Agora vivo um sonho

Have I mentioned how much I fucking love Portuguese?

Você diz que não precisa
Viver sonhando tanto
Que vivo a fazer
Demais, por você

Diz que não precisa
A cada vez que canto
Uma canção a mais, pra você

Mas tem que ser assim
Pra ser de coração
Não diga não precisa
Ah ah ahh

Tem que ser assim
É seu meu coração
Não diga não precisa
Ah ah ahh

Eu já sonhei com a vida
Agora vivo um sonho
Mas viver ou sonhar
Com você, tanto faz

Não diga não precisa
Eu digo que é preciso
A gente se amar demais
Nada a mais

Mas tem que ser assim
Pra ser de coração
Não diga não precisa
Ah ah ahh

Tem que ser assim
É seu meu coração
Não diga não precisa
Ah ah ah

I spoke that entire song (minus the "ah ah" parts, of course) to Brazil as he tried telling us at our table about his supposed Brazilian background.
Not like I can hold a conversation in Portuguese... I'm more of a parrot who can repeat as I'm told, most of the time. I'll understand perhaps 80% of what I'm listening to... but I can't really formulate much of a coherent thought in Portuguese.
Anyway, Brazil did the blank stare thing, the smile that one makes when trying to hold back chuckles, and repeated the "Eu seu de Brazil."

It was a good, much needed laugh.

Pity I make friends who live so fucking far away (uh, yeah, LA is far).

(And after thinking about it, I made zero female friends on this Mexico trip. Only girls I hung out with were my sister and Betty. Even the CHILD buddy I made was a little dude. Someone teach me to be friendly with my fellow ladies, this can't be good... right? That probably should have been a 2014 resolution of mine)

Comforting this baby

Enough drama.
Ha. Totally expected when I notice shit is going so smoothly... but the difference now is that I don't allow myself to wallow in the self-pitying shit for too long. Don't get me wrong, I was ridiculously sensitive all of Friday... randomly having tears streak down my face... and my fucking eyelids were a pink mess... but on days like that, I stay away from society as much as possible and entertain myself with either writing or doodling/painting.

I've noticed the people most adept at noticing I've had a shitty time AND TRYING to fix that are males. Girls seem to be aloof, or just too uncomfortable acknowledging a sad girl (except for my bestie. Well, we sort of do that thing where we ignore the problem, but try and fix moods by making the other laugh at silly stuff, which I certainly appreciate, because I'm pretty shitty at speaking about my tender, often-injured feelings. Too often my fucking sobs betray me and you just get an incoherent, violently shaking AnoMALIE... all scared-Chihuahua-like, nobody likes that). Guys on the other hand, turn so... umm... warm? Soft? You know, all those words associated with gentleness. Kind of like how most dudes behave when given that school activity where they are handed an "egg baby" and have to protect said egg for a week. Guys get all gentle, yet protective-- Get away from my goddamn egg. You might break it, bitch. Are you ok, Egg? Here, you're safer here.
Girls might approach you to talk... but see your busted eyelids and think "Whoa, messed up girl... I'll give her some space, she might be contagious. I might say something to make her cry... and then we'll just end up two girls randomly crying in public."
Dudes might be standing across the room, notice your fucked up eyelids, and make their way over to you to crack a joke, then add a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder... or some other comforting touch that melts your heart at the same time that it makes your bottom lip quiver. I choose not to make much eye-contact when such a thing happens, because the tenderness in their stare usually leads to me tearing up again, and all gains are lost... because I cry once they leave my side.

This is just my personal experience.
I'm sure plenty of girls out there go straight to their ladies to feel better... and probably DO get the comfort they need.
I just get the other side of the coin-- a very peculiar side, which still achieves the point of it all: to feel better, to get better. 

Tough

When life is going beautifully for me... of course it must get fucked up by the ONE group of people who can destroy me:
Family.
Nice.

My favorite part of the downfall? That it was done publicly, on good ol' Facebook.
Perfect venue to have others LAUGH at me... and of course, add their two cents.

I love public ridicule. I love how it follows me.

It was made painfully obvious to the world that my brother knows NOTHING about me... and it was made obvious to ME that my sister does not CARE about all the bullshit I put up with in the sake of keeping her safe... keeping her from hurting anywhere near as bad as I did.
She sided with my brother, and laughed along with the rest of her friends-- nothing new there... so I don't know why I'm crying so hard... maybe I expected her to change?

It sucks to know that the one human I spent so much of my life protecting and literally holding her hand through life so she wouldn't get hurt doesn't appreciate it, much less acknowledge it in front of her friends... maybe just me... but never in public.
I would let others beat the shit out of me and humiliate me in public for years, without me saying a single word... and just going home as quietly as possible... putting on a brave face... as though life was just... normal and boring. A quiet, boring little world, the one I presented...
But the moment my sister did anything similar to a WHIMPER, I'd be up and running, looking for blood.

