So basically, I got shat out on March 14, 1989, with a bump on my head due to my mom trying to push me through her cervix. (She ended up having to a C-section.) The nurses and doctor’s kept a close eye on my bump with this sticker suction thing, fearing that my bump would turn into some sort of tumor. But it didn’t, and when the nurse ripped the suction off she left me a nice little scar less than an inch big, that doesn’t grow any hair. Pretty much a bald spot? I came close to being named “Clementina Casillas,” after my father Clemente Casillas (“Clemente” is the family name). But my mother saved my life from future humiliation and embarrassment by denying him the right of naming me that piece of crap name, and named me Andrea Patricia Josefina Casillas, instead. I grew up around my mother and grandmother (who I call “Ama”). I remember my dad being around; singing me the ABC’s to sleep, brushing my hair, my teeth, and also arguing with my mother. They were quite a pair, yelling and stuff. Then I remember my father not being there all of a sudden, he just kind of disappeared. No one ever told me where he went but I don’t recall ever caring, I do remember that he would occasionally swing by my elementary school (Florence Elementary) when I was in the first grade and bring me a carne asada burrito and a Snapple and eat with me during lunch. Afterwards he would walk me around my playground and hold my hand, and all the little kids decided they wanted to hold his hand too. I remember slapping them away and yelling “He’s not YOUR daddy he’s MY daddy!” Afterwards, we’d sit down on the curb of the embankment and he’d make me search his pockets for my favorite candy: gummie bears. Well, it wasn’t the gummie bears it was just the gummie. I also enjoyed those gummie lifesavers, those things rocked my world.  Eventually my mother became pregnant again, and my little sister Elyse Ariana Casillas was born on November 6, 1995. I was so happy when I first saw her, and I remember holding her and how anxious I was to have her at home. But when she started getting all the attention from every adult that came to our house, I about had a fit. When no one was looking, I grabbed her arm and clamped down hard; in response she screamed bloody murder. I denied having anything to do with her being upset, until they showed me the teeth marks on her arm. Little by little I warmed up to her, and I started changing her diapers, putting her to bed, making her bottles. Her first words were “Day-uh,” (my nickname is Drea) as for me, my first words were “Batman.” I was teased often at school up until I reached the second grade (now at Nye Elementary), which is when I made it clear that I was no one to be messed with. I picked on and beat up every boy in that class to show that I was one tough chic, and stayed after school often because my mother worked there. When I reached the third grade I switched to Audubon Elementary for about half a year. I had the crappiest third grade teacher who half assed her way through teaching us times tables, so I didn’t learn a thing. Another personal detail, I had trouble learning anything with numbers, so when I switched to Brooklyn Elementary for the rest of my third grade year, I didn’t know my times tables or how to tell the time. I would always avoid reading the clock when asked by passing it on to another kid, oh yes. I thought I had beaten the system! Well one morning I came in late as usual and Ms. Roche, my third grade teacher, said, “Andrea you’re late again!”  I sat down and stared at her as she wrote down my name and the time I came in, and I prayed she wouldn’t ask the question I feared the most. Sure enough I heard, “Andrea, what time is it?” I laughed nervously and replied, “I cant see the clock,” “WELL GET UP! Hahhaha” she said. Oh I was screwed now, I was in for it. I got up and squinted, “well I cant really see- “Can you even tell time?” I said no as quietly as I could, I was so ashamed. She laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, as if she couldn’t even believe me. The whole class erupted with giggles and whispers, and she shut them up and asked, “Why didn’t you learn in the second grade?” and I responded “Well the teacher tried teaching me but I think I took too long to learn so they moved on.” She looked up at the clock and said, “You see those big lines? Each one is a number, from one to twelve, and I know you can count by five right?” I nodded, “Well,” she said, “each group of tiny dashes is a five, so two groups is?” “Ten?” “Yes,” she said, “So tell me what time it is.”  I would tell you what time I said, but that was a very long time ago, so I don’t really remember. I stayed at that school for the fourth and fifth grade as well, and developed a crush on a boy that was a year older than me; of course I never talked to him. My mother, by then, was done with my dad and already dating a man named Mike. He was a very nice man to us, and always brought my mom flowers. He also had two sons, Michael and Justin. His kids and I matched perfectly; I was quite the tomboy.  