My personal bodyguards may need to be sedated.

My brothers are psychotic.

Don't get me wrong...

I love having protective brothers. I love knowing I could just say one word and they'd be there to back me up, no questions asked. It's almost unheard of for someone to have your back like that no matter what the situation, no matter what the back story.

This is why you should be scared.

Their protective instincts sometimes interfere with even the last salvageable ounce of rationality usually present in a human being. Especially when my brothers are in Boston and see guys even glance at me.

Joe's favorite thing to do is stare guys down and mutter one or two profane threats just loud enough so I can hear it, knowing the other guy sees his rage and sincerity. Steve gets a little more worked up. He still stares guys down but he usually says, "what the fuck?!" and rambles about it for a little, clearly planning a course of action in his head.

Their threats have evolved into extremely creative and intricate declarations over the years. My mother thinks this is especially hilarious.

Which is why, I presume, she decided to announce to the family, "Maria went on a date today!" Promptly after which I received a text from my little brother saying, "I'm the only Joe in your life." I had just walked in from the gym. When I looked online, he had messaged me demanding details.

Following the harassment, Joe directed me toward my last post of texts, telling me to look at the comments. He didn't like the anonymous text about someone saying they would choke slam me into a bed of nails.

Joe: Don't even start with me.
Maria: HAH.
Joe: Who is it?
...
Joe: Who needs a beating?
Maria: It was [redacted for protection]
Joe: Tell him this exactly:
...
Joe: My brother Joe says he's going to slice off your nutsack and feed it to you like it's grapes. Then beat your skull into pieces.



Don't let these angelic mugs fool you... These boys don't mess around.

Timbaland and I write a song to tell J to back off.

While we're still playing catch-up, let's go back to Thursday real quick.

J had asked me to hang out with him Thursday night but I didn't feel like it so... I told him no. And then, because my name is Maria, he showed up at An Tua Nua. FANtastic.

J: You didn't expect to see me here did you?
Maria: Oh! No... I'm just here having a beer with my friends. I'm not staying long.
J: Cool. So. That movie we saw the other night...

At this point I stealthily escaped by gliding toward some people I recognized. He hovered a little and eventually I moved away completely.

I may have forgotten to mention that J is over 6 feet tall so he's a little hard to miss. All my friends, naturally, thought his presence was hilarious because they love seeing me suffer.

Later that night, I noticed him standing in a near-by corner. Watching me. I was talking to a guy. J was staring. Just standing there staring. I don't know where his friends were. I don't know what he thought was going to happen. But I alerted my friends who, apparently, had already noticed.

By now, the Red Sox (I'm sorry I have to mention it...) had come back from their 7 point loss so everyone was anxiously watching the game. J stood three feet behind me as Tara offered to pretend to be my lesbian lover and Sebastian made fun of him and made fun of me for being associated with him. Unfortunately, it was too late for the I'm-with-my-roommate defense.

The Red Sox won, Drop Kick Murphys roared in the background and I jumped around with Ali. Even Erin got into it. Noelle and Christina, however, were angry and continued shouting, "Tampa, Tampa."

J walked over and went in for a celebration hug. I relocated. J came back.

J: So much for that one beer, huh?
Maria: ... this is still my first, actually.
J: So, do you ever want to hang out again? Because I'd like to see you again but it doesn't seem like you want that too...
Maria:.... I mean... I don't know what to say. I'm just here having a beer with my friends...
J: Well, would you want to hang out next week?
Maria: Seriously I can't plan in advance. I have a bunch of projects and a ton of homework and I can't tell you for sure when we're meeting or what I'll be doing....

This fizzled out eventually.

Ok look. I'm not an asshole. Everything I said was true. I have group projects and a lot of homework. I have a full course load and work three days a week. My free time is precious.

If he had a personality that didn't resemble a TV screen I would be more than willing to hang out with him. But if he's just going to follow me around all night and talk about the same dumb movie we saw over a week ago.... I don't have time for that.

MORE OVER. He actually introduced himself to my friends. Can you believe that shit? If I want you to meet my friends, I will introduce you to my friends. DO NOT waltz over and start asking who is my roommate and introducing yourself. Your presence is noticed. People can see your head poking out of the crowd glaring and shooting the death glare while I joke around with my guy friends.

My mom said I should give him a chance, that he's just shy. I think two dates is enough chance to give. If I leave both dates trying to justify spending more time with him, that's a bad thing.

Strike One: Asking me to see Beverley Hills Chihuahua
Strike Two: Trying to corner me to achieve a good night kiss
Strike Three: Following me around a bar and introducing yourself to my friends.


So Timbaland and I wrote this song to express my feelings toward J. I have provided a video with the words. Feel free to play on repeat and sing along.