Why wouldn't I fight back? I don't know... maybe I didn't think I deserved to be defended? I don't know. I'd just... take a deep breath and pray for it to end swiftly... so I could run and hide to a place where I could finally cry without anyone hearing or seeing me.

But I did know no one else deserved that treatment... or even the knowledge of such feelings... so I protected.

Laugh at me because I'd get mistreated... yeah. Cool. But answer me this: how many times were YOU mistreated, or even insulted while I stood next to you? Exactly.
I WAS tough. SO tough...
Know how many times ANYONE saw me cry at school? ONCE. In third grade. Because the substitute teacher refused to give me my homework (I told that fucked up story already). NO ONE ever saw me cry BEFORE, DURING, or AFTER getting beat up or bullied or whatever fucked up bullshit others subjected me to. I took it ALL quietly... sight to the floor... breath held in. But NO tears.
And no one ever intervening to stop the abuse.
That's pretty fucking TOUGH.

She laughed when he made fun of me... and refused to acknowledge that it was thanks to me that she was never mistreated by her peers... or my grandfather.
Then again, she'd laugh when the guys would moo at me as I'd walk by the park in Mexico... and she wouldn't tell others to shut up when she'd catch them talking shit about me... she'd just shrug.
She would "adopt" other girls and call them "sisters"... girls she'd choose to hang out with, making sure to leave the house before I had any chance to tag along.
But oh shit! What's this? That catty girl tried bullying you in school? Did you remind her I'm your sister and can easily destroy her if I catch her? Sick me like a pitbull... something you've done since you were a toddler. That's all I really am-- a scary pet.

I thought with time my sister would change.
I didn't think she thought so little of my actions.

I'm fucking destroyed.

Don't apologize

I've been selfish.
I've been holding on to this feeling, and have kept it all to myself.

I am so happy.
So, so happy.

"It takes the same effort to be miserable, as it does to be happy."

I went back to basics.
I released any and all resentment. I forgave every single person on my shit-list. I may not have befriended every person on my bad list, but I did release those I find a hinderance to my happiness.
I've laughed, I've smiled... I've returned to hanging out with my best friend.
It's like ten years ago... the fun parts... the random, simple times, where just WALKING down the sidewalk at school in the cool breeze made me smile and relax.

Relaxed-- that's what I am.
I am being given this huge gift of surrounding myself with some... vibrant, happy people, and it's rubbing off on me.
I've stopped complaining-- for the most part-- and it lifts the heaviness that has been resting on my chest for so long.

I am so very happy, and I finally don't feel like I must APOLOGIZE for it.
This is so fucking awesome.

Gatsby

Elusive-- that's what he was.
The bride's brother said he had only managed to squeeze two or three words out of him the entire week, other groomsmen hadn't even heard his voice.

This elusive gentleman spent cocktail hour standing at the venue's front door, which was higher ground than the rest of the room.
He was like Mufasa on Pride Rock.
He stood on his hill, mojito in one hand, white umbrella in the other, silently scoping the scene.

The Billionaire...

It's odd to think of someone that way, I mean, I've never been in the presence of someone so... well off. His quiet behavior kept everyone at bay-- men, women, we all avoided him. Some were too intimidated (ME), others were jealous, others were not interested... and others... were too drunk to care.

The elusive gentleman was handsome, in his own way. Not particularly tall, or muscular... but his eyes immediately demanded your attention-- his intense stare.
He was very courteous, always allowing women first, offering his elbow as support. I had never seen such... manners.

After seeing our seating arrangement, Table 5, Betty, Sister, and I groaned. There were only three seats available, my partner was automatically booted from the table... the Billionaire club had bumped him.
Well, that's one way to make a negative impression, you selfish, self-important jerks...

The drinks flowed, the jokes followed, and Elusive Gentleman turned into Columbia Cute Witty Boy.
He would excuse himself from the table, but promise to return-- each and every time, looking each one of us girls in the eye, smiling.
He promised us he'd "dominate" the dance floor... and that he did.
He spoke Italian to us.
He sang Spanish to us.
He... smiled his sweet smile.
He promised to meet up with me next time he visits Vegas.

We became friends once I returned from my trip.
I saw his profile.
Today is his birthday (as is my father's).
He majored in art history as an undergrad.
His favorite book? The Great Gatsby.
His nickname? SERIOUS nickname everyone calls him? "The Gatsby."

Seems the Universe is hellbent on keeping memorable literary characters in my life.
I'm cool with that.

Oh my Lebanon!

That right there is my birdcage veil.
I had never heard of such a thing.
It WAS restricting like a fucking cage.

"So what do you think I am?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, side smirk adorning (yes, fucking ADORNING) his face.

Sister accidentally captured mini-Richard Gere while snapping a shot of our table setting.

