everytime he comes around...

Yes, passengers aboard flight 070109, this is your should be in bed captain speaking, or at least just getting up following ocho or so hours of sleep, but no, I haven't been asleep at all. This is my fault, for never keeping regular hours, & oh, perhaps the fact that I slept in intermittently until literally 6 P.M. today didn't ayudame in any way, shape, or form. I am blogging at all right now, because of a mixture of the fact that I feel like I've chugged a case of RedBull, & also because tonite kinda threw me for a loop, albeit a good one, sorta, and need to unwrap my brain a bit. I spent time with the Hooper, from about 10:30-11PMish to 2 A.M., and we although we've texted and talked on the phone since our little "misunderstanding" near the second weekend in June, we haven't actually hung out since before tonite. I'm pretty sure in an earlier blog this week I said I was over the idea of he and I actually ever developing into anything beyond friends, but lo, and behold, always a different story when somebody is out of sight, out of mind, and then in your bedroom, head in your lap, telling you he's missed you, clowning around, sneaking in a hug and kiss here and there. Having felt like I've been on a spin cycle with him since we met early Mayo, tumbling in the wash with additives of "friends" & "more than friends" & "nope, just friends" I've been unsure of it all, and only certain that I needed to distance myself from the conflicting signs & just be on the amigos side of things for my sanity's sake. However, if we continue to string more evenings together like this one, I'm only ever convinced of one thing, I will fall into this, and most likely, nothing's going to break it until I hit the ground. But with that said, so be it, I've never been one to shy away from anything, even if lessons are to be learned and some price to be paid, and this will continue to be no exception. I am, however, going to keep up my 24 dates that I've left to accrue. Oh, hoop dreams.

25 in 25, Date Numero Uno.

Passengers aboard flight 063009, this is your captain speaking. I have had the laziest day imaginable and am going to be unable to sleep at a decent hour because of just how dormir'ing I did, but I don't really feel bad about any of this day. With that said, it is finally tiempo to re-hash the first date of my twentyfive first dates, which took place last nite with "Jerry Maguire," the mid-30's sports agent from Indy. He met me at a local steakhouse in town (yes, he made the drive here), and on first impressions, he was cute, but only a couple inches taller than me (and I was rocking 4 inchers, of course), and had this one slightly darkened tooth that I could never quite get over, even two hours into dinner. Conversation was easy the entire time, and as I hadn't eaten the whole day previous, I devoured crab cakes, bread, my filet, and some asparagus while I also talked and talked and talked, multi-tasking at its finest. He ate half his entree, and took the rest home, and after leaving the drink ordering up to me, I chose a glass of cab for both of us as he was a self-admitted "non-connoisseur," I ended up eventually drinking 1/2 of his glass as well as he couldn't get through it. Sigh. It was such a lovely cab though.

We talked about everything from past relationships-- my divorce, and his 3 yr engagement to someone 10 years his junior (I'm 9 anos younger than him), our love for family (especially our siblings), sports, hobbies, the details and ins and outs of his job as an NFL player representative. He tried to impress me, I think, by the fact that he has Peyton Manning's cell phone number, which he calls only as an occasional drunk dial with his friends, but failed to do so. I really think when he showed it to me on his phone he expected me to program it into my own, but as he found out, I really am not a jersey chaser, nor do I get excited about too much celebrity shit, so I opted to simply acknowledge it and move on. I've had my drunken moment with Peyton at the bars a few years ago when he embraced me after I told him I'd still think he was the greatest qb to ever live even if he never won a superbowl and that he didn't have to worry about me b/c I didn't want to sleep with him, and that is def. going to suffice for me. "Jerry" found himself sort of enamored with my sports knowingness (yes, I made that palabra up, deal with it), and even commented after listening to me ramble on about something deportes related, "Wow, I really thought your match profile was kinda like a real life "There's something about Mary" but you actually know you're shit."

All in all, I found him to be good company, appreciated him picking up a pretty decent dinner check, with easy conversation and numerous elements between us in common, and he did mention wanting me to trek over to Indy sometime soon and swim with him and then go watch some live music later on in the evening. I could see myself potentially friending him, as he was a nice guy, but there failed to exist any sparks between us, at least on my end.

And then there were 24.

And now, for the sesenta-cuarenta. That's kind of fun to say.

1. Good- I have officially re-entered the dating world and I am currently texting/e-mailing/talking to approx. six to eight other potential matches at the moment, including a dental school student today, as well as a professional soccer player in Chicago. Haha.
2. Good- I am finally scheduled to work tomorrow after having four days off. Yes, I actually like my job and I need to start cranking out some productive days.
3. Bad- I could have had date 2 today at lunch with MD to Be but will now have to make the trip to Indy to see him as I rescheduled with him because I was so damn tired today following nite before ending up a little loco.
4. Good- This crazy little flurried end to my noche was brought on by the wine at dinner, some Asahi's with my boss at work while I watched him work on our basement expansion, and then meeting up with and having yet another two steps forward, three steps back conversation with the Jugador at Applebees. I felt like he and I actually sort of got somewhere last nite, after arguing like is standard for us, and him ending our conversation with, "You don't know how I feel, so don't say I don't care. I'm at home all the time, you know you can stop by whenever, and when you call from now on, I'll actually answer my phone." (Sidenote: Not holding my breath here.)
5. Bad- As I left 'Bees and this convo with the Jugador, he told me if I really cared about him then I would just chill out for the nite and go home. I didn't. And ended up tomando'ing with his hermano and otro friends of his that I'm certain told him all about it today. Thus is life.
6. Good- I think the Hooper is about to come over and kick it. I haven't actually hung out with him for over two weeks, even though I talk to him nearly every day.
7. Bad- For once, I was really kinda purging him from my system, understanding that it is best for us to only ever be friends, and was fine with this idea, great actually, and the past few days that I have been feeling this way, he has blown up my cell with calls and texts wanting to spend time with me. It's the unwritten but understood phenomenon in liking someone, that when you are finally over it, whatever "it" is, and going your own way, he/she will somehow come breezing back into the picture.
8. Good- I'm so excited about my 24 other dates and everything else that I have on deck I am actually not bothered by this re-emergence of his attention at all. If I can chill with him, cool, if not, cool. Elongated sigh of relief.
9. Bad- Me duele mi estomago.
10. Good- My heart is open, my head is clear, and my spirit is light. Es una vida hermosa ahorita.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good night.

From ear to ear...

Passengers aboard flight 062809, this is your captain speaking. Today, although nothing extraordinary went down, a transformation of sorts definitely took place, making today leaps and bounds above any that have taken place this verano. The change, to any spectators, wouldn't even register as such, but to me, it was if the stress and disappointments, tears, mistakes, fears, and uncertainties of my past twenty five years were reduced to nada, as if, in one single moment, I was finally a blank slate, free of the weight of of the collective basura that I have accumulated in my long, and somewhat arduous past. And the beautiful, almost supernatural part of it all, was the moment in which I fell under the spell of this feeling, this cleanse, I was simply driving back into town in my car, singing no particular song along with my radio, and things just turned. I suddenly felt more hope and absolute ease than I'd felt the first tiempo I drove to Bloomington when I was a bright-eyed eighteen year old heading to IU to double major in PoliSci and Philosophy, Pre-Med emphasis, when I had not yet had my corazon broken by any, when I did not yet have a sliver of ability to comprehend what kind of decisions that I was capable of making, how low I could allow myself to sink. And as I sang, increasing with each swell of my voz, I started to shed my skin. Line by line, I became almost a giddy, stupid amount of happy, cruising down the calle nearly unaware of anything going on around me, completely in the zone of recovering me. I'm not under the jaded impression that I am going to be skating along the rink of life from this point on with a shit-eating grin on my face, but I am aware of una cosa, I am fine, I am healing. And that, passengers, is everything.

Otherwise, I am officially kicking off 25 in 25 tomorrow, as I have scheduled a 6 pm date with Jerry Maguire, the sports agent from Indy, who is pretty straight forward from what I can tell as his date text was basically along the lines of "i'll be in the 'haute at 6 on Monday, you pick the place." So I've chosen a local steakhouse, and I'll definitely have my feedback up on our time together as soon as I can get a laptop around me. I've lined up a lunch date for Tuesday as well with the MDtoBe, also here in town. I don't yet have any details on this meet and greet yet, will have to work on that today.

