Ms. Hap's Confessions of a Quarterlife Crisis

Read it and Weep- My Tribute to John Wooden

2010-06-09T04:36:00.003-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 060910, this is your captain speaking for the first time since 042210, much to the dismay, disappointment, and annoyance of the majority of you. I know this because you've told me. To my face. On my facebook wall. Over the phone. And so to those of you have voiced your concern and irritation, apologies are due. But in all honesty, since the beginning of May, I have just been having the most entertaining, enlightening, most random and awesome six weeks of my entire life. I'm going to blame me having been away from my blog on the fact that I was doing field research for the rest of the summer's posts, really getting to know myself a little better (slightly undecided on how I feel about what I've learned), making new friends, maintaining old friends, compiling chapters of material for the novels I will one day write. I have laughed and drank myself stupid this past month, which is what adhering to a six drink a day minimum will do to a person. I still have two major issues in my life that are in dire need of correction, but I am steadfastly resolved to starting to right them soon, and that regardless of their existence, I am alive and well. And more than that passengers, and I say this with no hesitation, I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire 26 years of life. And this, is just the start, of a live well and wildly lived. Fasten your safety belts.

I honestly was compelled to get back to all this, not only because you and I have missed it, but because of another article I read a couple hours ago on the legendary college basketball coach, John Wooden. It was written by the talented sports writing genius Rick Reilly and caught me off guard not only in its portrayal of Coach Wooden and his selfless, moral, and wise attendance to what matters most in life, but because it made me cry. (Sidenote: I'm not on my period). I suppose I shouldn't be too caught off guard by the fact that a couple tears splashed down onto the laptop's keyboard, as I had my first sports cry as a 10 year old when Chris Webber called his non-existent time out and cost the fab five a national title, and then sobbed like a blubbering idiota this past winter when I watched my baby sister lead her high school team to the first girls sectional basketball title in her high school's history as a sophomore. No, but honestly, what surprised me most about the cry wasn't that it was sports related and I'm a sucker for that shit, but because it was the part of the article that described Coach Wooden's relationship with his late wife Nell, who passed in 1985. He just went on five days ago. His ten national college b-ball titles are unmatched. His no nonsense attitude and humble demeanor, unparalleled. His "Woodenisms," concise and yet spot-on reflections on every facet of life. But his love for Nell, astounding. Breath-taking. Tear-inducing, for me at least. And this is coming from the MsHap most of you know who flips through boys like a Rolodex, and re-words lines from Jay-Z songs like "on to the Next one," to read "I have a million ways to get it. He was one." The same MsHap who has loved with all she had/s in the past and had her heart broken in several irreparable pieces to the point where I'm not sure I believe in soulmates or even true commitment anymore, although of course I want it.

Nell Wooden passed away 25 years ago. Coach Wooden stopped all the clocks at the time of her death. He slept until his own departure days ago on only one side of their bed. The other side was unturned, and covered with stacks of letters bundled together. He wrote her once a month since her death chronicling the lives of their children and grandchildren and reiterating to her how much he missed and loved her. He only stopped months ago, because he could hardly see. He never dated, never kissed another female after she was removed from his side. Rick Reilly who wrote the story once asked Coach in the past to co-author a book with him on how to make love last. The day he went over to Wooden's house to talk to him about it, Coach came to the door crying, saying it was "just too soon." Nell had been deceased 15 years at this point. I've honestly got a lump in my throat just re-writing all of this for you guys. Until tonight, if you would have asked me what love is, depending on my mood, I would have either made a general statement about family and friends, or told you it was a state of mind, and a fucked up one at that. Coach Wooden, for a million reasons, I could thank you. For living a stand-up life. For your contributions to the game of basketball. To your insight. But no, tonight I thank you, because you gave me faith again. I have been so unsure of love for so long, but now I get it. And can't wait one day to find my own Nell. I just started crying again. It's because I know right now you two are intertwined, and you aren't sleeping alone anymore. Maybe that's what love is, patience. You both waited so long. She had to be so happy to see you. RIP Coach John Wooden. 1910-2010.

I'll post more later after I get a run in and a yoga class done. I'd rather not walk into the gym with swollen eyes. However, sports fan or not, you all need to read this article. Put down your summer school classes textbook or whatever Oprah's bookclub you're into and give this ten minutes. It's time well spent.

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=5260677

Team Selfish...

2010-04-22T12:29:00.003-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 042210, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I was called "selfish" yesterday, by an individual with whom I have had a romantic relationship in the past, and the idea that I am possibly so has been reverberating in my head since. This particular comment was flung at me during one of our standard arguments, typically prompted by me not paying a bill on time, or finding myself in the position to not be able to pay another one at all, due to a plethora of reasons. "Honestly," said he, "you're starting to become one of them," (referencing the inmates he is around at the Federal Prison). "You only care about yourself, don't pay attention to the important things in your life, and then expect everybody else to bail you out when you can't take take care of your own shit." I stood momentarily stunned. Something about being likened to a convicted felon wasn't sitting right with me. He went on, as he can always say more, berate me more. "You are irresponsible, and selfish. You need to get a better job. Did you know I worked a full-time factory job overnights when I was a full-time student in college? You can't just keep thinking a serving job is going to cut it. You need to start telling the people around you 'no'. No more dinners with your friends. No more of your sister's AAU tournaments. No more unnecessary expenditures. Focus solely on your bills. In fact, school can wait. These debts are more important. Grow up. It is time to grow up." I don't know if he simply ran out of nails to pin me to the cross he was erecting, or needed a breath. Either way, I know him stopping had nothing to do with the fact that he was beating the shit out of me like I was a verbal punching bag. It was almost as if he were trying to reiterate to himself in that ten minute tirade just why we got a divorce in the first place. You. punch. Are. punch. No. punch. Good. punch. However, although bruised, I had a million retorts rising from the depths of my wounded spirit. Only one took form. " I am not you. And I am thankful for that."

Don't get me wrong. Certain things he said to me have validity, could be applied to my daily life and aid me in my quest for lessened debt, lessened stress. I do need to prioritize bills more adequately, postpone and/or eliminate certain purchases and activities altogether until I can afford them without having to later struggle for a couple weeks when I try to pay off the things I put off to have them. All the while ducking calls from creditors, tearing up letters from my bank, knowing that I am taking an AK-47 to my credit score with each passing minute. Yes, he was right in this respect. I am irresponsible, with money. But does this quality make me overall a menace to society? The society in which I function aside from my financial failings in as a great friend and family member, respected and well-liked co-worker, intelligent mind in my classes.

And further more, perhaps he had a final valid observation. I let his use of the word 'selfish' invade my mind yesterday, and continue to marinate like 4th of July meat skewers into my today. And now, having pondered it so intently, I see that in this classification, he was right yet again. I am selfish. But that's just it. Selfish in its typical meaning, connotation is heard and perceived as a dirty word. But to me, it's not unclean. It is, if nothing else, paramount to the success of an individual, to contentedness, to the ability to affect the lives of those around you in a positive way. If we ourselves do not take the necessary steps to ensure that we are of sound mind, body, soul, and spirit, just how legitimately are we giving anything to another? Perhaps to him it is incalculable, and ignorant that I would put off paying my car loan for a week to spend the weekend in Chicago at my kid sister's AAU basketball tournament. But I know myself. And the overall reward to me psychologically from watching her drain 3 point baskets on a defense shattering step-back, or thread passes like needlework to teammates that I don't realize are even open is my life force, has the ability to help me maintain perspective in a life that is otherwise filled with "big picture" types of things, like homework, and having a second job, and shit, dating even. I could have gone ahead and paid that certain bill on time, and then worked closing shifts all weekend and made even more money to use on other bills. But with every, "And what may I bring you to drink?" and "Are you through enjoying this?" and fake laugh, and wine recommendation, and 20 percent tip I would have thought of her. And how quickly she is growing up, just yesterday a jaundiced little bundle new to our house, an unexpected little sister that mom became pregnant with at 40, to just days ago standing before me, 16 years old, in her
Rihanna'esque prom dress with boobs that make me think it's time to go ahead and upgrade my own. My sister. My heart. I can already hear his reply. "There will always be other tournaments." But as I didn't have the energy to say to him yesterday, I say it now, "There will always be bills." And yes, I know that they as well have the ability to affect my mood, negatively when not cashed out, caught up right away.

But I, and don't count me as one of those fatalist type personalities, do understand another element to why it pays to be somewhat selfish. Life is short. Make yourself smile. Talk to and surround yourself with the people that make you laugh, make you whole. Know that things like debt should be taken care of, but that it is more than okay to let them sit there a little while longer and go ahead and take that trip that might change your mindset, change your entire world. Besides, the person on the other end of that debt-collecting phone call is getting paid regardless of whether you hit the "hater" button on your cell phone when he/she calls.

So yes, Ex Factor. I am all those things. Irresponsible. Prone to Excess. Fucking Selfish. But if you must know as well, I am also loved. Respected. Believed in. Counted on. a Ticking time bomb. And seriously, you know all these things anyway. Because if you believed me completely bad, a convict as you said, you wouldn't take the time to lecture me in the first place. I am avoidable. Here's to you passengers, do something for yourself today. And don't give a shit about what you're not doing for whomever else when you do so. The others will be happier for it, even if they don't know it yet.

And now, the 60/40...

1. Good- Watching playoff basketball in a restaurant the other night, the bartender said to me, "You really aren't like other girls." I took it as a compliment. I am going to sports broadcast one day you know. Anybody can be tits and a teleprompter. Not that I'm above upgrading to a C-cup. I just want to be the most statistically knowledgeable boob job in the room.

2. Good- On a further sports note, my Yanks have won 9 of the last 10 and the Red Sox are well...check out espn.go.com for yourself. (Ensuing evil laugh).

3. Bad- I really am drowning a bit with bills. And something about barely keeping my head above water and having it constantly up my nose and searing my throat is a hard emotion to juxtapose with relative happiness in the other elements of my life.

4. Bad- I have a huge E359 Women's English Lit exam tomorrow at 11 A.M. I haven't started studying at all.

5. Good- There are only about two weeks, possibly less, of school left.

6. Bad- I have to go straight away after publishing this post to handle some business that I should have wrapped up months ago. And b/c of how little attention I paid it in regards to everything else in my life, it is now not close to be finished, and more along the lines of just beginning. And probably worse.

7. Good- I am going to get to see him this evening.

8. Bad- My premier mini-marathon is in 13 days. I plan on completing it. but I am going to be far less competitive than I had hoped to be. We will see how my planned 12 miler this week goes.

9. Good- We are about to have a wine tasting at work. Yay cabernet.

10. Good- I just found out that the local Applebee's will be having donkey's to ride and take pictures with on Cinco de Mayo. It is so stereotypically perfect. Only in Indiana.

Escuchar (Listen)- Nicky Minaj and Sean Garrett- "Get it all"- It's sexy, it's catchy, just listen. And then do that sexy baby-making dance you do when nobody else is around. Or that you do for money, if you're a stripper.

Mirar (Watch)- Parenthood on NBC. An hour of watching a smart, love-filled, but complex, and at times struggling family that you can definitely find glimpses of your own in. I relate to real. And the Braverman's are.

Leer (Read)- "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost.

Pensar (Think)- "The woods are lovely, dark and deep/ but I have promises to keep/ And miles to go before I sleep/ And miles to go before I sleep." --the last stanza of the aforementioned poem.

Have a wonderful Thursday all.

Mirror, mirror...

2010-04-20T14:07:00.003-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 042010, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I took my own liberties with the tried and true inquiry of pure-hearted Snow White, as I stared earlier into my bathroom mirror, readying myself for public evaluation. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who am I fooling, if any, at all?" She replied, "Why dear, only yourself of course. All who love you see truth regardless of what your appearance seeks to reinforce." "Fuck you," said I.

The nerve of that mirror, honestly. To tell me that I can't hide behind calculated maneuvers and loaded to-do lists, behind developed, habitual behaviors and mannerisms that show forth happiness, behind perfected brushstrokes that accentuate and yet conceal the realities of my face. "Watch and learn," I sarcastically flung at her, setting out all the tools of my arsenal haphazardly around the sink. I ran a brush through the strands of my hair, over and over, until it shined and showed no evidence of a night not slept through. A night in which I tossed and turned and tangled my mane with thoughts of complications and "What the hell do I do now's." I swirled my foundation brush in powder and buffed it into my tan skin, combating its sallowed, lackluster quality. Drip, drip went the Visine drops, two in each eye, erasing the traces of red that ebbed across them like lightning bolts. Dot, dot went concealer, under my ojos, to ease the dark circles that tears and insomnia create. And dot, dot, more yet, sporadically across my visage, in the sports where pimples told stories of increased stress levels, falling asleep before properly scrubbing the day's accumulated grime off of its surface, out of its pores. I lined, and contoured, and curled, and accessorized, and brushed and Listerine'd the taste of yesterday's failures right out of my mouth. I engaged in a staring contest with the mirror after all this effort. "Yes, fuck you," I reiterated, "I am not fooled by the image I see, I know who I am." "Oh," she calmly stated, "You do, do you?" "Yes," I shot back. "Then a bigger question exists my dear," she countered. "Do you like who you see?" I was the first to blink. And slowly avert my gaze and walk away.

On paper, and even somewhat psychologically/emotionally/physically I am doing better, feeling better. But I am far from right, still prone to pulling the pin on certain ticking timebombs that I have yet to completely disarm and/or rid of in my daily routines, and not throw them far enough away or even get them out of my fucking hand before they detonate. I am running, have two weeks left of this semester of school, am drinking much, much less. Check, check, double check. And yet, I still wonder every day if he is ever going to tell me "I love you" again, hate that I even wonder about that. I am still not prioritizing obligations over desires as I should be, and I have creditors and situations that are crippling me with uncertainty, and fear because of it. I am still fighting God.

And so, I'm off to complete the rest of this day. Work. Sweat session. Homework. All the while still asking myself and not knowing the answer to, "Do I like who I see, do I like who I am?" And then pondering the follow-up question, "What more am I to do?" I don't have a clue.

Spontaneous Combustion...

2010-04-14T10:21:00.004-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 041410, this is your Captain MsHap speaking. I apologize on some level for the two days I took off from writing (I know some of you hang on my every palabra, as you have told me) and for this slight discomfort and any increased levels of anticipation I may have caused you, lo siento. Starting this week and seeing it successfully through, has been so far like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, knowing that maneuvering the obstacles and obligations and simple desires of these seven days in April requires a steady, unfailing commitment to not taking my eyes off the weapon held between my eyes. I fall asleep each night, and wake each subsequent morning with the understanding of what my captor requires and expects of me over each 24 hour period, and comprehend as well, that if demands are not met, there will be hell to pay, be it lower grades at school, lack of responsibility and productivity at my jobs, diminished athletic stamina in regards to the mini marathon I am signed up to run in May, disappointment on the face of my sister (my world in no uncertain terms) if I were to miss her AAU basketball tourney this weekend in Chicago, calls from bill collectors if I do not get things paid on time.