The question came from the guy sitting left kitty-corner from me at the 12-seater dinner table.
My sister, Betty, and I had been taking guesses at the ethnicities of the two boys sitting directly in front of us-- the so-called "billionaires."
After perhaps five minutes of guessing, I had been the only one to correctly guess one ethnicity-- the one of the guy who wasn't even sitting with us, the stink-face uptight dude. I correctly guessed Russian for him... imagine that!
We girls had been too enthralled by the boy claiming Brazil and the big eyed pretty gentleman who claimed being "normal" to notice the one sitting furthest away from the dudes-- Richard Gere... Richard Gere's offspring. He was leaning back, looking at us all play our idiotic game, like a bunch of kittens running after the red dot of a laser on the ground. When he spoke up, we were downright startled... quickly feeling embarrassed about our rudeness to the sweet guy.

Richard Gere was looking right at me, with the sexy smirk... grin... smile? I don't know what to call it, it was just a slap to the face... a nice one.
"Japanese?" asked Betty.
"Nope." His smirk turned into a wider smile.
Yeah... I can see where she guessed that, he did have almond-shaped eyes... but his eyebrows were too thick.
"Ummm... you are...." began my sister.
"Lebanese?" I guessed. Lebanese is always my go-to answer.
The eyes on all the dudes at the table grew wide. They all seemed to choke on their spit... except for Richard Gere, his eyes seemed to glint, and he nodded.
"Yes. Yes I am." said Richard Gere, raising his glass of champagne and toasting at me.
Are you kidding me? That is CLASSY AS FUUUCK! ...I think I'm sweating in this 60 degree weather...
My jaw dropped and my eyebrows raised in surprise.
The dudes started to laugh.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked. "He's not really Lebanese, is he?" I asked Brazil and Gentleman.
"No, he is. He really is. You go it right," said Gentleman. Brazil nodded.
I looked over at Richard Gere and gave him MY side smirk (toothier than his... because I have a giant mouth), raised my left eyebrow, and cocked my head to the right.
"That's cool," I said, my smirk turning into a smile.

I was trying to showcase my drinks for the night:
unlimited champagne, red wine, water, and Patron.
The hilarious Brazil was caught in the middle.

I raised my glass of champagne and looked only at his eyes.

SEXIEST motherfucker in the room... that Richard Gere.


Best. Wedding. Ever.

The way he looked at his bride made my heart melt.
Those cobblestone streets made my feet bleed.
That trip made my soul HEAL.

Poached

Ever watched footage of an elephant getting poached?
That's how I went down last night.
I woke up tired as fuck, sick as shit, and counting down the hours until I could go back to bed.

I can't breathe... eating is a chore... my limbs feel excessively heavy.

I was sick the entire time I was in San Miguel, came home, and was sick for a couple of days after that. Then I was perfectly fine...
And now this.

How frustrating.

Book covers

It's not surprising that I'd have difficulty fitting in.
Well, actually, that wasn't the case at this wedding.
The groom's family was very welcoming and kind... just a little snooty.
While the family was doing their best to make my sister and me feel included and comfortable, I can't describe the sense of relief that overcame me once family members of the bride's began to notice us, and embrace us.
HUGE sigh of relief.

The most... comfortable people to hang out with were this funky family of five. The mom is my mom's second cousin, and apparently she really likes my mom, so she came at us like a mother hen. That was nice.
The dad was a complete silver fox.
They had three kids: two teenaged daughters and an older son.
The mom and the three kids were extremely thin... frail-looking. The dad was bulky.
Of course, these were first impressions, made on Christmas eve... a frigid... tiresome Christmas eve. Everyone was in hoodies, jackets, scarves... there were a few pairs of gloves out there... so, absolutely correct assessments could not be made.

Then came Christmas, the day of the Mayan Baths... the day when we all bared skin and swam around.
Surprises rocked the day.
There was the Young'un... whom I finally took notice of (the prior night he had been following me around... always on the lookout for anything I might have needed-- giving me three empanadas when he was told not to give me any because I didn't sing for the posadas. I remember wondering why in the world that cat in the smooth tench-coat kept appearing everywhere I walked in that hacienda) after he stood under the waterfall... that's an image I'll whip out on depressed days, 'cause that shit was GLORIOUS.
Then there was the funky family.
We were all changing in the designated co-ed dressing room.
First were the daughters and their mom-- totally skinny, as predicted. Since we were closer to them than anyone else, we decided to enter the baths with them.
As we waded in the cave, I noticed a ridiculously muscular man in the pool with us... completely tatted up.
The man? The dad! He had the best body of ANYONE present, young and old. It had all of us, guys and girls, in awe.
A little later, I saw the son emerge from the water-- BANGING body. Very thin, very, very thin... but all muscle-- that too was pretty ridiculous.

So, I'm pretty good at people-watching, right? I did that for god knows how many hours, as I sat in the very comfortable cave, straight chillin'.
What I caught most were the astonished glances the women would give each other when they're see the mom and dad of the funky family.
He was very attentive of his wife, and never swam anywhere away from her. The dude held her hand whenever they'd leave one of the pools.
Women were GAWKING... and I'm sure they were all thinking the same thing: how the fuck did Olive Oyl over here land such a beefcake?! And why the fuck is MY dude such a douche bag?
But I mean, HELLO! Popeye is bananas about Olive Oyl.

