Little Wolf

Have you ever been so grateful for something it makes you wanna hug people all the time and jump around with glee, for unfortunate annoyance of others?

That's pretty much what my feelings are feeling today.

Once upon a time, this chick was born and then she grew up to become my best friend and one of the most important individuals in my life.

Right now she is living la vida loca in a kingdom far, far away. On the other hand, this pseudo-blogger misses her like a meth addict on rehab misses meth.

Today it is her 21st birthday, which means she can totally get wasted without worrying about being arrested by the local police force and being fairly put into jail for drinking alcoholic beverages and ruining her life forever. Happy birthday, dude! Yay!!

Seriously, this girl is pretty much one of the best humans walking around on Earth. If you get to know her, you will know what I'm talking about. Those of you who have no clue who she is, you can consider yourselves as bad luck people.

Beautiful inside and out. And she is my one and only, other-non-lesbian half.

Not even my boyfriend gets to be my top 1 human -after my mom. Sorry baby, Vicky earned the top spot way before I met you.

I am just truly grateful to the universe for letting this kind of people into my life, even when distance makes things more difficult.

Little wolf, if you are reading this, remember I am always thinking of our friendship and how great things will come up for both of us. Thank you for being here, and for being such a great friend. I love you!

Back from the Dead

I wish I could have a legitimate excuse for not writing any new posts since may. Something like "I was on a coma after I got hit by a school bus and I woke up just a few minutes ago and this is the first thing that I wanted to do from the moment I gained consciousness instead of talking to my mom or any other living person of the real world."

It seems that things are just not that complicated.

See, my life can be a dull blob whenever the universe decides it. During the time of the year when I drag myself to school to go learn some stuff that people say it will "make a difference when I go get a job", I have this routine for every day of each semester which you might not really want to know about. But I don't really care that you don't want to, and I have to write something, so here it is:

Wake up-

Kind of eat something-

Go to school-
 Learn stuff- 

Kind of have fun with friends-
Go home-
 Eat-
Procrastinate-
Procrastinate-
Procrastinate-

Hurry the fuck up to school to contemporary dance classes-
Go back home-
  Do Start homework-
 Procastinate while cursing myself for not doing my homework before-
Eat -
 Take a nap-
Wake up at 4 am to finish the homework-
Sleep a bit more.

Repeat x5

Nope. Those are not song lyrics.
Those are things I do pretty much everyday in average, asuming that during that time I had the fortune to go to school. And that's pretty much what most high school and now university was made of. It is saddening now that I see this right before me.

But OH fucking well.
Please allow me to continue.

For all of you who do not know, I couldn't continue my university studies since last January. See, money is important when you want to learn from a pretty decent school. If you have trouble paying tuition, you are in trouble getting educated. Probably this is even sadder than my school routine.

Anyways, since I had some "forced school vacations" I had just way too much spare time to kill. Yes, I did some pretty awesome things during those 6 months. However, they just weren't THAT great.

By the time every single one of my former classmates was on summer vacations once again, I found myself with a feeling of mediocricy, bitterness, and an itch on the back of my mind telling me that I just didn't took the most advantage of my sucky situation.

You could even picture my inner self crawling depressingly on a gray rug wondering why didn't it come up with something cool and different during my spare time, like finding the solution for world hunger or the cure for lupus.

Yeah, it was that bad.

Nevertheless, something inside told me to suck it the fuck up and enjoy the fact that I could see some of my true old friends again. It was a positiveness spree caused by the effects of summer vacations: there was a four-week summer jazz dance course at school (in case you didn't know I really fucking love dancing since always). Those dear old friends also happen to love dancing classes, so they were going too!

Plus, this blog probably started due to that positiveness spree. So thanks summer vacations for giving those rays of hope even though you are hot as fuck, and even though you make me want to kill myself before melting into the ground.


It was just perfect. I would see them again. We would dance again together. We would get drunk again together and make really fucking stupid stuff!

Nonetheless, I had one little problem: my body took a toll of not being quite active during those "forced vacation" months. My lazy ass made me lose cardio-resistence, flexibility, and other anatomic fancy terms that you need in order to give a proper dance performance.

