Favorite Sonic 30th Anniversary Moments 💙🦔💨

How I show my age and political savvy:

Recently a coworker mentioned they were going to put in a notice of no confidence towards one of the mangers.

And I, in all my learning and wisdom asked: "That's a real thing?"

They were puzzled by my question so I clarified that: "I though the 'vote of no confidence' was a Star Wars thing."

Needless to say, everyone in earshot burst out laughing.

To be fair, it was pretty funny and I was laughing right along with them.

But in my defense, I was a kid when I first saw Phantom Menace, and G. Lucas ain't exactly one for accurate details, so I just assumed it was something he made up.

I gave this explanation to my coworkers and that just made them laugh more.

Black Panther: Pride

“So this is the blacks’ Coco.”

That was the first thing my papi said when I asked him what he thought of the movie. He’s not the best when it comes to being sensitive (he tends to say all the politically incorrect terms just for the fun of it, actually). So when I got past the bluntness of his statement, I realized what he actually meant.

Pixar’s Coco is a movie that is very dear to me because I am a Mexican-American. My papi immigrated to the U.S. and thus my family grew up with a different set of culture values and traditions; I grew up as part of a minority. 

So when Pixar came out with Coco, I was one of the first to see it. And what pleased me more than the homages to Mexican culture was the reaction it received worldwide. It became a source of pride for me that people loved a film that was based on my culture; a minority culture.

And what my papi had said summed up Black Panther: it is a movie based on a minority culture and people love it, they praise it because it is different and captivating.

I don’t wish to presume, but as a fellow member of a minority, I think it’s wonderful that those of African heritage (wherever they are from now), can look at Black Panther, see how much others love it, and take it as a point of Pride.

No healing for this curvy girl in Bridgerton season 3 (slight spoilers)

I was so looking forward to this season and seeing a woman with curves get honest to goodness romantic sex scenes.

For so long the sex scenes with curvy girls in film have been shown with a tone of humor or disgust or pity.

And Bridgerton season 3 was supposed to change all of that. Except it didn’t. Not for me, anyway.

Because while other Bridgerton heroines have been stripped clean of their clothes, with their entire body on full display, Penelope was not.

In all her scenes she was never completely undressed save for one brief moment that isn’t even shown fully. We get one quick glimpse of her glorious bosom and then she delegated to being covered up with a blanket. Colin goes so far as to pull the blanket to cover her up more at one point!

We don’t get to see her beautiful curves. They’re continuously hidden like it’s a shameful thing to show a woman whose waist isn’t small, with a stomach that jiggles, thighs that don’t fit neatly in a man’s hands, and breasts that aren’t small and perky.

What I got out of Bridgerton season 3 is that yes, you curvy girls can have a love interest who isn’t also plus size, but only because he thinks you’re interesting, not because you’re beautiful. And yes, being interesting is going to last longer than beauty, but is it too much to ask to be both?

It seems even today on a super progressive show, the answer is still “yes”.

On September 11, 2001, the day my young life tilted towards adulthood, I remember exactly what I was doing when the Twin Towers came down.

I was having a piano lesson.

I remember it starting out like any other Tuesday morning. I know it did because I can’t remember the details of the ‘before’ because I was just a kid, and such trivial things like what I was wearing and what I had for breakfast and whether I’d gotten into a fight with my sister yet wasn’t important enough to stay in my head for more than an hour.

My sister and I took piano lessons from the same sweet little old lady who lived a few streets down from us at the time. My mother homeschooled us, so we always had the morning lessons. It was my sister’s week to start first, and my mom and I were left to wait on the old fashioned chaise lounge.

And then my teacher’s husband, who never came in during lessons, appeared. He said something to the adults, I don’t remember what. But whatever it was, it was enough for my mom to leave with him to where they had their TV set.

I can’t remember if I got my turn on the piano. I honestly don’t even remember leaving. My memory jumps from my piano teacher’s parlor to my mother sitting in front of our TV, her eyes glazed over, her posture hunched and rigid.

