where she likes to act like she's supreme ruler and no one should question her. She also likes to act like everyone else thinks like she does, even if she does admit on occasion that not everyone does. It's confusing, and I would like a mother that takes time to explain things to me and gives me a chance to express myself emotionally without accusing me of manipulation. Also for her to genuinely comfort me when I feel distraught.

I'm not intentionally putting down my mother. She does everything she has to in order to keep us fed and comfortable. She's a good mother because she pushes me and my brothers to do well in school and to get an education, and makes sure that we take advantage of the opportunities presented to us. The problem, at least between her and I, is that we have two completely different viewpoints in life. We disagree on a lot of things and that makes it very hard to get along.

New Name

So I've changed the name of my blog. In my first post, I mentioned that I was naming the blog Mari-Cris as an homage to my mother, who I felt that I didn't give enough credit to. It's still true, I don't give her enough credit. She works tirelessly for me and my brothers, makes sure we take advantage of every opportunity, and pushes us to do well in school in order to do better than she has in life. Although she is hardly home due to her job, she is an overall good mother.

Tonight we had a fight. A fight that led me to change the name of this blog.

We were talking about boundaries, because she has some unrealistic expectations about when I should be home. I'm not coming home at 2 in the morning and complaining about her saying it's too late. I come home at 15 minutes before 10 in the evening and she says it's too late. We got into an argument which led me to ask what her boundaries were because how I am supposed to follow her rules if I don't know what they are? Maybe she thinks I'm psychic or something.

This led to a rather confusing boundary of hers.

Apparently if I decide to spend the night at my boyfriend's house then I better be prepared to live with him. The implication being that she will kick me out of the house if I sleep over his house. It's not even about having sex. Apparently if I have sex with him and go home, it's fine but if sleep over I get kicked out. It's a confusing rule with no reason to it. I asked her why, and she gave no other reason other than I am disrespecting my home.

I don't understand this.

Maybe it's because me and my mother have two vastly different ways of looking at things. She was raised in Guatemala for most of her formative years, coming over to the United States when she was in her twenties. I was raised in the United States, mostly by my grandmother, but have adopted most of the cultural norms. I am very much an American in my way of thinking. Despite our differences I still find it completely unbelievable and very hurtful that she would kick me out for sleeping over at my boyfriend's house.

For me, kicking your child out of your home is the same as kicking them out of your life. I don't know if she views it the same way as I do, but that's how I view it. It's not something that you can take back when you feel guilty about it.

I'm not saying that there is no reason to kick your child out of your house. There are reasons, but I feel that the reason my mother has given me is not enough to merit that action. It's like she's saying: this is how much I love you and respect you.

I know she's not saying it, and that's probably not even how she feels. But it feels like it. Mostly because I know that this would not even be an issue with my two younger brothers. It's not as if I am a bad or a difficult daughter. I get good grades, I follow her rules, I don't behave badly or speak to her with disrespect.

Her saying this really hurts me and on some level I have lost a good deal of respect that I have for her. That she won't even acknowledge my pain, and ask me why I would cry over this hurts me even more.

Hours later and I'm still crying just writing about this.

Zombie Attack Survival

(Question on Plinky: What will you do when the zombies come?)

The most obvious thing to do is stock up on weapons, perhaps invest in a flamethrower. We should also brush up on the zombie movies, and point out central weaknesses. Find high ground and make sure that all exits are securely bolted. Get animals or bugs that eat dead, rotting flesh.

If all else fails we pretend to join their ranks until we reach an unaffected area.

Mutant Babies and Such

It's midterms week for me. Not to say that all my classes are giving midterms, just the ones I don't want to do badly in.

Now I am not by any means a calm person. Just take a look at the cuticles on my right thumb and my habit of slowly ripping them off. Although I am trying to stop, it just leads to another anxiety reducing habit. It could be chewing my nails (something I haven't done for a while) or destroying the caps of my pens. I have an oral fixation (no this does not mean I like giving head, or that I can do it particularly well); biting on things reduces my anxiety.

I live with small anxieties everyday, usually not very stressful for me. But this week kicked my ass. I just can't handle large amounts of stress. Between my taking the CPE (I need to pass it to graduate) and two tests in one day (one of which was a midterm), it was almost too much for me to handle. The added stress has also probably caused my period to be late. Add the stress from that aspect in my life, and the stress is too much for me to handle.

Now, I relatively sure that I'm not pregnant. Of course I'm not a hundred percent sure, which is why I might end up taking a pregnancy test tomorrow. I'm still getting all the 'signs' from my body that I'm getting my period, and the odds of getting pregnant without penetration are pretty slim. This isn't the first time I was late because of stress, but this time there is a higher risk of pregnancy. The dreams of babies clawing their way out of my uterus and trying to eat me aren't helping the stress either.

