The difference between the lists of the pissy things, the social and the personal is quite simple.
The things I can accept and the things that bother my inner peace. That's the best I can describe it.
Like a person that pities me for having a kid, I can understand because they have this notion of how young I am and what I'm " missing out" so i guess i sort of understand it.
However when I am arguing with someone, having a disagreement and that other person just plainly dismisses me because they're just so sure they're right, totally grinds my gears.

The social column I believe is mostly made of intolerance and judgmental issues.  There's a tone of censorship that really hits close to home. I grew up in a very conservative family, so I know a little about how that feels.

It took me almost three years to baptize my son, not because I had anything against it, but things just kept coming up. It wasn't that high on my list on priorities so I kept putting it off. My grandmother called me one day however and said these words to me " You are responsible for that baby's soul. What are you going to to if ( god forbid!) something happens to your son and he is not baptized?" 
I was appalled at that, and immediately thought " if something where to happen to my son the last thing on my mind would be the worry of whether I baptized him or not..." 
It's things like that, the passive aggressive type of judgement that really hangs on to you and festers angrily around your insides. It's the misconception of what real priorities are, because they're faded by fanaticism, or the need to be right. 

There's something beautiful about tolerance, about the ability to agree to disagree. About saying " I don't agree with you, I don't believe in that" instead of saying " You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong." 
It had something to do with being fraternal and empathetic to what others believe. I don't believe in God anymore ( I think..) but I'm not one to tell my family " uh yeah guys you're morons for believing in something that doesn't exist". My friend Joey believes in chakras and energy and magic and crystal healing. I don't believe in that, but I'm not going to barge in and tell him " uh dude, you're making a fool of yourself."  because that's not respectful. ( that's not what I'm thinking either, just wanted to clear that up) 
I'm not talking about not speaking your mind, just about speaking your mind the right way.  finding compromise, and taking a moment to listen to the other person.

 I'm not one to say what is and what isn't. There's something humble about dipping every once in a while into that benefit of the doubt, it makes us more accepting about our differences.

overlapping arguments
lack of respect for other's opinions or beliefs
impatience
ignorance
passive aggressiveness
unwanted advice
censoring
over tabooing normal things
extreme conservative behavior
that bitch bartender where I work at
gossip
the sound of over exited crickets
insistent miss-communication
dismissal
 people telling me how to raise my kid
people pitying me for having a toddler
the mixture of narcissism and low self-esteem
guests that ask me to split their check at the end of their meal
managers that roll their eyes at me for asking them to do their job
absurd feminists
absurd mysogynists
political fanatism
extreme atheists
extreme catholics
people that ask too many questions at movies
people that try too hard to find a partner ( obssesion with pick-up sites, seducing 101, psychologic games)
dating language
that dick toddler that bullies my kid
people that read poetry and say " I don't get it, what's the point? why don't you just say what you mean directly?!" 
people that say art is useless
people that say artists are pretentious
the bass excess of reggaetoneros

I think this post will be shorter than you'd think it would be.

I watched the documentary, and all the while I was kind of annoyed at it. Honestly I do respect it's statements, the questions and concepts they're looking into, but there's something about it that bothers me.

Here are my thoughts on it:

What bothers me most about the documentary is the way that they use little bits and pieces of the Disney movies as 'evidence' to show the subtle and yet wrong influence the Disney movies have on children. Feminist, elitist, racist concepts are presented as if they were these subliminal messages that have been programming children. The trope of the defenseless princess that needs rescuing, the lack of color variety in the princess's skins ( or characters at all), the racism in the secondary and shadow characters that are portrayed as stereotypical races. The Chihuahua as the mexicans, the siamese cats as the asians, the hyenas as the blacks, it's all intricate and a little too sensible for my taste.
Here's why:

They're cartoons.

The purpose of a cartoon is the use of exaggeration to convey a simple message, like fables. It is non-realistic, and guess what> Stereotypes ARE  exaggerations. They're not meant to be taken to heart, they're just there to be identifiers. Latinos are the womanizers ( as are the french), Chinese are cunning. Arab are calculating and greedy, whatever way it's interpreted they're traits that everyone is familiar with and I don't think there's anything wrong with that.  I think the way History has been told, the way Literature has been written are what's to blame.

