Category Archives: WTF

If You Have Ever Had Dinner At My Place, You Owe Me

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I’ll start by saying you should all be glad and thankful I have few filters and no sense of shame whatsoever, otherwise entertainment at my expense would be nonexistent.

People like me shouldn’t be allowed to own appliances. There’s a reason why I’ve gone through three blenders, two vacuums and one washer people.

I lived in Mexico until I was 26 years old, and in all that time I never owned or operated a dishwasher. Fast forward to present day. You know, Canada, first world country and all that shit.

We have a dish washer. And it makes me very happy.

I don’t particularly enjoy doing the dishes (and blame my mom for it *cough*), so it was a joyous time when I discovered my house came with this amazing contraption in which I could shove a day’s messes and be done with it. Fun times.

Never mind that my dishwasher dates from the paleolithic era and requires more energy than a small particle accelerator, it is still my baby. I may or may not sing lullabies to it at night. Whatever.

So before I continue with my story, let me remind you I had never owned or operated a dishwasher in my life, ok? So direct all your scoffs and judgement to someone who actually deserves it, ok?

Ok.

Today I noticed what appeared to be a bit of scummy residue underneath the trap. Gee, I wonder if there’s a way to open that thing, I pondered. As in… I had never. ever. in four years. opened the trap to clean it out. Ever. Ever.

Husband came and helped snap it open, and holy fuck. People, it was horrible. HORRIBLE. There was fuzz and crap and wet leftover foods and gray sand and smells and and… I can’t… even…

In what is quickly becoming a trademark exclamation around here I was all gasping and covering my mouth in horror and going I can’t, I can’t… can’t what? Can’t at this moment find the appropriate words to describe assertively the degree of revolt and disgust I feel towards what I am witnessing, that’s what.

Dude, we’ve been eating from plates washed in that shit for FOUR DAMN YEARS.

And this is why if you have ever had a meal at my house you totally owe me. I did strengthen the shit out of your immune system, you know.

Nothing Is Sacred

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See, I hate it when this happens: so much time has gone by since the last time I wrote here, and so many things have happened, and there’s so much I want to say all at the same time, that then I go all fuck it I’m not writing shit. True story.

But today I couldn’t let the chance pass to tell you what just went down.

I pulled out our Christmas stuff –which we didn’t put up at all this year because we spent it in Newfoundland with my in-laws– to put away some ornaments my mother-in-law gave me.

So I’m here thinking I might as well switch it all to a better container since we’re organizing the basement (it’s taken us four years. Four.) and I’m happy and proud thinking how I’m the tidiest bitch ever.

And then, right there below a bunch of stalkings and Santa hats, was a tiny but unmistakable mice nest.

A fucking. mice. nest.

It was all little balls of wall insulation clumped together into a bundle and full of mouse shit. Right there on top of the felted coasters my aunt Tere made and sent me from Mexico last year.

I lost my shit. The only reason I didn’t scream is because going into full hysterics in front of Stephen may lead him to think it’s a justifiable reason to at least shake me violently like they do to screaming women on TV. Not taking that chance, nuh huh.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Stephen. Stephen! There’s a FUCKING. MOUSE. NEST. in here. I can’t. I can’t.” [trying not to hyperventilate]

“And oh look, there’s some baby mice there…”

“WHAT?! YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING. TELL ME YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING.”

“Yes. Heh.” [smiles]

So guess who no longer has cute handmade felted coasters.

Assholes.

Mexican Men Live Vicariously Through Their Dogs’ Balls

Ok fine, maybe not all. But a lot do because of cultural beliefs.

I’m talking about the neutering or spaying of a canine companion, an action so normal and granted in the first world, and yet so taboo in the third.

What is it with men– and, more specifically, men from traditionally sexist cultures– and their unwillingness to neuter their dog? I’ve seen some take issue with the removal of breeding potential regardless of the pet’s gender, but it’s a more pronounced problem (an offense, almost) when the dog in question is male. I have to wonder if these men’s psyche cannot recognize the difference between their own genitals and that of their four-legged friends.