In other words: my body really, really needed to go to the gym.

What could I do? My sorry ass never really had to make gym excercises before because of my incredibly active teen years full of school chores, dance excercises, and more school chores.
I needed guidance on this quest.

Fortunately, I sort of knew this guy from university that basically "lived" at the gym. He literally spent quantious hours there in order to become a muscle head. Most likely to become a whole muscle with feet. You know, to move around.

I started talking to this guy and told him how important it was for me to be a good dancer again. He decided to help me over one condition: to teach him to dance. It was a deal, and we started on Monday.

Long story short, something snapped those gym days. We were always together. We were always talking one another. We started hanging out. We started to like each other. We sort of kind of fell in love.

He is sort of kind of my boyfriend now.

And he is sort of kind of the reason for me living my life instead of writing it down here. Yeah, he is the one to blame.

PLOT TWIST, PEOPLE! I didn't even really know I would end up talking all puppy love and stuff. Right now I'm smiling because five minutes ago I didn't even think or expect to write this down and show it to you. But now I am. And it is weird.

Long story short, once again, this writer came back from the dead. This writer won't leave again. I guess.

I Hate Funerals

People die everyday. People that we were lucky enough not to be aware of their existance so we wouldn't dwell on their now permanent abscence. Or in a "half-empty-cup" perspective, people we would not be lucky enough to ever know, learn, or live with, will be gone. People we could ever possibly imagine we could mourn.

Also, people we quite acnowledged to be out there somewhere also die. In the darkest times, people we truly love will fade away and leave nothing but a seed of pain and doubt inside our minds. A seed soon evolving, growing stronger every time we ask ourselves the imminent "what if".

Basic psychology and any sane person in the world would say that death is the one thing certain in our lives. Ironic, but true.

Also, it's been told that there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
So why is it just so damn hard to skip the first four steps of grieving and reach the acceptance, if we all know being gone at the end is the only thing certain from the moment we were given birth? I think it would be great if any of us could slip out of this world without leaving such mess in other people's lives. But then again, it's not possible.

The past three weeks I had the un-fortune to go to two different funerals, and not able to assist a third one because I was busy being in the second one. It just really really sucks to be all aware that all of the sudden any of us is here, and the next minute we are not. And it can happen any time, to any one.

If Death was a person, it would probably be that lady neighbor with a fucked-up sense of humor that would call the police if she thinks your party next-door is too noisy. But is probably the same lady neighbor that would notice you want to move out of town, and whole heartedly, would help you with the move out.

But most of us secretly hate that bitch lady neighbor. Nosy bastard.

However, the best we can do to cope with her is just letting her be. Yes, you might avoid her as much as you can and not invite her to the movies or vacations with your family, or not even drink a lovely cup of tea in her living room. But one thing is certain: she will knock the door, and you shall open.

Good Poetry

This is just definitely not bad poetry. I just discovered Shane Koyczan, and fell in love.
My new favorite poem of all times:

6:59 am.

If someone out there in the world could write a poem about waking up early and make it result into something so beautiful, then I'll wake up everyday to 6:59 am without complains for the rest of my life.

... That's a lie.

However, it did give me chills.

This poem deserved a post, so here you go. If you are not much a poem person it doesn't matter. Just go with the flow and enjoy the one I've introduced to you right now.


-Anahí Vargas

Memoires of a The Strokes' Fan

Since I'm a hugemongous fan of the indie-rock-oh-god-yeah band The Strokes (so hugemongous is not a word? ... well it is now), this entire post is now dedicated to them. Especially since the lead singer, Julian Casablancas, merged his beautiful voice with the legendary duo Daft Punk.

Today, Random Access Memories was leaked so the world could listen angels coming up and down from electro heaven. If music could be a person, it would be that kind of guy who would take you by the hand to the best places on Earth right inside your head. Kind of like a magician mixed with a hypno-therapist.

But back to the Strokes/Julian Casablancas and Daft Punk, it seems that both of their talents made lovingly tender love and gave birth to a frucking beautiful song:

Instant Crush.