But I'm cutting into time with one of mis amigos, so I'm going to 60-40 this for the noche.

1. Good- The Yanks beat the Mets tonite. Always a positive note. Congrats on your 500th career save Mar, I will cry when you finally retire.
2. Good- I watched the game at my manager from work's house that he and his wife and adorable daughter share, the first time I've really hung out with them outside of our workplace, and had a really terrific time.
3. Bad- I hit the botella pretty hard ayer and wasted a great deal of my dia by sleeping in until 3 or so this afternoon.
4. Good- Mi amigo J taught me the spanish word for loser "perdedor" and I can't wait to use this the next time I'm around the Jugador. Muyyyyy bueno.
5. Bad- The US dropped the fifa final against Brazil by a single goal, 3-2. I hate that I've even started caring about yet another sport in my life, I'm already totally consumed by baseball, basketball, and football.
6. Good- I'm super excited for my first date later today. And ps--I love the filet at this particular place.
7. Bad- I haven't been on an actual date since December of '05 when the Ex and I first started dating, so this is slightly nervewracking. Even for Ms. I'm not at all shy, Moi.
8. Good- Coronitas are not only tasty little cervezas, but they are also super cute. I would know, I've got one in my hand.
9. Bad- See above.
10. "Sun in the sky, you know how i feel. Breeze drifting on by, you know how i feel. And I'm feeeeeeellllliiiiiinnnngggg good."

xoxo to all, and to all a good noche.

25 in 25

passengers aboard flight 062709, this is la capitan Ms. Hap, & yes, I know that espanol is incorrecto. Bite me. I like the way it sounds. Moving on...once again, my dia was without much of a hitch, or unexpected occurrence, or anything out of the norm--I worked, I ran post-work, and then I came home. Oh wait, but there is the real kicker, the non-Ms. Stake like behavior, I came home. On a Friday night. I didn't even really stay in on weekend evenings when I was married, so, yeah, muy interesante, muy diferente. And more than interesting and a break from my traditional routine, is the fact that I feel refreshed, content even. I came home to mi hermana in a much better mood than last noche, having had her heartbreaker come here to our casa to pour out his proposition for a second chance, and the two of them deciding to give it another go 'round. (sidenote: I knew he was going to do this because I talked to him earlier this afternoon. Guys that fall for my sister have this need to talk to me each time things with her go south, half because they know I'm their greatest in and half because they know I'm going to give them some sound advice menos the bullshit.) I also returned home to my 9 year old primo, Butchie, as we love to call him, who has grown like he's been on hgh the past few years and shaved his little afro off. I am pretty sad about both counts. I loved his little half-Asian afro. Sigh. So as my night has turned out to be not the cosas that good blogs are built upon, I will use this time and energy to outline my newest vision and blogging extravaganza, "The 25 at 25."

This idea has started to come to me simply as of the past week or so, as I am finally feeling up to really dating again post 'D, and ocho meses after our finalization, feel as if this is a pretty decent amount of time that I have let pass without trying to jump into a rebound relationship of any sort. I have approximately 110 days left of my 25th year, and with this time, am planning on lining up, actually going on, and chronicling on my blog, at least 25 dates. And by 25 dates, I mean with 25 different men, of varying ages (I'm toying with 20-40 at the moment), ethnicities, religious beliefs, those who have been divorced, are fathers, and run the gamut professionally from simply being a student to a doctor or lawyer. I will outline my tiempo spent on each date for all to read, and hope that eventually I will either find one who really is able to keep my attention and spark something long-term in me, or at least start learning more about what I am looking for in round dos and getting back on my feet following the collapse of my union. I am not treating this task as some sort of joke, as I will not be in the company of any individual that I could absolutely never see myself going out with again or that I do not have some level of physical attraction too, but I am definitely going to push my comfort zones a little, as I typically have never dated anybody but caucasians, and no one more than 3 years older than me. My co-workers who I started to discuss my plans with for this adventure had the following comments for me...K- "You are going to fall in love on the third date you're on and never make it anywhere close to you're proposed goal." Diggy- "Did you just say one of your stipulations is that you're not going to sleep with any of them on the first date? Ummm yeah, not happening." J- "You should maybe throw a female into the mix, just for the sake of good blogging and journalism." D- "45 might be a little old there, that'd be like dating your dad. Like me, I'd sleep with a 40-plus year old woman, but I wouldn't go out on a date with anybody over 35." Ummm yeah, thanks guys. Really sound and helpful commentary.

With that said, I have four or so individuals that I have currently started to make conversation with in hopes of going out on an eventual date with them, either talking through instant messenger, e-mail, or for two of them, through text so far. These initial prospects are as follows, "MD to be"- a mid-20's 4th year med student of eastern Indian descent, "Jerry Maguire"- a mid 30's sports agent, "World Traveler"- a late 20's pHd student, and "So Sue Me"- a mid-20's law student who played college football. This is going to be so much fun. Stay tuned passengers.

However, I have workouts in the morning, along with errands, and then the wedding of one of my best friends from high school all afternoon and evening and need to get some beauty sleep to break some necks later on. The bride and groom both graduated from Rose Hulman so that means there have to be some eligible engineers for me to hit on tomorrow nite and try and poss. turn into one of my 25.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Damn you Michael Jackson

Passengers aboard flight 062609, this is your captain speaking. Yes, it is a smidge after six in the manana, and yes, I am still awake. Ohhhhhhh screwed up sleep schedules. I could probably stop sleeping in until about an hour before I am usually expected at work (3:30-4:30 P.M.) and then I might not encounter this issue, but as always, all in due time. If you haven't heard because you're in a coma or a hermit, Wacko Jacko, or Michael Jackson passed away today at cincuenta anos old, and although I greatly appreciate his innovation and the thriller album, I am almost drowning in the number of condolences and regards that have been made toward his death on my facebook, as if people have said in his wake, "Well, God bless his soul, because in death, mega-hit songs are greater than or at least equal to the que paso'ings at neverland ranch and beyond." If I follow this life equation, then I just need to hurry up and do something insanely influential and epic in some arena of life and then I can start doing whatever the hell I want to after achieving cult status, like finally doing an 8ball of coke or running around smacking elderly people and babies in their cabezas for no real reason at all. But enough on Michael, I already gave him my headline, so there is my tribute. Oh, and to be fair, my regards to Farah Fawcett and Ed McMahan as well.

Today was altogether somewhat uneventful, until the latter part of my noche, when following work and a 2 mile jaunt, I saw that the Pacers drafted Tyler Hansbrough of UNC with our lottery pick (thumbs up), & then as I strolled into our local Applebee's to grab some pre-workout fuel, I was met (and unfortunately in my case in my cut-off xc tee that I've been rocking since I was 15 & the shortest, tightest nike running shorts I own (well, this might not have been unfortunate), with my mexi-crush, the Jugador staring at me in his stupid little way that he has perfected so well, a mixture of acknowledging my looks and yet remaining somewhat dead around the eyes just to make sure that I can never read him, EVER. I chose to sit 3 of his co-workers down from him, opting out of the vacant stool next to el, and spent the rest of my meal there trying to decipher the spanish around me (which I'm good at, but they know that to some extent and speak really rapido or with slang when they want to lose me), acting & speaking flippantly to him, and using the Dos Equis that they bought for me to try and wash the taste he puts in my mouth out. The taste is a potent blend of "I honestly can't believe he is still denying me, even a hang-out", mixed with "I honestly can't believe I even still slightly trip over this muchacho," topped with a pinch of salsa.

