Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Expect nothing

So... I've been told I have a tendency to "romanticize" things, regardless of how adamantly I argue to the contrary.
I say I'm cynical, and bitter, and blah blah blah... but I'm not fooling anyone.
I'm a sweet, tender, schmuck.

If I like someone, not necessarily in the physical sense but them as a person, I tend to hold their memory in a positive light. I ditch the shitty truth, like the fact that they have an enormous nose... or their teeth have nicotine stains, or I completely ignore their receding hairline.
In my mind's eye, I see them as perfect, adorable people... with awesome personalities... often, in halos of light, like some MichaelAngelo creation.

In regard to (I'm now traumatized about getting this idiom correct thanks to you, Mooney! hahaha) my love life, this tendency is amplified. This, I fully understand, fucks me up.
I swear I try to correct it, but it's pretty damn near impossible not to see the world through rose-colored glasses once someone makes my heart skip a beat.
Once reality hits, I'm out crying and being my bummy self... hating life.

I mope around for a few months, and then once I embrace solitude, I'm restored.
... then one day, as I'm quietly reading the nutrition facts on jars of protein powder, a young man accidentally touches my hand as we both reach for the same spot on the shelf... and the vicious, rosy cycle restarts.

Friday, September 21, 2012


The feelings that hurt the most,
the emotions that sting most,
are those that are absurd;
the longing for impossible things,
precisely because they are impossible;
nostalgia for what never was;
the desire for what could have been;
regret over not being someone else;
dissatisfaction with the world's existence.
All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

-Fernando Pessoa

The night of the fireworks, as I sat on that cold, concrete bench, I found myself talking to a girl for much longer than I wanted.
I was sitting outside because Godson and I hadn't made it to church on time, and we were unlucky to bump into the girl as we were working our way OUT of the church premises.
The chick was Godson's classmates back in high school, but never paid attention to Godson because he was "scrawny." Suddenly, she "has always liked" Godson... now that he has bulked up and is making a name for himself in the fitness modeling world.
Right. We believe you, chick.
So, it was thanks to this chick that we found ourselves taking a seat on the benches outside of church, and talking in the chilly breeze.
I obviously wasn't saying much-- she wasn't MY ex-classmate. It didn't help that she remembered me as "Oh! Una de esas sangrónas" roughly translated to "Oh! You're one of those stuck up/conceited/fake girls." (she claimed she had never seen me before. Godson corrected her, reminded her of a wedding we had both attended-- she was an uninvited guest at MY table. We let her sit there, even if she took Godson's seat, so I don't know why the bitch complained... but whatever, that was four years ago) and then she proceeded to claim how we Hometown girls are the snobbiest, most unpleasant of the entire municipality (she's from two towns over).
Are you trying to befriend me... or get me jailed/excummunicated once the soldiers catch me strangling you on church premises?

Anyway, at one point, Godson left our side because he walked over to greet some other folk who hadn't seen him in years.
MeanChick and I were forced to talk... well, more like SHE was forced to talk, since I was fine sitting in silence.
She tried some smalltalk with me, but since I hate that fucking shit, she wasn't very successful.
Me: Sorry, I'm just really quiet and timid. People confuse it for snobbery, but I really just take a while to warm up and start talking.
Her: Yeah, no kidding... you really ARE really quiet.

She REALLY wanted to get on Godson's dick, and once she found out I was his godmother, who was pretty much like his older sister, she tried REALLY hard to fall in my good graces.

Apparently girls talk about their sentimental life in hopes of bonding.
MeanChick proceeded to ask me about dudes.
Her: So, are you married? Engaged? Dating?
Me: None. I'm single for life.
Her: You don't even have a crush or any of that business?
Me: Well, crushes I'm sure everyone has, I'm not an exception. However, my crush lives far, FAAAR away from me, so it's like... I pretty much have nothing.

A couple of minutes later, the conversation moved on to age. She likes older men, and hates younger guys.
Her: Younger guys are so... childish. I want nothing to do with them.
Me: Oh no, toss them over this way!
Her: What?! You like them young?!
Me: Hell yeah. HELL. YEAH. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've gone the older man route before, but it just DOES NOT work.
Her: They're just too serious, huh? They have their act together, they know what they want. I get it. You like the unobtainable... something that is not a sure thing... something that will never be serious. That's why you like the young guys... crush on guys that... you'll never be able to have. You'll never get serious, always be single.

I ended the conversation there. I zipped my lips, no longer made eye-contact, and probably scowled.
She was correct. So correct.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


Yesterday marked my return to the gym game.
I could have returned to the gym Friday afternoon, but after a 24.5 hour car ride, smelling of pasilla chilies and cheese, and dealing with an eye-infection, I wanted nothing to do with ANYTHING.