I was loving all of it. I was loving the husband envy, I was loving the tenderness of Burly Man for his sweet frail wife, I was loving the muscle envy from the dudes-- young and old, and I was loving the fucking surprise it was to see what lies beneath all those layers of clothing.

Books and their covers-- yeah, don't fall for that shit.

Open sesame

I'm a pussy when it comes to severe injuries... severe, bloody injuries.
I will cry and holler... and look away... but not allow anyone near the fucked up area.

I guess you can say I'm a little scandalous... dramatic, I prefer "dramatic."

When it comes to heartbreak, I'm pretty much the same.
I bleed like a motherfucker, refuse ANYONE'S assistance, cower, and hope to die a quick death.

I was in a horrible place around... ummm... the ends of July. August was a fucking disaster. It went on like this up until... the moment I stepped foot in Mexico City in December.
I'm speaking romance-department.

In July, my brain finally made that connection... that... click... where it told my heart "Yo, nine years was enough... it's not going to happen... Darcy's dead... Darcy never existed. Please, please just move on! Let him live his life, you finally live YOURS," and my heart actually listened.
Of course, being the drama queen I am, my heart couldn't accept this news without fully imploding itself. A bloody fucking mess. I mean... fuck, did you see my updates for the month of October and beginning of November? I was dying.
But I had to let go of that... hope. Of that feeling... of that very pretty feeling. It was only hurting me, and well, I'm sure my behavior was only annoying him.

I've been told far too many times to "open" myself up. I always scoffed... I still scoff just writing it.
I went to this wedding with a clear mind. I wasn't looking for anything... I had ZERO expectation to even flirt with any guys... I purposely tried to keep to myself. After realizing what a weirdo I must have appeared to the others-- that tall, dark girl who refuses to converse with anyone, yeah, not scary at all-- I decided to be FRIENDLY.
And by golly! Did things change!
I was gross as hell, since I was hit by the flu bug pretty hard... coughing up a lung, runny nose, watery eyes, and that very seductive tranny voice I acquire when sick.
But STILL, dudes thought I was cool.

I made the strongest link with the barely-legal dude... which... god... I feel so embarrassed about. I'm such a DUDE! Scoping out fresh meat like that... so gross.
Anyway, while my link with the young one was strong, I also connected with two of the frat bros. One in particular makes me smile because he reminds me of a young Richard Gere. Young Richard Gere flirted with me all night the night of the wedding... him and his sexy smile and pretty eyes... ufff!
There I was, gross as gross can be, yet dudes weren't running from me-- quite the contrary, they were plucking me out of my seat to take me out to dance.

So, lesson learned: open you heart. It's not that I was LOOKING for anything, but I made the conscious effort to quit acting like an army widow... constantly yearning for her dead husband... perpetually mourning his loss.
I smiled at boys, I responded to their questions with a smile... and I answered honestly... and I was kind. I was me (true to form, I crossed a line a little with my sarcasm... but that only happened once, and I cut that shit out immediately after).

Open your heart, and you might just find yourself a young'un who finds you to be... pretty cool.
Young one that makes you forget how fucking uptight you are about the English language...

Your? I let that slip...
WHO am I?!
The grammar doesn't get better, either.
Cute petnames, right? So dreamy to call one another such classy names.

And then I get all giddy about it to Pacemaker... and proceed to laugh hysterically.

Oh, how she knows me.

But... can you blame me? Just look at him! THAT BACK! Good lord!

Literally riding a white horse...
Seriously Universe? I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't too busy smiling like a dumbass, cheeks forcing my eyes shut.

I'm hopeless.

denomiations

Let me jump off the bliss train real quick and discuss a slightly less... uh... dreamy part of my trip.

Mexico City was NOT terrible. It was fucking amazing and exceeded my expectations exponentially (my bad for that alliteration, my brain just does that shit sometimes).
The... sad portion of it, I guess I could sort of call it that, was the living quarters I was in.

This is as good a time as any to discuss my Mexico City friend and how our friendship came to be.
Back in '02, when I started blogging, I was sort of popular. I was the youngest of the circle... most people in the group were in their early to mid-twenties... and they all thought I was a hilarious kid.
One of my followers, who was probably my most vocal reader, was the best friend of another blogger I friended immediately because I found her to be... the Mexican City-girl version of me.
This reader sort of scared me, initially, because she was WAY too dark for me. I sort of held off on adding her.
However, months passed... weird/sad/terrible/hilarious life events occurred, and there she was, this "dark" girl giving me some of the best moral support I could have ever asked for. "Dark" girl with the real last name of "Rosas"... aka "Roses" which sort of clashed with the on-line image she presented.
Rosas had this cool cat, Luna, which she wrote about often. Luna was lost and found maybe five times in the span of three years... that cat was a fucking trip. However, I'd try and give Rosas as much support as possible... you know, all the way from Vegas.
Bad shit started happening to Rosas, really bad shit. First her Mom suddenly passed... and I remember sitting there and bawling. Her entries were... so hard to read through.
Shortly after, she fell in love, fell off the face of the universe... then reappeared a few months later, married.
She wrote scarcely... didn't read me much... thought she did send occasional e-mails letting some of us know what she was doing. She also proceeded to add me on Myspace, then the same with Facebook... that felt sort of personal.