My life has always been one that could potentially be this high strung, a series of check marks on an unending to-do list, and this is not the first week that I have ever had to tackle this amount of musts/shoulds/wants. However, it is the most that has befallen me in the better part of forever, days starting early (I am not a high-functioning member of society before 2 P.M.) and ending with a full powering down of my system, whether I want it or not, and not simply me falling into sleep/hibernation mode as before. More frightening to me yet, is the pinching feeling that has started to besiege me, at the spot of flesh where the bottom of my skull meets the upper region of my neck. The pinch, which is the result of being soaked by tidal waves of sheer realization as if I was to walk in on a cheating significant other, signals to me that if I am truly to be ME, the driven, achieving, contented, MsHap, than I will have these days, these weeks, this sort of frantic schedule until I am to be all burned out, used up, under. And it's not that I am capable of this lifestyle, don't find myself secretly wishing for it. It is just that I haven't strung more than a handful of good days together in so long, that to do so, is going to require an entire upgrade on my part, and not just in that "pop in a disc and tweak the bugs in my software, upgrade my anti-virus scanners, and gain the ability to have all the things I'm working on simultaneously exist on my screen." No. I am going to have to re-learn how to operate, have to delete more than cookies and temporary files out of my being, digging deep into my memory to rid (although only physically, because for some things there is no forgetting) of the detrimental, lazy, masochistic routines and mentalities that I have given myself over to since I was 18.

That was 8 years ago. 8 years of self-medication, degradation, lack of respect for myself. 8 years of disappointments, wrinkles on the brow lines of my parents, lies. 8 years of yo-yo weight loss and gain, unnecessary stress, and more heartbreak than one should ever have to endure. 8 years of wondering if I will ever live up to my potential, the talent and skill set that I have to hear I possess from people around me, be it my sister and brother, a close friend, or random individuals that I serve California rolls to at work every day. 8 long years of waking each day, even on those in which I wished I wouldn't have, knowing this potential exists within, and not the type of potential that scouts buzz about at the NFL combine, or the potential that exists because some fluke occurrence has created hype. No. Knowing instead that I have IT, laying so close to my surface, wanting to explode, energy forced still under the weight of my bad choices, my bad attitudes, my ingratitude towards God and his grace. Potential just marinating there, itching to be transformed from stagnant to kinetic.

Enough is enough already. It is time to plug in and re-boot. Re-release myself. And unfortunately for some, if you're a bug who only serves to build me up, only to watch me crash later, you won't be making the cut. And it doesn't mean you weren't fun. I've had a million great times, and have a million more to come on my plate. I just need to remember the majority of the great times. To not feel guilt when I think on them the next day. To not need your help to piece together an event that I should be able to easily recall. I am intelligent. I am in control of my destiny and self. I am much, more stronger than I have ever given myself credit for, stronger than I even believe myself to be now. Alt. Control. Delete.

Watch me burn.

The art of masochism

2010-04-11T22:11:00.003-04:00

Definition of "masochism"- A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.
Definition of "masochist"- Me.

Passengers aboard flight 041110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. From the title of today's address, you might be under the impression that I am experiencing some level of pain, but that would be just as far removed from the truth as any promises that any politician has ever made in efforts to be elected to some office. I am feeling better currently than I have over the past 11 days, and I am honestly a little startled to have just now realized that I have only been away from he and our normal routine for about a week and a half. It has felt like, and this is uber cliche, an eternity. The last time we broke up in January, we had literally ZERO contact over the course of the exact same amount of time, and if he had not unexpectedly texted me during one of the Colts playoff games, I don't know how long we would have gone without speaking. But this time has been so much different. I've had random contact with him since around 5 days ago, mostly via text, and seeing him for about an hour at a time out in public on two different occasions, and yet, I have remained a card-carrying, certified, yellow taped disaster area despite this contact, inwardly at least. Until last night.

I knew (or at least wished, hoped, prayed) that if I kept myself in his mind's eye and literal eye on a somewhat regular basis, that I would slowly break him down. Despite the fact that since the beginning of this month, I have managed to throw myself down off the pedestal I once posed on before him, giving him insta-flu symptoms when someone mentioned my name or he caught a glimpse of my face, I have endured this break-up with the feeling, although so very slight at times these past days, that what we have, what we are together, far transcends a simple sexual chemistry, lives far and above lust. It is the stuff that dreams are made of, if by dream I mean a nightmare. One in which, at least in this life, you have to wake up every morning to realize that you are in love with another, and they with you, but as the deck has been stacked previous to your developing into an "us," the only way to a happily ever after is to re-shuffle the deck and dole out a new hand to everyone involved. Seems simple enough right? Bad hands are folded and thrown back into the stack on a daily basis, even when at face value they seem fine, can be put into contention and with enough bullshitting yourself and others, actually bring about some level of success. In life, it is a known fact, that not everybody feels the need to chase pocket aces by folding whatever else they get in hopes that at some point, on some night, they will get them. Two same suit, or a pair of sevens is all some will ever need to keep playing, keep smiling, keep living. For he and I, we are that coveted pair of aces, but with one major hitch. If we lay ourselves out on the table, play our cards and dare anyone around us to have a better hand, there will be no rejoicing, no Jersey Shore fist-pumps when we win, trump everyone else. There will be pain, innocent suffering, public scrutiny, and regret. Yes, we will have each other, and that would be necessary. Because I am not certain there would be any one else around when we cause the house of cards to tumble down.

So, as of last night, I was right to feel that he could not possibly keep stiff-arming me when we know that we love and exist in this realm, this scope of feeling, as long as I made it clear to him, and believe me when I say this for once, that I am finished playing the stupid games that I had before. We were not together for long last night, and nothing was "fixed" in that meaning of the word, no return to our former selves consummated. But the atmosphere between us was different, passion choking us to the point of him on some level, finally tapping out to me, offering me the understanding, even if unsaid, that it isn't over. We are not done. And with this realization, is where I drew the inspiration for my title tonight, "The Art of Masochism," because with every victory, whether small or great, is understanding. I understood then, just as I do now, as I honestly have from the start with he, that this would be a story told in equal parts ecstasy and pain. And although I do not hurt now, as I stated early on, I am not jaded, I understand that in this portion of my life, in this particular relationship, that I am a cutter, and he is my razor blade. But no one gets to see these marks but me. Because they are tucked away inside. Some will see the outward, external manifestations that accompany these strategic slices I inflict, in tears, grimaces, food not eaten. I have to be absolutely stuffed with scar tissue by now. And although his razor blade becomes a little more dull with each light switch symphony we conduct, that only means that to feel the same eventual joy I have before, that I have to drag him across me harder and deeper. I wonder at what point I will eventually bleed out.

However, no promises have been made, or plans created. I just know that I felt like home last night. And that, having felt like I had been marooned on a deserted island these past weeks, is something I will welcome despite the knowledge that home in this sense, is temporary, unstable, and a nut house. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back. And now, the 60/40.

1. Good- I am in increasingly better shape than I was when this all went down, and have 6 runs planned this week, one being a 10 miler. Last week's 8 was like a free visit to the shrink.
2. Bad- I have a ridiculous amount of school work on my plate this week and a schedule of obligations (most I have been putting off like the plague) to rival it.
3. Bad- Mickelson won the Masters today. I was secretly pulling for Tiger. Not that I'm all bandwagon and live in the hype. But just because I understand, from the pit of my stomach, what it is like to mess up, BAD, and have to try again, make yourself better, and struggle to balance failures with current progress.
4. Good- I had a wonderful dinner with my best friend from work and his family for his wife's birthday this evening. It included mussels, a little Cabernet, veal in cream sauce, and desserts galore.
5. Good- I am thinking about getting another tattoo. A Spanish sentiment, on my side (rib area).
6. Bad- I heard that area hurts the worst, and I am not excited about having to hide another tatt from the parentals. I can still remember my Asian mom screeching and blowing a head gasket when she saw my sports tramp stamp a few Easters ago when I was showering.
7. Bad- I am walking back into no-man's land. I am a creature of habit.
8. Good- The Yankees beat the Rays today and now are 4-1. As for you Cubs fans...ouch.
9. Good- Kid sister has her first out of state AaU tourney this weekend (fri/sat/sun) in Chi-town and I haven't been there since the summer. Can not wait. Ballerific.
10. I feel 5 lbs lighter physically and 25 lbs lighter emotionally.

Escuchar (Listen)-She Bangs- Ricky Martin. He just came out people. I know, I know, we have known this from day one. If you listen to the song closely enough, you can almost swear now he's actually singing "He Bangs."

Mirar (Watch)-She's Outta my League, in theaters now. Genuinely cute story plot, great chemistry between the main couple, and really funny dialogue. Gratuitous use of the word "fuck." My kind of movie.

Pensar (Think)- Blessed are those who drink, for they shall inherit a buzz. --Unknown.

Leer (Read)- A Separate Peace, by John Knowles. Classic.

Is it in Me?

2010-04-08T17:19:00.002-04:00

Passengers on board flight 040810, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I am currently sitting around waiting on the return on my kid sis with my vehicle so I can drive into town and attempt this 8 mile run that I have been so proficiently putting off for about a week. It's crucial that I get these longer runs in, slow or not, because I'm sitting about 30 days outside of the race, and competitive to a fault (not that I think I'm going to be chasing the leaders), but would nonetheless not like too many people from this area or that I know personally to be faster than me. Call it vanity, I care not. It's a bit windy outside, but thus equals the forecast of my inward state of MsHap, so it is nothing I can't deal with. I netted plenty of sleep last night, ate some food, although still not because I actually desired it, and have enough inner demons to expel to run an ultra marathon in the Sahara Desert right now. OK, that's a lie. I have neither the strength, stamina, stupidity, or penchant to endure that level of heat to even begin to fathom, let alone complete something of that caliber.

I'm not certain what I will do after I get this run in. One of the hottest guys I've ever seen around these parts has been asking me to hang out the past couple nights (last night, I held him at arms length) and he just texted me again. Certain ones of my friends are calling me stupid, blasphemous almost for shunning a "gift" like him. I just don't know if I have it in me right now to even be entertained, or distracted by anyone outside of Gordon Hayward or Cristiano Ronaldo (look them up if you aren't sure who they are), or if I'm honestly ready to just go through the post-break up song and dance just yet. Is it really fair to either of us, regardless of his intentions? Or am I just being an idiot? I have used these "filler" type of guys to get over everything from my first love at 18 to my divorce. Why the fuck would this be any different, would I mourn and move on from him any differently? Oh, that's right. Because even though we all use this new car smell mentality to get us at least mentally detached from people in our past, we all know there is a common theme to what usually happens at some point following our encounter with a "mind eraser." We either A.) try and start up some relationship with this alternate person, usually failing later because we weren't emotionally ready to get into anything with someone else at the time we chose to, or B.) just feeling worse or more empty than when we started, than if we had just stayed at home and decided instead to try and cultivate a new relationship with a workout DVD, a new sitcom, and a bottle of wine. I'm about 50/50 as to whether I am gonna go chill with him later tonight or just blow him off yet again and snuggle in with Jane Eyre and other school reading and hope the slide show of the past 8 months isn't on prime time in my mind for the 10th night straight. I wish I had some replacement batteries in my remote.

Post-run dissection, 60/40 and other stuff coming later when I get home. I've only been awake a few hours. I don't really have 10 things in my mind to even discuss with you based on my day yet.

And yet found...

2010-04-08T00:33:00.002-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 040810, this is your captain MsHap on the loudspeaker. I'm not certain how long this particular post will pan out to be, as I am running on 4 horas of sleep, and had the kind of day in which a nap would have been not only nice, but was almost a necessity. I literally almost parked my car along a road I was driving along early evening because I thought at any time I ran the possibility of succumbing to narcolepsy and proceeding to careen into a local establishment or local elderly couple. I am obviously still alive. Great success. Oh, what a difference a day made. And not that anything extraordinary came of the events of my day, or that I cranked out a mega to-do list like I was tweaking on something, or that he decided we could try this all over again. Instead, I simply made it to all of my classes, saw and spoke minimally to him, saw my co-worker/close friend's new addition (adorable she, by the way), had a catch-up dinner with another good friend, and then cranked out some interval runs and abs/arms domination. And no, none of these things are anything that you would find me not doing again at some point, or that I don't already do with some regularity (increasingly so day by day in the time that I am devoting to workouts again), and yet, it was all enough.

Enough of what, you might muse. Enough to get me to eat again after a day and a half of not. Enough to keep me occupied enough that I had little down time to ponder potential texts to him, potential schemes. Enough to allow me some genuine belly laughs around friends. Enough to hold a tiny two and a half week old life in my arms, and have her sleep peacefully, while her rambunctious, steadily approaching 2 year old sister tumbled and giggled and made me wish, if just for a fleeting second, that I might have already mothered one of my own. Enough to keep me from further spinning out following yesterday's performance of Girl, Interrupted. Enough to have him sit across from me a little over a week later, finally look at me in the beginnings of his soft way, and tell me maybe about our possibilities instead of the resounding no's I had been getting then and since. Enough to start to feel that with time, it could be possible to just be his friend, have him in my life in that capacity and that be ENOUGH. Enough that I feel comfortable enough with the check mark's of today that I can sleep without as much weight on my chest for the first time in a while.

I'll post again, including the 60/40 and the check, check, check now check it outs in the afternoon, after some sleep. Good night.

Lost...

2010-04-07T00:15:00.003-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 040710, this is your delirious captain MsHap speaking. My crazy, disoriented state is not the result of little sleep, I got plenty, well into this afternoon. It is not the result of lack of intellect, I would best any of your Jeopardy scores. I am just going nuts. Little by little, day by day. My heart, beating just enough to keep me alive to dwell on things, has decided to not be the only one of my vital organs to stand before the firing squad. It is said, that misery loves company, and although no other part of me wanted to hang out with my ravaged heart, it didn't matter. No one else RSVP'ed to the "great unraveling" and my heart, although dejected, was not to be denied. No. no. It decided to use its powers that do battle each day with things such as Reason, and Logic, and Values, and Lessons already Learned, and use these to get my brain, stomach, and tear ducts to open their doors, just enough, for it to hit them over the heads and kamikaze its way inside. So now, with this newly formed conglomerate of fuck, I am like a puppet on a string, subject to the desires of this terrorist group. My little Al Qaeda decided last night, enabled by the disheartening Butler loss, and a random Patron shot to go ahead and contact him. He answered. I hung up. Early this evening, while still at work, I got a few text messages. I read them. My insides pow-wow'ed and decided to unleash the flood gates I have kept tightly sealed the past week. I didn't even make it outside before my face looked like a little water park. I am valued at work, counted on, for keeping calm during everything that hell could possibly unleash on an establishment. I am an obviously emotional individual, not afraid to cry, but I don't do it at my job, or at school. I thought I had perfected, long ago, doing the robot. Weary eyes, labored mannerisms are typically never able to be expertly hidden. But all else, can be, and I, was no stranger to this dance. Until today. The terrorists hit me with their best shot, and, as is standard issue, didn't shoot to kill. But they hit their mark, inflicted subsequent pain, and let me cry like a little bitch in spite of the fact that I was still on the clock, not tucked away in my car, couldn't just chalk up my little outburst to my period. I am not even on my period. Astounding. I was outside for quite some time. Wind whipping my hair into a frenzy, moving my tears down my cheeks like they were practicing for the slalom in the winter olympics. I was hugged. Left alone. Probed. Kissed. I was spoken to in English. In Spanish. In silence. I even had a moment with a co-worker I'm convinced hates us all and could be secretly plotting our demise. I realized tonight he isn't going to ever do anything like that.