The thing is that children don't pay attention to these little intricacies. That's the beauty of it. They pay attention to the innocent and general sense of these movies. What does Aladdin teach us? Not that an Arab Merchant will cut off your hand is you steal from them ( which in the documentary they say their law states that the punishment for stealing a couple of times actually is the cutting of the hand, he was offended however that in the cartoon they jumped right into it from the start, which brings me back to the " exaggeration" medium that cartoon use.)  but to convey the value of being yourself no matter what anyone says.  That specific scene where the merchant was going to cut off Jarmin's hand wasn't focusing on the Merchant's cruelty but on Jasmin's naivety.  Any kid will tell you that.
That's the play on exaggerated circumstances in the world of cartoons, the atmosphere around the characters are what set off certain actions and reactions.

Exaggeration.

Now, we know that when we study a book from a certain genre and certain era we have to study it's context, the author's life and goals, to fully understand the text's purpose. If we read The Quixote out of context we won't understand squat about it. Same thing we have with the bible, we read it now, from the context of our times, our customs, our ideals and social rules and expectations, we are appalled at most of the things written there. 
Because we don't understand
Code-word: context.

This is what happens with movies like Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty. These old classics show of a very extreme case of a stepford-y perfect princess. The docile wide eye doe that likes to clean and be taken cared off.
Snow-white was released in 1937, Cinderella 1950, Sleeping beauty, 1959. What happens during these years? What were women like during those years?  They were stepford-y,  looked forward to finding good husbands and having children and being good housewives. Don't like it? too bad. It happened and lots of women enjoyed it, found it endearing, honored to be a housewife.
Nowadays, however there's some sort of taboo with women that decide to be housewives. Women that enjoy a clean house, that are happy to cook, and take care of their children. Feminists pity them as if it were some shameful job.
I find that wrong. 
There's nothing wrong with the fact that Snow-white enjoyed cleaning.  What happened in the movie?  ( this is what i mean about context) she was brought up to be almost a janitor, always cleaning. Then she runs away find a house she can stay at and, in her kindness she decides to clean the house. There's nothing bad about that statement. 
Then there is the statement of what they said about Beauty and the Beast ( I just get angry when people take things out of context) yes, it was a horrible experience. Almost Stockholm Syndrome. 
But again these people are overlooking the thesis statement that children get right away. the importance of not judging a book by it's cover. 
Here they depict belle, passive aggressively stating that she is shown with some sort of power as she is a woman that reads, but then she subjects herself to the beast's abuse.
Context people!  Important!
Of course when you take bits and pieces like this Belle will look dumb to subject herself to abuse. But they're overlooking the love she had for her father, the sacrifice she did to save him. She knew what she was getting herself into.

And then something changes.
She Get's to know the beast, the man inside.
Here's where the importance of compassion is depicted. Belle is compassionate towards the beast, when everyone else dismissed him as hopeless and/ or too bitter to deal with. And with her patience, her compassion, her kindness she brought out something beautiful in him. Something that is shown in the end of the movie, when the beast shows mercy to Gaston when he was attacking the beast.
The change is there.
The beast saved her life. The beast listened to her, identified himself with her, paid attention to her passion, and he was able to show her all of this because she gave him a chance.

You think in a relationship people don't get rough, say things angrily and don't mean?  what does it say about a children's movie that teaches children to quit the moment things get tough? 
This documentary called Belle an abuse victim, but I always saw ( and still see) her as a hero.
The Hero of this movie is Belle, not the beast.

There's a lot of playing with the intentions of the Disney movies. Something about conditioning children to have certain racist and misogynist mindsets.
Girls are defenseless
and can only be useful when using their bodies to seduce and whatnot
boys have to save them
yadda yadda yadda
But these statements are mostly wide interpretations based on this harsh judgement of what is moral and what is not.
Esmeralda is a very strong female character, very able ans self sufficient. but there's something about her being saved by Quasimodo that irks these people.
That's another thing.
There is nothing wrong with being vulnerable.
There is nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.
Esmeralda was tied to a burning post, I think that was a good time to ask for help. And yet she never did.

