'Tis the Season for "Scary" Movies

"It's pretty much my favorite scary movie."

In the midst of so much social-political upheaval with many people braving the streets to Occupy/De-Colonize their respective local spaces of governmental oppression, I feel somewhat guilty about enjoying the funstivities of Halloween, which for me consist mainly of watching scary movies non-stop.


Since I am torn between 1) the outrage at our government and its long history of soulless exploitation of its citizens, which is finally becoming evident to the masses and 2) the guilty pleasure of watching scary movies during the Halloween season, I have decided to provide you, my dear reader, with film recommendations for both categories of interest...all "scary" in their own right.

So here we go...

Category 1:  Movies that made me think, "Oh shit," and didn't let me sleep at night (and made me want to buy a gun and learn how to distill my own urine for drinking water).

Not just informative, but well developed and engaging.  Plus, many of them are available on YouTube or are a "Watch Now" option on Netflix.  So, "occupy" your laptop or DVD player and fulfill your American duty by watching these documentaries.

(Click on titles for synopsis and film info.)

Collapse (2009)
Watch. This. Movie.

 

Loose Change 9/11: An American Coup (2009)
Watch this movie, too.  Guaranteed to shake your faith in our government
(like, more than it already is).

 

Crude Awakening/The Oil Crash (2006)

Will make you start planning for a future with a totally different means of energy source/commerce.  Think Mad Max.  As in, motorcycles and assless chaps.

Food, Inc. (2009)
Monsanto is the devil.  Start gardening and harvesting them seeds, people!

Blue Gold: World Water Wars (2008)
Makes you want to learn how to distill your own urine for drinking water.

Pilón Pick: Bringing it all together.

The Spook Who Sat By the Door (1973)

 Not a documentary, but gives you faith in U.S. people of color revolution.
"Scary" probably only to the white establishment.

Category 2:  Movies that made me think, "Oh shit," and didn't let me sleep at night (and made me want to buy a gun and learn how to distill my own urine for drinking water).

I'm opting for subcategories here because, damnit, there are so many good horror movies out there!

Subcategory 2A: Great foreign horror/suspense/psychological thriller movies that you may have missed or seen in bad, dumbed-down U.S. remakes.  Ugh.

There are many, but I narrowed them down as much as I could.  Enjoy!

Ils (Them) (2006)
You'll feel like you can't breathe the entire time.

El orfanato (The Orphanage) (2007)

Nothing scarier than a little kid wearing a jacked up sack-mask.

El espinazo del diablo (The Devil's Backbone) (2001)
Endearing and scary all at the same time.

[Rec] (2007)

Don't let the bad U.S. remake of this film dissuade you from watching it.  It's really good.

Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In) (2008)

Endearing and haunting.

Requiem (2006)
"Hauntingly dark and beautiful" -Lucha Dora's Unapologetic Blogspot.

Haute tension (High Tension) (2003)
High tension until the end, which makes you question the entire film plot.  Love it or hate it.

***Some "Oldies but Goodies" (two of which strangely enough, involve VHS tapes)***

Tesis  (Thesis) (1996)

Saw this movie many, many years ago but it left a huge impact on my psyche.

Ringu (The Ring) (1998)
The visual aesthetic in this movie influenced the entire horror film genre, in my opinion.

Spoorloos / L'homme qui voulait savoir (The Vanishing) (1988)

Entire movie is build-up to really messed-up (in a good way) ending.

 Subcategory 2B:  Scary movies that are also funny...but still scary movies. 

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

I freaking LOVE this movie. Period.

Murder Party (2007)

You will love the main character.  Poor guy.

Zombieland (2009)
Didn't wanna like it but I did.

Army of Darkness (1992)
Admittedly not a superfan, but when talking about this comedy-horror film genre this is, like, the poster child.

And now for my favorite category...

Subcategory B3:  My "favorites" category!

Oh god, where to begin?  There are so many!  Aaahhh!!!!

Okay, so I was finally able to narrow down my top "13" (get it?).  Yes, I'm leaving a lot out, but these were the top choices that came to mind.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

My all-time favorite.

The Exorcist (1973)

A very close second.

Halloween I (1978)

The movie that inspired the slasher film genre.

And that has, arguably, the best horror movie theme song.  

Halloween II

Picks up right where the first leaves off.  

And John Carpenter's final involvement in the Halloween series.

Rosemary's Baby (1968)

The reason I won't have kids.

The Shining (1980)

"I'm not gonna hurt you.  I'm just gonna bash your brains in!"

Also how I felt in Minnesota.

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

Great social commentary with an unheard of black protagonist-hero.

Nosferatu (1922)

The great granddaddy of them all.

28 Days Later (2002)

Changed the zombie film genre forever.

The Others (2001)

Super eerie with a great twist ending.

Paranormal Activity (2007)
Yes, the protagonist's boyfriend is super annoying but this movie is low-budget, independent horror filmmaking at its finest.  Love it or hate it.

 

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

"Put the lotion in the basket."

I wanted to study forensic psychology until I saw this movie and had vivid nightmares.  

I then switched to social psychology.  True story.

Zodiac (2007)

Possibly the best opening scene in a movie.

Again, not a definitive list, but a good start.  Consider this a Halloween treat from me to you.  Now go out and enjoy some movies, peoples!

Respecting Life, but not "Pro-Lifers"

So, this morning I decided to try my luck in surrendering Mamas and Chico (sans Baby because I already knew I'd be pushing my luck with two) to the Humane Society, which I know is nearly always out of space.  Although I've tried several times to make an appointment over the phone as the surrender process entails (and to no avail), I thought I'd just "stop in" since I've had luck once before in surrendering a stray as a walk-in.

Mamas ridin' shotgun.

Chico getting some fresh air in the backseat.

On the way to the Humane Society, I had to pass the Planned Parenthood on Babcock where the "Pro-Life" protesters always make my blood pressure rise.  Argh.  "I'm stopping in on the way back," I said to myself.  But not now.  I'm on a mission...

