Being apart of a 2 man horse costume Logan & I didn’t think the entire night would be spent him asking everyone at the party, “Where’d my ass go?” me asking, “Have you seen my head?” and everyone telling Logan, “Your ass just threw up on princess leia.”
I’m taking my niece trick-or-treating dressed as Coraline
Watching ‘Halloween’ with my family (family tradition)
Going to three parties back to back
First party i’m the troll face, forever #trollin
Second party i’m going as a horses ass. Literally, two man costume and Logan made me be the rear end.
Third party i will be a zombie skateboarder. Simply because, I have nothing else to be other than myself but with zombie make up.
I will be shit faced.
Very shit faced.
I’m taping my cell phone to my chest with duct tape with a note attached: “If you find me, my name is KC Escamilla. Please call my father @ (***-***-****) He will know what to do with me” along with $5 dollars as payment for them calling.
I had the pleasure of getting haircuts from my dad, practically all my life. It went for the horrible 2rd grade bowl cut, to the 3rd grade mullet to the then 4th grade “she might have stuck her head in a wood chipper.” He tried, he really did. I mean, he didn’t exactly have the model customer to work with. My hair was curly and always in knots, i enjoyed sticking gum inside of it along with many other things i found in the backyard, and i was fidgety. I had enough focus to get the towel around my neck and then after that it was like i snorted pixie sticks laced with crack. But this was 5th grade, I wanted to look mature, and dazzling. I wanted to have the haircut where all the girls would be jealous and wonder who did my hair, just so i could lie to them and say a professional - instead of my dad. In the kitchen. With child safety proof scissors he got out of my art box. I had classmates to make envious and a boy named Max I planned to have fall in love with me. THIS HAIRCUT WAS GOING TO REVOLUTIONIZE MY ENTIRE BEING.
I plopped myself down at the dinner table, picked a spot on our wallpaper to focus on and told my dad I was ready. I showed him pictures of Kelly Kapowski and told him I wanted the exact same thing, smiling as if it was Christmas (please keep in mind that my hair was neither that long, nor dazzling. I pretty much set my father up for failure to begin with. Especially since i expected him to be the Picasso of hair dressery and the other misguided haircuts were just him being out of practice).”You want that?” my dad said as he snarled his lip up. “YES. I WANT THAT!” I said in the most ‘I mean business, i’m wearing my duck pajamas. I’m on a mission’ voice. He took a deep breath and began snipping. I was so focused on the chicken pattern on our kitchen wall that I wasn’t noticing that the Kelly Kapowski haircut which should of only took a few minutes, was beginning to roll around the 15 minute marker and there was a lot more hair on the floor than my head. With the most satisfied look on his face, my dad took one finally snip, spun me around and showed me the mirror. I, looked nothing like Kelly Kapowski. In fact, I looked more like Screech.
Between the temper tantrum, the storming off and the slight melt down in between the living room and the bathroom I sort of blacked out. I was screaming, “MAX WILL NEVER LOVE ME NOW!” all across my bedroom while simultaneously gathering all the hats that I could find. Vowing to never show my hair to a living soul for the rest of my life. With my dad telling me it was no big deal and then having to go to school the next morning looking screechish, i cried my little heart out all night. Praying to the hair gods that I would miraculously grow Kelly Kapowski hair and Max would have no other choice but to marry me on the spot. Needless to say, God does not work in the hair department. A valuable lesson learned. I grabbed my hat with dinosaurs on it, mushed it on top of my head and pouted all the way into homeroom. I tried to hide inside my cubby, but for some reason in 5th grade everyone has the tattle tale disease, and an extreme case at that. I was dragged to my seat next to Max. Clenching my hat for dear life. I never depended on a stegosaurus so much in my life.
Just when I thought my teacher didn’t notice my accessory, the worst possible thing happened. She took it off for me. Without any notice, without any permission, WITHOUT EVEN A WARNING TO GO BACK TO MY CUBBY AND PUT IT AWAY… she unveiled my fathers haircutting wizardry. I put my head down and started to ball my eyes out. In front of Max. In front of my entire class. Which instead of sympathy, it lead me straight to the principles office for “disruption” and not following class room policy. Was I attending a Nazi school!? After getting my reprimand, and chalk board cleaning assignment, i was told to join my classmates again. For some reason I was hoping they’d make me go home. For like, the rest of the year. But instead all they did was let me miss 15 minutes of spelling, which i’m assuming was equal to sending me home for a year in their justification. I walked in, and quickly took my seat next to Max, barely breathing or making a sound. There was no way he was going to love me, especially with my complete melt down. My dad always told me boys don’t like crazy. I opened my trapper keeper and started writing my woes in misspelled form. Planning my escape to another planet where you can grow hair over night. Thats when Max slipped me a note in between my Lisa Frank folder.
i like ur hair. want to play tag at recess? u can b on my team :)
HE LOVED ME! okay, he didn’t exactly love me, but he wasn’t grossed out by the thought of having me on his team. Which in playground terms, you’re basically going steady. My view on my hair completely changed, I was no longer sulking in the disaster that was forming on top of my head, I was happy with it. I was Kelly Kapowski to Max and not Screech. He was digging the crazy. From that day on i vowed to always find a Max. Somebody who despite my unreasonable melt downs and poor choices in hair stylists, they still wanted to play tag with me, on the same team as a matter of fact. Now, many years later i’m still looking for my grown up Max. Somebody that will slip me that note saying they like my hair and want to play tag at recess.. or, at least grab a cup of coffee. Who knows, he might even have a Stegosaurus hat.