There's thing big deal on asking for help, this huge fear of being vulnerable, being tolerant for the sake of love, that makes people nowadays run away when they don't like things, when things get rough, that shortens the average of successful marriages to the point of  asking " Wow, what's that like?" when someone says " My parents are still together." 

Disney movies, taught me the value of kindness, courage, cunning, friendship, compassion, honesty and tolerance. 

Again, I respect the research presented in this documentary but I don't agree with it.  I stick to the magical innocence of Disney movies because that's how I enjoyed my childhood. And I'm going to enjoy watching them all over again with my son because they brightened my childhood and colored my imagination.

that's all I have to say about that.

I guess this wasn't as shot as I thought it would be.

This is not one of the posts we have assigned, but I felt that this belonged here. I thought you guys would enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

This started out as a writing exercise. I'm trying to pick up the habit of writing something everyday, even if it's something small, some idea or thought or rant. 
I work as a waitress, so I figured I'd be well fueled for this habit seeing as i see different people everyday. 
So, one day I came home from work and I was just fuming from having had to wait on an obnoxious woman.
All right many people might think that I was overreacting, the woman didn't really do anything to me, it was just the subtle and utter rudeness of the way she dismissed me as a person was just kind of insulting.
So I decided to rant about it in a descriptive post.
Here goes:

Band-Aid

I knew my night as about to get interesting the moment I spotted her sitting at table 3.


Years hadn't done her well, she was heavy on her knees and on the eyes. her face was tightened with rich entitlement. Her highlighted and straightened hair had Salon extensive-care written all over it. 
Her eyebrows were treated with what now is called " permanent makeup", each one formed a pointy yet obtuse angle, like two child-drawn ceilings over her eyes; always high and eternally condescending. Her cheeks were carefully powdered and blushed as they draped slightly over her jaw. Her lips were thin and dryly stained with thick maroon lipstick.
She sat up straight, she crossed her ankles. 

Well, she tried. 

Her blouse was loose and had a an orange flowery print. Her pants were black and office-like. Her low heels were thick, black with a round tip.  they seemed to be calling for help. 

She had one of those expensive Pandora bracelets, most of her charms consisted of kittens and dollhouses. Her hands were well manicured. 
She looked around her table, her eyebrows pulled together, her lips pursed  and locked. She looked around for me and ushered me over with a deliberate head tick. 
I walked over to the table, holding my breath, hoping I could deal with this table as one pulls a band-aid prematurely from a half-healed cut. 

Quick and painful.

But quick.

First nag:
 The scratching of the skin to painfully lift the corner of the band-aid's tape:

I start to welcome her but she instantly interrupts me,
" We want two sodas, I want a cup of brocoli soup, she wants the special with loaded mashed potatoes and the corn cobette. I want the classic nachos, no chicken, no jalapeños." 
" Right away ma'am." 

( Do i have to explain why that's overly rude? really?  okay. Well in simple terms, she's a bitch. She's not seeing me as a person, but as an invisible butler, someone that's not worth acknowledging. That is a big no-no for people that want to eat at a restaurant. ) 

Second Nag:
You finally grab the corner and you test-pull it, only to flinch at the instant and obnoxious pain. It's in this moment when you sigh deeply before you close your eyes and you will yourself to just fucking do it:

She has the drinks and her soup on the table. She's talking to her friend. The friend is a blur to me because my hate towards this woman is too sharp. I decide to ignore her just enough for me to stay a good waitress... And person.
I put my other tables up to date. The couple at table 39 is happy. The old guys at table 6 are happy. The mother at table 7 is happy.  I walk over to the dreaded table 3 and ask " Everything all right here?"  She doesn't lift her eyes from her friend's face and dismisses me with her hand.
I walk away.

Third nag:
You finally start pulling the tape and it's as painful as you knew it would be:

The food is a little late and I go over to apologize for it. She says nothing, she only signals to her half empty Pepsi. I simmer in my annoyance for a few seconds before I go to the kitchen to get her a refill.