All I could think was that I really don't have time to feel like this, have this sort of feeling existing within me, ready in times both public and secret, opportune or embarrassing, triggered by anything and everything, to set off little bombs, cripple me with sniper fire. I have responsibilities, all of which I have been attending to since then, school and work and friends and family. I can see the light at the end of the graduation tunnel. I am aware I possess disturbing amounts of promise. But this is threatening it all, reducing me to going through the motions, doing what is expected, required. Smiling and laughing though inwardly pained. Moving on, although traveling a path that is dangerous and with any misstep could have me tumbling into the thorny ravine below. Learning to unlove him while yet still loving him. Learning to love myself. Eyes open, not seeing.

I have to stay busy. Must occupy my days with things that get me somewhere else in time, even if I feel like I am standing still. I haven't got that 8 mile run in yet. I would like to later today. Only problem is I have had 3 bites of a veggieburger to eat the past 24+ hours. I am not a vegitarian. I am also not hungry, still. I'm not trying to be a fucking martyr for this cause, like some heartbroken Gandhi. I am just not hungry. I am stuffed full of bile, and regret, and a desire to wake up later and hurt a little less. I am told, and know from experience, dulled pain comes with keeping on, doing right, endurance. So I know I'm going to do that run later whether or not food is consumed or not. So if you see a half-Asian running along the streets of Terre Haute tomorrow and she passes out, just pick her up and re-hydrate her. Actually, I've been drinking silly amounts of water. Shove a cheeseburger down my throat and call someone on the Iphone I've got tucked into my sports bra (I can't find my arm band). Anyone on my favorites list will work, although if you call my brother, he's in Cali and it could take a minute to get him here.

I am certain I will soon have to send in special forces to try and find my sequestered, scheming organs if this keeps up. But special forces only operate when I am trying to be better, not washing away all the work that they aim to do with alcohol. I owe it to those of you who love me to fight back, to re-establish my heart, mind, soul, spirit, and body as my own. I owe it to myself. I am going to need to make peace with God. And as I am not only not hungry right now, but also not tired because of plenty of sleep, I am thankful for the 60/40.

1. Good- The Yankees beat the BoSox this evening 6-4 at Fenway. Our line-up looks good, and I'm not talking superficially. Go ahead and launch into your "of course they are good they spend unGodly amounts of money on their roster and no other team in baseball even comes close." I know you're thinking it. Indulge yourself already.
2. Bad- We lost on opening night Sunday to the BoSox, after having them down 5-2 going into the 7th. I was feeling ultra-cocky and shot out a text and wrote on the facebook walls of a couple hardcore Boston fans I know. I was in the midst of doing some pilates at home after leaving Bw3's contented with the way the game was going when I got a text from one of my cardinals loving close friends, which read, "Ouch Yankees." Fuck.
3. Bad- I have had two of the people most dear to my heart tell me at some point over the past couple days how worried they are about me and disappointed and how desperately I need to get my shit together. Completely. Cue more bullets.
4. Good- Today is a new day and with it brings the potential for change and righting my wrongs.
5. Good- I realized last night that I want to be Gordon Hayward of Butler's baby mama. And I don't want even really want kids. It is just something about his baby face, sick basketball knowledge, and his little busted lip. Go ahead and launch into your "You just love him because he'll probably be an NBA lottery pick" spiel. I know, once again, you're thinking it.
6. Bad- I have a brit lit quiz at 9 am. It's 3:01 am. I have more Jane Eyre to read before it.
7. Good- I am good at educated guesses. Oh, and a proficient reader of Sparknotes as well.
8. Good- I was reading through my newsfeed on facebook last night during the game and a reader had given me a shout-out (full name) on her status as to whenever she see's one of my blogs is up that she drops everything to read it immediately. It gave me goosebumps.
9. Good- I am losing, but I am not lost.
10. Push- I saw and talked to him this evening. That is it on that.

Escuchar (Listen)- "Me Duele Amarte" by Reik. I don't care if you understand Spanish at all. The lead's silky vocals and the sentiment behind it will be all you need to get it. Translated however, "It hurts me to Love you."

Mirar (Watch)- Aziz Answari's stand-up clips from his Comedy Central special "Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening" on youtube. His impressions=sick. His material=hilariously on-point and current. He could have made me laugh tonight when nothing in the world was funny to me.

Leer (Read)- The Bible. Religious or not, there is some sound advice to be heeded amongst the stories of David and Goliath and prospect of hellfire.

Pensar (Think)- "Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." - Proverbs 4:23 in aforementioned Bible. I should have done more with this one than simply be able to quote it off the top of my head.

Have a wonderful Wednesday all...I will certainly try.

Risen...

2010-04-04T14:39:00.002-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 040410, this is your captain MsHap wishing you and yours a very peaceful and contented Easter. Whether or not you are religious and celebrating this as the day that Jesus Christ rose from the dead, saving us all from eternal damnation (as I am), or you simply are enjoying the day with loved ones and stuffing yourself full of Cadbury Eggs (which, I by the way, loathe) and Peeps (which, I by the way, love, especially microwaved to the point of near explosion), today is truly one to just think back on where you've been, value the people who enable you to understand the full scope of love, and put all the things in your life in perspective for once, really count your blessings. That is what I am doing today, despite the dull ache I have felt slowly begin to lay siege in my inner recesses. I'm not certain why, in the fifth day following our death spiral, that I am feeling this loss in this way, as Sunday's were typically our "minimal to no-contact" day. Perhaps it's because today is a holiday and one in which I have been surrounded by family and texted by the majority of my close friends that I am realizing his absence in my life in a greater magnitude than over the past few days. It must be this, paired with my lack of obligations today (no school, no work) that has allowed my mind to wander to him, to us. Had the events of Tuesday evening not shaken out as they did, the following is an almost exact replication of what would have certainly taken place between us today, via text of course.

Me: (because I always texted first, until I noted this to him and started waiting on some days for him to text me) "Happy Easter baby, have a great day"
Him: "Igual mente" (translation: Equal mindset- or right back at ya)
Me: "I love you."
Him: "Te amo tambien." (translation: I love you too)

And I would have left it at this, left him to his other life, but been at peace with the minimal exchange. I am amazed, now in retrospect, how peaceful I was with such little interactions and conversations such as these. Definitely the definition of short-changing myself in the love department. I have got to keep reminding myself of all the glaring negatives and detrimental aspects that were results of he and I. It isn't a short list. I just realized I created a fake "what if" text dialogue between my ex and I. I don't even know what that means. I wonder how long it will be before I'm not mentioning him in my posts at all.

However, my life menos him, has been progressive, positive. I have ran each of the past 5 days (weekly mile count- 12), something I have not done more than 2 days in a row since August, literally. It is as if I am trying to move miles away from him with every stride, every interval, every side cramp, every time I lace up my Asics even when I would rather just wallow in my self-pity kiddie pool. So far, I feel like it has been working. The road has been my therapist and bitch both. It absorbs my pain, and aggression, my physical and emotional struggle. It stays steady under my feet as I clear out my head, breath him in and out. I am learning more each day that the road is a great listener. I like that unlike any one else I speak to, pour out my secrets and guts to, it stays quiet. It very rarely has anything at all to say, except for encouragement and the prospect of a longer run the next time out. From the moment I hit mid-arch step one it greets me with a "Hey, you again," to its whisper when I fold over frontward, sucking air, "Yep, good stuff. You should try for 8 tomorrow," none of it goes unnoticed by me. And I'm taking the road up on this latest challenge on Monday afternoon. 8 miles. 42, 240 feet of soul-searching, grief-purging, head on the burning in my legs and regulating my breath and not on anything else love and hate and sweat.

This break-up has a name boys and girls. It's called motivation. And with that said, I am wrapping this up to spend some time in workout mode with kid sister and then doing the church thing again and watching a movie and opening night of the mlb. Drumroll please...the 60-40...

1. Good- Opening day of major league baseball is tonight and my Yankees (defending and 27 World Series title champions) are going to beat the BoSux circa 8 P.M. Pinstripes!!!
2. Good- I am going to see Clash of the Titans in 3d with sister. I haven't seen a 3d movie since Avatar and I am hyped. In preparation and anticipation of this cinematic adventure I wrote this entire post with my 3d glasses on. I'm honestly not sure why I even still have this pair and in such close proximity to my computer. Weird.
3. Bad- I have a redic amount of reading to do for school tomorrow and mounting absences I'm gonna have to have documentation for by semester's end. I skipped last Friday. But it was Good Friday and I'm a pastor's daughter. No brainer. I wonder if my prof's will accept a note from my dad on a church letterhead. I just laughed out loud.
4. Bad- The stress of dwelling on he and I's demise and the untimely but always relieving arrival of my time of the month has me slightly broken out and majorly annoyed.
5. Good- Butler, and I'm not even going to use the word 'upset' anymore, beat MSU last night and is playing Monday evening in Indianapolis for the NCAA National Championship against Duke.
6. Good- I don't have tickets, but I'm going downtown Indy with some friends tomorrow night to watch the game and I guarantee you no matter the result, the city is going to be absolutely LIVE (as in, watch out, live wire) after. I want to be a part of that atmosphere. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it.
7. Bad- I might have to work at Hollister Tuesday morning and I can imagine how I might be feeling during that shift. I pray I'm a call-in. And then I pray they don't need me.
8. Bad- I missed my Grandma that passed a bit over a year ago more than usual today, and was struck with this feeling by the presence of one of my Easter basket items from dad (those little gum balls shaped like eggs in a small carton).
9. Good- I had a friend approach me out last night to let me know he has a couple book ideas swirling around in his head that he really thinks are gonna be great and he wants me to write them.
10. Good- I'm introducing a new little section to the my blog today. See below.

Escuchar (Listen): Vanilla Twilight- Owl City

Mirar (Watch): Opening night baseball (Yanks/BoSox 8 PM) or the Life series on Discovery.

Leer (Read): The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (life altering. seriously. if you know me personally, ask me to lend it to you. and I might. and if you don't, buy it, kindle it, steal it for all I care, it's called The Book Thief for goodness sake).

Pensar (Think): "There will be a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning." --Louis L'Amour

Happy Easter all.

the afternoon after...

2010-04-02T03:23:00.004-04:00

Passengers on board flight 040210, this is your captain MsHap speaking. Today was one of which I started halfway finished, waking at 3:30 P.M. (go ahead and sigh all of you, but I didn't have school or work until 5 and I desperately needed it. Each and every minuto.) I awoke to no call or message from him, despite a novel-esque text that I sent before I crashed in the wee hours of the morning, putting out my last "I'm sorry's" and reiterating that I under no circumstances want us to go out in this manner, that I'm willing to make some concessions, and that I know myself to be of fault. Truth be told, I knew I wouldn't wake up to a text back. Regardless of whether or not we ever progress to anything even resembling a friendship in the future or go on to give this another shot, yet another certainty exists. He is going to make me grovel. Ignore me whether he can't sleep at night or not. Make me prove, over emotionally grueling seconds, minutes, hours, and days, that I meant what I said last night. That I am indeed capable of personal progress, change. I know this is a chance for me, a win-win situation to embrace and proceed towards what I know is missing in my life, reinvent myself as MsHap 2.0. If I work toward this societal re-release, fine tuning my already strong, core traits, honing new skills, and shedding old skin, people, and routines, then weeks, months, or a year from now, I will be better for all this labor, clean-up. And whether or not he works himself back into my equation, I know in the pit of my gut, that it's high time for me to step up to the plate, embrace the destiny and opportunities that have awaited me for so long. It's time for me to not only understand that my intelligence and God-given abilities do not entitle me to any success and happiness, but that none of those things will come without working my ass off, waking up when no one else is, saying no to drinking through the week and absolute debauchery on the weekends, and re-configuring every detrimental habit that I have developed over the past 8 years. If nothing more, I hope that one day he thinks of me and is proud to have known me, loved me. Because as it stood last night, I saw nothing but utter disdain and weariness toward me in his ojos, a far cry from the usually soft quality they take on when I am in view.

With all that said, despite my tardy start into Thursday, I managed to accomplish a handful of positives, namely working, running for the third day in a row, and doing an abs/arms circuit that involved upwards of 500 total reps. Work was interesting, as I am uber close to a handful of my co-workers, and bullshitting them about anything, especially my state of mind, is nearly impossible. Guests are easily fooled by robotic smiles and gestures, and honestly, unless they know me personally, don't really give a shit about whether their server has "sad eyes" anyway as long as the service is efficient and accurate, and the food great. And as for my place of employment, check all of the above. But as I said, a few of those around me were like sharks on blood, probing me with "Hey, you ok's," and "No, seriously, what's wrong with you, talk to me's" the moment we locked eyes. And I, like the open book that I am, did divulge everything to those that I trust and was met with a smorgasbord of responses. They ranged from absolute disbelief on the parts of some, to knowing, pained looks from others, as we all have known for so long, both spoken and not, that it was not a matter of it all falls down, but simply when. *To each of you, and you know who you are, I love you guys. The hugs, and condolences, and the fundamental concern that you exuded and showered me with earlier is indescribably appreciated.* A couple of them insisted that although it is all seemingly for the best, that it is far from over. A good guy friend whispered in my ear, "He'll call." And honestly, even if he doesn't, just hearing that from him spoke volumes to my heart.

It is 4:07 am and I am still awake, laundry washing and drying, me pondering on whether or not to go ahead and stay up the remaining 5 hours until my first class like a crack head, or give into the slow, soft serenade of slumber I am starting to hear traces of in my ears. I should probably sleep, if only for an hour or three, as my Friday is, on paper, loaded. I suppose my blog in the next day or so will fill you in on if I actually did so. Or well, my lack thereof if I thus so crash and burn. So on to the 60/40...

