Lola Nena.

My dear grandmother passed away early on Tuesday morning. Her name was Fermina Moscoso Mateus, but to her grandchildren she was Lola Nena. Our feisty, strong and glamorous Lola Nena. She would have been ninety-seven years old in July.

In 1987, my family moved from Manila to start a new life in the United States. My parents had already made the journey halfway across the world to California months before in order to get everything settled. My siblings and I stayed in the Philippines, cared for by our grandparents, our aunt Lilian, and a big extended family. When my parents were settled in their jobs and had gotten a home ready for us kids, my two brothers, sister and I followed our parents and made the trip to the other side of the world.

Do you know what sort of person accompanies four children, ages nine, seven, six and five, on an International flight lasting nearly an entire day so that they can be reunited with their parents on a completely new continent in a completely new country full of people who don't speak your native language? Our Lola Nena. I remember that my siblings and I all wore matching, color-coded track suits on the flight. Kristina wore red, Carlo wore blue, Jaime wore green and I wore yellow. I'm sure we looked stupendous. I remember being served some kind of spinach dish on the flight, but also tasting the glory of Toblerone chocolate for the first time on the plane as well. I remember that the airline gave us little blue booties to wear on the plane.

Those are the sorts of things a girl like this remembers:

I can't imagine what kind of horrendous journey that must have been for my grandmother, shepherding four young grandchildren to the United States. The thought of it makes my ovaries shrivel up in terror like raisins. But because of her, I only have happy memories. It was Lola Nena that made sure that Kristina, Carlo, Jaime and I were all safe and happy when we all at last landed at San Francisco International airport and walked through the masses of bodies and looked up at the second-level overlook and found my parents waving ecstatically.

It's difficult to put into words the emotions I have felt this week. I was sad that my brothers, sister and I lost our final remaining grandparent. I was sad that my mother lost her mother. And it is a strange feeling to grieve the passing of a loved one when you live in what feels like such isolation, two thousand miles away from your family. But as my mom explained, there is happiness in knowing that Lola Nena is no longer suffering and is now celebrating her reunion with our Lolo Ben.

Rest in Peace, Lola Nena. Thank you for being a woman that your grandchildren can look up to. Thank you for the wonderful blankets that you knitted. Thank you making me realize that I need to stop with the whining when I feel stressed out about having to travel with BB on airplanes. And thank you for the gift that you sent me on Wednesday. I am happy you are now with Lolo Ben again.

You know you're one month away from thirty*...

...when you take three measly trips up and down the spiral staircase leading to your loft in order to carry your desktop PC and speakers down to the living room and end up limping the entire following day as if you strained a muscle running a damn marathon.

(In all fairness, that computer was pretty freaking heavy when having to carry it PLUS the monitor down a slick metal spiral staircase less than two feet wide and all my muscles from the sphincter and below were all clenched really tightly the whole way down. Note to self: Next time, would you freaking just add an extra trip to carry the monitor down separately. The 'amount of time saved' is not proportional to 'the risk of slipping and falling to your embarrassingly ungraceful end'.)

* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!

An open letter directed at my uterus. (Is this an all time low for me?)

Dear Monthly Confirmation That I Am Indeed Without Child,

I know I blather on and whine endlessly every month upon your arrival whilst popping Midol and sending Schmooblebuns text messages that say things like, "MY BACK HURRRRRTS WAAAAAAH." but I am eagerly awaiting your arrival this go around because, seriously, I don't know how much longer my body can withstand eating meals of Pork and Beans + corned beef hash and tortilla chips + a tortilla wrap with strawberry cream cheese and turkey + fruit snacks and mini Reese's peanut butter cups before it self-implodes in protest. Also, my chesticles hurt.

Love,

Ys

Outsourced Facebook Status #4815162342

Ysabel Sarte thinks that Pork and Beans (OMG...again) and a glass of California chardonnay make a nice pairing. Is that bad?

I heart LOST 4eva.

This makes me sad:

But this makes me happy:

And I cannot believe I just figured out how to turn a 2 second GIF into a retardedly awesome movie clip with sound ALL BY MYSELF (well..with numerous queries on Google). *pats self on back for figuring out how to do something today's average twelve year old probably knows how to do* Look!

I think we can all safely say that there is NOTHING I want more than to be in that Jeep joyriding with Ben Linus, Smokey, Ricardus Sexxximus and John Locke, drinking iced lattes and jamming to Kelis' Milkshake.

Guten Taaaag!

Man, I love Saturday mornings. If I could marry Saturday mornings and make sweet sweet loving to it and give birth to a billion tiny little Saturday morningses, I TOTALLY WOULD.

Now, if I were a better person, I would probably try to eat something wholesome and nutritious for breakfast. Maybe some Raisin Brahms. Anything to counteract the Dinner of Which We Dare Not Speak that I disgustingly ate last night (psst...it was Pork n' Beans and corned beef hash OMGIAMSOGROSS). But as it is, I am sitting on my couch with Food Network on the television and a hot mug of coffee in my hand, so all is well.

In the meantime, can you guess which one is the Alpha Male? (Hint: It's the one dominating the sunpatch, as usual.)

Evidence:

I made this!

Quiche. Onions, mushrooms, spinach, asparagus, goat cheese and bacon quiche to be exact.

MACRO. Nom nom nom.

I'm crabby.