Maybe it's the food poisoning...

...but someone get me Henry Cavill and a layer of vegetation, STAT!

This CNET article describes the phenomenon surrounding my rapidly increasing phone bill. Americans (such as Maria) are sending more texts than they are making phone calls. I need to get a hold of Verizon and change my plan because my phone bill doubled this month solely due to texting. Is that even possible? I guess I have to entertain myself somehow during Cultural Anthro.

The next time I'm mad at any of you, I'm sending Jess to poison your chicken. Someone's got it out for me. Today was my first time ever having food poisoning. My dad sent me this article about a recent salmonella outbreak. Cook your chicken people! I already told Jess next time I cook her dinner it will be sprinkled with ExLax or something equally uncomfortable.

The upside to being sick was that between vomitting sessions I was able to catch up on season one of The Tudors, which my roommate Ali happens to have on DVD. CAUTION: This Showtime series is extremely addicting (probably due to all the good looking men). The story line differs greatly from The Other Boleyn Girl, which scarred me with controversial topics such as incest.

When not vomitting or drooling over Henry Cavill and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I caught up on some very interesting reading in the Wall Street Journal, which I get delivered to my dorm because I’m smart like that Professor Nowak makes me. Basically we should all seriously consider adding a layer of vegetation on top of buildings. Not only is it super sweet but it is good for the environment and could potentially save some of those tax dollars.

In 2001, Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, inspired by a trip to Hamburg, Germany, decided to cover about 20,000 square feet of the roof atop Chicago's City Hall. City officials in Chicago now estimate that their green roof saves the city about $3,600 a year in cooling and heating costs. If all of Chicago's roofs were greened, they add, the city's peak energy demand could be cut by 720 megawatts -- enough electricity for 750,000 people. The load on the city's storm-sewer system, meanwhile, would be slashed by about 70%.

In other news, we may have a problem. J wants to see a movie this week. What movie did he suggest? Out of all the movies in theaters? Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Yea. Did I mention I hate dogs? Great.

He suggested this movie and then read me the synopsis over the phone. I did not respond enthusiastically. He took the hint and said he was just kidding. Was he though?

He was either A) trying to choose a movie he thought I'd like (even though I spent several hours enjoying watching men beat each other to a bloody pulp with him Saturday), B) seriously just kidding and we simply don't get each other's sense of humor or C) truly hoping to go see this new Disney masterpiece mess up. I'm not sure which is worse but I will wallop him if he tries to make me see a romantic comedy starring a bedazzle dog.

Weekend Update: Dating is not dead.

Just when I was starting to give up hope on single life in Boston, I met a genuinely nice guy who surprised me and proved that people still go on dates.

So last weekend I met this guy at Jake Ivory's. Let's call him J. We talked the whole night, made fun of people, danced a little... It was a good time. The bar closed and he asked for my number, so I gave it to him and by Thursday he had asked me out on a date.

I told my mom about this date and felt the repercussions shortly thereafter. My dad sent me an e-mail with a subject line, "So, he's interested in my daughter now, is he?" and with two attachments, the Rules for Dating my Daughter and the Application to Date my Daughter, which I re-posted below. The same day, I received the following text from my youngest brother:

"Maria. Tell J to watch his back when I'm there cause I built a special shank that has his name written all over it."

Saturday rolled around and J brought me to Joshua Tree for some drinks. Totally different experience going on a night other than Thursday, when the bar is usually full of the same BU kids you see every Thursday. We got a table, ordered some drinks and talked about life. UFC matches were on and Murilo Rua (who's photo below some of you may recognize from my desktop) and Andrei Arlovski were fighting so I was happy. Of course the only person most of the people cared about was Kimbo Slice who lost after about 10 seconds. Didn't even get to put up a fight. It was extremely disappointing. But I digress.




That was a great first date for me. We hung out, drank some beers and watched some fighting. He drove me home and asked if I would want to hang out again. I said no. His face dropped as he said, "...what?" which I followed up with, ".. just kidding.." Mom said it was too early to joke. I can't help it though. The situation was tense and I needed to break it up a little. So I guess if I didn't scare him we may go on another date. Or something. Who knows.

On my way home, Joe and I had the following exchange of texts:

Maria: I'm back from my date. We watched the Kimbo Slice match at a bar.
Joe: How'd he do?
Maria: He lost in ten f-ing seconds it was ridiculous. His eye got split open.
Joe: Not Kimbo bitch. The kid you went with.

This morning I received the following e-mail from my father:

Well, where are the completed forms? The review committee has been waiting since last night to begin the evaluation!

The committee decided I am allowed to go on a second date, so stay tuned...



In other news.