1. Good- I am always amazed that the cliche "when one door closes another door opens" is indeed true the majority of the time. In my case, it came in the form of a couple phone calls from two individuals that I had not spoken to in quite some time, both close to my heart in varying degrees. One was the father of one of my exes just letting me know he was thinking of me and hoped me well, and the other The Texan, a boy who came into my life 6 years ago in California, and has managed, despite the fact that we've never actually dated or even lived in the same, or neighboring states, to remain a fixture of sorts in my romantic sphere, a what-if that I have always wanted to pursue. Both calls caught me off guard.
2. Good- A friend of mine I have not seen in months is coming into town this afternoon to spend the entire remainder of the evening with me and I could not have asked for better timing on her part. At this point, any distraction is a welcome one, and when it involves someone who gets me, even better.
3. Bad- My sleep schedule has been absolutely fucked up this week so far. It's 4:18 for goodness sake.
4. Good- I have adderall. Enough said.
5. Good- I heard the song "Vanilla Twilight" by Owl City today (download it) and got through it without crying, despite its hard-hitting relevance to my current situation. Favorite line, "As many times as I blink, I'll think of you tonight."
6. Bad- Owl City's biggest and first hit, "Fireflies," is a song that I hate with a passion, change every time I hear it on the radio, and am now subjected to, my revulsion be damned, by the new Hollister playlist. Yes, I work there too. I am eerily good at folding things and creating visually appealing walls and displays.
7. Good- We are one day away from the Final 4 games in Indy, including home-state Butler playing Michigan State. (I'm prophesying a Butler victory here folks, remember me doing so later). And, on this same note, I'm going West Virginia over Duke as well.
8. Bad- Indianapolis is going to be absolutely raging on Saturday evening and I have to close at work and need the money. So no party for MsHap. There at least.
9. Bad- Every time I hear my little iphone text alert I secretly wish it was him and am honestly saddened a little more when it isn't.
10. Good- I am going to better me, and in turn, get better. I feel it. Don't look for this to happen over night though. I am the queen of sabotage remember?

Good night all. Sueno conmigo.

ain't no sunshine when he's gone...

2010-04-01T00:20:00.002-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 040110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I'm a disturbing mix of equal parts absolute heartbreak and absolute self-hate at the moment, following the dissolution of a relationship of sorts that I had with someone, right about 2 hours ago. I feel like an eerie prophet right now, as I called this break-up out in my welcome back blog two noches ago, and lo and behold, was finally dealt my K.O. punch. We had been sparring in love's ring since around independence day , on again, off again, taking little jabs at one another, landing some, but always able to recover from our various body blows with a little coaching from those in our corners, or a little vaseline and stitching. But not tonight. He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee, and I, previously weakened from a little damage of my own I inflicted this past weekend, a bit of self-sabotage, went down without even time to shield my face from the punch he delivered. Oh, did I say face, I meant my heart.

We have been absolutely each other's everything and nothing all at the same time. Only a handful of people even knew of us, necessity really, and this level of seclusion was both emotionally and mentally crippling at times, and thoroughly exhilarating at others. It was the most pure love I have ever felt for a member of the opposite sex (family and friends excluded), and yet caused me more anguish than any alternate relationship I have ever been involved in, including my divorce. I have cried myself dry for this evening, running the tear gamut since this afternoon, ranging from the solo drop that creeps out of the very outside of your eye, and slowly snakes down your face, almost tickling you if not for the heart implosions that are transpiring simultaneously, the kind that you can almost pull off as a result of looking directly into the sun or your contact lens getting fucked up to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, that of me speeding down the interstate home a bit ago, crying so hard it looked like my windshield was A) devoid of Rain-X & B) had no working wipers during an inland hurricane, me making that "I'm freaking the hell out" rapid sucking in of air "hic-hic-hic" breathing pattern, like a break-up's version of the pant-blow baby birthing breathing technique, except for pant-blow brings about new life, and "hic-hic-hic" usually only brings about more crying later when triggered by deciding it a good idea to get over the all falls down by watching Titanic again, or putting yourself to sleep with the help of top shelf liquor or ambien. And even there, in slumber, you're never that safe, that free, as lost loves are known to inhabit dreams as well. Well, at least all mine make sporadic cameos in mine, otherwise pleasantly unrealistic dreams until terrorized by these people who have crossed the ravines of my inner beat box, and struck a claim in some aorta, never deep enough to actually kill me, but always just enough to ensure that even years later, hearing "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson, the scent of Curve, or the sight of the back of their head can cause me to tense up, feel a legitimate tweak in my chest cavity, or acknowledge them, at least mentally for unGodly amounts of time. I know this one, he, will be no exception. In fact, I look for him to be far worse than any sort of post-break-up holocaust that I am subjected to, for the simple fact that although we were never publicly hung out to dry, that that is the point exactly, that our actual punishment starts now. That with each day that passes we will never be able to be together in the way that we want, isn't that what hell really is? Taking your key and placing it in another's lock, to discover that not only does it fit, but that the door swings wide open just as if welcoming you home, and then having the house's other owner come and take back your key or your stupid ass losing the only one ever made. Some people search their entire lives for that connection, and never find it. But others do, and because of their audacity to pursue it despite extenuating circumstances, will find that they are able to cultivate it in some backhanded manner, long enough for it to validate itself as real and bigger than themselves, and then have it removed, with or without warning somewhere down the road. This is God's way of letting us know, no matter what he allows, and what we think we get away with, we actually don't. And as far as punishments are concerned, he isn't worried about doling out anything above and beyond the end of this love. Because he knows, life from this point on, will be hell enough. Death would be easy, enduring without him, is a great deal harder.

Worse yet, was that tonight was the result of a string of actions that I have had going on intermittently since our start. I knew them wrong all along, or at least adverse to what he wanted, knew them potential minefields, and yet continued to strew them about and think that just because I knew where I had laid them, that I could lead him around them as well, or get them to keep their damn mouths shut under the ground. But, as is standard, I was only fooling myself, and in the moments this evening when my infamous mouth had not a damn thing to say, where tears replaced nouns, and verbs, and adjectives, where I couldn't put everything I had pre-planned for this occasion into coherent talking points, I have never felt like more of an idiot. Everything was going away and I was the cause. Although this is a concept I'm more than familiar with over my life, as dropping out of college will piss off your Asian mom, and keep you from getting a big girl job a little longer, doing things behind some one's back to the point that they hurt so bad that all the love they have for you is slowly bloodlet out of them, knowing all along but refusing to accept that this, that you, would be that razor blade that slit up their wrist, this is the feeling of self-loathing. To hurt those that love you unabashedly, to the point of no return, no reviving, no paddles or hugs or apologies or tears or your face on their face to bring them back to love, this is why I cried tonight. Oh, and because he could never quite look at me straight on, like his keys were way more important than I had ever been, like there was something on his immaculate dash that needed re-arranging. I literally slipped out his passenger side door after the silence in the vehicle began to choke what little air was left in my lungs from my previous obnoxious sobbing, and am surprised I didn't crumple outside the car onto the pavement like every bone had been extracted from my body and I didn't get the memo. I walked to my car, never turning around, as if on the way to the guillotine, about to lose my head, a modern day MsHap Antoinette, for my sins. But I would have welcomed that. Take my fucking cabeza. Just leave my heart. Anything, but my heart.

My heart peeled out faster than I could get my shaking hand to get my car keys in the lock. I wonder now when we'll speak again. I wonder now if we ever should. I've known us wrong for so long, and yet nothing feels this right. Resisting the urge to text him right now is like trying to keep your nose from wrinkling when you smell vomit or to keep from shouting "fuck" when you drop something on your foot. I would almost give away my ability to write if I could sink into a deep, lengthy sleep right now. But no, says God, I am only just beginning. Otherwise, how will you ever learn?

I miss you already. I'm so sorry. Te amo.

No 60/40 because everything in my mind is negative. I hope to feel a sliver of peace and progress in the morning. Good night. And to all you broken hearts out there...say hello and a little prayer for your new neighbor.

on the brink...

2010-03-29T23:48:00.002-04:00

welcome passengers to flight 033010, this is your captain msHap speaking. I have had one of those days, in which you find yourself thinking it was a push overall, the positives and the negatives battling one another so effectively, mirroring each other's every move like some sort of fucked up animal mating ritual, that you do nothing more than sigh yourself to sleep at some point and drift off thinking of what you can improve on when you wake up and what simply needs to be maintained. For me, on the bright side, I made it to all of my classes, ate well, worked out, and am sitting here currently waiting on my kid sis to return home from soCal. On the flip side, and there is always, as sure as life goes on despite your certainty that it will not at times, a flip side. But don't let me fool you, I'm not the "life isn't fair" type. Perhaps in certain situations, it is far from logical, excessively painful, erratic really, creating gale force winds for unsuspecting, undeserving, ill-equipped people. But I am not that person, one of those people. I exist with the understanding that 90+ percent of the pain that others feel in viewing my life, the pain that strangles my very heart, the stressful situations that I find myself subjected to on a near daily basis are of my creation, of my own laziness, or vanity, or inability to say no, prioritize, will myself to change and extract myself from situations that are morally unsound and absolutely reckless. People may have a million things to say about me, and when the truth is shaken out from the bullshit, you can take it to your grave that there are a handful of certainties that exist for me. Things that you can whisper behind my back or fling at me face-to-face that I will have little to no reply for...I am habitually tardy, love someone that I shouldn't, am prone to excess, and sleep too much. Oh, and that I'm loud. Get over it. Once you adjust to the volume of my voz, you'll realize there is much you can either wet yourself laughing over coming out of my mouth, or some really, really solid, non-judgemental advice. And not because I'm a know-it-all, but because I know a lot. It's different. I've fucked up enough to be able to steer you clear of nearly anything that will one day level you and blow up in your face or to be able to let you know that you will survive when you don't heed me in the first place. But perhaps one last thing that I'll guarantee you that you will never be able to deny me, regardless of whether I am an absolute waste of God-given talent, regardless of whether you hate my legs, hate my swag, hate the blunt but articulate things I have to say, is that I am genuine, never deny that I love with all of me, and receive it in copious amounts in return. And honestly, at the end of the day, at the end of all of this, what else do we really want? People talk, money talks, titles talk, and yet talking will eventually fall on deaf ears. You know what doesn't? The way you make people feel, the way that you love. I am in no shortage of this. This is what propels me on.

But at the same token, I spent nearly half an hour crying while back and forth texting someone because of them calling me out on my love, my naivety, my blind trust. He told me I love too much at times, or that I at least put forth this most tender, yet powerful of emotions on individuals who want nothing more than to have me around and then talk ridiculous amounts of shit behind my back. "Do what you want, be around who you want," he texted, "but know that despite this skewed vision you have of yourself at times, about how you are above all this, able to chill, and screw, and drink like an idiot, around certain people, with no repercussions, that you aren't. You want to be famous one day," he shot my way. "Oh, you are, but in no way the way you think or actually want." And these notions, although realized by my own self at times, were not welcome guests into my day's emotional guest house, and went on to eat all the food in my fridge, leave the toilet seat up, and not make the bed. Fuck. And worst of all, is this all came raining down on me from a person that I value more than most, and despite the peculiarities of our particular interactions, is someone that I know who never has, nor would try and verbally wound me without me pushing him to the very limits of his amor for me, having wounded him first, over and over with my blatant disregard for his feelings at times, only to always expect him to warm back up to me immediately after, coddle me when I demand it, force his own feelings and words down under a calm and smiling facade when someone around him degrades me in some way, with some words. He would later apologize, but needn't have. He was right, he is always right. And for the many reasons he moves me, this is one quality I have come to despise. Oh, what tangled webs we weave. And this one, has me like a mummified fly, bound up in the silken, but sticky threads, only able to buzz, devoid of movement. But don't blame him, I trapped myself in the first place. Each day I wait now for the fatal bite. It's coming.

I, however, feel hopeful at the prospect of the remainder of this week. I dropped about $50 at wal-mart, which, if I utilize/consume the items in my cart, could potentially create some good energy, take steps in the right direction for once, at least in physical matters that is. I have many things to do over the course of the next few days that I have been putting off and if I do so, could clear up some major mental space for me. And God knows, when your heart is already full, you need all the extra room elsewhere that you can get. Stay tuned.

And now, for the 60/40. A random run-down of 6 things/observations in my life that bring a smile to my face and 4 that I could do without having done or seen or heard. Be careful my friends, acquaintances, random members of society and tv stars. This is where you could end up one night if you're not careful, or immortalized if you floor me.

1. Good- Kid Sib should be home any minute now. With her return I get my best friend back, and some new clothes and a black sephora eyeliner (and females, it is seriously the most no budge, worth it $5 you could ever spend on something). Yeah, I'm passionate about make-up.
2. Good- I caught up on the episodes of Life (Discovery Channel) that I missed from Sunday and am absolutely floored by the camera work, mesmerized by the beauty and splendor that is God's creation, and amazed at the work some of those little fish I watched put in to get food, breed, and stay alive. I can't even get myself to do crunches. Check it out if you haven't seen it. One of the best hours on tv right now.
3. Bad- Although I worked out, I didn't get a run in today like I wanted. Which, plus for the workout, but I am "training" for a race, so ummm, yeah, about that.
4. Good- You guys are reading my posts again. and you have no idea how stoked this makes me, how much this fuels my fire to write, to share. I adore feedback so hit me with it.
5. Good- I got a somewhat random text from someone this afternoon who is relatively new to my radar about wanting to hang out this weekend.
6. Bad- He said this last weekend. We didn't hang. Thank God I'm not the reading too much into things type.
7. Good. Dad & I reminisced for 20 min. this evening where we discussed ESPN's 30 for 30 series and especially the documentary about reggie Miller and the rivalry he and the Pacers had with the Knicks Mid-late 90's. I recounted exactly where I was when Reg scored 8 pts in 8.9 sec. in '95. 12 years old. back passenger side of my parent's sweet gray 'nova at the time. Listening to slick leonard & mark on the radio. My heart almost bursting.
8. Bad- Realizing over the course of this mini-convo with pops although I do have the pacers logo tatted on my back (yanks & colts too), that I have not felt that much passion for the nba for such a very long time (thank you Artest, ignorant Detroit fans, etc.). I honestly kinda miss the hard fouls, vulgar gestures, days when Market Square Arena was so loud I thought my ears were going to bleed. But I'll be patient.
9. Bad- I'll be up another 2 hours with some stuff, it's 2 am right now, Sister is still not home (and is going to want to talk to me), and I work at 10 a.M. The humanity.
10. Good- I've got a feeling...

Good night y'all.

Don't call it a comeback...

2010-03-29T01:55:00.003-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 032910, it has been a little over ocho months since I, Captain MsHap has addressed you with a mensaje over the cabin's loudspeaker, and honestly, I wouldn't be surprised to find that none of you are interested in not only what I have to say anymore, but even still in your seats. Most of you certainly must have already enlisted the help of those sitting in the exit row to inflate those safety slides and get the hell off of Han-Air, and I can't say I blame you. The flight time you've missed over the past near year has been nothing idealistic. It has been turbulent (violently so at times) and to say that there weren't a couple instances at least that my aircraft almost crashed and burned, would definitely be a lie. And one of those times at least, was simply because I was resigned to letting it hit the ground and go up in flames, having turned on auto-pilot to handle my life's dealings, no longer willing to put up a fight against the erratic nature of the world around me, aching so much so consistently that stepping out of the cockpit and sitting in a first class seat instead, sipping on those little single-serving, complimentary bottles of alc, eyes closed, headphones pumping Schubert's Clair de Lune into my ears, patiently awaiting my demise was a welcome thought. And don't get me wrong passengers, I (aside from those faint, over dramatized moments we all encounter over the course of our lives, and usually due to a douchebag human being we just happened to fall for), did not want to die, to breathe my last. I just did not want to live. It is not the same thing.