Upon stepping foot in the gym, I bumped into my trainer who was holding a conversation with one of her clients, but immediately reacted the moment I crossed her sight.
Me: Yup.
Me: I was... on vacation.
Trainer: For three weeks?! That was some vacation...
Me: Ok, you got me. I was really in rehab.
Trainer: I was beginning to think you were dead... or worse yet, that you hated me!
Me: Never. I just needed a break... (before I really did end up dead)

That's exactly how I describe this trip to Hometown-- rehab.
My time there all I could really think was how badly I hoped this change in environment would change my brain chemistry.
Please change, brain chemistry, please change, please change, PLEASE CHANGE!

As I suspected, getting completely disconnected from everyone and everything helped... by leaps and bounds.
No phone. No internet. No people.
I just needed to be away, alone... in the place I consider home.
I don't know if that's the way it works for everyone... I tend to be ass-backwards when it comes to behavioral shit.

Chick: Aren't you... like... bored?
Some chick asked me that as I sat outside church the night of the fireworks, September 9th.
I was sitting on a concrete bench outside, since Mass was packed and I had no seat saved inside.
The place was dimly lit, a slight breeze would mess with my hair, and I'd just stare at the "arboles" that would be lit later in the night.
I was behind those wooden structures, in the church courtyard.
My godson sat at my feet-- I was sitting on the armrest of the bench, playing with my camera.
Me: Why would I be bored?
Chick: I dunno... you're the only girl in town... you have no phone, or internet, or a car... times of the day you don't have water or light... I'd think you'd get bored, especially since you're from Vegas.
Me: Nope. This is just perfect... even better than perfect right now, since *Godson* is in town.

Not even the military presence scared me.
Back in 2010, there was this incredible hostility in the air... it was pretty debilitating... and stressful. You'd see the masked gunmen everywhere... shamelessly driving around, intimidating the townspeople.
This year, there were three forces to look out for: the greens, the blues, and the blacks.
The greens were the army dudes. I like them. They're sweet, adorable young guys who are clearly there to protect.
The blues are the marines. They're huge, scary, and rock ski masks, helmets, and dark goggles. They mean business... and stare people down. They're "good" I suppose... but intimidating as fuck. You know something's going down if they show up.
The blacks are... the "others." They are the hired hitmen of... a certain man... who now "owns" my mexican state. They're there to make sure the Zs don't come around and try to set up shop. They extortion people, find any excuse to take their shit. I don't like these guys... I was lucky each time I bumped into them, the Army was present.
Anyway, regardless of this new dynamic, I was always at ease. I chilled outside my house until one in the morning.
I had a lovely dog always keeping me company... and I'd sit on the porch, staring into the dark night, often times seeing the bright stars, and all I could think was:
Braaaain chemistry! You're goooood! Stay this way!

I am such a solitary creature... a solitary, nature-loving creature.
It makes me happy. It soothes me. It cures me.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Calmadita Venadita.

Fuck. Took me long enough to update. My bad.
I've been back since Friday morning... after a 24.5 hour-long road trip that I BARELY recovered from... though I'm still struggling with this fucked up eye-issue:
I scared a good number of people with this shit...
But at least I'm back.

I'm tan.
I'm happy.
I'm calm.
I saw stars.
I saw/smelled wildflowers.
FINALLY saw flowers this summer.
I ran through the fields á la Heidi.
I smelled rain-soaked sand.
I got soaked as I walked in the rain.
I watched lighting storms from the comfort of a porch at 1 in the morning... sitting on a rocking chair... in complete darkness... in complete silence.
I walked my beloved unpaved streets.
I find this infinitely charming.
I chilled in my comfy pink house... even if it's starting to come apart.
Yeah, the walls are coming down...
but I still prefer sitting here, listening to the television, as I doodle away.
I sketched like a madwoman.
In case you doubt my claim of ADD...
I can't focus on just one sketch, I gotta go off and doodle random shit.
I wrote like a scholar... well, like a foul-mouthed scholar...
I laughed. A lot.
I ate... A LOT.
Tacos y cheves, left and right, day and night.
Boys were my sole company.
I made peace with one of my only two female "enemies."
Each night, I was fortunate enough to play with a brindle pitbull who was inexplicably smitten with me-- the feeling was mutual.
I also played with puppies once in a while.
cute sons of bitches.
I rode a horse!
Each morning, I woke up to this beautiful sight:
El UNICO que merece mis suspiros.
Did I mention I laughed a lot and I was happy... and that I did not shed a single tear? Well, I did cry, once, but that was when my godson paid me a surprise visit. After not seeing him for two years, I found myself sobbing with joy as he hugged me. It was really weird, the second time I ever do it... but it was so sincere. I fucking love that kid.

I ADORE being Mexican.

Viva Mexico, Cabrones.