When I drove up to the Humane Society and saw others pulling on the door that wouldn't open, I already knew it wasn't a good sign.  Yup.  They don't open til noon.  Why didn't I know that???  However, an employee did let me go inside and ask if there was any space left and of course, there wasn't.  I was, however, handed their "surrender" instructions, which on the back has a convenient list of and directions to "Other Shelters." Great.

There was a woman there interested in adopting and when she overheard me talking about the strays I wanted to surrender, she asked if she could see them.  She came to the car to check out the "goods" when Mamas started barking her territorial bark.  Good girl, I thought.  But the woman who, admittedly, "didn't know anything" about caring for a dog was immediately scared.  "They're not gonna bite me, are they?"  I thought to myself, "God, I hope not."  Then I explained to her that Mamas is a German Shepherd mix and that German Shepherds are known for being good guard dogs.  She seemed to like Chico and asked where and how I found him.  I told her the story and also about Westside Dog Initiative.  She asked for my contact information and said she'd look for us on Facebook.  Hopefully she'll want him.  :/

So on the way back I decided to finally stop in to Planned Parenthood for some "investigative reporting."  As I drove in past the protesters, I told the dogs not to pay any attention to those "weirdos."  I walked in and ask the woman at the front desk sitting behind the plexiglass window if they have volunteer escorts for patients as a way of counteracting the demonstrators.

You see, I have a personal respect for these volunteers as I once visited a Planned Parenthood in Minnesota where a handful of protesters gathered including one man with a huge (like six feet tall) crucifix who badgered me with Bible verses as I made my way to the entrance.  I'm a pretty strong-willed person, but I can honestly say that this disturbed me.  Thank god (pun intended) for the volunteer who was there to confidently escort me from my car to the front door saying, "Don't pay attention to them."  That made all the difference to me.

So the front desk woman told me that she was the volunteer coordinator and that, yes, they are always looking for volunteers.  She directed me to their online volunteer form where you can sign up.  :)  She then told me that the protesters outside were part of the 40 Days for Life campaign, in which anti-choice demonstrators protest a woman's right to choose for...you guessed it, 40 days (Sept. 28 - Nov. 6).  Although at this location, they always have protesters...not just for special occasions such as this one.  She was appreciative of my inquiry and interest in supporting Planned Parenthood and asked for my name and contact information.  I asked her name and she responded, "Jane."  Thanks for the info, Jane!  Now time to get some pics of the anti-choice protesters...

So I go outside and ask two nice gentlemen standing behind a huge "Life" poster if I can take their picture.

"What are you taking the picture for?" one asks.

"For my blog," I answer.

"What is your blog about?

(Why was my gut reaction to say, "Stuff.")

"I blog about everyday things that I come across and write social commentary about them.  I'm taking pictures because I'm going to blog about y'all."

John (left) and Unnamed Sidekick very proud of what they do in their spare time.

"John" introduces himself, asks my name and hands me a pamphlet.  "Do you know about Planned Parenthood?" 

Apparently, Planned Parenthood isn't about providing safe, reproductive health services like I thought.
It's all about abortion, money and...snakes?

I answer him stating, "Yes, I do.  I'm a patient of theirs and an avid supporter of their services."

And let the debating begin...  Now.

"Do you know the percentage of women who walk into Planned Parenthood to have an abortion?"

To which I responded that it is a woman's right to choose what to do with her own body and asked if they were going to adopt all of those unwanted children.  John responded, "I have two adopted children."  "Yes, but are you going to adopt all of them?" I ask.  No answer.

I then asked if they thought it was right to stand here and judge women who have made a very difficult decision under circumstances they know nothing about.

"We're not judging anybody...it's God's job to decide if you go to heaven or hell."  (Really, John?  Because you're making it seem like it's your full-time job right now.)

To which I responded, "Well, that's if you believe in God" (I knew I'd get their goat with that one) and then, pointing at their huge "Life" sign ask, "And that's not judging?"  (By the way, they used the nice "smiling baby" side of their sign for my picture.  The other side of the sign, not so nice.)

They didn't have an answer so... Quick, distract her with props!

Trying to think of how I can re-gift this.

John: "Do you now what this is?"

"A pin?"

"It's the size of an unborn baby's feet at ten weeks.  Do you know how you were created?"

At this point I'm thinking, "Dude, I got dogs in the car."

John continues: "God created you."

"I believe that." (As I do fancy myself a child of God.)

"Did you have any choice in whether you were born?"

Unnamed Sidekick chimes in and asks, "Do you believe in capital punishment?"

"No."

His follow-up question: "Do you believe in capital punishment for innocent people?"

I thought to myself,  Dude, I just said no!  If I don't believe in capital punishment for guilty people, why would I believe in capital punishment for innocent people?  (Unnamed Sidekick is not a very good debater.) 

Then I said, "The problem I have with people who claim to be "pro-LIFE" (pointing at sign) is that they usually adhere to conservative, Republican politics which means that they are also probably pro-war and pro-capital punishment, which means that they are not pro-life at all.  You're against a woman's right to choose to have an abortion but you're more than willing to send thousands of 'innocent lives' to die at war.  I consider pro-life to mean respect for all life including women and in their right make healthy decisions that allow them the highest quality of life.  Therefore, I consider you all to be 'anti-choice,' not pro-life."

*blink*

Quick, distract her with little Baby Jesus!

Unnamed Sidekick tells me that baby Jesus was born to an unwed mother (insinuating that had Mary had an abortion, we wouldn't have our Lord and Savior), at which point John interrupts, telling Unnamed Sidekick "No, she wasn't unwed" (insinuating that she was indeed wed...to the Lord) and chuckles at the ridiculousness of his statement.  To which Unnamed Sidekick responds, "Well, I can argue with you on that.  We can split hairs on that one later."

Sheesh.  Why was I now in the middle of these demonstrators' own "pro-life" debate?  Get it together, gentlemen!

I'm thinking John was like, "This moron's ruining my pitch!  Allow me..."

*Bam*

John: "Do you know what this is?"

Is it Halloween already?  Yikes.

(At this point I'm like, how much stuff does this guy have in his pockets?!?  He was like a goddamn clown!  Why do I kinda wish he had pretended to pull the plastic fetus out from behind my ear?)