From the outside looking in, my journey seems to be on course, riddled with time delays to and from certain departure and arrival spots, but enduring, passing inspection to maintain daily flights--school-check, work-check, health-check, friends-check, intelligence-check, family-check, humor-check, productivity-check, love-check. The passenger list aboard my plane is an enviable one. Wonderful parents, two siblings that I adore, friends and co-workers that I can count on, make me squeal with laughter, support me in success, pick me up off the ground when I fail, help me unravel the knots that I expertly tie that I am certain each time I will not be able to undo. I am blessed beyond recognition, beyond gratitude, this I have and will always know. But counting one's blessings aren't always enough, at least for me at times, to keep perspective on just how wonderful this vida I am in truly is, and this is my Bermuda Triangle, the ability to maintain my bearings, sense of up and down, right and wrong, east and west when my heart causes my mind to completely fog up, and my instrument panel goes suddenly haywire, needles spinning, plane losing altitude. Despite this, I possess an eerie quality of calm that those around me feel, are drawn to when they feel out of control, such as when a co-worker simply got oversat by a couple tables and wants to walk out, or I take a crying child out of someone's arm and instantly placate he/she. This is ironic because based on this description of one of my personality traits, one would think I would be a little better under the stresses, disappointments, and heartbreaks of my own life. But perhaps it isn't actually calm, collectedness that draws you all to me like moths to a flame, but a different mannerism that I've developed over the years of fuckups, that of resignation. When you become somewhat numb to stumbling, falling on your face, or at least banging your shin off something left and right, knowing that only your death could really shock and devastate those around you, that you've done enough disappointing over the years to ease those close to you into a lull of acceptance that you're succeeding by simply breathing, then this is more what I put off than tranquility. Or at least it is the melody of the song that I fall asleep to each night.

but fear not passengers, my plane is generally a good time, chock full of vibrant characters, memorable conversations, drunken shenanigans, and a story line that is something that would make the shit on most reality shows (e.g. The Bad Girls Club) seem really, really juvenile and tame. My life, for myself and those in contact with me is cued up to a play list that suits every type, and is interspersed with more laughter than The Hangover could have ever thought about creating. Despite all the aforementioned gloom and doom that I battle each day, I am still a thoughtful, love oozing, bend over backward, funny as fuck, whip smart individual that values my friends and family and has big plans for my forever after. It is just of utmost importance that I get my self-loathing, debilitating side time to be recognized, released from its imprisonment in my head and heart so that not only can you realize that it is not only okay, but normal to think that you're falling apart and not even believe yourself capable of righting your wrongs, but also so that I can know that I'm okay, for me to see my misgivings in black and white, right in front of my face, to vent and release and give myself a springboard as well in which I can see where the hell I need to turn off at and try this all again. And so, as I realize which each word that is springing forth from the very depths of me, that I need to get this blog back up to daily activity. However, I can in no way, shape, or form even begin to fill you in on what has been que paso'ing with me since I've been AWOL. So here's what you missed in a nutshell.

I am back in school, attendance still sketchy, but 25 credits or less from graduation. My credit score still sucks and I have a few bills that are stressing me the flip out and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about. I am single (facebook officially) but my heart is currently, and has been in this state since around last summer's 4th of July in the hands of a person who I realize will never be with me the way I desire him to be, who has made me both better and comprehending of what I am capable of, but also morally worse and oddly enough, aware of what I am capable of (as far as destruction of sorts is concerned). My ex-esposo and I, on the other hand, are closer friends now and more respectful of each other than when we were married. My brother lives in SoCal and I miss him enough to cut this sentence short as not to dwell on it. My sister is here, increasingly my best friend and confidant, and continues to be one of my greatest sources of annoyance and also my greatest motivation for success. She and her high school b-ball team won the first girls basketball sectional in their school history. I cried like a baby. I am still drinking way too much and not running and eating right like I know I should be. Regardless, I'm signed up to run a mini marathon in the next 6 weeks. Some of my friends and I lost a good friend to a drunk driving accident in the past few months. This should have been more of a wake-up call to most of us. I miss you at the oddest times Jer, but you'd be proud of me, I'm not hand dancing so much anymore. I actually stopped caring about what I might actually look like on the dance floor and cut loose. No one's complained. My espanol is getting better by the day and I got the only A on my midterm in my class. I am about to start piano lessons and sing with a friend of mine in hopes we can get into a contest and win it. I am still using too much profanity. I am writing a novel that is loosely based on my own life (or perhaps a memoir although I'll never let all of you know what is true and what is not). I honestly think it's a little too profane for my parents to ever want to read. I made peace with my brother's girlfriend. I am still dealing with some legal stress in my life. I watched the movie Up in the Air and can relate to it. I am still growing up.

I have lost a handful of my close friends to moves, most out of state. And by lost, I mean I just don't see them as much as I'd like. I have made a few new friends, including three, and since I don't name names on here, I'll refer to you each with insider info. H, I appreciate you more than you'll ever know, even in this short time of our friendship. For letting me crash on your couch. For how funny we think Avatar is. For not judging the state of my love for someone even though it is a situation that you could never, would never let yourself get involved in. For enrique. J, from the deepest part of me, gracias. For reading the first part of my novel and not only enjoying it, but finding resonance within yourself in a part that wasn't even my central focus. For zumba. For being a strong, beautiful, wonderful woman and mother. For filming my epic consumption of Real Ha margaritas. And K, not only am I grateful for your friendship, but also for indulging my attention whorish side with tv spots for work. Congrats on your engagement. You are more than deserving of this. And for those of you who have been with me over the long haul and remain, you not only get thank-you's, but my unfaltering love and affection. Some of you have seen me in times, states, and heard me out on things that even I was squeamish to admit (and for those of you who know me, I haven't really ever been afraid to say anything).

So on this note, I end my first blog back in the longest time. I have missed you all, and hope in time you'll come back to me, to whatever drew you here in the first place. For some of you I allow you to escape the doldrums of your daily life, for some of you I kill time when you're stuck at work. Some of you enjoy my grit, others just want to talk shit about me later and know you'll strike gold here. Go ahead and talk it up, it's part of the reason I write. For some, I let you know that you're not alone in your darkest thoughts, morally unsound decisions. For some, you just like my sentence structure and vocabulary. For some, you may never read anything I write again. But for all of you, thank you. And good night.

everytime he comes around...

2009-07-01T05:12:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-06-30T20:11:00.002-04:00

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...

2009-06-29T00:18:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-27T03:29:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-26T06:06:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-25T04:03:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-04T13:47:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-23T23:32:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-21T03:23:00.001-04:00

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

2009-04-06T00:01:00.003-04:00

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 :)

2009-04-05T19:31:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-01T15:11:00.001-04:00

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.

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.
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.
Bad- I'm about to head out the door for a five mile run. Yeah.
Good- The bitch of a workout is going to burn at least 500 calories. Yeahhhh.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Good- things are always looking up.

Xoxo to all, and to all a splendid day.

Leaving seems to be the hardest word

2009-03-30T00:51:00.001-04:00

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

2009-03-28T02:45:00.001-04:00

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…

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.
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!!!
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.
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.
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.
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.
Good- Everything always seems a little bit better after some sleep right? Sleep dulls a person's pain receptors right?
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.
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.
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…

2009-03-25T01:08:00.001-04:00

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

2009-03-22T22:57:00.002-04:00

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.

three years in boxes

2009-03-21T01:29:00.002-04:00

passengers aboard flight 032109, this is your captain speaking. I just completed a 2 miler with baby sibster (and yes, it's 1:30 a.M.), but I am on my dia cinco of the bMp and that's just what I had to do. I am as tired as ever, and as there is no rest for the blessed, or so I've been told, today will be just as long, as I will go be a support system around noon to one of my bests (Diggy) as she lays her gramma to rest, work until people stop wanting sushi after, and then hit the treadmill or road again despues. And then on Sunday, still no sleeping in, because I've got my first broadcasting gig for state's softball squad and church and a paper to write. Sigh, elongated sigh. But enough about the trivial, mundane shit in my vida, and on the raw, the stuff that keeps you reading, keeps you interested and/or worried about me.

Yesterday was one of the hardest, most emotionally draining days I have ever endured. Although Gram's passing about a month ago was like slamming into a brick wall, I felt much of the same ayer, as packing my things up out of my former home with the ex felt like a death in and of itself. Right alongside books and clothes and knick-knacks went pics of Red and I in moments of both pure and staged happiness, anniversary and birthday cards to one another, home furnishings that we chose together. Three anos of day in and day out with another, all reduced to sacks and cardboard boxes, jammed like sardines into the trunk and backseat of my car, like I was 18 years old all over again, moving my things to and from my dorm at I.U. Deja vu really, as my freshman year of college ended up an academic disaster and now, seven years later, my marriage just the same. I had already been tearing up sporadically as I packed without anyone there, and of course, the day just couldn't be complete without the ex unexpectedly showing up during my boxing, tenderly laying his hand on my shoulder while I was hunched over a bunch of magazines in our study, not speaking for the longest time just soaking it all in. We've officially been divorced since January, but done since the fall, and honestly, until yesterday, the gravity of it had yet to hit either of us I think. It will still be a solid few weeks until I get all my big furniture out of there, and I've got one more carload to bring home later today, and then that will be it. I will have no reason to stay at the house anymore, see him randomly through the week, in passing or on purpose, and it's so heartbreaking I could almost die. I'm thoroughly drained, even by the re-telling of this occurence, and I need dormir in the worst way. As I can hardly see this screen anymore because of blurred and filled-up ojos, I am signing off.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good night.

Eyes wide open

2009-03-18T12:48:00.001-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 031809, a lo siento of sorts from your captain, Ms. Hap. I have been menos an internet connection for the past couple days and although it is no good excuse, my life three days into the better Me project has been all that I imagined it to be—busy, frenetic, productive, and completely wearisome. I have fallen asleep the past two noches before 12:30 A.M., no small feat for those familiar with me, both lethargic and on-the-go, and not because I felt it would be to my best advantage to bed down early, but because I could not keep my ojos open. I have spent the start of this week at work, in class, over homework, running, and stocking up on organics from Bloomingfoods. Yes, organics, as in hippie-healthy fruit, steel cut outs, and even graham crackers. Dear Dios, who am I right now? But oh, dear God, I needn't even await your reply, because I know who I am ahorita, I am scratching the surface of the girl I was around this time last year, the healthy eating, at least 85% of the time, workout bulimic, to-do list dominatrix, and it feels like gold. Tired, melted down, fools gold maybe, but gold nonetheless. I was reminiscent of one of those tacky little dogs that sit up on trashy people's dashboards whose heads bob up and down and up and down today in fit for life lab, but at least I was in class. And in both classes previous to that one as well, and I'll be heading back to campus in under an hora to round out my busy miercoles. Despite a meeting with one of my profs tomorrow to discuss my attendance, I am ready to face him with eyes wide open, at least to this final stretch of spring semester and genuinely hope to convey to him that I'm ready to turn this around, that I'm building up the walls of my life and not ripping them down with rapidity and furor as I have been. And just for the record, I even skipped out on St. Patricks Day celebrations last nite, trading green drafts for "green" food. Mi vida is thick with change. But on to the 60-40 because I'm 40 minutos away from class time…

Good- I am taking a yoga class with kid sib tonight and I haven't done a downward dog for I don't even know how long. I am competitive to a fault and I know I'll overexert my lack of flexibility trying to out bend mi hermana and others in the class, but I'm looking forward to it regardless.
Good- I had the most amazing kiwi fruit last night and I'm so triste because I only bought two.
Bad- A girl that I met a month or so ago that I spent a fun night hanging out with is heading back from her temporary job here back home to Texas, and then off to another training stint in Ohio. I didn't even really get to know her much at all, but she was a kind soul and now, for the millionth time in my life, one of my good girl friends, or in this case, a potential, is out of town again. Best wishes E.
Good- I still have nothing but amor for my dearest amigas, some in Indy (Tt, Lo, Als, and Kiki) and one guy friend that I love as much any of my estrogen-packed counterparts in Washington D.C. (Bobblehead). And after unexpectedly hearing from Lo last night, I just felt one of life's great truths confirmed within me, relationships and absence are like fire and wind. If the fire is pequeno, any level of wind will blow it out over time. But if the fire burns bright enough, a gust of wind simply stirs it up even higher and hotter. And as for these friends, we are all en fuego. I love and miss you guys…
Bad- I have to work on Friday night which will mean that I will miss some of the opening round games of march madness, and honestly, as this tournament is sorta-kinda one of my life forces, ugh, that sucks.
Good- I have Thursday night off, sweeeeeet, and a bracket that I hope is insightful and dashed with just the right mixture of luck and college basketball knowledge and expertise to help me win my couple of bracket challenges that I'm in. Bring it on boys.
Bad- I wanted to take a nap, probably needed to take a nap during my two hours in between classes, but I watched dvR'ed Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill and The City instead.
Bad- I am overwhelmed with sadness at the thought of starting to move all my things out of the house that Red and I inhabited together for the past couple years.
Good- I need a change of venue, a place to call home, if only for a bit, where I don't walk in and have to face the demons of relationship past, see the ghosts of memories and hear the conversations of old about forever after, and children, and commitment. This house is haunted, and until I exorcise myself from it, he and I both will continue to suffer from nightmares.
Good- Did I mention March Madness starts tomorrow? Are you kidding me people, this is the most pure, exhilarating time of the ano, and although the tourney is a bit sad without curry and Davidson, it will create its own new heroes, and I will still cry during "one shining moment."

Xoxo to all, and to all a blessed day.

b.M.p.