About two years passed, and I saw an invite to her baby's christening.
WAIT! YOU HAVE A BABY NOW?!
I was still in college, so I couldn't just take off... I remember it was in the month of February.
A few years passed again... the typical small talk and all that shit people do on social networks.
Then her dad died. She watched him fade away from liver failure. My heart would break each time she'd post a photo of her pops fighting the battle... then suddenly the post of him passing on.
Maybe three months passed, and she was suddenly divorced.

Once Rosas divorced, we seemed to be closer than ever... our bitterness made us bond.
Over the course of our 11-year friendship, we always joked about one day meeting in person. I would tell her I had to meet this freakishly awesome Luna of hers... as well as her baby, of course.

Then July happened. July 17th, Luna died.
I cried.
That was Rosas' ride-or-die. Luna had been the one thread that helped her keep it together when she saw her parents die... saw her through her bitter divorce... took care of her baby in the way only cats know how (those creeps).

That's when I knew we had to meet in person.
And so, after asking her if it wasn't too creepy, she very excitedly agreed.

I asked Rosas for her daughter's favorite toys, and went crazy at Toys R Us.
Once at Customs at the Mexico City airport, I felt my nerves getting the best of me.
How is she going to know me?
Well, as I was busy trying to figure out how I'd find my friend, I looked up above the crowd and saw my nickname on a bright pink piece of cardboard paper.
I hugged Rosas as if I'd known her my entire life.
I waved at her six year old... because I'm awkward.

I fully realized how awkward the entire situation was once we were in our taxi, on our way to Rosas' home.
Cabbie: So... first time in the city?
Rosas: Well, hers, yes, I live here.
Me: Yeah. I've only flown through here a few times, but never visited the city.
Cabbie: Oh! So... you two are...
Me: Life-long friends... almost sisters.
6YearOld: Yeah, but can you believe this is THE FIRST TIME they see each other in person?!

Ahhhh, kids.

After sitting through a Mexican history and government lesson, we made it to Rosas' hood... and were dropped off at her apartment.
I found it charming... because I've seen these buildings in Mexican novelas... hood buildings full of colorful characters.
The inside was equally charming... you know... rooms with no doors... gas-station-style restroom...
I stayed in the little girl's room, scared shitless that I'd break her baby bed... so I slept like a fucking corpse each night.
They also had two kittens... playful kittens... who'd pounce on me at night, lick my face, and meow into my face for god knows how long.
BUT THIS WAS ALL CHARMING!

Then came feeding time... and that's when my heart broke HARD.
Just... the scarcity... the rationing... even the utensils.
One morning, we shared ONE tamal (singular form of "tamales" is TAMAL. "Tamales" is plural. Ok, end rant... that "tamale" shit just fucking kills me) amongst the three of us... and drank hot water.
I wanted to cry... because my friend and her kid deserve so much more.

What killed me most was that Rosas wasn't allowing me to pay for anything.
I'm pretty sure I talked about our activities... I mean, they were fucking amazing adventures.
Each adventure, my buddy would buy me something, a tiny, handmade memento, but still, so very heartfelt.

And this is what exemplifies what I mean when I say I adore Mexicans and their spirit. They can be living in the most abject poverty imaginable... but they will do everything in their power to show YOU they care for you... to help you feel... loved.
It's insane, how warm my people are... and it makes me feel like such a piece of shit when I stop and think about what an asshole I am to everyone around me. I don't live up to the hospitable/kind characteristic of my people... I'm a whiny, mean cunt.

Here, this single mom, my friend... a girl who is pretty much alone in the world except for her six-year-old daughter... was giving me gifts... sharing her ONE tamal... and just... showing me how amazing life can be as long as you're smiling... and I'm over here driving cars that cost more than her apartment building, yet still finding a reason to be suicidal. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!

I gave her the toys I had purchased for her daughter and told her to make the kid think it was all Santa. Never mind me... let the baby think I was a dick who didn't give them shit.
I did give Rosas a Christmas gift. I gave her something she had always wanted: expensive make-up... and my favorite pearl bracelet with a camera charm.
She was speechless... but with a smile she refuses to ever photograph/post on Facebook... because it's so wide and "dorky"... but REAL. Smiles like that are priceless.

Before leaving on our taxi cab ride back to the airport, I took out my stash of American cash.
I left five coin of each denomination on the six-year-old's bed. I labeled the coins with their name and worth.
I then wrote another note: These are the bills of the US currency. These are your mom's.

I left bills of each denomination, neatly stacked.

My only wish is that I would have been carrying more hundreds...
And still, they wouldn't cover the worth of this girl, my friend.

