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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, June 26, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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.
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.
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