2009-03-16T02:50:00.001-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 031609, this is your extremely ill and fatigued captain speaking. I had marathon puking sessions intermittently over the course of today, which have left me subsequently exhausted and I have class in t minus cinco hours and I can't fall asleep. No bueno. Manana is shaping up to be extremely loaded, full of errands, escuela, and the start of the bMp, or the Better Me Project. I have enlisted kid sister as my Made coach for the next month, in which she and I have outlined five main goals to be achieved by mid-April. It is our hope that the bMp will jumpstart my life back on the inside track and help me stay on the road to recovery and redemption. 1. I have to attend church once a week. 2. I am only to go out once a weekend and if I drink it should be extremely minimal in nature. 3. I am to run/workout 5 days a week and complete a mini-marathon in either April or May. 4. No skipped classes for the remainder of the semester. 5. Complete my room renovation at my parent's house and get moved in finally. I am at such a worn-down and weary place in my vida right now and I'm honestly very excited to get back on the wagon and down the Oregon trail. I feel sometimes that I am one slip-up away from totally face planting and the thought of making good choices and having to be accountable about them to someone other than myself is as reassuring as it is daunting. I'm crossing my fingers that I feel better after a bit of sleep than I do right now because I'd rather not have to step out of zumba tomorrow because I have to throw up or pull my car over like I did today. And now on to the 60/40 because I need to lay down whether or not I feel like it, sleep becomes me…

Good- This week is going to be go-go-go, but in having to be aqui, there, and everywhere, it leaves me very little idle time, which I found out over the course of a basically responsibility free spring break week, is the devil, the absolute devil.
Good- The Texan told me the other night that he has a week off work in May and that he is pondering coming here to see me.
Bad- My crush is off to another country for an entire month tomorrow and I didn't get to see him at all last week. Which, I'm certain he made sure of on purpose. But actually, this might be a good thing, his exeunt from los estados unidos, because in case you hadn't heard, out of sight, out of mind.
Bad- I spent a decent amount of tiempo today with my cabeza on my toilet. And for those of you who really know me, I'm not an easy puker. In fact, I can't even recall how many times I've wanted the contents of my stomach to come spilling out and either had to play like a bulimic or just get over it. But not today.
Good- I'm itching to throw my asics on with regularity again and hear "You must be a runner" again. Oh, and turns out running will help me miscarry the beer baby I've been lugging around lately.
Good- A friend of mine let me know that he's sort of a tennis guru and I'm going to start playing with him when it warms up. So exciting and turns out, I have the perfect outfits already. Pink lacoste polo and short skirts? Ummmmm, thank you.
Bad- I have a splendiferous amount of bills to attend to this month.
Bad- I watched on and off "The story of us" on lifetime tonite which was basically the portrait of red and I's marriage, minus the kids they had and the fact they had been married fifteen years and I teared up numerous times, and at the end when they kept it together, I was left with this sinking feeling that we just gave up without a fight, without really trying, and that in itself is the real tragedy to me, not the divorce itself. Live and learn.
Good-Despite the divorce, the ex and I have maintained a relationship with one another, which, I don't know of with many other people I know or have heard of having split. I hope to maintain him as a friend all my life. Which, I know of the dynamics of ours will change with the passing days, new relationships, and when I finally completely move out of his house, but for now, I cherish and value what it is that we are able to accomplish.
Good-I am doing color commentary for my first sports broadcasting gig (isu women's softball) this Sunday. I'm nervous as shit but so ready. I was born for this.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good night.

It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon

2009-03-13T15:18:00.001-04:00

Passengers on flight 031309, this is your finally focused captain speaking. I'm blogging for the first tiempo in a while without a hangover of any proportion, and although I'm certain a certain level of entertainment with my posts will go down with my decrease in alc consumption, please believe that mi vida has always been a roller coasters of sorts, and if my life isn't que paso'ing out of control because of drinking, me and the muchachos I know will keep it real. I knew this was going to be a difficult change, as people have me pegged as a drinker (which hasn't typically been wrong of them), and when they see me out, such as last noche, if I'm holding some evian, there's something not quite right with that picture. As its toward the end of spring break, the bar scene was far from busy yesterday, and yet I had to turn down a filthy amount of shots and drinks and sell people onto the idea that an epic detox is of extreme necessity for mi. and despite the difficulty, annoyance maybe, I knew in my core that it was the right move for me, that everything I said "no" to, was a "yes" for my future, a tally mark on the chalkboard of progression and healing. And perhaps it seems ass backward as well that somebody who is trying to rehab herself would go out to environments where there are drinks free-flowing, and yet for those of you who really love and know me, you know that I would be more likely to fall back into my old vices if I did hole up at home. If I'm ever going to be strong, I know it's going to have to a combination of me being able to face el Diablo on weekends and tell him to fuck off, and with a great deal of work by me through the week to ensure that my dreams start to become more than fantasy and actually achieve reality status by focusing on school, and by making sure I not only get my physical shape back to those of days of 'yore but do it through healthy, athletic means, and not by me reverting back to anorexic phases I battled in high school or by eating add meds and weird diet concoctions. Today rolling out bed and looking at myself in the mirror, it was amazing the difference simply a dia could make, but I didn't see the battle weary mess that I usually wake up to and try and see through contacts that I slept in that are glued to mis ojos, and instead saw a glimmer of hope in my eyes, saw a canvas that I'm far from contented with, but at the same time, know that I can chisel and sculpt and re-shape into an eventual masterwork. I was never a sprinter in high school, and so none of this should surprise me, especially the fact that this race, my race, is going to be to the steady and sure-handed, for days, months, years at a time to get where I want, what I want, and not going to be a half a day affair. One day down, a million to go, and all with a smile on mi cara. Who knew?

60/40 boys and girls…

Good- I am one day into soberdom.
Bad- It was already muy dificil after only one night out to turn down drinks from all sides, and the scene was far from packed with the normal people I see from week to week, only upping the difficulty factor as tiempo will go on.
Good- Even though I typically crumble, I'm up for this to hell and back of a challenge.
Good- I think that I'm going to get to see the crush out and about town this weekend.
Bad- He leaves on Monday for an entire mes, out of the pais. No bueno.
Bad- I still need to get my room in order at mi madre and padre's casa so I can get out of the ex's for good. He deserves it, way more than me.
Good- Our relationship is less strained even since yesterday, because as one who can see through my bullshit as well as a handful of my close friends and family, I think he actually sees the drive in me to change my fate.
Good- The Texan and I talked for over an hour last night. I continue to be amazed that we can see so insanely little of one another, and go days without speaking, and yet, when we do, we laugh and connect and even love.
Bad- I cannot stop biting my nails, a suicio habit that I've had since childhood.
Good- Did anybody other than me see that intensely amazing seis overtime game last night between the 'Cuse and UConn men in the big East tourney? Omg, that was a freaking multiple orgasm for sports fans everywhere. March madness come early, oh yeah…

Xoxo to all, and to all a healthy day of progress.

The only thing

2009-03-12T22:31:00.001-04:00

Passengers aboard flight 031209, the only thing your captain has to say hoy is that I'm not drinking. I won't say it's going to be forever, because that's setting me up to fail, and honestly, I'd love to get to the place one dia where I can share a bottle of vino with somebody to complement the meal we're eating and not because every tiempo I think of my ex-husband or escuela or really anything, I hurt. So, until then, until I get myself well and my body healthy and my ducks in a row, I'm tapping out. It's last call for Ms. Hap. You'll still see me out and about, because the social mariposa in me would rather die than not be surrounded by people and energy, but if I don't have an agua or some juice in my hand, feel free to smack whatever it is out of my hands. They tried to make me go to rehab and I said…"Yep, sign me up please." Lo siento Ms. Winehouse.

Xoxo to all, and to all a healthy and wonderful night.

Waiting to exhale

2009-03-11T18:08:00.002-04:00

Passengers of flight 031109, this is your captain finally spilling her guts after a couple days off from conscious thought. I haven't done really anything at all of worth over the course of my spring break thus far, the mixture of waking up the past few dias with a completely open schedule and spending my tiempo with friends acting like we actually left town for PCB or Cabo. My actions yesterday were borderline ridiculous, and I'm honestly not certain how I maintained the frenetic pace me and a couple of mis amigas were on, but given the personal significance of what ayer represented to one of them, Peligrosa, I just soldiered through our silly-fest that started at 6 P.M. (for me at least) and wrapped up this morning at 7. Yep, you're reading that right, 7. But like I just said, yesterday was really heavy emotionally for one of my most treasured friends, and the poise that she showed until the slightest of meltdowns late into the evening was staggering, at least for me to comprendo. I am self-admittedly weak, be it crying over, well, everything, or whining when kid sib punches me in the arm or something doesn't go exactly like I envisioned it, which, as I tend to live my life as if I'm playing Russian roulette is quite often. One of these days I'm going to have to put the gun down or my haphazard lifestyle is going to discharge it and there will actually be a shell that hits me, and depending on the logistics of the bullet, I could be dealt a fatal blow. Although it may seem to outsiders in my life looking in that I think I'm covered in full body teflon, believe me when I say that I know of my infallibility, the chinks in my armor, know that I'm at any moment a potential fatality, aqui one minute, gone the next. And so I'm certain it seems backward, completely unfathomable that I would continue down certain paths, but a veces it just all hurts much too much, and it's facil for me to just choose to float along the lazy river on an inner tube instead of swimming against the current of the seas of success. I need to start praying for strength, because right now I can't much more than get up into standing position, let alone walk or even jog toward the finish lines. I've got to get my legs back. I have got to start living this right. And if that means having to completely give up the juice until I can drink again to enjoy and not to escape, then I really have to consider that priority. But like everything, it's always easier said than done, but if my life, or at least the good life is dependent on it, then I owe it to those around me, those that I love, and most importantly to myself, to give it a fighting shot. And by shot, I'm definitely not talking Patron.

the 60/40, as siempre…

Good- I just watched Manchester U on espnDos and had the amor de mi vida, Cristiano Ronaldo grace my plasma for a few horas. The boy es muy caliente, and I even managed to dvR the very end of the game when he went shirtless, thank you Dios, gracias, gracias, gracias.
Good- I still have no commitments or responsibilities until manana when I return to work, so if I want to keep sitting here in my sweats, drooling over soccer boys and Puerto Rican beisbol players in the World Classic, then that's my prerogative.
Bad- A boy that I have a slight crush on is holding me at arm's length because he knows he can. Ugh, I hate when my games get twisted around on me. Hypocritical, but no me importa.
Bad/Push- Last noche when I was out with friends, a stupid girl felt the need to run her boca to us about some completely ridiculous, unmerited shit and really wanted to fight. I called her a hoodrat before I walked away, and luckily she calmed down after a bit because even though I had on a pop-collared trench coat and four inch heels, I was just in a weird enough mood to pop her if she'd kept it up.
Good- A guy who witnessed the whole thing came up to me before he walked out later and said, "Honestly, I would have put my money on you." Uh-huh. Just because I'm generally weak sauce, let not an unknowing female test me at the wrong tiempo, because I did fight battles to near death over my childhood with my baby brother, and I blacked an ex's eye when he grabbed my face and wouldn't let me walk up to our apt. years ago. One of my dearests, Tt can totally vouch for the validity of that left cross I connected to his ojo.
Good- Another one of my bestests, Diggy, described one of our hippie type of friends as all "green and granola" and honestly, that's just classic.
Bad- I haven't heard from the Texan, surprise surprise, since Friday. And I'm certain, like always, he'll call again just when I'm onto something new.
Bad- My international bestests all took off last nite for Daytona Beach and I, having to work from Thurs-Sat had to stay behind.
Good- I am way out of dos-piece shape and wouldn't really want to frolic around with minimal body self esteem and have to worry about the guy I'm hitting on being in high school. I'll take comfort in those things.
Good- I continue regularly to get such positive feedback about my blog, which just shows me, that no matter how painful, how self-hating it is at times, that you guys see bits of yourselves, believe in my potential, and are tuning in and willing to ride out this journey with me, and that is gratifying beyond palabras.

Have a wonderful rest of the day all, xoxo.

You can call it what you call it, I’m an (expletive) alcoholic

2009-03-09T02:06:00.001-04:00

Passengers on board flight 030809, this is your captain speaking, liver aching and altogether run-down. I woke this morning to my ex-esposo Red telling me that as soon as we're able, "we need to talk." "About what?," I mumbled. "Your drinking problem…this isn't going to keep flying Han, I worry about you, and if you keep it up you aren't going to be able to keep staying here." Yep, you're reading this right, I cohabitate with my ex husband a veces, in our house which I have stayed in one of our three bedrooms on and off since we divorced officially in January, unofficially in October. Long story. Not going into that part of it hoy. Anywho, what my non-drinking ex doesn't comprende is that I'm not an alcoholic, I'm a binge drinker, which, depending on my stress level can last the better part of a week, but who's labeling me other than him. I don't wake up in the morning shaking for a drink, nor do I put off anything but homework and working out because of a cerveza or twelve, I simply work hard on the things I need to, and play harder. Could be ignorance, could be unnecessary on my part, could be my unraveling, but either way, this is me, now. I'm divorced and heavier than I want to be, drink like it's a contest, and put up Kobe Bryant numbers in my dating life, but you know what, perhaps it is in a person's unraveling, in being everything you despise fundamentally, that you get an extremely clear picture of who you want to be, finally comprehend just what not to do, who not to be the next day. Perhaps it's in the failings that one actually sees the future. I don't know how many more days I can get a ride here to the ex's drunk and think he's gonna put up with it, but even I know when a too-good thing is coming to an end, and I don't give me in this casa another mes. But regardless of address change, (drumroll please), the 60-40.

Good- I only worked two noches this week and was able to recuperate a bit, but regardless of the fact that en la semana pasada I worked six nights, I still made bank this week like I had worked just as much.
Good- CC boys won their first sectional basketball title in over thirty anos. Muy bien.
Bad- One of my boss's overly intelligent nine year old twins somehow figured out how to get on my blog and read through each of my posts. "Well, dot dot dot, what did you think," I inquired. "Umm, you're life is kinda crazy, and you curse a lot," she said. "Did you understand any of the Spanish that I used," I countered. "Yeah, and that was my favorite part," she said, "Because I didn't know if it was bad or not." Haha.
Good- A guy that I've crushed on para siempre, who earlier in the week I figured was off limits to me because his amigo told me talking to him would be a waste of my tiempo, turned out to be just as into me as I am to him. Not like I didn't figure as much, but, I love being validated. And the look on the caras of his friends when I cast my bait and started to reel him in was freaking priceless.
Bad- I reconnected with an old friend, who, unfortunately, although I will always care for him on some level, revealed too much to me feelings wise, and tried to call my character and self in general into question, something that I absolutely despise. Not because I have a problema casting my flaws into the limelight, because if you read this blog, I obviously do not, but simply because I don't want to be called a liar based on the delusions of another. Triste.
Good- He gave me fifty dolares, which he owed me since football season because my pro squad dominated his. Who's complaining now? Not yo.
Bad- Two of my friends got into some trouble this weekend, gracias operation pullover. This should probably be a heads-up to all of us, and by all of us, I mean all of us.
Good- I am on spring break, and I plan on doing a couple fun things with my jack-around tiempo, this including sleeping in that doesn't involve me skipping school or putting off life's necessities, canoodling with a boy, and life shadowing one of my good friends, Z.
Bad- I heard the funniest/most cringe worthy joke tonight, a terrible combo yo se, especially as a sports fan, but I have to repeat it, because I'm sort of a bitch like that…The joke is in reference to the boat wreck last week that only one of four football players survived off the coast of Florida, including two NfL'ers, 3 of whom have not, and I doubt will be found, r.i.p…"Did you hear about the recent free agent signings? Cory Smith was picked up by the Dolphins." Omg, I just mouthed the sinner's prayer even repeating that, but I know a few of you are going to laugh when you think about this, and either way, haha or no, lo siento.
Good- I am going to be able to post every day, sometimes more than once because I have seven dias with nada to do, except trabajar starting Thursday. You know you love this shit.