I wasn't able to be in a bothersome state of mind for long following this little meet and greet, as baby sister showed up for 2.5 seconds to drop something off to me before heading home, pain etching her beautiful face, the evidence of some sort of heartache just beginning to collect under her eyes in almost invisible, although not to me, traces of eyeliner gone astray. She put up the "please don't ask me about this now" hand as I started to interrogate, but not quite before her eyes began to nadando just the slightest bit, as if they had jumped in a kiddie pool. I didn't push then and just let her go, as I knew exactly where she was at, in those vulnerable, volatile moments in one's life when not even a public audience can keep the floodgates at bay, where a simple word or even sideways glance can cause a crack to become periods of utter devastation. Although the wiser part of me understood as she walked away that one does not understand the depths of his/her heart at quince years old, would look back at 25 like myself and laugh at those initial betrayals of young love, I also understood that age is not a determining factor of the pain that can befall one who has fallen under its spell, false or fleeting as it may later turn out to be.

I remember my first love, at 18 years old, a tall, pot-smoking, pizza hut ripping off, older than me free spirit who I fell for unabashedly, sharing our first kiss in the parking lot of his workplace, me against his transam, his lips on mine to get me to finally "shut-up." It was a whirlwind month, one in which I came home every chance I got from IU to see him my first semester there, watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory drunk together, for me both off the cheap beer and the intoxication of feeling like I did for him, and saying my first "I love you." And yet, as quickly as it began, it was over, and I found myself one night crying, sobbing really, outside the door of his apartment, thrusting a handmade cd at him, begging and pleading with him to not let some "misunderstanding" break us up, break my heart, and yet he stood, stoically, calmly asking me to just get in my car and go home, to get it through my head that we were done. I would go on the rest of my freshman year in Bloomington, although having graduated in top of my class, president of this and that, most likely to succeed, sleeping through my classes, and eventually dropping out of college altogether for the longest time. So yes, "She's 15," I told myself, but yes, I hurt more over a one month relationship right out of high school than most of my following years long pairings. I found out through the trusty legalized stalker that is facebook a week or so ago that my first love, the Dreamer as I will call him, is expecting a baby boy. I don't know if you ever read this, but if you do, I wish you the best of everything.

So I headed home to meet her, and she filled me in on her boy drama with me putting down 4 cups of coffee (might be part of why I'm still jacked up) and her over a decadent, pain-easing brownie concoction, in which we both ended up crying sporadically, she over this boy, and me over her hurt and those of mine past. The first time she started to cry, when she was reading a text that he had sent her apologizing, and I subsequently began to follow suit, I said, "Damn it Michael Jackson," as if he was the reason for our tears and we began to laugh, deep, round belly laughs, which would continue on through the rest of our conversation, reiterating one of the most beautiful truths of life. Yes, people will get in close enough to our hearts to set up shop, plunge some claim into a portion of it. And yet, despite the pain that can come from allowing this pillaging, this camping out, with a little bit of perspective, a dash of hope, in some cases forgiveness, and a sarcastic, joke-cracking friend or family member, you can laugh through the tears, move on, keep loving. And as I know, so deeply know, even seven years later you may still think back to that person, those people, but if you refuse to let it make you bitter, you will love someone even better for the pains of your past.

Keep loving people. It's all we've really got.

& now, the 60-40.

1. Good- I will be unveiling, probably later today, or early tomorrow A.M. about this time, hopefully before, my new summer love project, which I have already got the ball rolling on a couple of potential dates as early as next week.
2. Good- One guy is mid 30's and a sports agent and the other is mid 20's and in his final year of med school.
3. Bad- I heard the most inappropriate M.Jackson joke today, so loco that I won't even put it on here (but if you're around me, feel free to ask & I might indulge you) and I couldn't stop laughing at it. I don't know what that says about me.
4. Good- My bff at the sushi bar, Angel as I will call him, when told of the king of pop's passing, did his best attempt at a moonwalk and said (picture short Mexican guy who is a vocal Christian), "Ayyyy, he is now doing a moonwalk to the infierno." Hahaha, omg.
5. Bad- The Pilot didn't come home from Miami today as I had hoped he would.
6. Good- I found out that my 9 y/o cousin (who is the most adorable blend of Filipino and Black) is coming to live with sister and the 'rents and I for the next month. I am going to take him around the 'Haute & see if I can pass him off as my son.
7. Good- I had a brief conversation on the phone today with my ex esposo and we were cordial as all get out.
8. Bad- Hearing his voice made me somewhat sad for better days and better talks.
9. Bad- I honestly need to get some freaking sleep.
10. Good- I'm going now. But just for the record for all you Pacers fans that are worried about Tyler being the wrong guy to draft, he will fit into our system just fine. He is fundamental, a hard-worker, comes from a well-coached UNC program, and brings just the type of image and attitude that the Pacers need, to become like teams of past and not reminiscent of the Trailblazers and other punk squads of yore.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Since I've Been Gone

Oh, passengers of flight 062509, this is your captain speaking finally after a near two month hiatus from my blog, yes, dos meses away from you, and away from what is truly, at times, part of my own heart. But I had my reasons for staying away so very long, the most compelling of which was that I needed to simply take tiempo to process my divorce, which, only now, ocho months later, has truly began to manifest itself on me emotionally. And for once, and completely out of character for myself, I needed to shut my damn mouth and just have breakdowns and self loathing and validating and more loathing and more telling myself it was okay for this whole thing to hurt, even with the pretty little bow that the Ex and I wrapped our capsized boat in. I have been equal parts this past sixty dias or so, a mess and a success, although the past 10 days or so for me have been the first real rays of the sol that I have seen shine down on my life this entire summer. And with no real element of surprise, the turnaround has been of my own creation, my own propulsion, not some unexpected-fell-into-my-lap-shit. I just woke up one day and decided to be better. to be me. to do this right. And it's been hard. painful. revealing. But also refreshing. empowering. everything.

The biggest things to happen to me over the past couple weeks that have been absolute assets to my self-excavation have been the power of running and the amazing amount of positive results that a person can achieve when not drinking like Hemingway every day. The man was, however, a literary genius, although drunk siempre, so I'm not going to knock his style. However, for me, I need, especially at this emotionally laborious time in my vida to be operating on all cylinders, or with a full deck of cards as some like to say, instead of me jacking around all over town cada noche with a belly full of alcoholic bandage, only to find myself not simply holding a few cards short of the standard, but only the jokers. So, tired of feeling tired, tired of sketchy decisions, and tired of looking into a mirror that did nothing to placate my inner feelings that I was literally letting myself go, slipping into an abyss of one day of drinking that would eventually become a lifetime, I chilled out. I laced up my trusty Asics and hit the road, and logged 22 miles my first week back (although my body was muy enojado with me as I have not, since the "D" in Octubre, strung together more than 3 straight days of exercise), and yet, despite the exertion that I almost felt I would not be able to get through some of those sessions, I pressed on, and with each step found myself stronger, wide-eyed on the prize, me. And I won't lie, I've drank a couple times over the course of this physical outburst, but it's been considerably less than those who know me know I'm usually good for, and been around friends that I hadn't seen in quite some time, and not because I hurt, not because the only way to act like I was okay was to drink myself into thinking that I was okay. That has been the biggest revelation of this summer thus far. I am struggling with this divorce even though I wanted it, and still think it the best for the two of us. I am finally comprehending that even the conclusions of relationships that have everybody mesmerized (including the parties involved) by the neat packaging and even more dramatic use of language to describe the fall-out, that I am hurt by it, find it cripples me in ways I had never even considered, will always be in mind & on heart, even if out of sight. And as this cloud of knowledge, of understanding has hit me quite hard this past two months especially, I am emerging from it, although throat choked up, and eyes swimming, stronger, better. I know now that to heal, one must acknowledge the hurt, let the fake facade fall around he/she, feel some level of comfort being able to finally verbalize, "This divorce sucked." And now, with that said, I am moving on, one high arched foot in front of the otro, covering ground.

This summer has been muy interesante, and to get you all caught up on the que paso'ings, I must first present its power players, supporting cast, and dramatic elements. The following individuals have been in heavy rotation in my vida loca lately, some new to the scene, others "been here, still here."

*The familia- Mom, Dad, Brother, & Sister. Sister has an almost bf now, and is growing up quite beautifully into a strong & talented woman, and more importantly than that, my best friend.

*The Sushi Crew- I am at work quite a bit (but they would say otherwise), and so would be failing to represent those around me without referencing this group. I adore my job, and my boss, manager, bestest Diggy, & even some stellar new host/esses.