Friday was fantastic. Erin, Katie and I went to go see Beautiful Lies play at Berklee. I hadn't seen Dave play in a while so that was fun. After the show we went to Phil's apartment to party with the band. We kept hitting our heads on underwear hanging from some hangers. The undies were either not dry or decoration supplemental to a Bill Cosby sweater and random squirrel figurines propped up on speakers and sinks.

I always forget how much I hate gin. It tastes like Christmas. But instead of leaving presents, all you get in the morning is a raging hangover. Damn you Katie!

The quote of the night occurred while Katie, four of the boys and I were squashed in the kitchen taking shots.

Katie: What would your personal physical manifestation of weather be? Mine is drizzly.
(Silence)
Maria: ... Thunder and lightening.

Love those boys.

Saturday after the date I met Noelle and Christina at Tequila Rain. It was pretty fun. A group of guys started talking to us. One was wearing a Tap Out shirt so I asked if he watched the match earlier that night. He said yes and that he was an MMA fighter himself so we talked about fighint for the rest of the night. Saturday made me want to go watch my brothers fight. Hopefully that will happen some time soon.

Noelle stole the hat of one of the fighter's friends and danced around throwing up signs like she was part of the Korean Killers.




The bar shut down and hat-boy, who Noelle named Jersey even though he was from Florida, ran to say goodbye to us and slipped and fell flat on his ass. We had to tell Noelle today that the kid actually fell and was not break dancing. Poor girl felt cheated.

As we exited Tequila Rain, Noelle shouted,

"WELL! We sure got our money's worth!"

Via My Dad: Application For Permission To Date My Daughter

Application for Permission to Date My Daughter

APPLICATION FOR PERMISSION TO DATE MY DAUGHTER

NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless

accompanied by a complete financial statement, job history, lineage,

and current medical report from your doctor.

NAME_____________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH_____________

HEIGHT___________ WEIGHT____________ IQ__________ GPA_____________

SOCIAL SECURITY #_________________ DRIVERS LICENSE #________________

BOY SCOUT RANK AND BADGES____________________________________________

HOME ADDRESS_______________________ CITY/STATE___________ ZIP______

Do you have parents? ___Yes ___No

Is one male and the other female? ___Yes ___No

If No, explain:

______________________________________________________________

Number of years they have been married ______________________________

If less than your age, explain

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

ACCESSORIES SECTION:

A. Do you own or have access to a van? __Yes __No

B. A truck with oversized tires? __Yes __No

C. A waterbed? __Yes __No

D. A pickup with a mattress in the back? __Yes __No

E. A tattoo? __Yes __No

F. Do you have an earring, nose ring, __Yes __No

pierced tongue, pierced cheek or a belly button ring?

(IF YOU ANSWERED "YES" TO ANY OF THE ABOVE, DISCONTINUE APPLICATION

AND LEAVE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY. I SUGGEST RUNNING.)

ESSAY SECTION:

In 50 words or less, what does "LATE" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

In 50 words or less, what does "DON'T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

In 50 words or less, what does "ABSTINENCE" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

REFERENCES SECTION:

Church you attend ___________________________________________________

How often you attend ________________________________________________

When would be the best time to interview your:

father? _____________

mother? _____________

pastor? _____________

SHORT-ANSWER SECTION:

Answer by filling in the blank. Please answer freely, all answers

are confidential.

A: If I were shot, the last place I would want shot would be:

______________________________________________________________

B: If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is my:

______________________________________________________________

C: A woman's place is in the:

______________________________________________________________

D: The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is:

______________________________________________________________

E. What do you want to do IF you grow up? ___________________________

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

F. When I meet a girl, the thing I always notice about her first is:

______________________________________________________________

F. What is the current going rate of a hotel room? __________________

I SWEAR THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE AND CORRECT TO

THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT,

NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE

WATER TORTURE, RED HOT POKERS, AND HILLARY CLINTON KISS TORTURE.

_________________________________________________________

Applicant's Signature (that means sign your name, moron!)

_______________________________ ________________________________

Mother's Signature Father's Signature

_______________________________ ________________________________

Pastor/Priest/Rabbi State Representative/Congressman

Thank you for your interest, and it had better be genuine and

non-sexual. Please allow four to six years for processing.

You will be contacted in writing if you are approved. Please do

not try to call or write (since you probably can't, and it would

cause you injury). If your application is rejected, you will be

notified by two gentleman wearing white ties carrying violin cases.

(you might watch your back)

Via My Dad: Rules for Dating My Daughter

See especially rules 4, 6, 8 and 10.

Daddy's Rules for Dating

Your dad's rules for your boyfriend (or for you if you're a guy):

Rule One:

If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do no, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:

I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "Barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:

It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: "early."

Rule Six:

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:

Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.