( yeah, they're little things, subtle hand gestures. But it's as simple as an eye-rolling. It's sharp body-language that all says the same thing " I don't give a shit" ) 

Fourth Nag:
As you're pulling the band-aid, the first part of the tape is interrupted by the center gauze that is pulling away from your half-healed cut. You'd think it would be less painful since there's no tape involved, but no, it's worse. The gauze was attached to the cut and it's pulling at the less than firm, loosely clotted scab. 
It hurts like a motherfucker:

The food finally gets to the table. Everything's great. I bring the refill. I turn to leave, she psst's at me. I look back. She smiles and points to her plastic mug. She says " Look at that." I clench my jaw. I look at it. She talks to me as if she's giving me a lesson, she lowers her voice with false sweetness. She says, " Now tell me. Do you see anything unusual about this soda?" My heart races. My teeth hurt from the pressure I'm placing on them, keeping my mouth from snapping at the bitch. " I see ma'am. I apologize, the syrup must be running out. I'll get you a new one." She answers smugly " Mmhmm.." 

Fifth nag:
You're almost relieved when it gets to the tape again. You're almost there:

I give her the refill. She gestures towards it and says " See the difference?". I answer " Of course ma'am.  She and her friend eat. I have a few moments of peace while she munches on her nachos. When she's done, she gestures at me to bring her the check...

Final Nag:
You're almost done, until that final painful snap of the tape as you forcefully unleashed it from your skin. You curse one final time:

I bring her the check. She looked at me and said, " They're individual accounts. Split them." 

I've never been happier with a $1.60 tip. It was fate's signature for her glorious departure.


As a waitress...
a rant

As a waitress I go out of my way to make a client feel at home. I have to. My money depends on it. My salary is $2.13 the hour, so i have to make up for it in tips, and tipping is optional so it's up to me to make the client WANT to tip me.

I can identify their needs just by looking at them. I'll make a family laugh, I'll be invisible to business men and couples. I know my place. 
But I don't take one table at a time. I'll take two, three, four, or five at a time. ( Most I've had at a time is seven and I was going insane) 

So if I have other tables, like I did that day and one client decides to be a bitch to me, my service will downgrade horribly. 
Why?
Because by the manner of the client and the amount of the check, I can calculate how much energy it's worth my time. If I already know I'll either get a $1's as a tip or none, I won't go out of my way to accommodate you. 

However, if you're nice to me, if you respect me,  I will do everything in my power to make your experience a great one, no matter how high or low the check is. My service will be as great as I can manage. 

Most people don't know the pain it is to split the check when it is already printed. You can't do it yourself, you need to find a manager to do it for you. It plain sucks. 
But a person that has respected me I will go out of my way to get it as fast as possible. I will feel the need and motivation to do my best for you.

A person like that woman I saw, I couldn't have cared less if anything was late or in need of refills or splits. I worked fast just so I could get rid of her. because that's how she treated me.

in the end, i never intended this to be this long a rant, but I guess i wanted to talk about it. few people know that waiters earn very very little for all the work we do ( we don't just carry plates around, which is a workout all in itself).  A couple of people say they don't believe in tipping for this or that reason. I'm one of those that believe that if you don't have enough money to tip, DON'T GO EAT AT A RESTAURANT. Why?
Because the waiter is providing you for a service, accommodation, entertainment sometimes even. The waiter is the one that gives you ambiance and information. The waiter is the one that intercedes for you in the kitchen. 
The waiter is the one you're punishing when the food is cold and late when it's out of his control and it's the kitchen's fault ( cooks who by the way receive a full wage and aren't affected by you ripping the waiter off at all). 
If the waiter or waitress is a bitch or an asshole to you, then by all means, stiff em. But if you're angry because the food is either late, or cold, or tastes icky. That is out of the waiter's control, not his fault.

Anyway...
well, that's mostly what I wanted to say.
Sorry for the long ranty post.

I'll see if I can write the ones that are actually assigned now.