*Peligrosa- One of my mejor amigas since right out of high school, she continues to amaze me with her cast-iron stomach and subsequent ability to still make it on time to clinicals and other serious school business even off of no sleep. It's almost nonhuman. Seriously. And she and I created tequila story hour around cinco de Mayo that we try and adhere to every couple weeks, and all I can say about that is, I don't remember leaving Real Hacienda one of those times. No bueno.

*The Spanish Speakers- Some of you might remember from posts past that I had a crush muy grande on a certain Mexicano in town, only to have him hold me at arms length because he "can't trust me." So, I therefore said "Puede ir al infierno" (or go to hell) to him and became best buddies with his brother, who I can be found tomando'ing with here and there in town, & is actually a really solid individual. However, don't let me fool you here, el Jugador (the player) as I will call him, still has me by the corazon at times, most recently when I saw him a week or so back & we ended up in a mini-argument outside Applebees. Una vez mas, no bueno.

*The Hooper- This small-town boy has undeniably been the only real member of the opposite sex to even blip on my possibilities radar, and has kept me busy mentally and in conversation with my kid sib and gf's as to what exactly is going down between us and where if anywhere this is all going. I ping-pong back and forth with him in and out of friend zone, and although I enjoy his company, I am also quite wary of him as well, following a wedding fiasco, gut feelings, and once again, did I mention the mixed signals? And yet, I saw him, although fleetingly tonite.

*The News Anchor- This chica is a new addition to my friendset & a very welcome and enjoyable one at that. She and I, when both acting up, are disturbingly similar, especially in our dealings with boys, and have tendencies to tell our nutty stories in raucous voices and with little thought as to who is around us. Sometimes hilarious, sometimes inappropriate.

*The Internationals- My wonderfully diverse melting pot of amigo(a)s that I can count on to be clowning around any day of the week, and count on even more for if I actually need listening ears, favors, anything. This group runs the gamut of ethnicities, from Saudi to Macedonia to the Congo. Yes, culture exists in Terre Haute. Look around. Open your minds.

And now, in conclusion, at least for this early morning, I will present the first 60-40 of the summer in which I will put six positive transpiring of the past two months, along with cuatro that have negatively affected me in some way. And then, to some degree, we will all be on the same pagina again. I've missed you guys so much.

1. Good- I went out of my comfort zone (which for me, is saying a great deal) and tried out for American Idol in Chicago. The city rocks for starters, and the experience was well, unmatched.
2. Bad- Only 200 ppl made it past round 1 there out of 12,000 & I wasn't one of them, but I didn't cry like the ppl on t.v. that crack me up, and honestly, realize it wasn't the beginning or the end of anything for me. I will blog later in detail about the machine that is A.I. & behind the scenes stuff you don't see on the show.
3. Good- I am running again. A pretty serious amount following my stagnant past 8 months.
4. Good- I was able to see one of my moved away bestest's Bobblehead (to be henceforth known as Agent A. following his capitol police graduation) even though it was only for one day. I have missed him so much.
5. Bad- Another of my best boy buddies moved last month, the Pilot, to Miami, and I haven't seen him yet since he left, and having neglected spending time with him previous to his departure minus the day before and helping him back up his beemer the day of, I'm regretting this all so very much ahora. However, word on the calle is that he's back in town today (for just the day) and so I am going to have to check into this.
6. Good- My baby bro. graduated with his bach. in May. I saw my aunts from Cali and Seattle when they came here for it. I am still beaming with pride for him.
7. Bad- His graduation means his departure for L.A. in August. I am not going to know what to do with myself. We have become so close lately. And for members of my familia to get any closer than we've always been, well, that's saying everything.
8. Good- I still believe in love and am about to outline a dating experiement of sorts in tomorrow's post that I am going to be conducting with the help of a little Internet gem, match.com. this is going to be sooooo interesting.
9. Bad- I have to subject myself to match.com.
10. Good- I mean, isn't it obvious guys??? I'm back. I mean, really, really back. And p.s., U.S. soccer pulled a 2-0 win out of their asses to beat the Spaniards today. That's great news, & I'm not even a big futbol fan. GOOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLL.

Xoxo to all, and to all I'm sorry for the delay, I have missed you, and yeah, I'm tired, good nite.

leave the pieces

Passengers aboard flight 050409, this is your half frazzled/half peaceful captain speaking. As those two emotions are polar opposites, they equate homeostasis for mi, which, as my vida is typically more along the lines of out-of-my-cerebro-life-in-the-fast-lane-minus-brakes, definitely works for me. I wrapped up my hellacious spring semester today, and have decided to take the entire summer off (from classes at least) to concentrate on getting myself well again, in all respects-- physically, emotionally, financially, and psychologically, as to attempt to hit the ground running again this coming fall. I have set five tentative goals for the verano ahead of me, being 1.) Start taking care of me (be it eating well, going to church, not binge drinking 24/7, running, or what have you), 2.) Compete in and complete something athletic (half marathon, 5k, anything really of worth), 3.) Improve my Espanol and Tagalog by a great deal (success to be evidenced by actually being able to converse with mi madre in something other than English and just how many credits of Spanish I can CLEP test out of this fall @ school), 4.) Take a couple trips (at least one of them being to my best friend's pad in D.C.--Miss you mucho Bobblehead), 5.) Consolidate my debts and buy a car that is actually dependable, doesn't have a windshield that looks like Albert Pujols blasted a 100 mph fastball into it, and suits me. These goals are all rather attainable and should, if pursued, set me aright on the path once more to some overall feeling of self worth and not only preservation, but self propulsion. I have felt since last September that I have either been running in place on the treadmill of life, or falling off, limbs splayed every which way off of it a million times, and I am so ready once more, for forward motion, for progress. Even if this only finds me a quarter mile ahead of where I am now at summer's end, than this will be steps in the right direction. I am capable of so much, and mean a great deal to so many, that to continue to flounder in my own indecision and laziness and procrastination would be detrimental to far reaches of the mundo above and beyond self, touching friends, family, and even God himself. And the sheer thought of continuing to hurt, or disappoint, or worry any individual within one of these categories, is enough to want to make me fight out of this fog with all I've got left within me, regardless of how exhausted and insane it makes me. Perhaps to see life clearly, and live life well, one must first be nearly blinded, not able to see the clearing for the trees (or however that goes), must completely fall out of the reach of any who might try and aid he/she, to actually stand again, and see this show for all that it truly is. I aspire to this. I aspire to healing. I aspire to moving on. I aspire to letting go and letting God.

as the world turns

passengers aboard flight 042309, this is your captain speaking. The past dos days have been as up and down as I have come to so expect from mi vida, and I am equal parts amazed and bewildered at just how I haven't completely lost it, completely tapped out from all things sane and productive that I have going on within and for me. Since my last outpouring, and boy, was it, I have chalked up yet another altercation, this time with mi hermano, which honestly he was just looking out for me and I, out of my cabeza off some corona light and tequila shots don't remember much of anything about it, other than at one point him calling our dad (yes, our pastor dad) and having me talk to him and then him slinging me over his shoulder and throwing me on his couch. Stellar. This was all following a storytelling catch up sesh with una de mis mejores amigas, and as we discussed over way too mas to drink and way too little to eat, there are certain people in life who can't stay outta troubles way, bad luck's arm reach, but that simply isn't the case for us. We create, find, stir up the pot of all things stupid and dangerous, and not the other way around. I am not proud of this wild, sometimes reckless streak that lies dormant in me only to manifest itself, well, whenever it can, but I do acknowledge whole heartedly that I am my own worst enemy, that the whole world isn't conspiring against my success or putting roadblocks in my way, I am simply prone to running wildly off the normal path and increasingly so when I drink. I think its a pretty simple equation to read, stop drinking and get better. But in reality, the equation becomes insanely screwed up when you have to plus in a divorce and the passing of my grandma and the fact that I'm still dicking around with school, and so call me weak, tell me to get over myself and that everybody has their problems (many people with greater ones than mine), and I'll tell you in response that you're right, on both counts, but I am me and I am flailing, and that occasionally I find that I have to escape, just to go on breathing. So put down the bottle and then things will get better. Yeah, about that...However, despite this alternate being that I feel that I am right now, I remain, to press on another day, and with that said, tonight's 60/40, because believe it or not, I am still happy on a handful of levels. Small miracles.

