I had a bottle of Malta Goya and it brings back a lot of pleasant memories of dinner with three other chits.

2oneday.com

2pm has 7 members.

Day: haha no, lets team up with some scientists and craft babies to stay at one age forever, like real life dolls!

'nuff said.

2:39-2:42 was my favorite part. =)

Hardy: It must be a hen house, because all I see is chicken shit.

After 20 years of marriage, if someone were to ask if I still loved my husband, I hope I say, "Very much so."

I think I'm going crazy.

I don't always find her; she spends a lot of time at the Hacienda, with the rest of her fucked-up friends. I find unlocked doors and Dorito crumbs, maybe an unflushed toilet. Always puke, in a closet or on a wall. Sometimes folks take craps right on the living room floor; I've learned not to walk around until my eyes get used to the dark. I go from room to room, hand out in front of me, wishing that maybe just this once I'll feel her soft face on the other side of my fingers instead of some fucking plaster wall. Once that actually happened, a long time ago.
-Drown by Junot Diaz

Fuck if I know.

Draft

"Please sign this."

They never handed him a consent form before.

"It's not a big deal. It's just to make sure you consented to have your cavity filled." The assistant said it nonchalantly. Her white uniform was tight and contrasted with her dark brown skin. Her eye brows were bushy and made her seem more trustworthy.

"I've never had to sign one before," he said as he signed it. He didn't bother to read lines above the signature.

"It's a new protocol and it's just to be safe."

She tells him to sit in the dental chair and prepares him by placing a dental bib on him. He stares at the equipment she lays out on the metal stand. His hands tighten briefly on the arms of the chair as he looks to the other side of the chair where the cup of water is and the sink is for the spit, blood, whatever else comes out. It wasn't so much the tools he was afraid of, but the shot that's needle was the length of half his hand.

"What's the shot for?"

"It's anesthesia. You're going to need it for the bigger cavity."

"Didn't realize it had gotten that bad."

"You should have come for a check up sooner. It's every six months Mr. Durmu."

"Gotcha. I'll try to remember that next time." He smiles at her assuredly.

The dentist finally enters with his folder in her arms. Her hair is falling in her face and she's flushed as if she ran from her house to the office. The buttons on her white coat are mismatched and her hands are moving faster than she can process. They move a little too fast. She's taller than the assistant and much prettier with mocha skin. The dentist speaks to the assistant in a different dialect, ignoring that he moves his head in their direction every time they speak.

"How are you, Mr. Durmu?"

"Good. Good. How are you?"

"Good. Now, you can't eat for the next 3 to 4 hours after this, okay? Let's get started."

He mutters his agreement. He leans back and the dental chair rises with the light blaring in his face. The dentist and her assistant continue to speak in their language. She tells him to open his mouth. He does. Open wider. He does. Her hand twitches. They continue to chit chat, about how the 7 train isn't running properly this morning. That was the only thing he understood, the 7 train was said in English. The dentist grabs the drill while showing surprise at the sudden news. Open wider. He does. She drills. The dentist's wisps of hair almost look like branches, limp and inviting. She drills. The tooth stings now. She drills and is probably telling the assistant how tired she is and how late she slept last night.

A metal tang fills his mouth. He's in excruciating pain now. He clenches his eyes and his hands are sweating, clenching the arms of the chair. He starts to gurgle and squirm.

"Oh shit. Shit." She drops the drill.

He spits and dribbles blood. His tongue dips into the gap in his tooth and his gum. The assistant runs to get gauze.

"Rinse with water and spit it out!" The dentist maneuvers through the cabinets to find something to stop the bleeding.

He rinses his mouth with water, it burns. He chokes. He spits out red fluid with shreds of gum. He wipes at the spittle clinging to his lips with the bib. But when he looks down at it, he's somehow enthralled by the splatter of blood and spit. When he finally raises his eyes, he spots the needle of the anesthesia, unused and polished. He should've read the consent form after all.

When I'm older, when I'm more capable, I will hunt you and throttle you.

Typical. Really typical. Fucking asshole.

ABC (American Born Chinese)

"Please sit."

I sit. I hang my bag on the arm and lean back for her to put the towel on my back. I lie back fully and wait for the water. She sprays, and says something. I don't understand. I make a sound that shows that I didn't understand. She repeats herself. I just agree. She holds up the sprayer and drenches my hair. It's warm. I like when people touch my hair.

"Is the water....?"

I didn't quite catch that. I agree and say it's okay. She continues and massages my temple and forehead.

"Is the water too hot?"

"It's okay," I said.

She stops spraying my hair. She disappears and when she returns she lathers my hair with shampoo. She starts to intensely wash and massage my hair. One dollar less. Her nails scratch hard. I pray to God that my head won't bleed.

"Does it...?"

"It's okay," I said.

She continues to roughly massage my hair. That's a new technique. She presses her fingers on the back of my head, as if she's trying to open an egg.

I remember now how to say, "Do it lighter." But my mouth continues to stay shut. I don't want to have repeat myself and that's usually what happens when I speak. My face cringes, hoping she will notice but she doesn't. She rinses my hair. She puts in conditioner. Repeat technique. My scalp burns.

She towels off my hair.

"Thanks."

"Don't be modest."

----------------------------------------------------------
My scalp is still burning and I'm sitting on my fat ass, eating Madeleines, preparing for a heart attack.

I'm cringing at my writing right now.

Someone needs to put me out of my misery. Blah.

Sledding down a mountain is something everyone should experience. It was the biggest snow day so far at Bing this year; I had to sled!

I haven't been outside, frolicking and sledding since freshman year when I went with Billy and Jon. I remember that day really clearly. I remember lying in the snow and staring up at the sky. It had been incredibly gray and dark. Typically, I would say it was beautiful, but it wasn't, not in the least. I remember calling Z that day and coming to the realization that was finally done with.

Two years later, I would never have guessed how much things have progressed, have changed, how much I have matured. I have come a long way, with friends, with school, with career decisions. It felt good climbing that trail up the mountain and lying there, staring up at the tree branches and pink sky. Absolute silence, yet the trees were speaking. Now that's beautiful.

Look back and make sure no one follows you.

I danced with a sophomore last night. He was tall and adorable and he would get really hyped up when a hip-hop song came on. He was dorky, getting a little too excited at times. He was also willing to buy drinks. [He told me a name, thinking he was lying, I gave him my fake name: Maria Garcias (inside joke). It was such a blatant lie. Of course, later I found out the name he gave me was real.]

I don't like to flirt to get things. I don't like to flirt unless I'm truly interested in the guy because, out of respect, I feel that I shouldn't mislead someone to get something. But it was so tempting to get something for free, so I asked--after he offered--for a drink.

I felt like an asshole after he bought me a drink because why should guys always buy girls drinks? Is it because guys want to get laid or want to hook up? And if not, if the guy is just giving and nice, why should a girl take advantage of them? Why do we just use each other?

He offered to buy me another drink, but I declined. I felt that I've wronged. Lately, that's all I've been doing.

The more I read my past blog entries--dating all the way to Xangan days, the more I've matured.

However, the more I've matured, the more I hid my words, my emotions, who I am.