They dated for 4 years, when they decided to get married and move in together on Louisiana St. I was in the sixth grade, and attending Preuss School UCSD, a supposedly prestigious and new school. I hated it. It was very difficult for me, and I didn’t get along with my math teacher, or my science teacher. Guess why? They were the same teacher, how badly I wanted to slit her throat and/or push her in front of a stampede of elephants you will never know. For my seventh grade year, my stepfather recommended a school he once went to, called John Muir. I did really well my seventh grade year, making a best friend named Joanne, and when I went back for my eighth grade year is when my world fell apart. My mother and stepfather weren’t getting along, they would argue all during the summer before my eighth grade year and would yell so much. Mike, my stepfather, would slam doors, become violent and throw things across the room, curse at me and my mother…it was awful. Then he left, the day before I started for eighth grade, he left. Me, my mom, and my sister all slept in the same bed the night before I started. My sister was to start school with me that day, it was an atypical school, and wouldn’t stop asking about where Mike went. My mother was heart broken, and prayed every night for the strength to move on. Elyse and I were the only ones she had left, besides our Ama, and I tried my best to be there for her. We moved again to Claremont, where I was closer to Muir, and walked to school everyday and walked home. That year Joanne left Muir and I found Annie, my new best friend. That year I also jumped from liking a boy named Philip, to Cesar, Ben, Jesus, back to Ben, then Alfonso, Robert, Daniel, ugh. It was mind boggling, I got bored with boys easily. I became a Christian that summer, and then my Ama refused to talk to me. Only until I went to her church and “gave up my un-catholic ways” would she actually attend my birthday. As for my mother and me, our relationship blossomed into this “friend-like” mother-daughter relationship. We talked all the time, and I went to her for anything. But she started dating a man named Richard, for about a year and they decided to move in together. I disliked him and his two sons Michael and Steve. I made it known that I didn’t like them around by rolling my eyes, or sighing every time they asked me something. I even did that thing where someone walks into a room and I stopped talking, and made it obvious I stopped talking because they walked into the room. The truth is, I didn’t trust them, they were barging in on my mom and me, and I didn’t want them hurting us the way Mike did. But my mother is a grown woman, and I had no say in her decisions, so we moved to Bonita/Chula Vista. I started going to Bonita Vista High, and during my freshman year I attained my first and worst boyfriend, Jonathan Gabriel Elvester. We were together for two years and three months, that’s two years of my life down the drain. I thought I was in love though, don’t we all at one point. That piece of crap dragged me down; no I let him drag me down. I let him become the way he was and allowed him to be the way he was with me, and I don’t intend on saying it in this oh-so-glorious autobiography because I feel it is a private and deeply disturbing…matter. By the time our relationship was over, it was the summer before my eleventh grade year and I had a BLAST. I snuck out so much, and went to the beach and bowling as well. But I messed up a lot during my eleventh grade year; in fact I failed four classes, the core classes. Second semester rolled around and I jumped back on my feet, and during summer school I made up my English and history credits that I had failed my first semester during junior year. Senior year I entered refreshed and prepared for crunching those credits and graduating without a problem. I even moved out at near the end of the summer and started living with my dad, I had a job (at the best work place ever, McDonalds), and I played tennis. But I had to quit work because it was interrupting my school life, and I had to quit tennis lesson so I could do community service for the time I was caught ditching school my junior year, by a cop. It was horrible, because I had planned to go to prom that year with a senior but I ruined my chances because I thought I was too cool for school for that day. I started doing my community service hours at CYAC boxing, completed them, and moved on. Meanwhile, I was failing most of my classes at school, except for economics. I failed a class I needed, and barely passed another, and passed economics with a B. Economics was my only good class, by the way. I had a go at the second semester, and I was doing well till I was kicked out of my house for not listening to the rules. I was staying with my cousin Isaac for a couple weeks and then went on to move in with my Ama, where I stayed for about a week and a half. During that time my wonderful ex-boyfriend, Johnny Tsunami, came back into my life. I forgave him, we talked, he became the asshole he always was, and now I hate him, again. Then, my dad let me back into his house, signed me up for learning center, and now I am here at my father’s house, three days away from being 18, being heartbroken, catching a cold, in a state of insomnia, and typing up my autobiography which probably isn’t even in the correct form because I didn’t really follow the rubric. Why? Well, out of all the schools I’ve attended, I don’t think any of them stand out than any of the rest; schools are all the same to me.  Prisons I’m forced to attend in order to get into college so I can get what I want in life. All the places I moved to I don’t remember because I learned that getting attached only messes you up in the end. Any vacations and/or special times in my life I don’t remember because again, getting attached is stupid. There aren’t too many people, or any at all really, that are important in my life because I don’t trust anyone and most of the people that have entered my life and are in it right now have let me down in one way or another.  It may not seem that way if you read my autobiography, but that’s because I didn’t share all the disturbing things I’ve been through, no one needs to know any of that, and neither do you. Besides, I don’t care to relive it, once was bad enough already. No need to air my dirty laundry.

Pharcyde

Pharrcyde

ac smooth

passsinmeby

atcq

ac smooth

ill drea

ill slang

whodini

mary wells

girl talk

sadie mae

saydee mae

was a very bad day. im in trouble. he never yelled so close that his spit flew on me, before...

and im not going to make that decision ever again
from now on i listen to the racist.
no matter what.