Every weekend I sell apples at the farmers market. I live on an apple farm, we inherited from my grandparents a couple years back and continued the tradition. I just always get volunteered to be the one that sells them at 5 in the morning every Saturday and Sunday. I’m an apple slanger. I push apples. HOV! <>
PS. I also know how to make apple butter and an apple bong. You know, trades you look for in a wife, i know.
Most of the time when I wake up in the morning I always have this feeling of being antsy. Always wanting to be somewhere other than where I am. I move around like a little chess piece because i’m just not settled. This morning, for the first time, i felt … sure. I felt like my head and my heart miraculously agreed over night while i was sleeping about where we want to spend the greater part of my life. All three of us agreed, its France.
Obviously the France i remember when i was nine years old is a lot different than what it is in actuality, but i don’t care. I really don’t see people talking about France with sentences like, “Man it fucking sucks!” or “France blows dude, don’t ever go there.” Even if it turned out to be most horrible idea to move there, I’ve made a choice. Its been settled.
Over the next four years i’m going to try and save every little nook and cranny that I have. I’m going to buckle down with learning the language, and research every city inside the country to figure out which one would be more suitable for me. Then i’ll have to test drive staying there. All these things I have set up in my head to do. Research, Plan, Save, Commit, Save, Save, Save, Save. I’m going to have little change jars everywhere in my house and fully throw myself into this idea that I will be celebrating my 29th birthday in a country I just woke up wanting to be in so badly.
So cross your fingers, I just put 83 cents into my first jar and created a “Je vais en France" savings account through my bank. Last time I had this motivation I put myself through art school, hopefully I can come through again. I’m ready.
So I am stalking out your new layout and I MUST SAY dear it is quite the loveliest. You are also lovely. And all of your sweet little pups are lovely. And your photography skills are lovely. We need to meet, I SAY!
p.s. I typed this with an English accent.
p.s.s. I think it's awesome you were raised in Japan. The little girl I babysit asked me the other day "Do you have to have black hair to go to Japan?" I told her I think so.
Dear Amy Jo,
I’m going to San Antonio with my dad Dec. 4th (we’re driving down), he promised that we can stay in New Orleans for 2 nights so I can take pictures, which means we’re meeting. It’s a must. Granted you’ll meet my pops as well, but we’ll just pretend he’s not there. I’ll have Rufio with me too! Rufio can meet Sprocket! Also, I love you forever and I will hold your hand and frolic through a forest with you. Or alley, if it’s not dark. I don’t like the dark. Or dark alleys. You know, that’s how serial killings begin.
p.s. I typed this with a Vulcan accent p.s.s. I wore a Kimono probably every single day from age 5-10 because I thought it was the law, and my father didn’t inform me otherwise. Both me and the little girl you babysit continually get misinformed in life.
(i have no reason to use this .gif so i leave it here)
Being a then 20 year old father looking down at his 4 year old daughter, i’m sure my dad found himself in the one situation he had dreaded the most. The talk where he has to explain to his very sensitive daughter that the reason why her mother almost gave her up for adoption and fled to her aunts in the united states at 16 was because you broke her heart in half. Broke her heart so drastically and horribly, that she didn’t want to keep a child that looked exactly like you. How was he going to explain to his daughter the failed parenting and responsibility oh both parties? He then looked down to the little girl with curly pigtails and started his lecture, “KC… just know, we both love you very very much.”
Being without my mom for a better part of my life really didn’t impact me, and it didn’t devastate or cripple my relationships that I’ve had with people. I was lucky enough to have a father who despite everyone against him, was able to be both a mother and a father simultaneously before he was even legal to have a drivers license. I just never had an answer as to why he had to do it alone. I remember all the talks we had when I was a kid and him explaining that they both loved my brother and I so much that they couldn’t be without one of us. I grew up without a mother, my brother grew up without a father. I never thought it was my fault, my father held the guilty card very tightly, even still today. Though both of us have grown into mature and wonderful adults, I think both my parents are waiting for the silent bomb that will explode inside of us due to their failures. My mother especially.
Once I got into my 20’s my relationship with my mother became strong. She was ready for me. She was mature enough to handle the questions that I had, and prepared for the cussing, yelling and blaming that would ensue. But there was none. I didn’t have this boiling point of emotions where everything was prepared in my head, like a presidential speech. I just wanted to get to know her. That night I sat in the kitchen showing her my photography portfolio, just talking to her. By the end of me showing her my pictures she began to apologize. Apologize on missed everything that was my childhood. Explaining her side of the story, “I was 16, I didn’t know what I was doing, letting your dad take you was one of my biggest regrets, I thought being a new mom was the worst thing in the world and being a new mom twice just killed me. Then your father and I broke up, and it was just me..” She started trailing off her sentences, I didn’t want to interrupt, but I knew that I had to. I knew my father was the one who screwed her up, that doesn’t exempt her from being a shitty mother, but being 16 and losing the love of your then life, I understood that. I got heart break. And losing love makes any sane person completely crazy.
Our relationship since then has grown very strongly and soundly. I can call her mom and it feels like she is my mom. My brain and my heart recognize that. My father has since took the back seat for us to get to this point. Even with 30+ years under their belt my mom is still very much heart broken. You see, my father found the love of his life in another woman. My mother found the love of her life, and ended up not being his. An experience that cost a child a relationship with her mother. So now when I look back and wonder why my mother didn’t wanted me, it wasn’t that she didn’t want me, she just didn’t want to hurt anymore. Before I learned how to ride my first bike, or kiss my first crush, I learned the matters of the heart. I understood the results of being in love, and I experienced the choices you make after you’ve lost that love. It just so happens I ended up being one of those experiences.