"A rubber doll?" I answer sarcastically.  Unnamed Sidekick stifles his chuckle.  

"It's an unborn baby at ten weeks.  One more question and I'll let you go." (Why don't I believe this?)  "What would be the difference if there was a baby lying in the middle of the street versus a stray animal?"  "What makes people any different from a dog or a cow or any other animal?" (Um, that was two questions, John.)

Me: "Logical reasoning skills?"

"A moral conscience."

To which I answer, "Well, that's why humans were given the ability to think and make the best moral decisions in order to prevent unwanted babies in the street and that's why we need services like Planned Parenthood to educate people on how to prevent unwanted pregnancies."  Zing, old man!

And I drop the mic.

I thanked the men for their time and told them that I would look into their "40 Days" cause and include it in my blog.  John shook my hand and wished me well.  The sad thing was that John was a nice man.  He reminded me of that grandpa in the Werther's Originals commercial.  In talking to him I thought I might like him...if he wasn't such a religious nutbar, that is.

Ironically, it was the two white men who felt they had the authority to preach to me about their political quest against a woman's right to choose, while women protesters sat quietly next to them in lawn chairs, one praying the rosary non-stop.  Ah, good ol' white male privilege is alive and well on the sidewalks of Planned Parenthood.  I also found it interesting that it was "Jane" and "John" (as in "Doe") who respectively represented the two ends of the "choice" spectrum.  Very interesting...

Lucha Dora's Final Thought:

Although, the law protects every person's right to free speech, this type of demonstration is a negative judgment on women (and the staff who who serve them) who, due to various circumstances, are often forced to terminate unwanted pregnancies.  These demonstrators don't do anything to support resources to help prevent such pregnancies and, in fact, advocate the eradication of such preventative resources.  Hence, these demonstrators don't really try to prevent unwanted pregnancies or abortions, but are merely enforcing an "after the fact" judgment on women, which does nothing to help these women and merely feeds their personal sense of moral self-righteousness.  And although they use "God" to bolster their argument,  what they are doing is often anything but "Godly." 

As I drove off with Mamas and Chico looking out the window at the protesters, I thought about how these people's time could be put to better use by really helping to increase the quality of life of community members (both human and animal).  Guess mine is a different take on "pro-life" politics.

Back in the Saddle, or, How a Day of Running "Errns" Became an Elusive Quest for Two-for-One Friskies

So, after a long hiatus from intermittent blogging (see previous post *sad face*), I've decided to get "back in the saddle" (see current blog title) despite my good friend Beto's adamant assertion that "nobody reads blogs" which, if true, means that you (1) are not reading this or (2) are nobody. Whichever case, here we go...

When I bring up the fact that I'm going to "start blogging," just about everyone's response has been the same: "Cool. What are you gonna blog about?" To which I answer "I 'unno" *shrug* "Stuff." So having had a pretty productive day and some interesting interactions with people and places, I shall share some of that "stuff" with you.

After a long while of being in a funk, I finally felt like getting out of the house and being a productive member of society.   With a long a to-do list (some items being months overdue) and a couple of strong cups o' coffee in my system, I ventured out to accomplish most if not all of the items on said list:

1. FINALLY leave off my huge stack of fashion/gossip magazines to Planned Parenthood.
2. Pay my past due bill amount at CPS...because my online account won't let me select an option to just pay the past due amount.  Ugh.
3. Go to Family Dollar for cat food (on sale and because I'm running out of tuna cans to feed Kitty Witty in the meantime) and $1 Degree deodorant. I've included the ad (below) because it will play a key role in the goings-on of my day.

5. Gas up 'cause I'm on empty.
6. Go to Dollar Tree for a few Halloween decorations and doggie chew items for the crew.
7. Go to HEB to buy all other grocery items.
8. Go to gym (Note that the order of items on the list was not unintentional.)

So off I go...

First stop: Planned Parenthood in Las Palmas Shopping Center...oh Las Palmas. I have a few subscriptions to magazines that have been gifted to me which, after a while, become a huge pile of semi-useless magazines. That - in addition to the fact that my old friend, Susan (the friendship is old, not Susan), dropped off her own stack at my house a while back - made for two huge bagfuls (bagsfull?) of magazines.  Having about 40 magazines stacked up in my living room, I decided to split them up into two stops. I contemplated going to the Planned Parenthood on Babcock just to fuck with those self righteous anti-choice protesters, but decided to keep within the confines of convenience being that I had so much on my list. It would be Las Palmas (because it's near my house) and then the Pecan Valley location because that's my old 'hood and I like the HEB on Goliad and S.E. Military. But in the spirit of protest, I still decided to wear my awesome t-shirt designed by my good friend (and superstar in the making), Marisa Carr.

Marisa's awesome.

So, I walk into the Planned Parenthood and see a señora and a young woman in the waiting area...just staring at the wall.  No TV.  No magazines. Just them and the wall. I walk up to the desk and am asked to sign in. "No, I'm just here to leave off some magazines." They don't care. They're all, "Okay, just leave them on the table."   No, "Cool" or "Thanks."  Whatever.  So I begin to take them out of my Our Lady of the Lake University bookstore bag (ha!) as the señora, arms crossed an expressionless, watches me stack the magazines on the table.  She says nothing and although her face said "I don't care," I know she was thinking, "Thank you, awesome lady."  To which I silently responded, "You're welcome," in an awkward half smile.

And I'm off...

Around the corner to CPS to pay my past due bill because my online account is dumb.  I'm like, "I can't pay that outrageous amount right now!"  Anyhow, I hadn't been to an actual CPS payment location in, like, forever and was instantly confused by the setup as there was a big open hallway with all sorts of desks and tellers.  I felt like a zombie/idiot wandering aimlessly around for like a minute.  At first I almost walked up to the SAWS counter and then I finally saw the CPS "please take a ticket" machine.  It was so weird.  There were three buttons: 1) Generate bill, 2) Representative, 3) En Español.  So I hit #2 and got a ticket but I was like the only person there. (?)  Then I sit down in the open "waiting area" where Fox News is showing on the huge flat screen hanging from the ceiling.  Grrr...  I was like, "Really?  I have to sit and watch Fox News while waiting behind nobody?"  Then an automated robot voice calls out my number: "Now-serving-number-B645-at-teller-number-6."  So I get up and I still don't know where the damn tellers are!  Then I see people coming out of an office space with cubicles and I figure that's where the tellers are.  I go in and see the teller numbers hanging from the ceiling and I (still zombie-like and with my ticket in my hand) slowly walk up to teller (but really an office cubicle) number 6 in the back.  I tell the representative that I want to pay my past due amount and that I don't have my bill.  He asks for verification of my address, which I show him and then he leaves and goes to a big printer and comes back with a copy of my bill and tells me, "Here you go."  I hand him my credit card and he says, "Just take this copy to HEB and you can pay it there."  Huh?  HEB???  I was like, "I have to take this to HEB to make a payment?"

