More Fun With Tito

Last year there was a time where I had been sick and bored and stuck in bed. So I decided to do the most fun thing I could think of: Torture Tito. I had seen the exorcism of Emily Rose the night before, which arouse a multitude of fabulous malicious ideas. 


“Sophia have you seen my notebook?” He asked. 


“I think it’s in here” I replied with a smile. 


“Here it…” *cough cough, stop breathing*


“Sophia… are you ok” I slowly turn and tilt my head “One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six, I am Lucifer, the Devil in the flesh!” I said impersonating Emily Rose the best I could. 


“Sophia, what are you doing…, stop messing with me” 


“Hahahahaha she’s gone!” This was becoming a great success. 


“What are you doing! Stop!” he said. 


I exhaled loudly while giving an evil looking smile


“Ave Maria Purisima!” he said. 


Exhale louder and choke a bit “Your prayers will not help you!” 


“Ave Maria Purisima! Ave Maria Purisima! Ave Maria Purisima!” 


There was some more chocking, “Lucifer, Cain, Nero, Judas, Legion, Belial!” His face was priceless by now as he recited the Lord’s Prayer. 


I gave one last strong exhale “No!” I said at I fainted across my pillows. 


He ran up “Sophia!” I gave one last exhale before laughing my ass off (excuse the French). He then proceeded to tell my mom which lead to serious consequence. Where did the Jose Garcia in her go anyway? 

Jose Garcia Likes Disobedient Little Boys

My brother wasn’t only fun in Bolivia, we still have just as much fun torturing him now. My mom and I gratefully have a very good relationship now, so we do a lot of plotting. Last Christmas my brother was about twelve and my mom strictly told him not to get a Facebook until he was thirteen. My brother wasn’t much for listening to my mom. What he didn’t know is that Facebook has a wonderful “add your friends in common” application. Guess who appeared on my moms friends in common list? You guessed it. My mom was furious. I had been waiting for this moment for a long time. “Mom”, I said. “Don’t punish him I have another idea that might be a little more fun.” She smiled “Bring it on.” So I began my master plan. We created an entire new Facebook of a fifty three year old man called Jose Garcia. Jose Garcia is very much into little disobedient boys. My brother’s password wasn’t very hard to guess, so we added his new friend. After a couple months of this master plan he confessed to me he was scared out of his pants because Jose Garcia told him his exact address and home phone. I don’t think he will be disobeying again any time soon. 

Dream Squishing

The consequences of my severe ADHD were shared amongst my family members, teachers, and house hold help. My mom I could say had it the worst during those years. My brother though, also had his fair share. My brother is two and a half years younger. He was about two or three when all of this started.

My brother, as any younger sibling would do, loved to follow me around everywhere. When my friends would come over to play he would always try to include himself in the best ways he knew. My friends and I would usually play house, torture Groucho Marks (my Cocker spaniel), and when we were feeling especially happy mutilate and Mohawk my Barbie’s. I still sit around with Olivia and Valentina laughing about all the roles my brother used to play in “house”. He would ask “Sophia what can I be?” “You can be the wind Tito.” “What does the wind do?” “Stand in the corner and blow” “Ok!”He was always an object. He was a couple suns, tables, chairs, trees, and one time even a boat.

Due to his innocence he was indeed very gullible, “Tito if you don’t give me all of your Halloween chocolate I won’t ever take you to the secret place!” The secret place was a place I invented that I said had everything he ever wanted. He was a chubby kid so ill leave his ideal secret place up to imagination. Usually I would bribe him, tell him to do stuff in order to get the top secret password into the top secret, secret place. After a while this got a little old. So one day I made him get into a laundry basket and lock himself in the closet which was supposedly the entrance to the secret place. Since then, after being a few hours more than he expected in the entrance, he stopped believing. I may have squished a few dreams there. 

Happy Easter

Yesterday was Easter Sunday, a holiday full of joy for our savior rising and bringing new life. It was supposed to be a traditional happy family holiday. Well you know those family holidays that just go horribly wrong, in fact the opposite of how we plan them? Well in my family this happens just about every holiday. It all started with the traditional catholic morning church service. My mom prohibited my dad from wearing blue jeans. Big mistake, as we now learned this was the cause of multiple bad moods throughout the day. Following, came the fact that there were no donuts were they should be after church. Instead there was an Easter egg hunt outside strictly for kids under the age of twelve. This was strike two. So we took a trip to Baskin Robbins and Dunkin Donuts. There were a couple more fights during the five minute car ride. So far Easter was a great success.

We usually celebrate Easter with family friends whom I like to call the ideal perfect family. It’s amazing they never fight, never raise a finger or a voice. They look like they’ve popped out of a J Crew catalogue. Easter for them requires matching cashmere for the men and Mary Ashley outfits for the girls. They take their family photo, later to be photo shopped onto their spring cards that they send out to everyone. Well in my mother’s mind this was the ideal Easter. Imagine her surprise when her daughter couldn’t even where a dress due to crutches and a severe sun burn, her son couldn’t care less about matching his own outfit, and her husband was mad about not being able to wear blue jeans to church. In fact the only one who was matching in her ideal family picture she had built up in her mind, was herself. She merely had to mind photo shop us in her picture to have matching outfits.  

So as the day continued it only got better. We went out for lunch to an Italian restraint with some of my dad’s friends from the bank that we have known ever since I was about five. The perfect family had gone to Las Vegas for the week. Does anyone else see the irony in this? Well of course bank friend’s means bank talk. My mom dislikes bank talk intensely. We went from talking about one Argentinean to another, from bank loans, to jackpot destinations for bank jobs. They talked for three hours straight about strictly bank. This clearly did not fit into my mom’s ideal Easter Sunday.

So after tears and fighting my mom finally gathered everyone to dinner. Nobody talked for about five minutes. My mom had made a soup that tasted of pure wine. She sometimes doesn’t quite measure the amount of alcohol she puts into her dishes. So everyone ate silently trying to bear the winey soup until my dad realized if he didn’t fix things he might end up in the dog house so he began, “The thing is it’s your mother…” (bad start). “Do not start with my mother!” said my mom. “See she created these high expectations for everybody about Easter... she wears these flowery dresses…”. Pretty soon the whole table was laughing about the Easter fail. Then my brother starts complaining about the soup, which gets my mom in a worse mood. My dad again tries to fix this to save himself from the dog house, “Eat your Easter soup men!” he says. I don’t know how this ended up the way it did, but the nice Easter dinner ended in my dad and brother trying to “titty twister” each other. Happy Easter everyone.