Just so happy

During this vacation, we had a very limited number of hours to spend as a complete family.
My parents showed up Friday morning, the wedding took place all of Saturday, and Sunday we had to drive D to the airport at 10 in the morning.

Friday the 27th was the best day we've had in a very long time.
We spent a good five hours in the car (total), and for the first time--possibly EVER-- we did not fight. We laughed... and laughed... and cried.
We reminisced about our toddler days... we talked about the future... and then, finally, once Mom was too overcome with a weird combination of joy and sorrow, she started to cry. Rafa was driving, Dad was co-pilot, and Mom was sitting between D and I in the back of the MitsubishiWhatever that my folks rented.
"You're crying?" Rafa asked, mimicking a toddler's voice.
"Yes..." Mom said.
"Aww... don't cry... this is a great moment... we're all together having a laugh... in Mexico!" I said.
"I'm just... so happy," said Mom.
And so, there we were, driving down a quiet Mexican road... all five of us shedding some tears.

I don't know if this is normal... I don't know if every family is this... close... but mine is.
We have INTENSE fights... we're always screaming... we're always threatening one another... and did I mention we're ALWAYS screaming?
But good God, separate us, and we turn into sad motherfuckers. What's worse is that we don't notice just how SAD we are until we are once again reunited.
"Savor the moment. Savor THIS moment!" was all I could think, it was all that was in my mind.

I'll always have that car ride burned in my memory... it has become one of my favorites.

A Danny

This wedding was full of beautiful surprises.

The groom prepared everything... to the exact minute. The only thing the bride had to do was show up to the events.

I watched Danny (the groom) as his bride walked down the aisle, up to him. He cried the whole time.

He cried so much, I eventually shed a few tears.

At the reception, after their siblings and his parents took turns at saying a few words, he walked over to the mic and presented his bride with a new surprise.

He told us how his bride loves music, and so, he grabbed a guitar and pulled a stool behind him to take a seat.

Danny: I have never played the guitar... I haven't even TOUCHED one until right now. But... *bride* loves music, and I love her, and I would do anything for her. She is my everything. I am yours, *bride*, mind, body, soul... I am yours and only yours in all sense of the word. So, without further ado, here's this song I wrote for you.

Danny's Friends: Have you ever heard him sing? He doesn't sing... silence! We need to hear this!

Danny "sang" his song as he strummed basic chords on the guitar.

His bride cried the entire time.

I cried.

My entire table cried... even the guys.

The entire night was loaded with these sort of... heartfelt, heart-warming surprises... at the top of the hour, every hour.

I had never experienced anything like it.

Firework display at one hour, dancers in stilts at another... mariachi band a different hour... mini cakes at another... bottles of Patron and Grey Goose slightly after.

Ignore the fact that all this must have been expensive as shit... but just think about the SENTIMENT.

THAT is what had me crying.

I say, I genuinely feel... I have convinced myself, that men like Danny do not exist... that love like Danny's and my friend's is non-existant... a fucking fairy tale that we've all been brainwashed into believing is out there for each of us.

To come face-to-face with a love like theirs, it made me... it left me... vulnerable.

It exists. It's possible. It happens. It's beautiful.

My right eye-- that's the eye that had a constant stream of tears running.

I smiled the entire time.

I say I don't, but I sincerely want a love like that.

I want to believe that somewhere out there, there is a guy who feels that strongly for me, feels I'm worthy of such treatment... and proceeds to do his best to provide it for me.

I want a guy whose beautiful, sweet, thoughtful surprises will keep me crying with delight.

I hate admitting that, it does nothing for my attempts at self-preservation.

As long as I can come back

For a few months, I looked into moving out to San Miguel. It wasn't my original idea, the idea sprung from my "mentor" (that's what I'll call him now, since he knows his shit and he really is doing his best to help me out). From what I had read, it seemed like it was going to be an incredible place to relocate. Apparently, the place is pretty much run by American expats.
While I DID find the place charming... it didn't make my heart bounce. It didn't inspire the same excitement a place like... say, Barcelona, manages to build. I was disappointed by my inability to feel excited for San Miguel.
I made up my mind that while I was appreciative of my mentor's intent, I would have to turn down relocating to San Miguel.

Then I visited Guanajuato.
That. Place. Is. STUNNING.
I've heard of the place in songs and seen some Mexican novelas take place in this city... but dear god, I was not prepared for what I saw.
They have mummies, enormous buildings, historical sites that give me goosebumps, beautiful culture... art... the colors... the flora... UNDERGROUND ROADS!
The place is the fucking shit.

I hated the thought of moving out to San Miguel, but I compromised to move to Guanajuato for a couple of months... three months tops. When? I'm not sure... but I'm positive I'll give the place a shot for a few weeks... to at least LEARN something, ANYTHING, about art... ANY art... even if it's fucking welding!

Did I feel like my "soul belongs here"? No. Not at all. What I did feel was like my soul... thought it was cool... like I can learn a thing or two... as long as I'm promised a way out of it once I start yearning for my hometown too hard.