"Yes.  We don't take credit cards here."  I wanted to punch him.

 "So you can't make a payment here?  What can you do here, then?"

"Oh, you can make a payment by cash or check here."

"Oh, ok.  Well, I'll write a check then."

So I pull out my checkbook, write out the check and hand it to him.  He takes my check, puts it with the copy of my bill and says, "Now take this to the cashier and make the payment there."  What the hell?  I couldn't help but laugh.  I felt like I was in an SNL skit.  "Where's the cashier?"  Outside to the right."  Ugh.  So I go "outside to the right" and stand in another bank-like line where yet another flat screen TV is showing Fox News.  GRRR...  Luckily it was a short wait and the actual payment process went rather quickly.  I then asked the señora cashier on the other side of the plexiglass, "So who decides what channel to put the TVs on?"  To which she responded, "Oh, the company sets the channel.  We have a remote, but it only lets us turn the TV on and off."  Whuuuuut?  Fucking CPS.  Their recent contributions to the Republican party tell me their channel choice is not unintentional.  I shall therefore write CPS an angry letter demanding that they turn off "Faux News" in their waiting areas.  And I urge you, dear reader and good moral citizen, to do the same.  I'd recommend contacting:

Ms. Maria Koudouris
Vice President of Customer Service and Solutions

by phone: 210-353-2368
 
e-mail: mdkoudouris@cpsenergy.com

or to her attention by standard mail:


CPS Energy
P.O. Box 1771
San Antonio, TX 78296


Oh and P.S.  You can "follow" CPS CEO, Doyle Beneby on Facebook.  :)

And I'm off...

Next stop: Family Dollar (Remember the two-for-one cat food and $1 Degree deodorant?)

Still angry from the bureaucratic ridiculousness and political grossness of my CPS experience, I approach the Family Dollar door where a young mujer holds the door open for me as she enters in front of me.  "Thank you," I tell her.  "You're welcome."  I smile.  Then the cashier welcomes me, "Hello, ma'am."  "Hello!"  I respond.  Ah, my faith in humanity is being restored.  Now, all I need is my cat food...  I go to the pet section and look for my deal.  Hmm.  No Friskies.  "Excuse me, ma'am?" I ask the cashier, "Where is the cat food you have listed in your ad?"  She's not sure if they have any in stock so she rings her bell for the manager.  We wait.  She rings it again.  We wait.  The people in line look at me.  Just when I'm beginning to think it's not worth it, the manager appears and I ask him he same question.  We both go to the pet food aisle where he, too, looks for the cat food in question.  "I don't think we have any."  *blink*  "But you have it listed in the ad," I tell him.  "Let me call another store for you."  At this point, I'm like, "Okay is it really worth it if I'm going to the grocery store?"  And I'm like, "Yeah, I can stop by the Family Dollar on St. Mary's on the way home.  It won't be too out of the way."  So he calls the one on St. Mary's and finds out that they have the cat food.  Okay cool.  It would be a little inconvenient, but come on, two-for-one bags o' cat food!

Leaving Family Dollar a little bummed, my spirit is rejuvenated by the most hilarious scene ever: an older model hatchback Honda Civic slowly rolls by with a tiny tan chihuahua wearing a short-sleeved unzipped black jacket standing at the open driver's side window.  I wish I could have recorded the expression on my face the moment I saw that gift from god.  In that moment, I was affirmed in the fact that, indeed, the world is a pretty great place.

And I'm off...

Gassed up at the HEB in Las Palmas ($47 to fill up my tank!!!) then rolled on down to the Southeast side for operation Planned Parenthood Drop Off Part Deux.  Okay, this is where it gets a little weird...like in a spiritual, déja vu kind of way.  So I'm going to Planned Parenthood, which I could have sworn was on Pecan Valley off of Goliad.  Actually, there was one there because I remember going there.  I exit on Pecan Valley and realize there's no Planned Parenthood there.  So I keep going down Pecan Valley and I'm using my phone to find where the Planned Parenthood is.  It's now on E. Southcross (near McCreless Shopping Center).  So I turn from Pecan Valley onto E. Southcross and have this really strong déja vu of this specific intersection.  I hadn't driven down this intersection for many years even though I drove it everyday to get to high school (Highlands...go Owls!).  So as I'm driving down Southcross, I realize that I had a dream about this specific intersection the night before last...AND that I have a recurring dream about that intersection...that I never realized I had until that moment!  I was somehow meant to go the wrong way in order to drive down that intersection.  Crazy.  So there I was...driving down Southcross all, "Woah."  My mind had officially been "blowed."

So I get to Planned Parenthood where they at least have a TV (they were watching Ellen) and the desk clerk was super happy to receive my magazines.  "Oh, wow.  Thank you!"  I was like, "I know I like to read while I wait, so I figured I'd leave these off." *shrug*

And away we go...

Off to Dollar Tree for Halloween decorations and doggie items.

As I pull up to Dollar Tree, I see this in the parking lot.  Wth?

Why was the first thing that came to my mind "doggie glamour shots?"  Awesome!!!  However, when I got home, my dreams were dashed when I found out that Hollywood Puppies is not doggie glamour shots but instead a breeder of "designer" small dogs.  Aaahhhh!!!!  This calls for another angry letter.  If you are as grossed out as I am at the thought of tiny puppies leading a life of forced breeding, click here to contact the owner of Hollywood Puppies and let her know what you think of her business.  :-/

*sigh*  Sorry, guys.