It’s as if there is a latent fear that by stripping the dog of its reproductive instinct they will lose part of their manliness; as if by removing the dog’s testicles they would be denying themselves sexual pleasure or the possibility of multiple partners. Newsflash: Your dog’s dick is in no way connected to yours. You’re not getting off by proxy.

And then for the funny twist: At risk of stating the obvious, a man who is a man, sure of himself, his sexuality, his own identity and self-worth, doesn’t have to retort to living vicariously through a dog’s sexual escapades as if they are his. A complete man doesn’t need to prove himself valuable, even less through the ridiculous, subconscious notion that the dog’s sexual status is a representation of his own.

Au contraire, by projecting on the dog what they wish themselves could do they succeed in proving the exact opposite: how insecure, how small, how fragile and threatened is their masculinity. Oh, the irony.

Taking an example from real life, a few months ago a Facebook friend posted pictures of his bitch’s (snort) brand new litter. Beautiful, adorable pups, with a caption that read Let me know if you want a puppy. Because this is the thing of course, pups are born and there’s too many of them so homes for them must be found. What kind of home? Who gives a shit, just get rid of them fast, before they grow up and no longer hold that delightful and innocent big-eyed puppy appeal.

Then the comments under the picture began, and I was quite pleased to see one young woman in particular gently pointing out to said dude that it’s best to get the dog spayed, because accidents happen (like they clearly already had) and he could end up with a new litter again. His response? “Well, I’ve seen what dogs look like after getting fixed and I just ain’t feeling it.

He was clearly referring to the sometimes saggy pouch a dog can get on its belly after getting fixed. And this is the part where I struggled with myself, holding back from virtually jumping on the guy’s throat, because you just ain’t feeling WHAT, exactly? My dear (four) readers, I was this close to asking the guy if he was planning on fucking his dog anytime soon and that’s why her looks are so important. Seriously.

In full disclosure and desire to be fair I’ll also say that, sadly, lack of proper information has left women not too far behind, arguing that their dog should enjoy the natural privilege that is birth and other similar nonsense.

Here are the straight facts: Dogs, unlike humans, don’t feel an emotional need to have babies. They’re too busy being dogs and sniffing asses to get caught up in the whirlwinds of motherhood or worrying about their biological clock ticking. They don’t have pressures from family or society expecting them to settle down and pop out kids, nor do they think for a second that the only way to justify their existence is by having babies. To them coitus isn’t pleasure, it is a mere instinctual act no different from eating or shitting, so enough of the but I want to give my dog the chance to experience parenthood bullshit. Fix your own emotional needs instead of trying to make them your dog’s.

And those cute puppies that were born because of irresponsible owners, or worse, because of ignorant tools thinking the dog deserves to breed? Good luck and may life have mercy on them. It doesn’t matter how well we know the people who are adopting them, or how highly recommended they were by the cousin of the neighbor of the hotdog cart lady’s son. Truth of the matter is, statistically, most of them will end up as strays, sick without proper veterinary care, abused, or surrendered to a shelter where they will subsequently be euthanized. Is that what you want for those chubby tail-wagging balls of adorbness? If so, you suck.

Thankfully, there is a silver lining. Mentalities seem to be changing and little by little there seems to be more awareness into the importance of not bringing more pups into the world. The amount of dead dogs that you find on the road any given day in Monterrey, my hometown, is a big indication of why we shouldn’t. If money is an issue there are lots of programs in place to help cover the cost of neutering and spaying. Don’t be lazy and look something up for your city, call shelters and ask for info, or check with your vet. I guarantee you’ll find some rays of hope.