I used to be a big Arjona fan. he was a great influence on me when I was discovering poetry. I loved the stories in his songs, the richness of his metaphors and the feeling behind the instrumentals. They had personality, poetry, they had soul.
I don't mean to be a hater, or to offend anyone, but his music just isn't like that anymore. He sold his soul to the devil and now he does covers... of his own songs.... over and over and over again.
I'm sorry but you can even see the difference in the lyrics,  his new songs are hollow and soul-less, sometimes even lacking in melody.

Example?

Listen to this:

Se nos muere el amor

My GOD that song is beautiful.
Can you hear the sadness in that song?
The feeling in the flute's melody that feels almost as if it were answering Arjona's questions and cries. The piano that sings along to him hand in hand with his sadness.
Arjona is actually singing here, he yells and sounds like he's actually suffering.  The suffering that's based on the acceptance of the death of a love that was consumed by the routine. 
 In this song, Arjona personifies Love as a dying patient, it's symptoms vary from:

Se nos muere el amor, tiene fiebre de frio.
se nos cayó de la cama
cuando lo empujó el hastio

to:

tiene anemia de besos,
tiene cancer de olvido
y por si fuera poco, tiene ganas de morir.


Throughout the song you can see this couple dying. the loss of passion, of desire, of spontaneity. It's heartbreaking when love becomes something you're used to, something you're settling for. 


Se nos muere el amor, se acabo la ternura
y a la libertad, la convertimos en dictadura
se contagio de costumbre
le falto fuego a la lumbre
se nos mueren los sueños,
los versos, los besos
ay amor implacable yo ya no se que prefiero
que me odie de corazon
o que me ame sin amor


I think that last verse is the most heartbreaking of them all. I remember being moved by this song. Being inspired, specially by the last verse:


ay amor tan ingrato
quitame solo una duda
si eres tu el que te mueres
o soy yo el que te mato


oooh man...
Dagger to the heart...
Why? because nothing hurts more than the guilt of losing something because of something you did ( or didn't) do. 
Are you dying, or am I killing you?
Is it my fault? Is it?



but then...
there's this:

How is this the same person?

The lyrics sound forced, densed with metaphors that are meant to sound deep but honestly don't really mean anything.
You can't really tell if this is a happy song, or a sad song, or a somber one, or an angry one. The monotone nature of it keeps you guessing what he's trying to convey, like Kristen Stewart's face as she tries to act.
That's Arjona's music ever since he became a sold-out. Kristen Stewart's face.

This song is packed with cliche'd rhymes that seem to be meant for a fleeting audience. 

El amor es un ingrato,
Que te eleva por un rato,
Y te desploma porque sí.
El amor es dos en uno,
Que al final no son ninguno
Y se acostumbran a mentir.
El amor es la belleza,
Que se nutre de tristeza,
Y al final siempre se va.

I guess what angers me most about this song is not it's obnoxious monotone, or the syllabic reciting of what should be a melody, but the lack of a reason for it to be so cynical.
Yes, it's a song that's trying to define what ' love' is. It describes it as something arrogant and dream-crushing and fake. 
and yet, I don't feel the hopelessness of it, the overall tone of it is more like " bleh". Like, I don't care.

Yet right by the middle of the song he adresses that which he's calling 'love' asking it not to go away.  Losing the overall authoritative tone that is definiting its nature, by adding " maybe what I've experienced is fake" 

No te vayas amor que aunque duelas no quiero dejarte,
Si eres siempre un error porque nunca se ven tus defectos,
Puede ser que lo que juzgo sea otra cosa, no lo sé,
Que a mi suerte le ha tocado el impostor, tampoco sé.

Which is kind of missing the point of the whole song.

and then the tension builds towards the closing bridge:

Y no te deja decir lo que quieres decir,
Sin hacerte saber que se escupe hacia arriba.
Es sentarte a mirar pasar frente a ti
El desfile mortal del cadáver de todos tus sueños.


He's trying to provide us with a cynical and " objective" definition of what ' love' is, but as he tries to make it seem deeper and more and more heartbreaking he loses consistency ( the lack of feeling in the automatized guitar track doesn't help) and as consequence, depth. 


but well.. this is just my opinion...
I just think that his later albums do not compare to his classics. " Historia de un taxi" " olvidarte" " senora de las cuatro decadas" Cara o cruz" " ayudame freud" " Si el norte fuera el sur".