But, hey!  Dollar Tree will make it all better!  Come on...

So of course, I ALWAYS walk into Dollar Tree saying, "Okay, I'm only here to get _fill in the blank_" and then instantly turn into a five year-old in a toy/candy aisle - distracted by awesome items such as:

"Midgees." Lol!

Bra extenders.  Genius!

Not to ever EVER be confused with "Liquid Plumr."  Ever.

Sexy $1 lingerie!  Er...

Sharpie three-packs!!!  For only one dollar!!!  Ahhh!!!

Okay, quick game:  Which of the two above items did I really buy?  If you said the $1 lingerie and Midgees you'd be wrong (although I like where you were going with that).  It was Mr. Plumber and...Sharpies!!!  Ahhh!!!

So I'm checking out and the cashier, seeing my two kinda-lame ghost Halloween decorations asks, "Getting ready for Halloween, huh?"

"Yup."

Then she says, "I don't do any of that stuff.  It scares me."

"Halloween scares you?"

"Yeah.  I don't even eat the candy."  

I laugh and she responds, "No, really!  I don't like it."

"Yeah, well, I like Halloween.  It's like my favorite holiday," I tell her.

"Nu-uh.  I like Christmas."

"Yeah, Christmas is a close second...maybe a tie."

"Like those haunted houses and stuff...uh-uh," she continues.

"Yeah, I'm getting too old for haunted houses."

To which she responds, "Do you know someone got their pinkie toe cut off at Nightmare on Grayson?"

"What? No. You're kidding, right?"  I started laughing thinking she was kidding because she seemed a little off and like she wanted to laugh.  But she wasn't kidding.  She continues, "No, really!  The other night!  They caught it on camera!  The guy had a real chainsaw!  I tell you there are some evil people out there.  And the year before, someone died in there."

Okay, at this point I'm thinking she HAS to be kidding.  "No. That didn't happen either!" I tell her.  To which she adamantly insists that, yes, it did.

So now I'm there with my mouth literally open not knowing what to say or think and all I can say is..."Is there a news story about it?"

"Yeah!  Look it up!" And then she says, "That's why I'm like, 'Nu-uh, I ain't going in those haunted houses.  They want my toes!'"

We both laugh and she hands me my bags and although she's super nice, I can't help but leave with a sense that either 1) she's fucking with me or 2) she's crazy.

So after thinking about it when I got home (yes, this woman haunted my subconscious), I looked up the news story (like a pendeja), which of course didn't exist.  Then I started to put two and two together.  She had told the customer in line in front of me to "have a blessed day" and in our conversation she said that she "liked Christmas" and that there are "evil people out there."  This woman was trying to scare me out of liking Halloween because she thinks it's un-Christian!  And why did she do a pretty good job?  I gotta hand it to you, Dollar Tree God Warrior.  You pulled a fast one one me.  But not fast enough to stop me from this awesome door decoration made with only a Dollar Tree cardboard ghost and old caution tape I had bought from Home Depot!

The ghost is all, "Take that, Dollar Tree God Warrior!"

Off to HEB!

So on my drive from Dollar Tree to HEB, having to pass both Ross and Target on my way, I literally have to talk myself out of stopping in at either.  "Just keep driving.  You don't need anything from those stores.  You need to buy groceries.  That's it."

...And I made it directly to HEB (Yay me!) where I'm greeted by a half (or rather nearly entirely) eaten cookie remnant in my shopping cart.  Nice.

 

Is it bad that I was too lazy to throw it away and left it there the whole time I shopped?  Probably.  But whatever.  I'll leave that mess for the next chump...just like the owner of the cookie probably said.

So, shop, shop, shop.  Then I see a woman I went to elementary school with, Dora Littlefield.  Bizarre.  Anyone who knows me knows I have a really bad memory, but I remember Dora Littlefield.  I don't want to be mean, but she was still just as weird as she was in elementary school.  Big, heavy-set woman with a distinct speech impediment.  Ah, the joys of grocery shopping in the neighborhood you grew up in.  I tried not to make eye contact with her for fear that she'd recognize me as she stood right in front of the comino, which I tried to grab from around her.  Luckily she was on the phone yelling at somebody (presumably her boyfriend/husband) about how expensive an X-Box 360 would cost.  *yoink*

I have just about everything I need when I think to myself, "Since I'm here, I might as well just get some cat food."  Then I think, "No, damnit!  It's become a quest!" a la Clark Griswold.  The two-for-one Friskies had now become the Moby Dick to my Ishmael.  You will be mine, two-for-one Friskies!  Oh, yes.  You will be mine...

So I'm checking out and the cashier scans my bag of spring mix salad and a notice comes up on the register monitor with a red "x" saying that the item has been recalled and that a manager override was needed to continue.  After being paged, the manager comes over and apologizes saying that he "can't sell me the item" because it's been recalled.  And I'm like, "Good.  I don't want it if it's being recalled!"  But he didn't tell me why it was recalled and the other bag of salad was apparently fine.  I'm thinking it had to have been the spinach in the spring mix that was the problem.  Then I'm like, wait a minute.  I bought a fresh bunch of spinach over the weekend that I've been eating literally every day in my smoothies!  Wtf?  So I did some research and found the following information on the HEB spinach recall.  Check your refrigerator, people!

And away we go...

So my final stop is Family Dollar on S. St. Mary's for my, yes, cat food and deodorant.  Man, it's been a long ass day.  I get to Family Dollar, head straight to the pet section and can't find the Friskies.  "Excuse me, ma'am," I tell the employee stocking in the aisle.  "The manager from the Family Dollar at Las Palmas called to check and see if you had the Friskies advertised and you said you did.  Do you know where it is?"  To which she responded, "Uh...nobody's called our store."  I'm like, "But I was there when he called."  To which she responded, "No, I've been here all day and no one's called."  Then I think to myself, "Where the hell did he call?"  So she helps me look and, again, no Friskies.  Aaahhh!!!!  Why?  And why did my mind automatically to the pissed woman in the liquor store scenario (but instead in the cat food aisle)?  Why couldn't I just let it go and buy the damn cat food at HEB where it was cheaper than the one I ended up having to buy at Family Dollar?  Because I'm terca.  Period.  Oh, and they didn't have the $1 deodorant in the scent I wanted either!  Lesson learned.  The lesson?  I guess it's to read the fine print on Family Dollar ads like the one at the top right corner stating: "Selection may vary by store."  Womp-womp.  :-/

Good one, Family Dollar.