Because my papi wasn’t there to tell her everything would be alright.

He was in law enforcement at the time, and by the time the second tower had come down, his work had put everyone in lockdown, underground, and unable to contact anyone until the danger had passed.

I can’t remember how long it lasted, until my papi was able to come home. I can only remember my mom, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, praying for the victims, praying for the first responders, and praying that her husband would come home.

During that whole time, we didn’t have school, we didn’t have activities, we didn’t have anything. My sister and I didn’t take advantage of all the free time. Instead, we sat in our rooms, and every once in a while, went to see if mom had moved, the signal that papi was coming home.

I say that’s the day my life tilted towards adulthood, not because I understood what was going on, but because for the first time in my life, I realized adults could be afraid too. That the people I had always looked to for stability could be shaken too. And that one day, I was going to have to be one of them.

In the last twenty years since that day, I’ve grown up. I’ve completed school, got a job, got a home of my own and got a cat. By all accounts, I’ve become an adult.

And now that I am, the understanding of what happened that day has only become worse.

My papi did come home safe. But there were so many that didn’t, or didn’t come home at all. So many people whose lives become harder after what happened that day.

My heart goes out to the victims, the regular heroes, and the people who were negatively impacted by the events and still continue to be to this day.

I don’t have the elegant words to offer hope, or the phrases to convey my sympathy to its fullest.

But I couldn’t let this day, now 20 years later, pass without saying, “I remember…”

And perhaps, remembering what happened, how it affected people, and thinking about what we learned and can do in the future, is enough.

My fictional crush types

While I was working on my writing, I suddenly realized my first crushes have colored all my other crushes over the years. To the point that each of my main writing projects features a love interest that is influenced by said first crushes.

So, naturally, I had to sort them out. For reference purposes.

Why Aren’t There Youtube Videos for ‘How to Deal with Harassment in a Martial Arts Studio’ ? 

Because, quite honestly, there should be.

Some background, ‘real quick’.

I’ve actually been pretty lucky so far in all the places I’ve trained at. Though maybe because I’ve never been a grown ass woman training on my own before. Before this, I trained with my mom and sister, and it was during my middle school to high school years. I’ve been a white belt (level 1 newbie) four times now because we were constantly moving.

In my very first dojo, I was trained in both TaeKwonDo and American Karate by a Puerto Rican former military man. This man, my first Sensei, he was TOUGH. And he made sure his students, especially his female students, knew how to defend themselves. So he trained us hard, and he trained us to fight dirty (when it came to self defense in the real world. If you did any dirty fighting in the dojo, at the very least you’d be getting fifty fist pushups on the tile floor).

So even after bouncing from several other martial art styles and quite a dry spell, when I joined the TaeKwonDo studio I’m currently at, I was actually way better than a white belt. After all, I had been three belts away from earning a black belt in TaeKwonDo and American Karate at my first dojo. And my current instructor recognizes this and is quick to praise how quickly I’m picking the skills up again. I even managed to rank up to the next belt in less than a month!

I was really enjoying myself. After all, I had taken martial arts up again not for the prestige, but for the exercise and community. And even as an awkward kid, I always felt at my most confident throwing punches and breaking boards.

And then some twit showed up and had to ruin it.

This dude, we shall call him… Bob, enrolled about three weeks after I did. Right off the bat I could tell this dude had never trained in any martial arts before. The guy’s technique is very clumsy at best, and sloppy at worst. I don’t mean to disparage him. He’s only a white belt, after all. I don’t expect him to have a honed technique. Especially since he doesn’t seem to be taking the training seriously (or at least, as seriously as I am. My first sensei made sure I never threw a punch or kick that wasn’t peak form).

So what’s my deal with Bob?

In short, so many things. 

The long of it is that I’m starting to feel like he’s lowkey harassing me.

Since we’re both the lowest belts in the class (and we’re lined up by rank) we often end up next to each other during stretches/training, and are taught new techniques together.