15 minutes of description go:

My life is hectic. I am a waitress at Chilis half the week and the other half I am at school. The whole week though I'm a mother and a wife that carries a heavy load in itself. It's hard and difficult and half the time I can't keep up with homework but it's doable and I am rewarded at the end of the day with my son's smiles and stories about how his day went.
My son is the hightlight of my life, the highlight of every bad day at the restaurant and every day I come home stressed with homework. He's always there to cheer me up and bring me back to a reality where everything is jolly and exciting, and I want to learn more of. He's never boring. even when he wakes me up in the middle of the night because he wants to watch youtube videos of trains on the ipad. I am inspired to move forward, though I have been running a little low on drive to finish everything I thought I was apssionate about. I feel bored most of the time, mostly because I'm just so tired. I wish i could workout but the few moments of peace and quiet I have I spend them resting because if I don't I'll probably go insane.
My husband is a great man, also working his ass off for us, working on his masters to get a better job. He's very affectionate and attentive and I couldn't ask for more. I love him to death, even if there are days where I want to rip his head off, and vice versa. but that's part of our loving relationship.

So to catch up, I'm going to write about a couple of movies, and as a bonus a series I've started watching lately.

I couldn't choose between writing the reviews on a casual or an intellectual tone, but i figured that a tone too personal would seem too subjective and too intellectual would sound too douchy, so I'm just going to try for the laid back mixture of both.

Captain Phillips

Based on a true story, this movie is starred by Tom Hanks and Barkhad abdi, directed by Paul Greengrass.
The movie is about a marine merchant (Philipps) whose cargo ship is highjacked by somali pirates.
The screen play is based on the book  A Captain's Duty: Somali Pirates, Navy SEALs, and Dangerous Days at Sea by Richard Phillips, the real Captain.


I'll start by saying that i sort of expected it to be a little more hollywood-y, more dramatic, a bit more hyperbolic.
But it isn't. The experience this movie gives you is a little too real. Tom Hanks's performance, apart from amazing ( could anyone expect anything less?)  is perfectly grounded. You don't even notice he's playing a character. his acting is subtle. Barkhad abdi's acting is very menacing and driven as you would expect from a pirate, but it's also humane and empathetic. Again, it felt all too real.
 
The movie's script flows very lifelike, the camera filters aren't as edit-y as any other action packed drama like this one. It is a stressfull film because it rolls out like a horrible memory one would like to forget. And I absolutely loved it.

Movie 43 

Directed by... a shit-ton of people.

Starring... another shit-ton of very famous actors.

well IMDB says that it's about a washed up producer that is pitching a bunch of interconnected short films featuring a bunch of really famous hollywood stars.

I guess they didn't want to give out any spoilers.

I'll start off by saying that the movie isn't for just anyone. Most of the people that read this review won't enjoy it. It's like watching Curb your enthusiasm, or the british version of The Office.
The is a sort of brilliance to the script ( or the lack there of) but most times it's an odd type of humor. It's too outrageous, sometimes too idiotic, but it makes you laugh all the same.

Spoiler alert!

You can just see all of these really famous actors following this really - pardon the redundance and the overuse of the word- outrageous script, and you know it's stupid and idiotic, but these actors are still doing a damn good job with it. At the end you find yourself laughing without really knowing why. 
is it because Halle berry just blew the blind kid's birthday candles?
Is it because Hugh Jackman has testicles on his neck that only Kate Winslet can acklowledge?
or maybe it's because Jonny Knoxville kidnapped a leprechaun to beat it out of it's gold?

maybe it's because every short on this movie is nothing short of insane ideas that you might as well find on youtube played by highschool kids, but instead it's the big screen, and these are hollywood stars.
Overall, I want to say i disliked it, I really want to say it was stupid beyong all measure. I want to say it was trash and a waste of my time.

But I can't.
I laughed AT it too much.

Last but not...
actually nevermnd it is pretty least.

Arrow


Allright so I started watching this new series on netflix called Arrow. It is about a spoiled billionaire who goes missing when his yacht is shipwrecked and he is lost at sea. Five years later he is found at an island and rescued. he comes back determined to clean his city dressed as a hooded vigilante armed with a bow.