So, "What (finally) got into that cat (Kitty Witty)," you ask?  NOT Friskies! I ended up buying a bag of 9 Lives that she seemed to enjoy okay.  *sigh*

Oh, and about that last item on my to-do list...  I'm too exhausted from running around all day.  I'll get to it first thing tomorrow morning.  :)

How My Chihuahua's Death Taught Me How to Live: A Tribute to Guera

Gueritas came into my life on December 12, 2004. My fianceé at the time, Ricardo, and I had just bought a house on the southside of San Antonio and like any good new Chicana/o southside homeowner, I thought we needed a dog to protect the house. I had heard chihuahuas were vigilant watchdogs - that they were once guardians of Aztec temples. I heard female dogs are even more vigilant. So, of course it made sense to get a female chihuahua. I had it in the back of my mind and figured if the opportunity presented itself, we'd find one.

So one day as we were driving down Southeast Military Drive during the usual weekend "parking lot flea market," I saw a pickup with a cage in the back and a sign that read: "Chihuahuas for sale." So we pulled over. There were a few puppies in the litter. One chocolate brown male was puffing out his chest and wagging his tail at us as if saying, "Pick me! Pick me!" But there was a little beige one lying curled up in the back that caught my attention. "How about that one?" I asked the seller. "Is she a female?" She was. "Can I see her?" So he pulls her out of her comfortable curled up sleep and I saw her little face for the first time. She was cute as a button and so tiny. When I held her in my arms, I knew instantly that she was mine. I drove to the nearby ATM for the cash to buy her. I remember her being curled up in her comfortable little ball on Rick's lap as I drove her to her new home on W. Whittier Street across from Roosevelt Park. For me, her name came easily. What else would you name a beige chihuahua with the cutest white markings? "Guera."

We soon found out that my predictions were right - Guera was a spitfire (not to reinforce Mexican stereotypes). She was a vicious little b! Her ears were always perked at attention on alert for any would-be predators. At times she would bark seemingly at nothing and when I'd look out the window, I'd see a dog being walked a block away. "How did she know?" I'd ask myself. She was on it.

She was also a nipper. Family and friends learned to stay away from "the mean one." See, a year later, we had gotten a chocolate male chihuahua, Pilón, as a companion. "She needs a playmate," I said. However, I should have known that Guera was a loner, a rebel. She was so mean to poor Pilón. (As any older sister would be.) When Pilón was allowed on the couch because he didn't shed as much fur as her (and because he didn't act a ass like she did), Guera would get mad and nip at his feet when he was let off, as if to say, "If I'm not allowed up there, neither should you!" Pobre Pilón. He's the sweetest puppy. We used to say the only harm he could do to anyone was to lick them to death.

Meanwhile, everyone stayed away from Guera, who would bare her teeth at the sight of anyone coming too close. My younger brother Thomas, a grown ass man, once flinched like a little kid, when he saw Pilón round the corner of the living room. "I thought it was Guera," he said and we laughed. Yes, Guera was "the mean one" - the cutest one, the one all the people wanted to pet on walks, but also the "meanest."

But her "meanness" was misunderstood. The "meanness" was her protectiveness - of herself, her space, and those she loved...a lot like how people describe me. Guera was always on guard, as if to say, "I'm little, but I'll fuck you up." She would attack a pit bull to protect me. I remember one time when I took Guera to the dog park for the very first time. It's like she was totally out of her element. She barked at every dog she saw as if they were intruding on "her" territory, as if the entire park was her yard and they were not allowed on it. We sat on a park bench and I was amazed to see Guera pee NINE times (yes, I counted) to mark a circle around me. And any time a dog walked into her "circle" she'd attack them. Thing is, the communal water bowl was in the circle, so that made for numerous attacks on several unsuspecting, thirsty victims.

About two years later, I moved out of our house and into an apartment on Guenther Street. I needed space to write my dissertation and get my head together...the pressure to write turned into anxiety, that ever-present monkey on my back. I figured it would be best to leave her in a house with a yard. I was away from her for about a year. It was hard. I didn't visit her often because I didn't want her to get upset/confused when she saw me. On the occasion that I did visit, she would get so excited that she'd have her little "attacks" that were like reverse sneezes. I'd have to pet her to calm her down. "It's okay, Mama. It's okay," I'd tell her. She loved me that much.

After completing my Ph.D., I obtained a postdoc at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. I decided to take her and my cat, Kitty Witty, with me. Poor Gueritas. Little did she know that she was moving to the great white north. When the first snow came and I tried to take her out, she ran to the door with her usual excitement, but when she saw the white mountain of cold hell right outside the door, she quickly put on the puppy brakes and high tailed it in the other direction. It took several layers of hoodies and parkas (and firm coaxing) to finally get her to step out into the snow...on which she normally stood like a tripod, with at least one paw in the air. The look she gave me was unbearable, as if to say, "Mommy, why are we here?" And I'd tell her, "I know Gueritas. I hate it, too." And I did. Moving away from home and everyone I loved was hard and Gueritas was all I had. I didn't transition well. I got physically sick on the drive up and upon arrival, my emotional well-being was also negatively affected. I felt so isolated and out of place. I felt judged for everything I did/didn't do at my job. Word of how I was doing always got back home to my mentors...and it always seemed I wasn't doing something right. I tried hard to make it work, to feel invested. But mostly, I was sad.

About a month after moving up to Urbana, at the suggestion of my best friend, Natalie, I drove up to Chicago to work on a community mural project that her friend, Ernesto, was leading. Knowing of my volunteer work back home with San Anto Cultural Arts, she felt this would be a good way to feel a sense of community again. I went to Chicago and soon brought back Ernesto.