1. Good- Sister is in the first third of her track season, and watching her compete in anything has always been one of my favorite pastimes. She won the 800 tonite, and is running 2 meets into the year in the 2:30's so we're right on pace for that record.
2. Good- I saw my crush who is back stateside for the first tiempo in like two months last nite and he gave me a ride home where we finally got to talk about some stuff.
3. Bad- The talk ended up really vague as to what we're actually trying to do, if anything, and he was dead sober and I was dead drunk and so who knows what I actually even told him. Muy peligrosa, yo se.
4. Bad- I am at home for the nite and dad wants to "talk" to me before I go to bed. And although I know he's understanding, no one likes to talk to his kid about their drinking problems when they have always been a cause of worry even before alcohol entered the picture.
5. Good- The Yanks are 2nd place in our division. I'll blog later about my trip to the Bronx and the New Yankee Stadium, where I literally cried at one point.
6. Good- I have started to realize, to an even greater degree, just how close and meaningful a certain one of my best friends is, Diggy, who has shown her loyalty to me the past week at any uncomfortably random time that I have called her crying and needy and not made me feel an ounce of guilt for it.
7. Bad- I need to start working out and eating decent foods again. I haven't seen a treadmill in weeks nor anything organic and I feel sluggish as a motherfucker.
8. Bad- This weekend is shaping up to require a ridiculous amount of focus and energy for me, we shall see.
9. Good- I'm having lunch, maybe, with the ex tomorrow, and hope he and I can come to some sort of mutual agreeance to disagree on everything that we were, are, and will be.
10. Good- I'm still kicking. Although its usually me, in my own face.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

All falls down

Passengers aboard flight 042109, this is your apologetic captain speaking. I am sorry for two points—one being my lack of word vomit for about a week (that's for all of you), and the second apology being to myself, as the past semana saw one of the greatest transpirings of my vente cinco anos, being present for the opening of the new Yankee Stadium in New York, to the one of the lowest moments of mi vida as well, where I found myself literally standing in the rain late last night, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, watching my textbook and most of the tiempo picture perfecto divorce crash down around me. The self sorry is because pouring myself out in this way, albeit public and profane at times, is my therapy of sorts, and not letting myself declutter the past days mental and emotional buildup within me, while not the sole reason behind yesterday's insanity, was definitely a contributing factor. Sigh, last noche…

 

Everyone who knows me on some decent level, knows that my divorce has been one of the most unusual que paso'ings in all of marital dissolutions all over the mundo, as the ex and I still occasionally do lunch, lived together on and off almost ocho months after we filed, and even shared genuine laughter and playful banter when we had our taxes done recently. And as all of this has gone on, it has put me emotionally on-hold, unable to completely process on really any level that we are not an us anymore, on any real terms, despite the new bubble that we have tried to exist in since our first one burst on the sidewalk last fall. I have been embracing the mantra of spoiled brats everywhere, that of having my cake and eating it too, as on paper and in whatever I choose to do on a daily basis I am single, but still quick to want to have him in my life when I feel like seeing or talking to him, on my terms, no matter how not together we are. Despite the comfort level that has existed between us since" 'til well, I know this was supposed to be until death, but actually, one of us is going to end up killing the other instead of natural causes, so let's just part now," as I stood outside our former house in the wee horas of yesterday morning, soaked to the bone in rain, with a face soaked in my own bodily fluids and the droplets coming from the sky, I realized that not only was the cake that I have been so gluttonously consuming lately all gone, but how terribly disgusting the cake was in the first place. And in that half an hour or so that I stood glued to the driveway, unable to move unless staring off into space, head tilted toward the heavens, a revelation descended upon me like a ton of bricks. This had not, and would not be a game to be played. If our divorce had been any kind of game, it was the one at the carnival in which I sat on the seat of a dunking booth, daring anybody who passed to try and knock me into the water with an accurate throw of a baseball, middle finger to the world who couldn't wrap their minds around how our break-up wasn't more painful, more real. "You just don't understand, it's different with us," I have told a million people who are curious or concerned or actually care about me. And yet, it was me who hasn't understood the dynamics of it, and when I finally got dropped into the tank of water below me last night, having been served up a 101 mile an hora fastball from the ex, it clicked. But the most startling element of all of this wasn't just how cold the agua that I was so unexpectedly dunked into, but how deep. Because if I'm being honest, and I feel I do a hell of a job of that on here, I'm drowning.

 

Our explosion was the result of some information being divulged to me ayer, from an anonymous source as to just what Red has been up to in the past month or so. It was a bit more graphic than I would have liked to have stomached over enchiladas, as regardless of what I'm doing in my own life, or just how comfortable I think I am with the truth, no one wants to hear about their former happily ever after fucking some random girl three times in one night or his new 24 year old, thick, Mormon new fling. Holy shit. And so, I laughed it all off at the moment, while internally seething and ordering my first of a number of cervezas that would follow the newsflash. And again, in all somewhat bitter honesty, the rage that began to spread through my cuerpa had very little to nada to do with the fact that he's dating/screwing/liking anybody else, because Dios knows that I'm doing ok in all those respects, but with the conversations he and I have had over the past few months, in which in a tone unbeknownst to him (or so he says), I have been made to feel guilty for my looks, for my charm, hearing such barbs over any meal or moment that we've shared such as "C'mon, you're good looking, you know you're not hurting for guys," and "I know you've been doing xyz with Tom, Dick, and Harry." And anytime I would turn the questions and commentary back on him following his judgmental verbal spears, with "You're going to be fine yourself," he would reply "All I've been doing is working, and I'm not ready to be with anybody at all" further making me feel like a caustic bitch for moving on in any way, shape, or form. And as I let it sink in seconds at a time, that I had been made to feel a fool by someone doing the exact same shit, something didn't quite sit well with me from there, and when stirring in botella after botella of liquid cope, well, the end result isn't always the picture that you see in the recipe book when it comes caliente and steaming out of the oven.

 

Later in the evening, at my first opportunity, I lashed out at him in the biggest pelear we have ever had (and that's saying a LOT), slowly dropping the news bombs on him that I had learned sandwiched in between hysterics, profanities, and back and forth bullshit. I could see the fear in his ojos as he heard his secret life being laid out in front of him, the realization that he, just like me, had played his cards all wrong. And yet, after being swept away from the drama by mi hermano and taken to guys poker noche at his buddy's place, despite hours of sobering up and cracking jokes through puffy eyes, regardless of the fact I had him drop me back off at his house to apologize for the flareup earlier, the real A-bomb had yet to be dropped. As I opened the garage door to try and salvage what I could of what we are, what we will ever be, and at least verbally attempt to right my portion of our wrongs, I was met with him hastily running outside to keep me from coming in, because, blow of all blows, SHE WAS IN THERE. Little miss I just met him on Thursday was his attempt at consolation, reconciliation. I don't exactly know the checklist of what a nervous breakdown looks like, what the warning signs are, but I am certain I have never been more symptomatic of one than in that time. I would later, somewhat quickly, although it felt like a near eternity, be scooped up again by una de mis mejores amigas, Diggy, and had to be put into otro clothes and dried off and tucked into bed like a zombie child.

 

I woke today, and even worked, trying my best at feigning happiness, hee-hee'ing through the motions, a robot of what is expected of me, and yet, I didn't fool anybody. Everyone knows I'm floundering, and the scariest part of all, is that I've always been weak. Without some help I wonder how many more tiempos I can come up for air and actually fill my lungs before I crack, just like the Titanic, grandiose and stately and containing ridiculous amounts of potential for greatness, and yet broken by what is turning out to be my iceberg, this divorce, coming apart in two and gurgling all the way down, down to the ocean's floor, a mere skeleton of who I once was, who I could have been. Perhaps a lifeboat will find me, perhaps I just need to start praying again and actually meaning it, not simply mindlessly uttering words to a gracious God who has done nothing but keep me from disaster, and help me pick up the pieces of me I have strewn here and there. Perhaps…

 

I'm exhausted. Xoxo to all, and to all a good night.

the weekend wrap up/sixty40club

As I ended my earlier post without including this weekend's sixty forty I finally have some tiempo to crank out the memorable and regrettable elements to the past few dias. And so...drumroll por favor...