I'll just get to the point bluntly.

It sucks.

The acting is shallow and fake.
The script is cliche'd and oozing of plotholes and rippoffs.

Stephen Amell is pretty fucking hot though.

The movie has it's potential, it's a mixture of Cast-Away, with Robin Hood but it's mostly made of Batman.

Seriously. This is Batman.
A Billionaire Playboy is traumatized by his rich parent's sins and he dwells on cleaning up the City as a Vigilante, trained by some obscure ex-militant, and now uses his fortune for his gadgets.
The story is extremely predictable, the character developtment is poorly written, there's absolutely nothing new to it.

The lighting of the movie is well atoned to the theme of it though, always grim and mysterious. The costume design is very neat and well adjusted to each character. The directing is also very good, all they need to do to make this series pick up is another writer. That's all.

Another good thing  from it though, is that it suffers from the Twilight's syndrome:

You saw the first movie.
You hated it.
The next one came out.
You know you're gonna hate it, but you still want to know what happens next.

You get hooked. The series is still entertaining. 
But you still clench your teeth at it. I'm halfway through, and I have to admit, I'm going to finish watching it because I just need to know what happens next.
Just so i can hate it some more.

Don't quit.

I wrote about my first kiss with Josiah, a.k.a joey. my first boyfriend so I might as well describe him.

he's a 24 year old slender guy, his skin is pale and translucent. He has short thick hair that can't be combed down, and it nuances in patches of dark brown and mahoganny red when the sun hits.  He has litle hair on his face, but he wears it proudly. Somehow, his beard and mustache hair is ginger-like. We have no idea why. His face is slim, jis jaw line is slightly pronounced, yet his face is mostly rounded. His skin always looks tired, specially the bags under his eyes which are always purple. Like a tim Burton character. 
His eyes are something else.
They're big and dark brown almost black, and I have yet to find someone that won't be transfixed staring at them.
Staring into Joey's deep irises is like looking into space, into a black hole. It's entrancing. His stare just goes on and on, hypnotically, you always feel like he's reading your thoughts.
There's no other way to describe his nose, but jew. it's somewhat long, with the lump. his lips are full but thin and always lightly pink. His smile is devious, his mouth stretches to reveal a full set of braces-fixed-coffee stained teeth.
He's a muscular guy, a little hunched at times. Measures around 5'11 and weights around 150 pounds. his neck has skin lines under his jaw and it's slightly curved frontly because of his incessant reading. his legs are toned and his arms are a little too long. His waist is tight and his hips are pronounced. He's overall a strange character, he doesn't have normal proportions.

It started out as a VERY awkward day.

I mean I knew he was agnostic and all, actually he was getting into weird wiccan stuff by that time, but I invited him to my Church that night anyway. The youthgroup had something planned, I had no idea what, all I wanted was to apologize for my father's attitude, he had been a real ass the day before and it hadn't been Joey's fault.
I felt so bad I wanted my brothers  to apologize too. They hadnt played all that nice either.

Joey's parent's liked that I had invited him to a Cristian Church group, and they brought him over quite early. Actually, they loved me, they totally adored me. They thought I was beautiful, I was their last chance for their son to be in a healthy, straight and cristian relationship.
They would've brought Joey over international waters just to have him meet with me.
Me, a nice little christian girl who caught his innocent attention with a wave of my semi-golden hair and a flash of pretty puppy eyes.
They held their breath as Joey got out of the car and I waved them good-bye.

Joey looked awkward, he always did around my family, specially my brothers. When we got to the Church there was barely anoyone there, but they held the meeting anyway. They decided to make a prayer circle in the little chapel inside the Temple. I was horrified.
I had no idea what to say to Joey. I thought there would be some sort of game that day some activity he could take part in. I was silently frustrated, constantly thinking about what he might've. We sat down in a little kumbaya circle and someone lit up a candle and put it in the middle, and after everyone was seated they started praying out loud.