(Quick question, if I dude is grunting during a workout next to a woman, is that a creepy gym guy move? Or am I reading into it too much? Because I feel like he grunts a lot when we’re stretching and doing situps/pushups next to each other. And I don’t hear any of the other men in the class grunting).

So besides the awkward grunting, he’s also given me a hard time for not being able to do a full situp, and even saying I didn’t do the require number of situps just because I finished before him (let’s see you do a full situp with double D cups on your chest, dude).

But the thing that’s been building up is his constant harassing me about going to the sparring classes.

At my current studio, you can decide how many classes a week you want to attend. I attend the two adult classes regularly (which, I might add, Bob does not). Then there’s an option to join one of the sparring classes for those who are interested.

When I first started martial arts, I was just a kid. I hadn’t even hit puberty yet, and was still pretty small. Sparing was for the older students who could be trusted to hold their punches back, or at least be more responsible in the event of an accident. My mom did some sparring, and she told me about how scary it was at first. And how she accidentally almost hurt one of the teen boys because they underestimated her and she didn’t have a good grasp on controlling her strength yet (I like to say I get my valkyrie genes from her).

Combine that with my base instinct to get physically violent when pushed to my limit. (Seriously, growing up, I used to bite kids who angered me). Needless to say, I don’t feel I’m ready to take on sparring until I know I have full control of my body. Right now, I’m still getting back into the swing of things; learning how to aim my punches and kicks, and getting a sense of my limbs' reach. I’m not ready to spar.

And this (insert your choice word for a cocky, delusional, disrespectful, creepy dude), has been harassing me about not going to the sparring sessions since he got here. Because he’s been going to these sessions and keeps asking why I’m not going.

Actually, he’s not asking. He’s guilting and harassing me. 

Because his pitch to get me to go, whenever I have repeatedly told him I’m not ready to go, is usually along the lines of: “You should come. I’m just a white belt and I’ve been going since I started. Why don’t you come-?” IN THE MOST CONDESCENDING VOICE IMAGINABLE.

Now, I regret being nice to him. I regret helping him go over katas/forms. I regret politely listening while he complained about the studio (that he’s attending with me right now) and how he might have to attend another studio just so he can learn punches (because this gift to the world didn’t read the sign on the front of the studio that says in BIG LETTERS how TaeKwonDo is known for its powerful KICKS). And most of all, I regret not shutting him down the first time he harassed me about not going to the sparring sessions.

We are NOT friends. He’s NOT entitled to an explanation from me about my personal reasons for not attending the sparring sessions. And he needs to STOP HARASSING ME ABOUT IT.

I spent most of last evening ranting about it to my mom and bestie, and then tossed and turned during the night going over rage induced fantasies where I do attend one sparring session, thoroughly kick him off his ass (with a few broken bones and at least a bleeding nose) - which doesn’t get me banned from the studio because the head instructor was on my side during this fantasy.

So to anyone out there that might have some words of wisdom: what do I do to get this @#$%^& to leave me alone?

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The trailer for the new Disney animated film, Encanto, just dropped and IT LOOKS GORGEOUS!!!

But can we all just stop and admire how much personality and character development is already being conveyed by Maribel (the main protagonist, I’m assuming) in her outfit alone?

To me, it looks like she took already made clothing, and then was like, “I think this needs more color”. And then proceeded to embroider without a plan. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the embroidery continued to spread like a doodle gone wild lol.

The bipolar conversations heard when working in a library:

One minute someone is be thanked for making homemade coffee cake-

-and then two seconds later everyone is in a passionate discussion about decapitation vs hanging.

Basically, this is why working in libraries rocks.

Aging thoughts

I'm rewatching the 1975 Count of Monte Cristo and Dantes’ has just escaped the island, stating he's 33yrs. I'm not sure if I should be happy that I've done more in my life than he has or annoyed that my greatest accomplishments don't come anywhere near a jailbreak.