1. Good- I won, for the 2nd ano in a row, the bracket challenge I do with my ex and his friends and familia. Hellooo one hundred dolares. Muy bien. Oh, and its not just the money, turns out, I'm competitive as shit. But you already knew that.
2. Good- Mi hermano, in response to my post of a few days past referencing his eventual move outta state and on with new phases of his life, texted me a day or so later letting me know that he wasn't sure if it was the Gavin Degraw he was vibing to or the fact that I so expertly in words painted a miniature portrait of the combustible relationship that he and I have, but that either way, he teared up. Yep, its family love like that.
3. Bad- I met some new friends on Friday noche, from the Soho area in NyC, and eventually we all got pulled over in their Benz for speeding. Oh shit, thought I.
4. Good- They busted out the elusive diplomatic passport which basically provides them immunity to trivial trouble as one of them is the son of the former US consulate or something important like that from the country, and not the state for some of you unlearned out there, of Georgia. It's next to Russia people. Watch some CNN or pick up a paper.
5. Bad- I haven't run in 3 dias and I can feel it.
6. Good- Despite this fact, one of mis amigos last night commented on my gams anyway as I was sporting them something fierce in a new skirt and asked me just how I get them to be the way they are. Gracias.
7. Bad- I have to work tomorrow evening and its the championship game of March Madness between UNC (finally win one Tyler) and Michigan State. Elongated sigh. Maybe I'll be first cut.
8. Bad- I spent a ridiculous amount of dinero last week and I've got some bills on deck.
9. Good- Part of the money was spent on Saturday when I drove baby sib to indy to meet her soon to be boyfriend, T.A. as I will call him, and the sixteen year old is cute as a button, polite, laughed really hard at all my stories, and is a state basketball champion in Class A as of this year. Good work Sibster.
10. Good- Despite the pitfalls, life is still the most beautifully flawed and precariously wonderful show on earth.

hi haters :)

passengers aboard flight 040509, this is your humored captain speaking. I want to take this tiempo to address my amazing audience, and as I am only aware of who a handful of you are as you have let me know that you are faithful readers, as to rest of you, who read mis palabras with no recognition, just know that I am thankful for and conscientious of you as well. However, with that said, I found myself engaged in a quite meaningful mini-argument with the ex esposo this afternoon because of the supposed jab I made last post toward someone, to which he continued on from to let me know that "blogging is stupid" and interrogate me as to my motives for writing about the personal aspects of mi vida as well as inform me that there are a number of people who keep him in the know as to the que paso'ings of my life and mind. But the real kicker of our exchange came in him alerting me to the fact that there have been certain individuals that have expressed worry to him as to the vida I live, to which I had to say the following. As for those I know who actually care about me, as it should be, they let me know personally, on the phone or to mi cara that certain things that I say and/or do alarm them to some degree.

I had to laugh, audibly at this point, because this "faux concern" that certain people have for me, that never makes it to me at all, was the greatest level of validation that I have felt since starting this blog. I am being talked about, I, with every word that I spill out into cyberspace, am being secretly discussed and pondered and analyzed, and as I had to so burst my ex's bubble, this is exactly the kind of ruckus that I hoped to create in the first place. Whisper whisper whisper when I walk by someone at the bars, "She's got a real drinking problem," "She and her ex have the weirdest relationship ever," "She's running again but it doesn't really look like it." Hahahaha, I relish the dialogue that I have created, that has both been covert and out in the open, with some of you commenting on my posts, writing me facebook messages, and telling me your thoughts on certain things when you've seen me aqui and alla and everywhere. "Don't you see," I asked him, "you can think my blog is dumb and pointless and a waste of my and everybody else's time, and yet, they keep reading, and more than that, whatever I said that they soaked in was of enough importance or salacious enough at least for them to repeat to someone else, yourself included. I am an attention whore and this conversation, this humorous back and forth simply reiterates that I am doing something big with this, because it is going to be the day that nobody talks about it anymore that I will worry." So don't cry for me argentina, I'm getting through the ebbs and flows of the grind, and if any of you feel a bit worried by something you leer on here, know that I relish the possibility of a conversation with you. And otherwise my dears, keep reading, keep talking, keep hating loving crying laughing whatever it is that I make known. I love it all.

But now that that's settled, and I have the biggest shit-eating grin on my face, I will put up the sixtyfortyclub later on this noche.

Burying the hatchet

Passengers aboard flight 040109, this is your captain speaking. I am two weeks deep into the better Me project, and although still struggling to keep adhering to its stipulations, I am feeling increasingly more eye on the prize with each passing day. I'm about 6 weeks out from the mini I'm going to run in, and feeling stronger each mile. I'm still far off my lithe look of last summer and the pace and regularity in which I exercised then, but a day and an interval run at a time. It's nice to know that with this whole trying to be healthier thing that I'm able to control it—if I eat right and workout, I will see results, whittle my waist, compete like a badass. I feel like so much arises in mi vida that I have no grasp on, the falling out of the clear blue sky unexpected shit, finding that person and making it work itself into an epic love story, my career, etc., etc., that when there are a few facets of the grind that I can put my immediate stamp on and regulate to some degree, I should probably take advantage of those elements, school included. And as far as those que paso'ings that occur in one's most unsuspecting moments, well, those are starting to descend upon me like a thick fog, and surprisingly enough, I don't feel all that much anxiety, but more the opposite. A couple friends of tiempo past have resurfaced lately, one of whom I swore up and down a few years ago that I would have no more place for, wouldn't miss a beat in my going-on's if she slipped off the side of a mountain, and yet, as through a mutual friend she has found her way onto my radar screen again, instead of giving her the cold shoulder I had so perfected against her in previous meetings, I let myself laugh with her instead. I reached deep into the part of me that so distrusted her (even if it were for legitimate reasons) and called into mind instead some of our previous fun and memories, as well as reminded myself of all the changes that I have undergone in over three years, maturing and learning, and hoped these things for her as well. And even if this friendship, if so it becomes, comes crashing down again, I am not going to shield myself from it. People come in and out of one's life for a reason, and perhaps, just perhaps, will I learn something, achieve something different at her hands this time, and if not, well, that's a lesson in and of itself as well. Aside from ghosts of friends past lingering around in my present, I am starting to have to deal with the thought of the exodus of one of the dearest people in my life, that individual being mi hermano. He is a little over a mes away from college graduation, and is looking into and I'm certain he is going to get one, internships and possible job opportunities in the L.A. area. Yes, that is Los Angeles, as in Ca-li-for-nI-A. He and I have always had our disagreements over the anos, saying bitter things to one another and fighting like gatos y perros, but we've always come back around, a fact that has probably intensified the nature of our love for one another rather than marred it. We, with each passing year, have battled over everything from my marc Jacobs aviators to my school situation and our choice of significant others, and yet, we have also seen our relationship lately turn a 180, realizing that just because we know exactly how to push the others buttons doesn't mean we should gratuitously, that sometimes, even if wronged, it's better to just keep your damn mouth shut, or at least actually hear the other person out first, and that at the end of the dia, marriages and girlfriends come and go, and you might move from job to job, but the fact that family members are lifers in the scheme of things, well, we finally get that. And now, by as early as the summer, I will have to let go, at least on some levels, my baby brother, to a big, BoLD, extremely deserved and exciting futuro in somewhere most likely other than Indiana, and know that what he is pursuing will better us all, bring me more happiness in my heart than he and I sharing pitchers of margs at Real Hacienda or lounging around watching sporting events and trying to one up one another with statistics and random knowledge. We've come a long way Jeckyl, and now, as we always have discussed, we have to put the pieces of our puzzles together, because the sky is, and all clichés aside here, not the limit for us, but simply a nice place to aim for first. But, as I just teared up, writing those last few lines, onto the 60/40 because I've still got a full day ahead of me and don't need overly red streaked eyes.