That wasn't Joey's thing, but he went along with it. I was thinking the whole time... Oh crap, I wanted to apologize to him and all I did was bring him here to be bored. I was constantly worried about what Joey was thinking, so I opened my eyes and I saw him across the circle moving his hands in a subttle but weird way...

he was staring intently at the candle...
The was no breeze, yet its flame was moving rapidly.

Psycological games. 

I don't believe in magic, or pyromancy...

But that caught my attention.

He looked at my confused face, and smiled smugly.

I stared at him as if saying " I still don't belive in magic Joey." 

After the praying circle was over, my brothers suggested a little game of soccer at my Church's parking lot. Christian,my youngest brother, brought the ball and started throwing it around.
Joey waited with me by the Church's doors, we were talking and having a good time. He always found a way to make me laugh. I got so caught up in my moment with Joey I barely heard when Hector, my oldest brother, called me from the other side of the parking lot and asked me to look for something in the car...

What was it...?
It's one of those trivial details you wish you remembered.
It's one of those non-important details that lead you into the moments that you think are most important.
It could've been a Van Halen Cd, a biology book, a ridiculus parking ticket...
It could've been a condom for all I care.

It was that tiny thing that lead me into that amaizing moment.

Joey walked with me to the car. I opened the door and I looked underneath the seats and between them to find whatever it was I was looking for. I didn't find it, and as I was about to leave to tell Hector, I looked out the front window and forgot everything else.

It was the moon. 
It was full, it was huge, it was almost yellow.
I got out of the car, I closed the door, and I stared at it. It was amazing, you could almost see a face on the moon's cheesy texture. The craters were arranged in such a way, she was almost looking back at me.

Joey noticed my wonderment and put his arms around me.

The moon was sliced by a very thin cloud. That cloud moved slowly as it slid across the sky hiding part of the moon's face. Now it was as if she was hiding and only her eyes were visible.

I held on, and I looked back at him. 
I looked into the first eyes that made my heart stop.
The ebony dark eyes that twirled me into a black hole and spat me back the minute he blinked.
I looked into them without fearing getting lost, I knew I would be, I wanted to be.
He looked at me tenderly, his stare softened as my heartbeat quickened.
It seemed like we stared at each other for an eternity.

Then for a split non-romantic moment he took a deliberate step back, chuckled nervously and said "...sorry, hormones" IChuckled nervously, almost disapointed, thinking the moment was over.

But it wasn't. Thank Heavens it wasn't.

He held me again and stared at me  as if he had just made up his mind about it. Then very slowly, he reached over and kissed me tenderly and ever so softly. His lips brushed on mine the way a leaf brushes the grass as it falls on the grass. I closed my eyes, and even after the two thousand years that stretched in that two-second kiss, I held them closed and I held him closer.

There were no words, I savored the moment like it was my last, because I knew that soon it would be. 

I always felt that way with him.
It felt like every second with him was my last, and he would soon break up with me, but I didn't care. I was grateful for everysecond he chose to spend with me. I put my face on his chest, his heartbeat was a bit quickened. It was a breezy night and I felt warm in his arms. He leaned his head against the top of mine and kissed it. I chuckled, the were butterflies fluttering in my stomach, it was like that tingly sensation you get after your foot was numb thats almost ticklish and you just can't help but smile.

I looked up at her, the only witness of our kiss. The cloud was gone and she was smiling.
Maybe my perception was biased, I didn't care.
I was grateful for the perfect scenario.
The late night in front of my Church by the moonlight, Joey and me embracing each other silently.
It was almost a classic romantic scene,
almost rehearsed because it was just too perfect.
The seconds passed by, I smiled and sighed heavily.
He did so too.

The rest of the night is kind of a blur.
The moon kept on sneaking on us as we aknowledged our first kiss.

I know that after that day everytime I'd go to Church I'd stand in that very spot to watch the moon.
Even after he broke up with me for reasons you may have already guessed, that place kept its magic.
It's still there somewhere.

In the smile of the cheesy moon.
In the cd I never found.
In front of the Church I don't go to anymore.
In the page of my long lost journal.

and maybe now here,
in a fragment of the memory of the first kiss that stole my breath away.

Maybe I do believe in magic after all.