My brain can't take the added stress of being late and neither can my body, if the slight cold and sinus headache I have are anything to go by. As soon as I finally get a new doctor (have to stop seeing a pediatrician now, I'm too old) I'm getting birth control pills.

That Annoying Buzzing in Your Ear

This is something that I've been meaning to write about for a while: People who just won't shut up in the middle of a lecture hall when the teacher is speaking.

It's annoying as hell, and it's becoming a very annoying problem, especially in my Sociology 101 class. It's bad enough that I'm concentrating on the lecture so I won't fail the midterm, but when there are two people in front of me debating the merits of PSP games I want to club them over the head with my messenger bag.

It's annoying, and more importantly it's distracting. College is expensive, and I don't need these people fucking up my GPA.

Snow Day

I live in New York City and yesterday in New York City there was a huge snowstorm. In fact it was about the biggest snowstorm that I have seen in years.

It usually snows here on a regular basis, but last night we got about a foot of snow, which is slightly unusual. It snowed so much that they canceled school. Which is a pretty big deal, because the last time I remember being able to miss school because of the weather was in the late 90s, when I was still in elementary school.

Unfortunately, I will not be able to enjoy my snow day. I have a paper to write about homosexuality and transsexuals in Islam. Not my favorite class (okay, I rather dislike it), but I can deal. But while writing this paper, I'm getting the sense that it's somehow too easy, because I know exactly what I want to write about. And it makes sense! What is this witchcraft? I never know what I want to write and usually end up turning in a substandard paper that get me a much higher grade than I expected. In fact I only have about 130 words written down, because I keep thinking "It shouldn't be this easy."

I do not understand you brain.

That Asshole Neighbor

I have a neighbor downstairs who claims that me and my family make such excessive noise that it stops him from sleeping at night.

For the last couple of weeks he has been pounding on his ceiling, calling the building management and on certain occasions (such as today) called the police on us.

We continue to be baffled as to what sort of noise we could be making that keeps him up at night. After much speculation, I've decided it must be the the heavy footsteps of both my brothers. This little asshole is making noise complaints over people walking (not running or pacing) in their own apartment. At eight in the evening. He has also complained of the noise that we make when we get up in the morning.

He's really starting to piss me off. I can give him a little leeway with the morning noise, as most of my family is up by 6 in the morning to go to school and work. They can make a little noise as they get ready. It lasts maybe 45 minutes at most. But when he starts pounding on his ceiling at 7:30 in the morning because I am taking a shower, it's gone too far. I don't care if you're hungover from the night before and the noise is bothering you. IT'S TOO FUCKING BAD. Deal with it or move.

I should have been on his case the first time he knocked on my door (knocking once and attempting to run away like the passive aggressive little bitch he is). He gave me some melodramatic spiel on how he has work and school like he's the only person on the planet who's in that situation. Guess what! YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD WHO WORKS AND GOES TO SCHOOL! You are not a special little snowflake, no matter what your mommy tells you.

It's not even the fact that he makes these complaints that pisses me off. It's the fact that he comes in drunk and sobbing at 3 in the morning in his apartment (he is so loud that my mother can hear him), plays live music at 11 pm on a weekday, and that his stupid complaints are making my mother contemplate moving. I will not be bullied into moving.

So in summary: My neighbor's an asshole and I am pissed the fuck off.

The Winter of My Discontent

I don't know how many people reading this reside in New York City, but the weather over the last couple of weeks has been horrible. I think that it's snowed more over the last couple of weeks than it has the last five years.

This Tuesday there was a horrible snowstorm while I was in class, and over the last couple of days the temperature has remained at a nice cozy average of about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. (With the wind chill, it feels like it's below 0.) While the snow is certainly pretty to look at, I only like looking at it when I am warm and comfortable. Which is usually not the case when it usually starts to snow.

The snow isn't even the worst part. It's the wind. My skin feels so dry and chapped, that even copious amounts of lotions aren't helping. I've almost burned through a tube of lip balm in two weeks, and I've developed a fear of going outside with wet hair because I don't want it to freeze and start chipping off like in that one episode of Jimmy Neutron.

I'm waiting for the spring. Right now I'll take the warm weather, even if I do have to suffer through my horrible seasonal allergies.

Something Unique

In my drama class we all had to stand up in front of the class and tell everyone something unique about ourselves. It was an introductory exercise, meant to really introduce ourselves to the rest of the class. I learned a lot about my fellow classmates, but personally I felt that I flubbed the exercise.

Normally I have no problem with public speaking, except when I'm talking about myself. I can never find something to say, because I can't really describe myself to anyone else. I process things at a mile a minute, throwing away irrelevant information, and deciding whether or not to share another piece of relevant information. Also when I'm nervous there's always some part of me that's moving rapidly. I moved my hands a lot during the exercise. I just don't like presenting myself to be judged, or even observed by anyone that I don't know.