 

1. Good- Baby sib 'netted tres awards last night at her winter sports banquet, including the Elite award (the female bball players highest honor) as a freshman and I was beaming like a dumbstruck m-f'er. I am proud of her like none other. I am, and always will be, her biggest fan.
   
2. Bad- The banquet lasted three horas, and unfortunately for me, I was ready to tap out of it about an hour and a half in. There was wayyy too much crying, and as a walking Hallmark poster myself, well, that's saying a lot.
   
3. Bad- I'm about to head out the door for a five mile run. Yeah.
   
4. Good- The bitch of a workout is going to burn at least 500 calories. Yeahhhh.
   
5. Good- Turns out, from a couple random people telling me at the most random moments that they read my blog regularly, that somehow I have maintained some level of readership, as losing loved ones, divorce, binge drinking, and even attempting to speak some Spanish resonates with someone other than myself at least.
   
6. Bad- One of the random people to read my blog was my ex's sister who informed him that I have a crush on a guy in Texas which he then kamikaze'd me with randomly the other night. She doesn't even have facebook where I first invited everybody to check out my mental and emotional word vomit, and yet, she reads my blog. Wow. Full circle.
   
7. Good- I actually kinda love that she read it. Turns out I'm an attention whore, and if I really wanted to keep something secreto, I wouldn't put it on here, for any of you to read.
   
8. Bad- I can't even sleep on my bed at home because it is covered with an entire master's closet worth of clothes and zapatos and everything I basically own.
   
9. Good- Sister has a nice little spot for me in her bed whenever I'm at home, which is both comfortable and reassuring, because as it turns out, I really haven't slept alone much for the past five years.
   
10. Good- things are always looking up.
    

Xoxo to all, and to all a splendid day.

Leaving seems to be the hardest word

Passengers aboard flight 032909, this is your pondering captain speaking. Having finally loaded up the very last of my belongings (non-cumbersome furniture at least) from the house, I am left with a frenzy of emotions washing over me like high tide. The ex and I shared some kind parting words, although both of us with eyes swimming in tears, mine actually creating a splash zone on my face as I eventually crumpled Indian style on the floor of our bedroom. Our banter, though strained and uber-emotional, was tender and stayed true to the spirit of us, although now broken, as in between our apologies and "we'll meet up sporadically for lunch or dinner," was also small jabs at exactly why all fell down, me blaming his ocd's and my genetic inclination to some level of disorder and mess, and him pinning some of it on my penchant for living it up after dark and us not being able to maintain a good Christian marriage. Because as I have been told, the family that prays together, stays together, and as he and I were the family in which one person plays while the other sits around in fleece and watches Roseanne, well, the equation doesn't quite add up. But it was his last sentence to me before he left the casa that is what I will be thinking of into the night and each day into my futuro, "Han, until one of us re-marries, there will always be a chance that we can get this right again." On the Vegas line, I think our odds of reconciliation are significantly low to none, but it's nice to hope just a little bit regardless. I do love him after all, and as it turns out, I always will. The first book of our lives together is finished, and starting today, a second book begun. And despite being quite the writer, I have no idea how this tale is going to pan out, as I am only half the authorship of the saga. I just pray that this book contains characters who are striving to be ever better, ever stronger, ever more than anything, friends. I hope as well that the characters cry less, laugh more, and either learn to treat one another as equals and with respect, or find another on down the road to whom they will be the most significant other that they are able, and love without abandon because of the lessons learned in book numero uno.

 

Life is so uncertain, so unpredictable, but it is in its unexpected twists and turns, love and losses, that I see the truest beauty that it has to offer. Each day brings the promise of something finally clicking, that as long as you open your eyes with each passing day, are able to draw breaths, that things, regardless of the despair of the moment, the situations at hand, can turn around. And even if this second book finds itself telling the story of two people who move on, see no more of one another, create memories and plus-ones with others, then I have to believe that the niche he will always have in my heart is a place that he will forever inhabit, and that I will one day come to terms with that simple hold he has on me, and in the moments that he comes to mind, I won't feel haunted, but instead blessed, to have known him, to have grown from him, to have loved him.

 

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Nobody said it’d be easy

Passengers aboard flight 032809, this is your captain speaking. Despite twelve or so vaguely productive, vaguely calm, even vaguely "maybe I'm actually getting down the road toward the big picture" days, I find myself sitting here, wet cheeks, gray hoodie on with its sleeves covered in patches of fluid, most of them having come from my nose. For once, my breakdown tonite was not spurred into existence by alcohol, or made worse by it, but simply involved too emotional run-in's between the ex and I and then the most betraying fight of them all, between mi hermana y yo. I don't even have an ounce of the strength necessary to rehash the stories of this noche or what they, verbatim, involved, as one, I am certain nothing short of a long run is going to even begin to shake this absolute dismal spell I have fallen under, and secondly, despite my blatant honesty about the que paso'ings of most things in my life, where family is concerned, I'm tight-lipped. There still are, and always will be, some sacred aspects of my life, and even if I'm so irritated with kid sib that I cannot see straight and feel like pulling her down from the spoiled little throne I and her brother have placed her upon, that's all that will ever be said, as the details are here to haunt me and me alone. And honestly, as we all know, things always seem way worse at the time of impact than they do hours later, or after a night of dormir, and me going on a rant right now about two people whom I love more than I do myself, even though I know I would be justified in doing so, would be nothing more than self-destructing, pulling my own pin out of the grenade that I am right now. And what's even more, I am facing a taxing dia this Saturday upon us, chalk full of a trip to Indy (tal vez), work until close, and then a meet-up with one of mis mejores amigas, Lo, who is descending her beautiful, energetic, Mexicana self on Terre Haute anoche. I can only hope to keep up. So, as one might deduce from all of this, it is perhaps in my best interest to curl up into a fetal ball under my down comforter and Ralph Lauren throw and close my swollen ojos and sleep, at least for a bit, and hope that the nightmares of this evening are over, and that in respite I can find the sweet dreams that tonight's reality could not offer me. And yet, I have not lost the faith through the altercations of today, if anything, they have served as reminders that I should never be complacent, even after strings of success, as without the bitter, the pungent, the tear-inducing, one would never know the sweet, the savory, the shit-eating grin that life has to offer. But no matter, I'm hurt. From him, I expected the bullshit, we had three years of it on and off, and especially now as it all falls down, no surprise. But from her, nunca, it was like Benedict Sister shit.

 

But who am I to talk? If I had a tear for every tiempo I've let someone important down in my life, if only for a split second, because of a misunderstanding, or from a well-thought out or thoughtless fuck-up, I would have enough saltwater to fill up a lake and drown myself in it. And I'm 25 and still occasionally making the kinds of decisions that cause others pain, not quince anos like she is. She's just a child, what the hell is my excuse?

 

And now, as I feel like the 60-40 is going to be helpful to me in the fact that I'll have to think of six positive things in my life ahorita, bombs away…

1. Good- I have 6 of the 8 march madness teams left on my bracket, and by a small miracle, can still have a correct final 4, championship game, and champion. Woo hoo MSU Spartans, my sleeper pick for the final cuatro.
   
2. Bad- It might not even matter if I have all the rest of those games correct because the first few rounds of my bracket look like bombs over Baghdad. Wrong sleeper picks here, BOOM!!! Too much faith in other teams there, BOOM!!!
   
3. Good- I am going to Indy in about six hours to watch a couple IHSAA boy's high school basketball state championship games and even though I have no real personal ties to any of the teams, I am such a pure hoops fan at heart, that it won't matter, and I'll still be mesmerized the entire time and fall in love with the game all over again.
   
4. Good- Actually, not going to lie, it's the ridiculous amount of shopping that I'm going to do tomorrow that is what has my little corazon all aflutter, not just hoop dreams. Hip-hop-hooray for the northside of 'Nap and all it has to offer my wallet.
   
5. Bad- Once again, bills are going to be put on the back burner for high end makeup and form-fitting jeans. Priorities? Yeah, that's a day-to-day struggle.
   