I am not even sure why I love it so much. I mean, I don't understand most of what Julian is singing. My english is good but chances are I'll have to wait until someone takes the time to make a transcript of the lyrics so I fall in love with this song a little bit more. 

Maybe it's the disco feels. Maybe it was the guitar solo in that certain part of the song.

Maybe it's the fact that I would've never imagined that two of my favorite bands in the world would make a song like this.

I have to go now, but I'll leave a link for Instant Crush so you can understand what I'm saying.

Oh wait, not really. Someone took down the track. Fair enough. Let's fight piracy and stuff.

I'll make an update if I find a copy or something, and yes, I'll buy the damn album because why not.

This was a short post and awkwardly finished. Potato.

UPDATE:

Found it! I uploaded it to the Tumblr account though. Fingers crossed so the music police won't leave us without this piece of art. Well, not us, you. I already have it. =)

Download/Listen for free:
Instant Crush- Daft Punk ft Julian Casablancas

Little suckers.

This post was supposed to be inspirational, lovely, or with some sort of epiphany of what this blog would grow to in the near future.

I tried, really.

However, the failure to achieve so can be (kind of) justified: A horde of little, incredibly annoying mosquitoes kidnapped my zen-ish state of mind, and the serenity I needed to gather together a coherent set of ideas into a few paragraphs.

I know it sounds like "oh wow, she prefers to talk about mosquitoes rather than actually writing a post, what a lazy bastard". Seriously, I lost it. And if you live in a really moisty-hot weather you've got to know what I'm talking about.

Not a long time ago, my body was a bug-proof shield that would repel those suckers out of my space ratio, biting pretty much everyone around me but my own flesh. It felt like a superpower, as if I was invincible.

But one day, I'm just sitting there, writing and fixing and trying to come up with several good ideas when, all of the sudden, a group of those flying little creatures from hell came up on me and... well, they practically gangbanged me mercilessly.

I had a fan working, but those bugs (whom looked more like small baby birds than mosquitoes) seemed to defy the laws of nature, meaning that when a fan is on, mosquitoes are meant to go away.
The blood vacuums blatantly ignored the machine and kept on their food quest.

The food was right there. Me.

I was all ready for them to feed from my seemingly endless supply of blood, and when wearing shorts during the hot weather really did sound like a great idea, at the moment it was the worst thing I could possibly come up with. I was vulnerable, and waiting for the worst mosquito attack I've ever had in my short nineteen years of life.

During the battle, my hand aimed to their devil-ish bodies but, since my aim really really sucks, I only ended up hitting myself just enough to leave my skin all red and itchy. I could almost hear them laughing at me and saying "That bitch ain't got nothing on us!!! (add macabre laugh)".

By the end, after three or four horde attacks later, I was in a horribly bad mood, just too tired of running through the dining room-kitchen, and on the edge of insanity. Mosquitoes 1- Anahí 0.

However, a bright, medium sized spray can appeared right in my eyesight, sort of hidden between a bunch of papers and books. A bug killer. My beautiful ray of hope.

I run and took it and shook it and started spraying all over the place. It smelled like victory.

Just a few minutes later, all I could hear was my fan and the sound of what peace and success might sound like. The bugs were gone. For now.

This blog is not about...

This is the first post ever written in this blog and let me tell you: this blog is not about poetry!

I'm not even sure what it will be about. But I'll get there someday. Probably tomorrow. 

I'm pretty sure this might be the worst first-post-ever-written-in-a-blog ever. However, I wanted to start blogging for a year now, yet the lack of balls ovaries needed to start a long lasting project along with constant procastination were definitely the cause of why I'm starting until this very day.

So, HERE IT IS! 

The goal is to post at least three times a week, despite the fact that probably no soul on Earth will read what I write. Not even my mom. Seriously, not even her. She doesn't speak english at all. 

Let's get started.



UPDATE: 

I underestimated my mom's willpower of knowing what her daughter is up to. She used Google Translator and [sort of] understood what this post is about. Clever woman.