Bearing that in mind, I think that I should attempt once again, with the Internet as my willing (or not so willing) audience.

Something unique about myself. That's something that I have a problem with defining and finding within myself. I feel that as people, we are all told that we are different from each other, but are only rewarded for being homogeneous. We as a society are so quick to cast out the different and strange, that we are unwilling to acknowledge what makes us as individuals strange or different.

What's so different about me? Well, for starters I like comics. In all forms really, but I like reading webcomics and indie comics the most. My ideal career is a comic book artist, but am studying psychology in case that dream is never realized.

I'm a very careful person. It's something that has served me good in life, and made my life easier, but sometimes I feel as if my being so careful and safe is hindering my enjoyment of life. Everything is thought out in depth, but it's unconscious and the thought process is so rapid that I barely notice it.

So I guess that I wanted to say something around those lines.

A Higher Power and Myself

After much surfing on the web, trying to find something to do I stumbled onto the topic of religion. It's something that I stumble onto quite a bit, and I thought I would post about my own thoughts about religion.

Officially I say that I'm an atheist. This is because I personally have some serious problems with religion as a whole and I believe that God and religion go hand in hand. Some people believe that it is possible to have faith in God and not believe in a certain religion. For a while I tried to be this person, I tried to have faith in God without believing in a religion, but eventually found that I couldn't. I believe that religion defines God and without religion and its customs and traditions, you cannot define God. And that makes me uneasy, because I don't like the idea of believing in something that cannot be defined. So I choose not to.

I that I am officially an atheist, but I am not really one in terms of definition. But I don't really consider myself an agnostic either. I am not completely sure that there is no God, but I don't believe in a God. But to be honest, it's not something that's a big part of my life. To me religion is as important as my sleepwear. Sometimes it's important, but most of the time it usually not integral to the fabric of my being.

That being said, I feel that I should provide some background in my own experiences with religion. My father was raised Catholic, but is not a religious man himself. Religion was never a topic within our dynamic as father and daughter and not something that we ever discussed in depth. My mother on the other hand is a completely different story. When I was younger she was essentially looking for a religion to be part of her life. She felt that it was important and was looking for the right fit for her. (This included a short stint at the Church of Latterday Saints, which most people recognize as the Mormon faith. I am glad that she did not become a Mormon.) Eventually she became a Jehovah's Witness.

My mother would lapse in between periods of being very faithful, to being not so. It was an odd balance, and eventually she found a compromise between these two urges. She still attends church every Sunday, but has stopped going to every event that the church holds.

When I was about thirteen my mother gave the choice of continuing to go to that church or stop going entirely. To this day I am profoundly grateful that she has given me this choice.

That's a Pleasant Mental Picture

My brothers have twisted, twisted minds. Somehow a moderately disgusting trading of insults led to the discussing of our parents' sex lives.

Normally people would stop at the barest mention of their parent's sex lives. But not my youngest brother. He has no boundaries.

The conversation involved the personal grooming that our mother may or may not do. ("She doesn't use a douche! She uses a Q-tip!") Whether or not my parent still have sex despite having been separated for nearly fifteen years, their masturbatory habits ("She calls it Big Bob and throws it behind the television when someone enters the room!"), and whether or not my father hires hookers.

Thanks for the mental pictures baby brother. You have scarred me for life.

Maybe You Should Start

My father called me in the morning with the strangest question: "What's your bra size?"

It's certainly a strange question to hear from your father. But I told him anyway. Turns out that he was just buying me a couple of bras.

...

I honestly don't know how to feel about that. It's a little weird, but very thoughtful of him considering that I had mentioned that some of my bras were getting old and stretchy and therefore defeating the purpose of wearing them at all.

It was nice of him to think of me.

ETA: When I mentioned to him that I didn't wear bras with underwire, he said "Maybe you should start."

They ache a bit.

The Obligitory First Post

So this is the blog. I've tried to start others before, but have never had much success. It's a need to be recognized, and it's a crappy reason to start a blog, at least it is for me. I'm not good with doing things, but thought this would be a good way to express myself in a way that I am unable to do so in real life. By airing my dirty laundry for all the world to see.

This blog is going to get me into trouble. But at least it's cheaper than therapy.

On the name:
Mari-Cris is something that my grandmother calls my mother, considering that her first two names are Maria Cristina. My grandmother sometimes calls me this as well. The blog name is an homage to my mother, and the hardships that she has endured in order to raise me and my two younger brothers. The relationship between my mother and I has been rocky over the last couple of years but has bettered as I grew older and she has gotten to know me better.