6. Bad- I have a tension headache starting to mount on me like someone has a vice grip on the back of my cabeza. I would liken it to the way it seems like to me that it feels when a mother cat carries her kittens by their necks, but then again, they don't ever really complain, so it can't hurt that bad, and this, has got me limp.
   
7. Good- Everything always seems a little bit better after some sleep right? Sleep dulls a person's pain receptors right?
   
8. Bad- Who am I kidding? Until mini-me and I mend things, and after tonite, it could honestly be awhile, I will inwardly be just a bit dead.
   
9. Good- My crush who is still outta the states for about another 16 dias, called me outta nowhere a couple noches ago. Really, really, really caught me off guard.
   
10. Good- Life goes on. And even when you're tapped out in death, life goes on. It's reassuring if you ask me.
    

Xoxo to all, and to all a better night than mine.

And I’m feeling gooooood…

Passengers aboard flight 032409, this is your captain speaking. I have started this week off on the relatively right foot, making it to class, running the past couple days, and banking at work tonite, Ka-ching! I continue to pass through each day with a renewed sense of hope and drive and calm, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I'm so far from all together and right that it's not even graciosa, but cada noche I put my head on a pillow and fall asleep because I am thoroughly cashed out from the day's proceedings, and each morning I wake up, having actually taken my contacts out, my hair not reeking of bar smoke, and my liver not having come up out of my throat. Es una vida hermosa.

I've crashed and burned the past couple days on the whole, "I'm going to cut out bad carbs" thing. Mama made spaghetti on Lunes, and turns out, if I'm at work, I'm going to eat rice. It's that simple—it's right in my face, I get hungry, and turns out my half Asian side makes me genetically inclined to like the little guys. Oh, and I'm four chapters into the book of Matthew. I know, not much, especially from a fast reader such as myself, but even though the Bible trumps well, every literary work EVER, I'm only being graded on the short term on my knowledge of obscure brit lit and audio production techniques. But on the long-term grading scale, I should probably dig in further into God's written word, as it's the only thing I've ever read that has never changed, and has impacted me at the most unexpected and desperate tiempos, makes me feel something. Because of my constant sewing of wild oats, only those close or somewhat familiar with mi vida know that I'm a pastor's daughter, and the older I get, the more I despise the "well you know what they say about pastor's kids" line, because honestly, I don't act out or against what I've been taught and at the core I believe because my dad kept me under some lock and key, but more because I'm just a bit loca, spontaneous, and have an addictive personality. But enough about me fighting my God-shaped void all the live long day…

Things are looking up, up, up. I have six weeks of this semester left (even though I'm going to take summer classes), miles to go (but 18 under my feet), friends near (and those who are far but dear to me and feel likewise actually keep in touch), a familia that is supportive (but still keeps me on my toes, pushes me to my limits), and God in my heart (although sometimes tucked away so far that nobody knows it but me). I hate sometimes that I have to keep being burned to the ground, with a great deal of my trials by fire being of my own arsonist tendencies, to try and rise from my ashes yet again and resculpt myself into some semblance of contentedness and fulfillment of my dreams, but maybe this is my destiny. As a child or even a high school senior, I would have said at vente cinco anos that I would be married, wrapping up med school for orthopedic surgery, have a child, and be zipping around in a high line import. And instead, at 25, I am divorced, without little ones, living at home, still working toward a degree, and driving my gramma's car around that has a fiercely shattered windshield that looks like a freaky spiderweb, and yet, here I stand. Unafraid of failure, because turns out, been there, done that. Full of hope for success, because despite my slow-jacking through the educational system, I've always known who I am deep down and of what I'm capable, as greatness becomes me. Heart broken in several places, and yet not jaded, because I will always be a hopeless romantic, capable of giving another my best, and having them love me, unconditionally, for my ups as well as my downs, for the things that I believe to be flaws, and the things they find only to be indicative of me and my unique nature. Although just an exoskeleton of who I can and will be, one day I will look back on all of this, and appreciate the opportunities, the accomplishments more, not bend under pressure like those around me that I know who have lived silver-spooned lives, have yet to be tested. I am me now.

And me now, is tired, has a test to study for and a paper to write. So, as is standard…

Xoxo to all, and to all a good night.

one week deep

Passengers aboard flight 032209, this is el capitan speaking. I am one week deep into my bMp and all things considered, it was a decently productive outing. Out of the five goals I outlined earlier, I adhered to them quite well, in attending church esta noche, running five days for a total of 13 miles, only missing dos clases on Monday morning after I'd been up all night last Sunday puking, and eating pretty decently. I did only go out once this week as well, but drank twice, and although not extremely heavily on those two days, definitely more than I had anticipated. So, with that said, I am upping the ante this week on the bettering and healing of Han, and adding increased mileage, at least tres 2-a-dia workouts, the subtraction of any white carbs (whole grains are fine), and reading my Biblia at least a chapter each day. It was amazing what a simple week of slight changes in my lifestyle made, as the night that I went out, I heard more positive compliments than I have in quite a while (and no, by compliments, I don't mean drunks going "Hey you, nice legs, wanna fuck?") Friends of mine just stated that I seemed better, looked better, was starting to radiate something positive from inside again. Those things were all I needed to hear to keep staying this course and even take it to increased levels. And aside from this, even though an it was an obviously gut-and-heart-wrenching occurrence, beginning to move my things from my former space was as therapeutic as any number of organic apples, feet of pavement pounded, or lectures actually listened to. I'm going to miss him...I already do...but no matter if he's ever to be with me again in the future, or assume a completely different or non-existent role one day...this...this, is right. Tear invoking? check. Doubting the divorce constantly? check. Finding myself and revolutionizing me through the pain? check. And drumroll por favor, the sesenta/cuarenta...oooo, that rhymes, me gusta mucho.

1. Good- My skin, which has been que paso'ing between hell and high water the past six months actually started to calm down this week. I don't know if it was the "green" foods I was occasionally consuming, or the workouts, or the fact that I was making decisions every day that didn't make me feel like a complete blob and waste of space, but breakouts were minimal, and for that, gracias skin Gods.
2. Good- Although I began to gut the home that Red and I had created together over the past tres anos this week, he and I continue to remain as committed to one another as we are emotionally able to through the stranglehold of grief and divorce, and even did dinner today with kid sis, having baby bro as our server. Muy interesante.
3. Bad- One of bro's best friends, Bern, after joining us toward the end of dinner, said to me after the ex departed, "You know there's still love there right?," which only serves to reiterate a notion that I both embrace and fight with each passing day-- that of the fact that I screwed up my life in divorcing him, and that one of the better parts of me is eventually going to be gone.
4. Good- I have been watching March Madness games all weekend. For any real sports fan who tears up when the seniors on losing teams start crying, or gets goosebumps, or screams really insanely when teams they don't even care about hit clutch game-winners, enough said.
5. Bad- My bracket, which thank God I only paid ten dolares to be in one pool, is royally fucked, or at least I feel like it is. Just about every upset I thought would go down, didn't, and well, I guess I'm not surprised. My extensive sports knowledge causes me to over analyze lineups and match ups and conferences and statistics every damn year, and therefore, I don't just pick teams based on initial gut reactions and a bit of luck like I should.
6. Good- My bracket was a sea of "x's" last year at the sweet 16 mark and I still went on to win both pools I was in because I had the proper final four, championship game, and overall winner. So, who freaking knows.
7. Bad- I have another ridiculously busy week looming over me and I'm certain I'll be falling asleep in some of my classes and in bed before 1 a.M. most evenings this semana.
8. Good- I'll be so busy drinking won't even be an option, and honestly, solid hours of sleep never did anything but help a person. And I'm talking about solid, sober sleep here, not the hungover 12 plus hours varietal that I used to typically subject myself to.
9. Bad- I have a paper to write before my 9 A.m. class.
10. Good- Turns out, I'm sort of a badass little paper-cranker-outer when I actually sit down to do so. Just ask well, anybody I know that's graduated or is in the process of doing so. I would have graduated years ago with 3 or more degrees if I could net the ones I've helped make happen. But hey, I love you guys.

xoxo to all, and to all, a great nite.