Guera did not seem pleased with this. She would growl and nip at him...an intruder in her home. But Ernesto, thinking himself the Dog Whisperer, told me that what Guera needed was to be dominated. She was acting like she was the boss of us and that had to stop, he said. So he decided to have a stare-off with her, thinking she would avert her eyes, see him as her master y ya, problem solved. Knowing Guera's aggressivness, I was transfixed by Ernesto's attempt at a close face stare-off with this crazy little beast. I watched as he went in with eyes wide open, closer, closer... Then, snap! She bit his nose. I couldn't help but laugh and say, "I told you so." Secretly, I was like, "Good job, Gueritas. You stand your ground." Later on, after she bit him while fighting with Xochi (her new stepsister) over a rawhide bone, he sat over her in order to dominate her. After squealing like a pig for what seemed like an eternity (which made me cry) and fighting a good fight, she finally submitted and accepted Ernesto as a new stepdaddy.

And so we became a new "happy" family in the midwest. But I wasn't happy. I was always questioning why I had been taken all the way up to places like "Urbana, Illinois" and then the following year even further up north to Minneapolis for a job as assistant professor at the University of Minnesota...where winters there make those in Illinois seem like summer (okay, maybe that's a slight overexaggeration...but not really). I was constantly questioning. Questioning my new relationship, questioning my career, questioning where I was supposed to be and where I was supposed to go. It never felt quite right. It seemed that as soon as I got to Minneapolis, negative energy surrounded me. Now, I'm not a "touchy feely spiritual" kind of person. I'm not one of those people who can "feel" someone looking at them and I don't necessarily believe in mal ojo...okay, maybe mal ojo yes...I've had quite a few earrings fall apart after someone commenting on how pretty they are. Point is, I've always been more the analytical, headstrong, get outta my way I got business to take care of kind a gal. But the negative energy in my new place was so strong, even I couldn't deny it.

Within two weeks of moving into our new place, my car was broken into. On the night of my department reception as new faculty member, my car got hit by another driver on the way out of the parking lot. When I returned the rental that I was given in order to get my car repaired, Enterprise accused me of damaging it and tried to sue me (on my birthday). My relationship with my boyfriend was shaky and I was not fitting into my department or my community. My physical and emotional health were "not well" to put it lightly. I honestly couldn't take it anymore. So I decided to enlist the help of local friends/danzantes to do a limpia on me and my home. Afterward I heard from someone else that the friend who lead the process said she had never felt so exhausted after doing a limpia.

And I trudged along. I tried to tell myself that the limpia worked (although I knew that it hadn't). Visits home were my only refuge. Friends and family asked when I was coming home and why I hadn't found a job in San Antonio yet. "I'm trying," is all I could say. And try I did. You see, I always thought that after getting my Ph.D. I would somehow work in the community, to use my education to help people like me achieve opportunities like I did. This is what I believed to be my destiny. The academia gig was what would lead me to my destiny. For me, it's a means to an end. The visits were never long enough and when it came time to leave, I'd always make the joke that it was time to go back to "hell," aka Minnesota.

My morning rituals here often involved waking up, crying, eating breakfast while crying and then maybe a little more crying after that. The sad thing is that Guera often looked at me as I cried as if to tell me, "Don't be sad. When you're sad, I'm sad." (She had very expressive eyes.) She would come to me, stand up on two legs, and scratch me with her front paws...as if trying to comfort me. Guera was always anxious, too. She never seemed to be able to relax. She always had her "concerned face" as I called it. Always looking, but really looking...as if to try to figure things out. Ears perked up, eyebrows up into her forehead, and her head tilting from side to side. So when I was sad, she expressed concern for my sadness.

The day before yesterday was an interesting day. What started as a sad morning with breakfast tears, turned out to be relatively good day. My therapist urged me work on "feeling" to help with my current depression and anxiety. After this hard session, I went home to repot plants to take to my office. I told myself that this would be the day that I finally moved things into my office after over a year and a half of having only my name on the door and a few paintings to indicate that the office was mine. On that specific day, I finally moved in my books and plants as if making the statement, "I am doing this." (Or at least going through the required motions.) I checked my mailbox and got a little Sanrio care package from a friend and a newsletter and virgencita sticker from another friend and colleague at ASU. When I got home, I got a letter from my friend/pen pal and two magazines that an unknown friend(s) had subscribed me to. I told Ernesto, "Aw, people are sending me love." I should have remembered the pattern of one step forward, two steps back.

The next morning was like any other. We let out the "doggie bears" as I affectionately call them and ran an errand. When we came back, Ernesto went to work and I started to make myself some coffee. It was then that Guera bumped into me. I thought she was just being her usual nuisance when I noticed she had pooped herself and was stumbling awkwardly. I picked her up and there was foaming on her little mouth and her tongue was protruding. Her eyes were dazed and she couldn't even focus on me. "Gueritas!" I yelled. I panicked. I Grabbed the keys and ran out the door. I looked up the nearest animal hospital on my phone and drove like a crazy person. "It's okay, Gueritas!" I told her as I pet her and tried to keep her conscious. "It's okay, Mamas." Construction, slow minivans... "Come on!" I yelled. We finally got to the hospital and we checked her in. Ernesto got there a few minutes later. She was still dazed when they called her in to the examination room. When I picked her up, I realized that she had pooped on my bag that she was sitting on. The doctor wiped her and found there was blood in her stool. She could barely stand. The initial examination showed she was relatively okay, except that she had low temperature and some liver issues. The doctor said it was possible that she had some sort of trauma (from a sting or something) and that she just needed to be on an I.V. for a while to get better.

So I left her and went back home to clean up her bed - that had poop and vomit in it - for her return home. I knew the vet bill would be high, so I decided to return a couple of things I had bought at Old Navy and then next door to Pets Mart to return Guera's new snow boots that I knew she probably wouldn't wear (she alway kicked them off...she had a plethora of clothes, but the boots she couldn't handle). I ran to the grocery store (also in the same shopping square) to get a few things for dinner so that I wouldn't have to leave once Guera was home and so we could watch her.