Hmmm... I guess it was a slight disappointment.

Watching out

I intended to write last night, but I was falling asleep by 10PM... so that didn't happen.

ANYWAY.
My week in Mexico (well, week in San Miguel. I'm not counting my days in Mexico City for now) was fun.
I know I actually killed it by complaining that one day... but that was posted under severe stress... that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Anyway, the day of the wedding was incredible.
The wedding itself was amazing... something I had never seen, much less experienced.
I had been upset BEFORE heading out to Mexico, under the impression that I was going to be paired off with that impossibly gorgeous/intelligent/successful guy... who attended my dream school. This stressed me out because... well, I have difficulty speaking to "normal" people, you know, people like me... so the idea of speaking to anyone who is wildly successful makes me panic.
My biggest fear was that this guy was going to WANT to get to know me... ask ME questions. The thought was gag-inducing.

Originally, the week in San Miguel was going to be spent doing "team building" activities... to get to know each other and bond and whatnot. There were seventeen couples in the wedding, we sure as fuck had to try to get to know each other.
For the most part, we all bonded... all but the elusive group of five frat brothers of the groom. These frat brothers happened to include the Columbia boy.
Most activities were Christmas related, initially... because it just so happened to be CHRISTMAS TIME. The reason the frat bros weren't joining was because three are Jewish, one Muslim, the other Buddhist. Of course, we didn't know that... all we were told was "They're billionaires. So-and-so owns this and that. This other guy owns this..." so we all just assumed they were snooty and didn't like rubbing elbows with poor people.

For the week, we would sometimes bump into the boys... but since we never crossed a word, we'd just keep walking away... like a bunch of uncivilized... savages.

The day when we were supposed to REALLY bond, D and I spent the entire day out of town, since the rest of our family flew into Mexico. D and I were the only people missing form the group.

Fast forward to the wedding day, and the moment when we are coupled.
I finally met Columbia boy, and learned we had been switched out... because in my heels, he was down to my shoulder.
I was moved to the guy in front of him, an older gentleman, who was as tall as me. I had no objection, because the guy turned out to be very understanding and cool.
Fast forward to the reception.
No one was paying attention to the frat bros, so the poor guys had to entertain themselves. That was during the eternal cocktail hourS.
At the banquet hall, D, Betty (girl I had sworn I'd never forgive), and I sat with all the frat bros.
Well... guess we're gonna have to talk to them now...
That seemed to be the sentiment in at the table... the mutual sentiment.

These boys were FUN.
So fun.
Well, one, the older one, was a dick. We'd smile at him when we'd make eye contact, but he'd straight SCOWL at any one who'd do it.
Well fuck you too, bitter bitch!
But the other guys were a riot.
A good hour was spent playing the guessing game, where the guys had us guessing their ethnicity.
Another hour was spent talking about life in Las Vegas.
The entire night was spent trying to ignore the fact that they have more money than they will ever be able to spend...
It was terrifying, intimidating, exhilarating, hilarious, and fun.
The best thing was that we had no internet connection... so we were unable to google them and see HOW MUCH they actually own.

I came home and googled them.
I proceeded to hold in my gagging.
They. Are. RIDICULOUSLY rich.
Yet so normal.

It must suck to have to hear that all the time.
I'm NOWHERE near as rich as they are, yet I often have to deal with guys referring to me as being "loaded" and only approaching me in hopes of somehow scraping some money off me.
I can't even being to imagine what life must be like for these boys.
I'm sure it was a relief to go somewhere, and sit with a couple of girls whose main concern was figuring out which one of them was Russian, which one was Lebanese, and which one was "normal" (that's what he claimed). We treated them like we would any other cool dude... and I hope they appreciated it... which it seemed as though they did... since SOMEONE was finally speaking to them.
This was such a bizarre event... a bizarre dream sequence. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
I'm glad I lived it.
***

While waiting for the dollar dance to begin, Columbia boy started a conversation with me about what I did for a living. I told him about my Bio degree. He was all about the Rebels... which took me for a loop. I never would have imagined him even knowing about the Rebels.
I told him where I lived-- streets-- and he knew exactly what I was talking about, since apparently he visits the city once a month for work. He asked me if I was a teacher. I told him no, that I was looking into schools for writing.
Him: You write?
His eyes got huge (bigger than they normally are-- which are pretty big. His eyes were OH so pretty... huge brown eyes one could stare at for hours), a large grin crossed his face.
Me: Yep. I sure do.
Him: What do you write?
Me: Fiction. Short stories.
Him: Of what?
Me: Umm... I guess they tend to be... dark comedies.
He was smiling... this pretty smile... of like... it's that look of intrigue dudes tend to give me when they think I do some cool, unexpected shit. I don't know how to explain it beyond that. It's a look of entertainment-- like telling someone you wrangle Komodo dragons for a living or some shit.
Him: Dark comedies? ::sweet smile:: I'm definitely going to look out for you then ::holds eye contact as I smile from ear to ear::
Me: Ha... are you?
Him: No, really, I am. Watch. ::smile::

Guys, I swear my knees got weak, and had I not been about to enter the ballroom for the dollar dance, I would have excused myself to the bathroom and fist pumped the fucking air the moment I entered the privacy of a stall... jumping as high as possible in my three inch heels.