Xoxo to siempre, and to all a good noche.

goosebumps

2009-03-06T13:28:00.001-05:00

Passengers aboard flight 030607, this is your very relieved captain speaking. Having just completed my midterm in brit lit, a class that I skipped out on numerous tiempos, I must say, and not unrealistically, that I aced it. But, I must send my love and thanks to our prof, Dr. W, who made it just about as facil as he could without it being a frosh-level course. So, with that under my belt, I can breeze into the next nine days with a bit of a clearer cabeza, God bless spring break. Its gonna be a much needed stretch of battery recharge, and hopefully I can come back into the latter half of my spring semester and actually make my potential and my results equals, because right now I need to be a little less conversation, a lot more action. With that said, I'm certain my break won't be without the standard amount of shenanigans, as I have a handful of days off work and manana is the barstool open, which, I'm going on with Peligrosa, but have to stay relatively to totally sober because I have work tomorrow evening. I'd prefer to not have a repeat performance of dos anos ago when I worked at Pino's here in town and came to work that night after going on the Walk (a drinkathon to end all drinkathons) in which I spilled my coffee all over the table at our pre-shift staff meeting. However, I don't even need crossed fingers for me in this case, because I respect my boss and workplace too much to even go in there slightly tipsy, and we get all together too busy to function even stone sober so I dare not punish myself and others around me for some trivial organized drinking event. But tonight on the other hand…sigh…

The Texan left me a voicemail early am a couple days ago that definitely caught me off guard. I hadn't so much as a text from him for days, I'm not even sure how many to be exact, but as if on cue, as his timing never ceases to amaze me, back he is. I won't talk to him for about a semana and try and tell myself that its best that I hadn't, that long distance is the dating equivalent of disaster, that he's just not as into me as he talks like he is aqui and aca. But shit, then I wake up one morning to a couple missed calls and a voicemail that starts, "Hello my future wife," and he apologizes for the fact that he had been outta touch for a few, and that he loves me and can't wait to talk to me, so on and so forth. And it's in that 30 seconds that the band-aid I'd freshly adhered to my heart gets ripped off again, and I start thinking that maybe we will have something someday, will be together para siempre, will make something out of seemingly nothing, happily ever after a story that started five anos ago. And yet, the logical part of me (which completely falls victim to the Cinderella story part) clicks on, if only for a second, to remind me, so coldly, that if we couldn't make it work, despite the extremely difficult circumstances, and our immaturity, and being a million miles apart over the que paso'ings of five years, then we are still, and are nunca going to be anything more than shoulda, woulda, coulda's to one another. Because just like the school part of mi vida, this relationship, if ever it is to actually be thus, has to be a little less conversation and a helluva lot more action as well. On a dia when I have more tiempo, I'll talk about the Texan and I from our start, in line for the raging rapids ride @ Disneyland, to our walk on a desolate strip of beach in ca Li for Ni A where I swore at the moment that I would one day marry this boy, to his fiancé, tour in Iraq, my marriage, his broken off engagement, our Vegas encounter, to today. I have a heart that has never let me completely shake him, and I have to wonder if it's because it knows something I don't, or if it's just another way that I am being punished for all my various transgressions. Because at the end of the day, when you've played with a few corazon's over the years, just because you could, just because it was simple, a game of sorts, isn't it only eventually fair for yours to get fucked with as well? But as even the simplest of thoughts of him exhausts me, I'm on to the 60-40.

Good- My hilarious and amazing boss completely clowned on a friend of his (Mr. Latte as I will call him), and managed to do so with blending his native language of Chinese, with English, and splash of Spanish (ChiSpanGlish, henceforth), in commenting on his lack of "action" in the bedroom…"(Insert name)…Your chorizo is dry." My co-worker C and I laughed so hard I almost shot Asahi out of my nose.
Good- Poor Mr. Latte had already fell victim to my quick wit and slightly bitchy humor (and by bitchy I mean as nice as a bitch could possibly be), when he walked into work with a fresh haircut and polo shirt and glasses and I asked him if he was taking senior pictures later.
Bad- I need to spend this entire spring break trying to get my cuerpa back into some semblance of a defined shape, not this playdough shit I'm rocking and concealing right now. This is going to hurt. Literally.
Good- The Reality tV gods smiled on me like none another this week, as not only did Quest crew win America's Next Best Dance Crew, but Anoop and Matt got judges choice spots on the Top 13 of American Idol. I am such a happy girl right now.
Bad- I put off everything importante in my life to watch reality television. Kinda sick I know.
Good- Back to ABDC, and I have to comment on this because it's the reason for my headline today, the routine that Quest did last week, which I just now finally saw on my dVr hoy, orQuestra, literally made the hair on my arms stand up because it was so, so insane and inspired. It made me wanna go out and do everything that I do and want to do better, something that not even our President Obama can stimulate in me. However, if he sends me a stimulus check, I'll at least warm up to him like dos degrees.
Bad- Shows like ABDC make my inner ghetto girl come out, and make me spurt out palabras like "dope," and "ill," and various other urban phrases to describe the performances I see on there, and then after I revert back into my normal daily life and self, those words typically disappear from my vocab, like completely. Weird.
Good- Did I mention I'm on spring break?
Bad- My liver is literally aching at the thought of nine days of no school. No, in fact, and be quiet here just for a second…can you hear that? It's crying. Pobrecito.
Good- Even when I've been dealt what I consider to be a shitty hand, such as, lets say, a two and a three off suit, I can always just fold and wait for the next hand to find its way to me. Am I living it right? Nope. Do I get chances every minute to start to? Yep. And that, mis amigos, is the beauty of this. That almost gives me goosebumps.

Xoxo to all, and to all you estudiantes, have a wonderful, safe break. And boys and girls actually headed somewhere outta state—wrap it up, twice, don't wander off with the locals, and never, ever in a million anos is it even sort of a good idea to show your tits to a video camera or participate in a wet-t-shirt contest. Have an ounce of shame. Keep it classy. Out.

Not that I'm surprised...

2009-03-04T18:38:00.005-05:00

Passengers aboard flight 030407, this is your extremely frazzled captain speaking. Today que paso'ed out of control much earlier than I had expected, in fact, I hadn't expected anything out of the ordinary at all hoy, except actually making it to all of my classes, but nah, mi vida could never be that facil. I was sitting in brit lit this morning, head bobbing and eyes rolling around in my head during a discussion on Dryden and satire (I know, stimulating as shit), when I started thinking about the 30 sec radio commercial I needed to have done for audio produciones, which, I had believed needed to be completo by Friday. Ummm yeah, dumbass, not so much, because when I flipped through my notes to find out the specifics I had written down on it, probably also during a tiempo when I was freaking dormir'ing all through class, and wow, the spot was due TODAY. At freaking 4 P.M. Oh, stop going nuts Han, you found out about 10 in the morning, and you had a half a minuto spot due 6 horas later. Oh but passengers, get this, I've missed so much class that I didn't even know how to properly utilize adobe audition to get the assignment done, especially not something that required 3 diff. sound sources. Long story short, I turned it in on time, but it sucked, and I only had my voice and some background music on it, of which the background music was so loud it almost drowned out my voice, which, subsequently, is the loudest of everyone I know, or so I'm told. Freaking terrific future aspiring sports broadcaster. Drag your fucking feet in your comm classes. Idiota. Sigh. I've really got to get my shit together to salvage the rest of this semester, and all I really have on my plato the rest of this week before I hit spring break is a paper and a midterm on Friday, so I should be able to handle that, but then again, its me, and for those of you who have been following this blog, or are just nueva to it, I'm sort of my own cancer. I don't fear my free radicals freaking out and creating mutant cells within me, because way to go Han, you do that on the daily. Fuck.

I'll compile tonite's 60-40 a bit later, because right now I'm drinking japanese keg beer, eating vegetable tempura and raw tuna, and pondering just where mi noche is going. Because I have a meeting @ 10 am in the morning, but no class. Ugh boy. Watch me go.

how do you sleep?

2009-03-03T21:53:00.002-05:00

Passengers of flight 030307, this is your slightly saddened captain speaking. I was caught off guard this evening watching the boy's bball sectional with my baby sib, when I saw, for the first time in about a half year, a person that has meant a great deal to me and my heart since we were about diez anos old, and became more than simply a friend for about a 3.5 week period that totally turned my entire vida upside down. I won't go into any details with this, b/c honestly, i've got to keep a few dirty little secretos, but, seeing him this evening really dug deep into the core of me, much further than I had thought it would, as I really was starting to believe that I was completely over him, completely over the insanely comfortable, wonderful bubble of love we fell into a bit ago, a passion that was fueled even further by former friendship. It hurt me b/c its hard for me to comprehend how such tiempo can be spent with someone, with perfectly handled silences, laughter for days, and two personas being in perfect sync with each other, only to sit a gym apart not million years later and not speak, me next to my hermana, he next to a girl he has tried to talk to in the past, only to clown on later when we were together saying, "Han, I would have left anybody I have ever been with over the course of my life for you if you would have just said the word." Ummmm, yeah, still believe that? Our life has been centered since childhood on missed opportunities and signals and unspoken feelings, and now more than ever, even though I'm only vente cinco anos old, I don't want to jack around in meaningless relationships anymore, don't see it fitting to waste another 2 months, 10 months, or 2 years in something I know at the end of the day isn't my forever after. And so I sit lengths away from the one I always have known I would love til death did us part, regardless of his seeming flaws, and instead of being able to pursue it, I have to sit like an uncaring, unfazed mute, at least in regards to him, laughing at everything around me, and dying inside at the same time. I honestly believed I would be ok seeing him, whenever that situation arose. And turns out, I'm fucking not even close.

To change a little J-Mac for my particular situation -"It's been less than a year now, haven't heard that much from you, still missing you crazy, how do you, how do you sleep?"

But as mi vida, as siempre, even when bleak and flailing and seemingly over, must go on, here is tonite's 60-40. This six good after this kick in my theoretical nuts tonite will be hard to come up with I'm certain.

1. Good- CC boy's won their first round sectional game convincingly.
2. Bad- I had to see the person who has had the largest stake in my corazon since dia numero uno and couldn't breathe a word to him.
3. Good- The suspicious mole they found on kid sib's shoulder isn't all that worrisome to the derm that we saw today, so I'm breathing aire again.
4. Good- I ran 3 miles yesterday and am going to run here in a bit again. Slowly but surely I'm gonna get my cuerpa perfecta back.
5. Bad- I'm super hungry so most likely I'm going to stuff my face with bad shit because I have this emotional trigger that causes me to fall headfirst into a bucket of bad fats and sal, and well, somebody freaking squeezed mine tight this evening and my bullets been discharged.
6. Good- I have another day off work tomorrow where I won't have to be forced with the no-show that is M.
7. Bad- I am running out of all the money I made last week because of bills and irrational spending.
8. Good- I will never consider two on sale ralph lauren items irrational spending. And the striped dress I got is sooooooooo gonna be my verano staple.
9. Bad- I have a breakout on my chin that not only looks like mt. vesuvius, but hurts like it's erupting as well. Bitch.
10. Good- I feel my pulse for yet another dia. Gracias Dios.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Up to speed

2009-03-02T17:32:00.001-05:00

Passengers of flight 030207, this is your captain again, and this time, to make sure I present the popular 60-40 that everybody in my vida is trying to get onto, at least under the good section, and after not having blogged for days, I definitely have had some things que paso'ing this semana pasada that are worth mentioning. I had the most lucrative week that I have ever managed in my nearly half decade of fine dining experience at Umi, and although I had to work literally 6 straight dias to get it, who's complaining. Especially when I have random bills out the ying-yang and a shopping habit that in no way reflects that fact that when I got divorced in the fall that I lost my breadwinner and that something like a recession is going on right now, but ehhhh, I'm over it. Even though I am in no way, shape, or form the prototype Christian, I think God allows me to still make money because I tithe ten percent of everything I make to church, because A. that's what the Bible says (and believe it or not, I do adhere to a few of the regulations), and B. it helps my dad out, because not many people in our congregation are actually making decent money. So yeah…without further hindrance, I present last week's sixty-forty, and I'm certain I'm going to leave out some really clutch quotes and occurrences because half the time I was blitzed and other than that, my memory is just absolute shit without a to-do list or something of the sort.

Good- Work has the best clientele ever and I raked in dinero from all sides. And a lovely patron of ours and also a local tv personality told me she'd help me come internship time because she has friends at foxsports in Atlanta when I'm ready to start getting my feet wet in sports broadcasting. Han in the dirty south? Uh oh.
Bad- Work was so busy over last week that at one point I literally felt compelled to do a line of coke, and I've never done hard drogas before, and I don't even know where I would get it, but that's how retarded flipping insane it was in there, that I felt the inner compulsions of an addict come out of me. Holy shit.
Bad- Turns out, because I'm so damn charming, the same personality that gets me money in my pocket, also penetrated one of my co-workers so substantially that he moved to the StL today (see the post underneath this for details). I'm honestly stunned and don't know when, if ever, that I'll actually be able to wrap my cabeza around this.
Good- I'm going to be doing commentary for girl's softball games at State, and maybe some baseball games if they think I'm up to it this spring, and I'm so excited to finally get on air and begin to show the mundo that I actually know what the hell I'm talking about (that yes, I'm more than tits and a teleprompter). And we've got the first pitch high and inside for ball one…oh yeahhhh.
Good- I have been able to spend quality time with my friends, and especially the Hellion, cultivating relationships (which is of utmost importance to me in my life) more and more, and even did dinner and got caught up on the life of a friend of mine that hasn't been on my radar since high school.
Bad- A decent amount of the quality time that I spent with my friends was also spent with another of my friends (although mostly evil)- cerveza. Muy mala, yo se.
Good- I am going to start running again today.
Bad- I wonder at what mile marker that I'm going to taste throwup in my mouth or start breathing so erratically from being disgustingly out of shape that I just stop.
Good- I have a couple co-workers I promised I would just throw into the sixtyforty because I love them so much and they helped me keep a lunch shift on Saturday that was absolutely starting to go sur, stay together. Thanks my dears, Raquelita y Holls.
Good- I am finally getting things off my chest again. And as it turns out, I'm sorta required to. One reason of course being for me, and two, because you guys have basically made it clear to me that you check this site everyday and you get irritated and saddened when I haven't posted. Lo siento my loves, lo siento.

Xoxo to all, and to all a wonderful rest of the day.