Then the doctor called and said that Guera wasn't doing better. She had started having seizures and one eye was dilated significantly more than the other, which was a sign of neurological damage. She said she had given her valium for the seizures and that she was becoming less and less responsive. "We might lose her," she said. My heart fell to my stomach. I started crying and told her I'd be right over. The drive seemed like an eternity. Construction, school busses, pedestrians... "Come on! Are you serious!?! Go!!!" I was frantic. "Wait for me, Gueritas. Please wait for me!" I cried out. And "Please, God. Please, God." I drove into the parking lot like a crazy woman, ran through the door and said, "I'm here for my chihuahua." They took me back where three people were around her. "Here's momma," one of the women said. She was lying there staring, with a ventilator in her mouth. "She stopped breathing," the doctor told me. I threw myself over her crying and hugging her, "Gueritas, Mamas. Momma's here, Gueritas. It's okay. Momma's here." Then they asked me to step back. The doctor checked her heart again and told me, "Her heart stopped. I'm sorry." My heart stopped, too. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. There she was, staring at me. "She waited for me," I thought. "She waited for me."

Just then Ernesto called (I had been calling him on my way to the hospital) and asked what was going on. He hadn't heard any news since leaving earlier that afternoon and, like me, thought she'd be fine by the end of the day. "Guera just passed," I sobbed. "I'm on my way," he replied. I continued to cry uncontrollably as she looked at me and I closed her tired little eyes.

They took us to the "sad room" as we called when we sat in the waiting room earlier in the day, saying we hoped we'd never have to be in it. Little did we know. In it was a Kleenex box, a "sky" ceiling and a tapestry of sad puppies looking at us. Then they brought her in in a little blanket. I couldn't believe it. My little Gueritas. As I held her and cried, I told her how much I loved her and how much I'm going to miss her. But I still couldn't believe it. It was like she was sleeping. And I remembered the moment when I first held her and knew she was mine...in her comfortable, curled up little ball. The way I found her is the way she left me.

The moments after that were and have continued to be surreal. The vet offered a little clay imprint of her paw with her name on it. A few minutes later, she returned with the imprint, Guera's collar, and a box with her body in it. We took her to the University of Minnesota animal hospital for a doggie autopsy. I at least wanted to try to know what took her. I owe it to her. I felt as though I was in a dream state on the way there. She was in a box on my lap. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and the hospital was along a lush green plot of land with trees whose leaves were turning bright orange and yellow. "Look at what a pretty day it is, Gueritas," I said.

Leaving her there was hard. But I knew Guera wasn't in that box anymore. Her spirit had left it already. I sat outside the hospital on a bench with Ernesto and cried and cried...and cried. I can honestly say I've never felt so much loss in my life. Bouts of crying come intermittently between staring off and wondering what it all means. Guera wasn't just a dog or a pet. She was part of me. She was the doggie embodiment of me and all my craziness. She had anger issues and wanted to fight the world. Like me. She had constant anxiety and always seemed concerned. Like me.

Guera was my doggie soul mate. She felt my anxiety, my depression, my frustration. I can't help but feel guilty for not being happier and for not being more grateful for her companionship, which oftentimes felt like she was being a nuisance...always getting caught up in my feet, always wanting to be where I was sitting. Looking back, she probably knew that my soul was uneasy and wanted to help comfort me. Instead, I saw her as "bothering" me.

She also had tons of personality and weird little quirks, like taking one mouthful of dog food at a time to her bed, eating it each kibble slowly and meticulously...then returning for a second mouthful. It took her forever to eat a meal. She slept in a cat bed (as in a bed shaped like a cat) and often did weird little flips and eye scratches with her paws while making crazy little grunting sounds. It looked crazy to us, but it made perfect sense to her. She had so much personality, I felt like she talked to me all the time. And so she inspired my story of Guera the Internally Colonized Chihuahua, which many have come to know and love through the comic and the Rasquachis videos of which she is the star.

I often stare off into my own thoughts, wondering what it all means - why the spirits would take away the one constant in my life, the one thing that I loved and that loved me unconditionally in this god forsaken world. And while feeling like a part of my soul has been ripped out, I also feel that Guera's passing has taught me to not be afraid to "feel" (as my therapist suggested) and, more importantly, to not be afraid to live.

After years of depression, anxiety and trying to fit into this foreign world called the midwest, and an academic job that simply doesn't fit, Guera has opened my eyes to just how unhappy I've been. Since leaving home, I had gained over 20 lbs. and sprouted tons of gray hair. I almost don't recognize myself anymore. My sadness here has been intolerable and Guera's passing now makes it unbearable. The years of the one-step-forward-two-steps-back has culminated in Guera's passing. I have no doubt that this is a clear message - that it's time to go home, that life is too short to be miserable. There are family members and friends who I love and who I take for granted like I did Guera. And I don't want to look back and regret living miserably for a job that I didn't feel invested in. The years of "well, maybe it can work" and "maybe if I just think positive" are finally at an end for me. I had to feel this immense loss to also find liberation from the confines of the life I'm "supposed to" live. I loved Guera...like I love home, my family, my friends, my community. And I can't stay here "hoping" for the chance to get back home. Gueritas was my companion on this crazy ride and her passing is now sending me back home. As if the spirits are saying, "You've done your best. You've proven yourself. Now come back home."

Guera was my spirit guide. She took on the burden of my sadness, anxiety, feelings of loss and desperation. It's like how they say chihuahuas are good for taking away asthma...because they actually take the asthma on themselves and often die from it. Gueritas took my doubt, anxiety and fear from me, as if finally lifting the heavy burden I'd carried with me for so long. She's a doggie martyr. And her passing to the spirit world has opened my eyes to what really matters in life. This is why I say that it is through her death that I have learned to live. And I will take both her spirit and ashes home with me. Back home where we both belong.

My heart is broken and will need time to heal. The hard part is that Xochi looks for her constantly and doesn't understand why Guera, her sister/partner in crime, is missing. That continues to break my heart a little. I guess over time Xochi will stop looking for her and I, like Xochi, will learn to live life without her.

Right now, I like to think of Guera as my guardian angel in doggie heaven, peeing a circle on her cloud and attacking any other dog that dares to tread on it.

Rest in peace, Gueritas. I love you and thank you.