The best way to avoid the problem altogether is, if you want to get a dog adopt one from a shelter. They come already fixed, so you won’t have to worry about that part of their care. Plus you’ll be saving a life instead of boosting the pockets of asshole pet shop owners and puppy mill jerks. This is very important. Feel free to look at any undercover videos from puppy mills and you’ll understand why you shouldn’t buy another dog from anyone, anywhere, ever again.

In conclusion, chauvinistic men of the world, stop reflecting your insecurities trying to hide them behind the size of your dog’s balls and thus letting the world know how little self-confidence you really have. If only Freud was alive.

Fix that dog. Woof.

Carta abierta al Sr. Alejandro Vega Gonzalez y al Sr. Alejandro Vega Cardenas

To my regular readers: Please bear with me, we’ll come back to normal programming tomorrow.

Junio 14 de 2012.

El dia de hoy ha circulado la fotografia de los Srs. Vega Gonzalez y Vega Cardenas posando en el Kalahari con su trofeo de caza: un leon africano.

Ustedes no me conocen a mi ni yo los conozco a ustedes. Sin embargo, se mas de ustedes de lo que se imaginan.

Se que para ustedes la caza es una diversion.

Se que probablemente durante la persecucion de este leon y la duracion de la caceria se sintieron inyectados de adrenalina, vivos; es posible que hasta sintieron un vinculo especial de padre e hijo.

Resulta obvio que dicha foto en la primer plana de la seccion Gustos y Pasiones de El Norte simboliza para ustedes una manera de comprobar su estatus– economico y social.

Pero hay una cosa mas que resulta dolorosamente obvia, que pienso a ustedes mismos se les escapo notar: Todo esto, el estatus, la diversion, la soberania… no es nada mas que una ilusion, una tapadera para disimular una triste realidad.

Podran negarlo tajantemente porque quien soy yo, una extraña, para venir a decirles lo que es real y lo que no. Podran encoger los hombros e intentar ignorar los gritos de sus propias acciones. Pero si, sus acciones hablan a voces– y no necesariamente de lo que ustedes esperaban.

Tan enganchados estan en la ilusion de lo que quieren proyectar que ni siquiera se dan cuenta de la historia que en verdad relatan.

Se les ha escapado un detalle grande, y es que una persona llena de verdadera vida en jubilo no pierde su tiempo creando sufrimiento para otros seres vivos.

Creen que se ven contentos y divertidos; yo los veo arrogantes.

En su ecuacion les falto calcular que quien es de corazon grande no se atreve por un segundo a sentirse superior a nadie ni a nada, porque entiende que en este mundo todos estamos unidos por algo mas grande que nosotros mismos.

Creen que se ven poderosos; yo los veo vacios.

En su afan de auto promocion se les olvido contemplar que quienes poseen verdaderamente las  cualidades que ustedes se afanan en presumir jamas se prestarian, en su verdadera grandeza, para acciones tan pateticas.

Porque la riqueza absoluta no se demuestra con viajes y trofeos de caza. Se vive dia a dia con la paz de saber que somos personas de bien y de compasion.

Porque el unico estatus y aprobacion que necesitamos en esta vida es el propio, el que viene de adentro para con nosotros mismos y que ningun trofeo nos puede otorgar. Al contrario, el amor total a quienes somos y lo que nos rodea es el trofeo mismo.

Porque la cultura no se demuestra creando desolacion y sufrimiento. Se demuestra cuando extendemos la mano a nuestros hermanos de todas las razas y especies porque, al final del dia, estamos en esto juntos.

A cualquiera que comprende que aquel de corazon rebozante de amor es incapaz de pasar su tiempo de oscio dedicandolo a crear sufrimiento le queda claro: Ni paz, ni compasion, ni amor, ni poderio quedaron plasmados en esta imagen. No. Lo unico que lograron exhibir es el vacio tan grande que los come desde adentro.

Me da lastima el leon. Pero mas lastima dan ustedes con sus inseguridades y pequeñeces tan obvias y plasmadas en primera plana del periodico.

Espero encuentren su paz. Pronto.

Atte. Carolina Belmares