So, I have a good friend at the office with whom I buy DVD’s with. We’ve realized we like the same things, and we also share the lack of self-control when it comes to indulging ourselves in things we like… case in point: Asian cinema. So, I’ve spent most of this morning trying to figure out which titles I want to get from one of our Asian flick/Anime stores of choice, and even though I had a list of 12 titles I wanted to get I managed deep within my soul to restrain myself and finally purchase the rather modest figure of 5: Stephen Chow’s “God of Cookery,” Beat Takeshi’s “The Takeshi’s,” Park Chan-Wook’s “Sympathy for Lady Vengeance” (Y-E-S), Ryuhei Kitamura’s “Versus,” and this new flick that’s causing a stir in both sides of Korea due to its subject matter and record-making budget… Gwak Kyung-taek’s “Typhoon.” I wanted to get a boatload more movies, though, so I considered an alternative I’ve been reluctantly going to ever since the option was available to me… the credit card.

It was quite easy to get, in all honesty. All I had to do was pretty much exist; a lady had been looking for me all week a little less than a month ago (how she got my home phone is something that will forever remain a mystery) and when I could finally return her call she let me know that I had been granted a pretty substantial amount of credit. To this, I said “sure:” there had been several instances in prior months that if I would have had a credit card it would’ve made things a lot easier for me. That and the constant worrying over money and trying to make the next paycheck with at least some kind of currency or whatever would make of this credit card a blessing… but it was quickly put to my attention how mixed of a blessing this was; for starters, having that much money at your disposal can make things go really bad, really quick. Also, I just don’t like dealing with money under the mere principle of how it transforms people. It makes them very ugly if left unchecked and I see that happen with my own family a lot, since they’re the typical Latinamerican family that believes everything is shared. They know what my stance in matters like those is and with money I’m even more strict than I am with friends because many families (at least Panamanian and, dare I say, Latinamerican) have that M.O of waiting for that one time that someone will do them the favor just to ask for the favor later on again, again and again. An example of this is the dog that we’ve brought into the house recently: he’s a cute dog, annoying sometimes but at least he’s educated. Of course, like so many things my mother does, she thought she knew everything there was to know about taking care of a dog and what it implied and even though both my dad and I tried to get it in her that this wasn’t the brightest of ideas and that since it was her dog she would have to take care of it, she went and got it anyway. Last Sunday, while everyone was sleeping “Rimble” manages to pass the barricade my mom had set up for him and ran amok all over the furniture and whatever he could find. He swallowed the nose of a big teddy bear I had given my mom for Mother’s Day a few years back and, this being the kicker, took a shit right in the very center of the living room… later we saw that the only reason why he did that was because he had already taken a dump in the spot where he was taught to dispose of his crap, but that’s not the point; my dad has this ritual of leaving early on Sundays to buy lottery tickets and then watch the 1PM lottery show over at my sister’s house (the dynamic my dad has with juggling my sister’s mom and my own is something of legend, but I won’t get into it today) so by the time the rest of us are up he’s already gone. My mom wakes up at around 8:30 and I wake up soonafter only to hear her complain about how my dad left the house without picking up the massive turd the dog left on the living room… but when my dad eventually showed up back at the house and she asked him about his, his response was something that encapsulates what I feel regarding them and my credit card:

“If I pick up your dog’s shit one time, you’ll have me pick it up every time.”

When my father found out about me being granted a credit card he wanted to keep it for himself. Since we share the same name we can do things like that but that’s the sort of thing that leaves a dire taste in my mouth; of course, my mom objected to the credit card every step of the way and even some friends would sound just like her to the point where I would get borderline upset, but against my dad’s hawk-like wait for the card to arrive and other people’s insistence on me not getting it, I received it at the office and right away the charges started pouring in. What’s my largest purchase so far? Well, we go back to my father: I’ve been wanted to change my cell phone for quite some time but I couldn’t due to a contractual agreement with the phone company; as it turns out, it was a family plan that my sister’s mother had set up and we shared a crapload of minutes. As of the beginning of August though, the number of minutes had been reduced by 300, which is more or less the amount of minutes I use up in a month… the reason why? Well, according to my dad, since I was getting the card I could just get a new independent contract and change technologies along with a new cellphone and just charge it there. Of course, I was in a tight spot because time was ticking and everyone else in the plan was using up the minutes so I was check mate-d into getting a new phone. Also, gasoline… he uses up considerable amounts of it on his “adventures” and he’s already made me spend over $50 on it in a week, and out of that much gas I’ve only spent a little less than a third of it. I’ve had the card 2 weeks and I’ve already bought an expensive cell phone, $50 worth of gas, shoes, pizza, alcohol and the distinction of my dad having a running tab with me. Oh, and of course, the dog.

As you can see, money is a touchy subject for me and one that I don’t like treading too much in. I treat it like I would a band-aid… quickly and painfully. Since I like independent people and I despise the idea of having to take care of anyone at my young age, even more so because it’s the social standard that I should in spite of what I might or might not want to do, when my family comes along and asks repeatedly for stuff, I give a hand and they take my arm. If anybody should be taking care of anyone then it should be the other way around but I don’t allow it. In that sense, my mom and aunts are like that. They’re still in that Latinamerican mindset that I feel is retarded as hell. That very convenient, askewed view of the “girl power” empowerment where they complain when they have to clean and cook but expect a guy to pay for everything her heart desires. I have a real problem with that type of people, and that’s why this is such a touchy subject for me. My family is the kind of thing that gives me headaches and puts me in a really bad mood, and somehow they became intricately linked to money with is another thing that puts me at wits end so you’ll understand when I say I like to be out of the how as much and as often as possible.

This story is not new to a lot of you, I’m sure. Everyone’s family is the most insane and difficult one on Earth. I guess it’s always good to show that no one’s infallible and that everyone has their shitty drapes. Turns out that my drapes are made of silk while I like good old-fashioned motherfucking cotton. My life works in ironies; it’s my existence’s funny way of establishing a cosmic balance. Under that construct I know for sure that I’ll never get what I truly want which, by definition, might not seem like much to most but to me is more fulfilling than a coke in the desert; as it turns out though, everything else I do great in so that should give you an idea of how bad I want what I want. The same goes for the things that get me riled up and upset… and I mean truly upset, fueled by anger from the very foundation of my being… and they all root back to my family, which I can’t retalliate against like I would anyone else since, well, they’re family and I’m a pussy like that. It’s frustrating, but that’s the way it is.

In other news, I went here and found out that there was a test to see what type of donut I was. The results are goddamn shocking:

You Are a Powdered Devil’s Food Donut

A total sweetheart on the outside, you love to fool people with your innocent image.On the inside you’re a little darker, richer, and more complex.You’re a hedonist who demands more than one pleasure at a time.Decadent and daring, you test the limits of human indulgence.

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