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.