See. This is what I look like this morning. I don't even know why I'm so pissy. Oh wait. Yes I do. I AM M*****-EFFING PMS-ING RIGHT NOW. Didn't this just happen two seconds ago? By two seconds ago, I mean a little over two weeks ago, and the answer is yes, goddamnit.

In any case, not even a delicious hot cup of coffee and a morning off can stop me wanting to take both of my giant red claws (see picture) and snapping off the heads of every living creature that dares to cross my path. Except for BB and Bela. But not excepting Schmooblebuns. Sorry Schmooblebuns.

Oh, and speaking of Schmoobles: HIS OFFER WAS ACCEPTED LAST NIGHT. Yaaaay. Whoopty whoop. When these evil venomous hormones have left my body for another month, I will be very happy for him, rest assured. But right now my overriding thought is, "When am I going to m*****-effing know all the effing goddamn details?! Specifically, when am I going to have to pack up all my freaking crap into boxes again and goddamn carry them all down four stories and into a U-haul and up three stories?? Because I am really looking forward to that. BLEAH."

Eh. Okay, even I think that's enough negativity for one day. No weird dreams last night. Too bad. Oh wait...that gives me an idea...

Aaaaaah...this is much better!

I totally hate when people blog about their dreams.

Last night I had a dream in three parts. First, I dreamt that I was King Henry VIII and I had two wives, one of whom was Mary Magdalene. Oh, and we were shopping for a time share in Lake Tahoe. Yeah.

Secondly, I dreamt that I was in a living room of some sort and in the process of tidying up the area around the sofa, I unearthed the cushions to find a hidden stash of Homer Simpson slippers! And I was so stoked because there were like eight pairs or something and they were all different. I think one specifically had Homer wearing a green headband.

And finally, I dreamt that I dropped a number twosies in the toilet, but it wouldn't flush! Gross. And instead of regular poo, it was a mound of almonds and dried cranberries. Not gross? And then I had to call for help to get it to flush and a bunch of people that I went to college with came around to try and figure out how to flush the toilet.

End scene. And no, I didn't even have anything to drink last night.




In other news: You know, sometimes a big bowl of Pork n' Beans is all you want for dinner...and there's no shame in that.

Someday when I claim my rightful place as Princess of the Universe, I am going to deem weekends to be a mandatory 120 hours long.

Because sitting on my couch drinking coffee and being non-productive on the interwebs with the Food Network on the television makes me very happy.

In Let's Catch Up, Shall We? news: Schmooblebops and I got into our regularly scheduled biquarterly argument a few days ago, which partially explains my somewhat extended absence. (But really, the main reason is the fact that I am lazy.) Something involving him wanting to buy a house in Texass to take advantage of the Fed's first time homebuyer tax credit and establish some equity, and me not immediately leading a marching band and doing cartwheels while throwing confetti at the thought of him investing in real estate in the (NOT)Happiest Place on Earth. I thought he was being rash in this decision, he thought I was being unsupportive. Blah blah blah, it's not important. What is important is that I went to a used bookstore the next day and found this book in the clearance bin for $3.00:

Ahahhahahahahah.

Anyway. We spent the obligatory 48 hours of Mutual Silent Treatment (which, by the way, when you teach in the same department at the same university = awkwaaaard), then we aired our grievances and hugged it out, and now we're besties again. The End.

(Un?)fortunately, I didn't end up buying that book so I never found it if my boyfriend is, indeed, the Antichrist. I sure hope not. I'll be okay if he ends up being the Man in Black or Smokey, though. LOST anyone? Okay, moving on...

In the meantime, wish Schmooblebops luck as he waits to see if his offer to purchase a beautiful waterfront condo is accepted. I saw the property yesterday and it really is a stunning home. The price that it is listed at is incredible for the degree of upgrade/renovation the previous owner recently did and, most of all, the crazy waterfront view, so when the time comes to resell, it should hopefully yield a good return. Also, if we end up living there, it will certainly make living in Texass bearable for at least one more year. What will happen when (please Jeebus, let it be a "when" and not and "if"!) I get into a PhD program next year and have (get?) to move away remains to be seen. But I'll worry about that when the time comes.

And maybe this place will perhaps entice some of you to come visit your dear friend/cousin/daughter/Princess of the Universe/sister Little Ysabel? C'moooon.

* chugging a glass of water *

Do you know what happens when you take a quick trip to the grocery store on Saturday evening after enjoying one and a half martinis (no I did not drive thankyouverymuch)? You will wake up on Sunday morning with five candy bars in the refrigerator that you only vaguely remember buying.

In related news: Woo hoo! Unintentional candy bar surprises in the refrigerator!

What else am I supposed to do?!?!

What do you do when you find yourself wanting to fix yourself a nice simple hotdog meal for dinner, but discover that your refrigerator currently contains precisely 3 hotdogs and 3 hotdog buns? I mean, one hotdog is not quite enough to soothe the currently Monthly-Confirmation-That-I-Am-Without-Child ravenous beast that I am. If I fix two hotdogs, then I am forced to leave one measly hotdog and one measly hotdog bun in the fridge, which to me just seems downright silly. So that leaves me in my current state of having cooked up three hotdogs in the kitchen just waiting to be eaten. Ugh. I haven't quite resigned myself to actually do it yet, but it is inevitable, knowing me. *Blurp*


***UPDATE***

Text message I just sent to Schmooblebuns:

"Grading exams makes me want to puke my brains out. ...Or it could be the three hotdogs I just ate. BLEEEAAGH."