He made my fucking life with that three minute exchange.
Sweet, sweet guy.

res '14

The mandatory resolutions update.
I love going back and checking how well I progressed with my resolution of the year that closed.
I went easy on myself for 2013, only making a list of four resolutions.
The resolutions were, and I quote:

1. To be nicer, more forgiving. 
2. No "love" or any of that dreamy bullshit. 
3. Action! Drawing, writing, the whole bohemian shebang! and of course... 
4. Travel like a motherfucker!

The verdict?
1. I was somewhat nicer... thought 2013 was also the year where I actually physically injured a bitch at the gym. HOWEVER, as far as being forgiving: I WAS! ABSOLUTELY... without a fucking shadow of a doubt. You have no clue how proud this makes me.
I was offended numerous times, and that shit hurt, some more than others, but clearly I had shitty days where I cried my eyes out... however, I "manned" up and forgave... I MOVED ON.
In Mexico this week, for the wedding, I was placed with the ONE girl I swore I'd never forgive after that ugly falling-out at my sister's 21st birthday-- that very well documented incident. Anyway, I was a fucking adult and fully accepted her. I laughed with her. I hung out with her.
And so... I am a better person, for growing the fuck up and cutting out the resentment shit that helped NO ONE.
This is cool. I'm so happy I followed through... and I didn't even remember it had been a resolution of mine to be more forgiving. What a way for the Universe to test me. Ha.

2. No "love"... or any of that dreamy bullshit. ? Hahahahaha. Ummm... I guess sorta? I'm convinced there's no way I can live life without harboring some sort of crush on a guy... it's just something I've done since toddlerhood. I didn't enter a relationship, so I think I can say I didn't have love. I wouldn't have messed with the dreamy bullshit, either, had it not been for the past week... with this whole shit with the eighteen year old guy... and really, can you blame me? He has a HOTASS body... and he thought I was the bees knees... I HAD to get all dreamy-crushy. HAD TO. It was my fucking duty.

3. Action? Yes, very much so. I drew/painted more than any other year. I really was bohemian, even participating in a stereotypical conversation over wine with fellow artists about "adventures" in their world. It was very Diego Rivera-ish. I also wrote, however, considering I lost it ALL after my computer mishap, I can't consider it a success.

4. Travel like a moterfucker? This will be the spot I also tie in another entry where I mentioned my 13 destinations I wanted to explore in 2013. My list was:
1. San Francisco
2. Los Angeles
3. Boston
4. Chicago
5. Jurez, CH, MX
6. Washington D.C.
7. San Jose, CR
8. Cancun, MX
9. Hometown, MX
10. Mexico City
11. Barcelona, Spain
12. Paris, France
13. Berlin, Germany
Now, I didn't follow through in the sense that I visited those exact cities. I didn't step foot in LA, Boston, Chicago, DC, Juarez, or Hometown... almost half of the list... however, I DID travel a lot.
First, I traveled to San Francisco twice this year. I also visited San Jose. I'm counting it. My list looks sort of like this:
1. San Francisco
2. San Jose, CA
3. San Jose, CR... and this must have a minimum of five cities, since I went to every freakin' state BUT one.
4. Philadelphia... sure, it was the airport, but I visited that airport twice... and I also visited Atlanta, and Miami. So BOOM!
5. Berlin!
6. Paris!
7. Torremolinos, Spain! This is my new "Happy Place" whenever I get depressed and need to envision a pretty place in my mine. I don't know why... but it captivated me.
8. Malaga, Spain
9. Barcelona!! I will always love this place!
10. Cancun! So relaxing!
11. San Miguel de Allende! GOD! Best time of my life!
12. Dolores, Hidalgo! The cradle of the Mexican revolution. Stunning.
13. Guanajuato, Guanajuato! My new favorite city... so fucking gorgeous!
14. Mexico City! I loved it... LOVED it!

I had the opportunity to see other cities, but I was too exhausted or scared to visit. Some of those destinations came as a complete surprise to me-- I would never have looked into them on my own.
Crazy to see how my wish for travel came true.

This time around, I'm going to take it easy and keep my resolution at this:
1. Smile more often. I look like a homicidal psychopath when I'm not smiling.
2. Good vibes. Avoid negativity... especially when I am the one emitting that shit. It's not cool.
3. Muscle. I will build some nice muscle and quit being so lax on the diet. I'm old, I need to watch myself.
4. Learn to take a compliment... and more importantly, believe it when someone compliments me.
5. Make an effort to take care of my physical appearance.... there's nothing wrong with being a girly-girl. It's about time I gave a shit about facials and all that shit.

2014, be good to me... 2013 was beautiful to me, please try follow its example.