Max

Yes, I did think that it was rather crude and lewd of Max to deal so treacherously with me in that dirty tricks way. Fortunately for me, I do not have to listen to his yapping every week, only once a in a blue moon. When will this stupid men ever learn that I am a girl and thus not interested in engaging in combat with them? Obviously they are a bunch of ignorant backwoods know-nothings who never read a book in their lives. Don't they know that I was three years old when that happened? Don't they know that when we snuck into the bathroom that I suddenly realized "Oh! This is bad!" and ran out of the room and that obviously I am never going to do that again. There is no need for anyone else to say anything about that. I am sick and tired of hearing this coarse, vulgar men try to make points out of nothing. There is just nothing to that. Sorry. Get lost, losers, because you are barking up the wrong tree. You should be better than that but you are not so we are not impressed.

Sisters

Yes, it is bad enough to have a sister who is close in age, only two years apart, but to make matters worse our birthdays are only five days apart so that I am forced to share my birthday party with her and her vicious little meanie friends who include Ann Campbell, Cindy Bell, etc. Miserable is what my birthday usually was forever and ever. That is why it boggles the mind that the stupid Wilson girls were jealous of us for getting to share our birthday party. They said they wished their birthdays were close together so they could have a party together. They must be crazy. Don't they realize that everyone treats us like Siamese twins, as if I were a physical attachment of my vicious witch little sister? We get in the car and Sammy says "Hello Candi and René. How are you, Candi and René?" as if we were a single unit and only one of us need reply. I think I did complain about this and it came back around to me that Sammy refuses to acknowledge my separate identity. Well, what do you expect from such a nuisance as C-student Sammy who flunked first or second grade? I certainly don't expect anything from them. They expect me to ship them a boatload of money for their projects and yet they always treat me like garbage. So obviously Sammy has not heard from me for years and years. Because if they don't care, why should I?

The Housekeepers' Underground

Thanks very much but I am not interested in being plugged into the Latin maid/housekeeper underground of Southern California. Yes, I suppose that these maids probably are up-to-date on the celebrity gossip grapevine long before regular white folks like me have heard even a hint of it. Nevertheless, I really do not care if I am not up to the minute on what is going on behind the scenes at Cher's house or Maria's house or whatever. Those poor little rich girls who live in deluxe mansions have a lot more problems than I do, that's for sure. However, I cannot be cluttering my mind with all their problems. What is on TV or in the occasional newspaper or magazine is a lot more than I care to know to start with so I don't think that I want to ever hear again from Stacy, a Latinaish New Yorker who formerly worked as a housekeeper before marrying her hillbilly lowlife husband from North Carolina. Cleaning fluids are abundantly stocked on grocery store shelves if I ever need that so no reason for this garrulous discussion. Yes, I suppose that work as a maid would qualify me well for wife and mother to a low-class moonshine bootlegging bum who wants me to do all the housekeeping chores and raise the kids and fetch the viddles and shoo the hogs away from his shack-home while he is busy cooking up some "dough" on the old gadget. Nevertheless, that is just not who I am. Sorry.

Small Talk

It is very hard to make small talk with boys, especially with idiot boys like Bobby Bueno. I remember once we were talking and he was saying something about girls that he likes and I made some comment which he interpreted as me trying to be like a guy discussing girls with him. I don't know why this keeps coming around back to me as if I were trying to be a boy, as if I were psycho-trash Chastity Bono and my mother was sex siren Cher. Ha ha ha! Not at all. One way to solve this problem is to never talk to boys. That way I will manage to avoid yet another backstabbing slashing from the Bueno riff-raff and their demon-possessed Panamanian witch. Still, that solution creates additional problems in trying to meet a mate. How can I get to know a boy when I cannot even talk to one, when they all lend undue importance to the lies of Bobby? It is impossible. I might as well be single and resigned to a life of nothing much.

Depression

Yes, I may be depressed at times but one thing to never ever do would be to write a letter to the newspaper seeking advice from that columnist in El Salvador. Her name was Maria and it was she who answered the "Cartas a Maria." Those poor people certainly do have a lot of problems but the answers were not that great either. Sometimes the answers were so bad they were funny as in laughable. I am not sure that any newspaper column could solve such serious problems. It is quite possible that there really was no Maria. No last name was ever given. Perhaps it was just a team of people who took turns answering the letters. Some answers were better than others for sure. But still (and I am not referring even obliquely to any moonshine still but rather to the fact that your weak and feeble arguments are not even remotely persuasive and my well-thought-out and well-supported opinion remains unchanged and unmoved as ever), also sometimes the answers were funnier than the problems, not that I can recall any specifics now. It was just the impression I got from reading the newspaper a few times in high school but that was a long time ago and I no longer remember anything about that nor do I care to revisit the subject of Maria.

Panama

It might seem funny that all the Central American countries have a nickname except for Panama, but then again we must remember that originally Panama was not really part of Central America. Panama, the isthmus, was originally part of Colombia in South America so their history was always very different from the rest of Central America. They have some Indians also but not the same tribal groups or different languages or costumes and not so much blended. They are more purified Spaniards down there bloodline wise probably. I do not really know much about Panama. Sherri Turnbull (MK-Panama) probably knows everything about Panama, given that she thinks that she knows everything about everything but I really do not care what Sherri Turnbull thinks she knows about Central America or China either for that matter. There is no reason for me to let the ghetto trash Turnbulls intimidate in their crude and foul-mouthed way. All of this turmoil is usually the tip off that Panama riff-raff have something to hide, some deep dark secret that necessitates trashing me first so that no one will ever think to ask what their emotional problem is anyway.

Running?

Who me? Run for president? These people must be out of their minds. I was never interested in being a politician and trying to make people like me. After all, my diaries explain all about how everybody hates me and nobody likes me which thought occurs to me at times of depression for vague and not quite explainable reasons. Obviously these things are no secret as everyone has already ransacked my personal papers and thus I have to throw myself in the garbage so that you cannot profit from this theft of the trivial flotsam and jetsam of my boring humdrum everyday life or maybe that was the whole idea, to throw me in the garbage. This is not exactly a heartwarming story is it?