When you see my face, hope it gives you hell…

2009-03-02T17:00:00.001-05:00

Passengers aboard flight 030207, this is your exhausted, swollen-eyed, stuffed-up nose captain speaking. I cried myself to sleep last night, or more like sobbed if I'm going to be honest, following a meet up with mi amigo and former co-worker that I have mentioned here before. I remember the first time I heard the chorus of the All-American Rejects song that I referenced in my title, laughing to myself over the silly, but relevant lyrics, and have found great joy in singing along to it since, thinking of guys in my past who didn't pay me any mind date-wise when I was a 80-100 lb. high schooler (my dad's little "refugee" as he found it hilarious to say), who didn't understand the power of make-up, highlights, and hips. But oh, the mesas have turned since the early 2000's, and the looks decent wagon didn't pass me by, and so I am faced quite often with boys who want a piece of Hannah 2.0, not realizing that the window of opportunity for them was slammed shut in my mind years ago, thus the soft spot in mi corazon for the lines, "When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell." Or well, that is, until last night…

I was alerted to the fact that the muchacho of this particular story was going to be leaving for San Luis (or the StL for all you white kids) today, and that he hadn't planned on even saying adios to me by one of his primos, Pax as I will call him, after he and I were heading back to the 'Haute after church. Yeah, you heard that right, I was at church in the am for the second semana in a row, but I'm actually not that proud of my attendance, as both times, and especially yesterday, I was snapping my neck around like a fucking bobblehead, and only kept awake by the Hellion next to me shaking my Ugg-clad leg every 8 seconds or so. Even more embarrassing than my narcolepsy was the fact that Pax, who is completely Mexicano and I'm certain didn't understand shit that was going on at my iglesia, leaned over to me at one point during the service and said, "Ayyy, mucha cerveza," as in, omg Han, you absolutely reek of alcohol you loca freaking borracha. But hey, I'm trying people, I'm trying. Either way, hearing that M. was about to jump ship out of the state without proper exit strategies and pleasantries, I began to inwardly stew, and not even a shopping session with Pax (where I dropped some of the silly money I made last week, and by silly, I just mean insanely good) could make the emotional storm that was brewing inside of me tranquilo. I eventually had to sit down with the Hellion later on the evening and share a pitcher of Margs at Real Ha, the best Mexican in town, where I was greeted by a staff that I adore, and who likewise adore me (I'm sort-of a Mexi-magnet, not gonna lie) because of my loca half juera ways and my pretty decent use of Spanglish. But either way, palabra about M. moving away because of me had already spread like wildfire through the Spanish community in town, and the entire tiempo Hellion, who I renamed Peligrosa (or dangerous) over dinner, and I were imbibing ourselves and eating quesadillas, I had every guy in that place question me about what was going on and say their new nickname for me, "Rompe corazones," or heartbreaker at least a million times. I would have typically found that moniker graciosa, flattering even, but that was before anybody ever felt it necessary to LEAVE THE STATE because of me.

And so I stood later, facing him, cara y cara, ten sheets to the wind, not understanding, not comprehending just where my flirtation and friendship (at least that's what I thought it was) had taken he and I. "Por que, M., por que? How can you do this? How can you just leave? Were you honestly just going to pack up and go without saying goodbye? Even though we were friends first, before all this bullshit…You quit your job already? Are you kidding me? You start a new job in Missouri this week? Were you honestly not going to tell me goodbye?"--My end of the conversation, and if you insert intermittent bursts of tears, some Spanish curse words, and overall picture me with very minimal make-up, wind-tunnel hair, a fierce buzz, and swollen ojos then that will paint a very accurate portrait of the mess that was me. And yet he stood there my opposite, seemingly calm and collected, although his eyes and words sold him out, the pain that looked straight into me so strong that I felt as if was being gutted like a fish. "I'm leaving Marbella (my second middle name & his favorite to use), manana, and there's nothing you can do about it. I already have a job and quit the one we share, and I don't know what's going on in my life. I may only be gone a month, or this could be the last time we ever speak, I just have to be away from you. I can't stomach just being your friend, and more than that, I can't even stand to look at you anymore because it hurts me so bad. I have never loved someone like this before, and this isn't your fault, it's just something I have to do for me." -- His end of the conversation, obviously not verbatim because it was laced with español, but basically the summation of a few horas worth of back and forth. And in those final moments together, or at least for now, I saw the flipside of my post's title today, as there was no victory, no celebration in me at the fact that when he sees my cara that it hurts him, literally vice grips his heart so tight each time that he can't breathe around me, had to quit his job and leave not only our town, but the entire state of Indiana because my face gives him hell. And honestly, I think that just makes me the devil. I have never felt more to blame for something than I do this, even though he and I were never in a relationship, and I made it very clear, even until the bitter end, that we would not be able to make an anything work more than being amigos and co-workers. And yet, and yet, I know that in some respect, I am at fault, for not understanding clearly the culture that I was toying with, not comprehending that saying "Te amo" to someone, even if you do love them is way bigger than friendship, can mean so much to the otro person. But nothing goes unpunished, and watching him drive-off in my rearview, knowing there is as good a chance that I'll never see him again as there is that I will, was the start of my sentence. It will be worse every time I walk into work and see the void where he stood, not hear him ask me about how my night was, even though he hated to hear about me drinking, not see the softness in his eyes when he looked at me, eyes that made me feel hermosa even when I slunk into work disheveled and wearing the noche before all over my face. Had I ever known that when he would say, "You know I love you right," and I would quickly reply, "Of course, I love you too" would never equate the same meaning behind his palabras and mine, I would have never said it. Had I known anything, absolutely anything, I would have protected him, protected me.

So, lo siento M., lo siento, lo siento. Eres mi amigo siempre. Te extraño. Hasta luego…

Once upon a time en Mexico

2009-02-25T23:40:00.002-05:00

Passengers of flight 022507, Lunes was a day that was everything I thought it would be, and ended with a night cap that I in no way ever imagined. Monday was Umi's grand opening, a night of free food and drinks and the who's who of Terre Haute, and me showing off a tremendous amount of my lower half as speaker of the house. I gave a speech that I was proud of, two successful television interviews, and mingled like it was my job, which, actually, it was. Mi hermano was my plus-one, and he and I proceeded to consume a decent amount of cerveza, y vino, y sake, and by the time 11 P.M. rolled around, we were bottle popped. I was having a blast, doing everything that I do best, 1. Drinking, 2. Talking, 3. Being leggy, and 4. Playing attention whore. I was getting hit on izquierda y derecha, and of course, I loved it, I was so in the zone it was redic. And then, just like that, it all eventually went south, totally que paso'ed out of control. The guy that I mentioned in my very first post, who te amo's me more than as it turns out I'm mylower halfrns en Mexioico ther, the floodgates yet again, I break down over the most trivial shit. stay taht nstead. endure actually comfortable with, decided he wasn't all that content to accept me telling him that we should just be amigos, that a forever-after was not going to happen, would be muy dificil. As I'm honest to a fault, but do like to maintain some level of privacy en my vida, all I can say is that I have not felt so uncomfortable and slightly frightened around a guy as I did that night, as having shit kicked around me and not being able to leave an area right at the moment I fucking feel like it isn't a combination that is conducive to overall feelings of happiness and well-being. And the worst parts of the entire situation is that when all was said and done, a perfect evening had been spoiled, and I had lost a person (in some respects) that I have been close to since my first day working this particular job. This was a perfect PSA for people saying you shouldn't "flirt where you eat" in this particular case at least, but we all know that it's hard not to, especially when for starters, you're a flirt, and secondly, you're around someone so many horas each week. And especially when that person previous to the night in question was one of the sweetest, most genuine individuals you had ever encountered. Por que M., por que??? However, despite the slightly tragic turn that our most special evening at work took, I can still present a 60-40 on it, as there were so many high points before the nuttiness of late, that I will still always view it as a success…unless I find that he and I are never able to return to our initial form one day, and even then, life goes on.

Good- I got to wear black, 4 inch heels, drink on the clock, and showcase my stems. You do the math on how this formula might equate a happy Han.
Good- The aforementioned formula netted me a copious amount of compliments and potential dates, which, as a divorcee, is fabulous, because as it turns out, I hate paying for shit when I don't have to. Thanks boys.
Bad- I was so canned by the end of the nite and hyped up over the emotional insanity that went down that I smashed a tall Asahi in front of a handful of people, which, regardless of how inebriated I get, I hate looking like sloppy Sally.
Good- I paid to have my hair done pre-celebration (vain? Umm, yeah, of course) and it looked terrific. Gracias Hair Express.
Good- I made my three English professors in attendance proud by not screwing up any pronunciations of our language during my speech, toast, and t.v. spots. Oh yeah, I am an articulate, wordsmith of a bitch if I've ever known one.
Bad- I think my reign as Mexican princess is over. Not that they don't wanna go halves on a bebe with me anymore, but because now I'm just a hot, but upsetting juera.
Bad- I missed my 8 am Shakespeare class the next morning for the millionth time and I honestly think I'm going to have to drop it this tumultuous semester.
Good/Push- Random line that I heard over the course of the nite that is making the good category b/c it made me laugh, but merits a push too b/c I'm sure the female in question wouldn't find it so damn graciosa. One guy to his friend, "So, is your wife competent?" ---Me to self ("what the fuck does that even mean?")
Bad-I karaoked to "It's Tearing up my Heart," by NSync. Really Han, really? Wow. Yep, that happened.
Good- I think I got out of some legal shit and met the person that is gonna help me hook up a summer internship with the Colts. Sweeeeet.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

loyalty

2009-02-25T22:29:00.001-05:00

Passengers on flight 022507, I wanted to get this particular subject off my small-B sized chest (and only that size because I'm about vente pounds overweight) yesterday when I found out about it, but my 'net connection prevented me from doing so. Marvin Harrison, Colts wide receiver, numero 88 whom I have loved since day one, asked ayer for a release from the squad, following 13 seasons. I am devastated to say the least, and not only because of the tramp stamp that I had irrevocably placed on me when I was 20 years old contains a Colts logo alongside my two otro favorite teams, the Yankees, and the Pacers, but also because I expected him, always humble and unassuming, to finish out his career with us, and yes, I say us, because I am just as important an element to the team as a fan as Peyton Manning is. I imagine this is what it feels like for a guy to be kicked in his balls. I understand that he hadn't been as prominent in his role on the field the past couple seasons as years past, and I know that he has had all that legal bullshit que paso'ing lately for him shooting or not shooting some guy outside a car wash. But honestly Marvin, this is really, really low. You are the equivalent of Reggie Miller to the Pacers and nobody had to endure him jumping ship in his final season. I felt almost compelled yesterday to burn my baby Gap sized Harrison jersey, but decided I would tuck it away instead. Even though he lacks heart in leaving the city that loved him, I don't have the corazon to incinerate the memories that I have of him fielding catches over the decades from Manning and Harbaugh and the rest. I had my first sports cry when I was ten years old, at the hands of Chris Webber's "I don't have a time-out but I'm going to call one anyway" during March Madness with Michigan, and I wasn't even a fan. And yet, as I attempt to process this, I can't squeeze out a tear, and I think it's not so much a result of a lack of care, but simply because I'm pumped dry by the pain of this 25^th year in general. But I won't kid myself, even when I think it'd be borderline impossible to open the floodgates yet again, I break down over the most trivial shit. However, I haven't the fuerte to dwell on this for another minuto. But because I have never been an individual to not recognize a person's contributions to something, to this I say—Marv, thank you for your years of greatness at the receiving position, for snagging balls that looked impossibly out of reach, running slants like none another, for making my 12 year old heart connect to you and stay that way, as it probably always will, regardless of where you sign a bigger final year contract, even though it will feel slightly bitter and annoyed. I salute you Marvin Harrison, because it's only your loyalty where I find issue, not your proficiency, never your skill.

Blame it on the alcohol

2009-02-23T01:31:00.001-05:00

Passengers, it's your captain speaking for the second tiempo today and the headline is self-explanatory. Blame it on the goose, got me feeling loose. Blame it on patron, got me in the zone. Blame it on the al-al-al-al-al-alcohol, rinse and repeat. I didn't get anything, literally anything, accomplished this week and although my first line indicates that I'm pinning the guilt of a "wasted" weekend on high-end tequila and the like, all I have to do is find the closest mirror to see the real problema. I made it ten days without drinking before falling back into bed with my guiltiest pleasure, and now I am facing the toughest week ever to make up desperate ground at escuela, and I'm not certain that even seven straight all-nighters could remedy the quagmire I've created for myself. I am working 5 shifts this week in addition to my school load, have my first piano lesson, and hope to start running again, treating my body like I did up until I totally started to lose it in late August, like it was a machine that needed routine maintenance and oil changes and not just a casing for my sad insides, something to abuse and run down and punish. Tomorrow is a huge day at work, our open house, and I'm basically the "voice" of Umi. Alc will be freely-flowing and the atmosphere easy and I wonder just how much I will succumb to downing. I so badly just want to quit this vice, for me. Which brings me to today's 60-40, spanning the entire weekend.

Good- I spent a lot of quality time with friends and fam this past few days. I did lunches, and dinners, and a casino trip, and even an 80^th birthday fiesta for one of my best friend's grandpa. A party in which we started an "F-bomb" tally. So appropriate if you think about it. Or not…
Good- The Texan whom I was worried about b/c he went all MIA on me communication-wise for a couple days finally answered my phone calls, told me he'd been sick and was lo siento for ducking out on me, and said "I love you," which, from him, breaks down all my defenses.
Bad- I'm not sure what the Texan and I are even trying to do, trying to be, if anything, as just because we thought it couldn't be coincidence that we have managed to keep feelings intact and stay in touch across the U.S. and for over five years, me chalking up a failed marriage, and he a broken engagement in the duration, maybe that's still not enough reason to pursue this. Could I actually even do a long-distance relationship and for how long? Honestly, I can't even answer that right now.
Good- The Hellion and I sat 2^nd row at church this morning. A service in which my pastor dad kept it gangster as always, referring to Oprah and Ellen D. as "witch prophetesses" and saying "I don't give a 'D'" as in damn. Sometimes I'm convinced he drops acid before services, but I love he and Jesus ambose, so I keep going, sporadically at least.
Bad- The bestie and I, although in attendance, were both feeling completely rough from our late nite activities and I'm certain I smelled like I had been job-shadowing a chain smoker.
Bad- I lost 50 bucks at the "boat" on Friday night and we returned home at 8:30 AM on Saturday and I had to go to work at 10:30 that morning.
Good- We weren't busy enough to cause me to keel over, I made my lost dinero back, and I only tasted throw-up in my mouth once following an errant burp.
Good- I feel like my face isn't breaking out as much, even though my stress level has stayed the same or increased.
Bad- I'm days away from throwing up my monthly red flag and that in itself is going to break me out all over again.
Good-I'll be starting a new week in less than seven horas and with new weeks come new chances to produce and succeed and find opportunities in places you didn't even know existed. Even when down, I am eternally hopeful.

Xoxo to todos, and to siempre a good noche.

A labor day to forget…R.I.P. Tut.

2009-02-22T19:34:00.001-05:00

Passengers aboard flight 022107, I present you this first post as a substitute for yesterday's void, an unfortunate result of lack of sleep and a faulty internet connection at mi casa. The story that I am about to relay has not been fabricated in any way, and if anything at all, it is a less dramatic version of the truth of the situation, as I don't think any amount of palabras, even written in ALL CAPS could convey properly just how loca my mom acted in her story's role. I bring this story up in the first place because it was brought to my remembrance today during lunch after church with my kid sib and the Hellion, and the re-telling of it created so much laughter that I ceased breathing for a few seconds and sib jarred two cups of café so violently that our entire table was eventually covered in liquid basura. Gracias hermana.

My unfortunate tale took place circa Labor Day weekend when I was in my mid-teens, and occurred during a week-long period when my padre was out of the country on a mission trip to South America. I should have known to expect some semblance of a tragedy brewing in his absence, as mom always says so optimistically when he leaves "The devil always attacks this family when your dad is gone." Muy bien. Muy bien. Particpants in the day's events: Mom (Asian and overdramatic), Kid Sib (just old enough to understand the words that were coming out of ma's mouth later but too young to comprehend the sheer gravity of the actual situation), Brother, whom I will refer to as Jeckyl henceforth due to his bi-polar tendencies, and Moi. Let me preface the telling of the actual day's events that I have never been an animal person—hate when cats rub up against my leg, only swerve to avoid squirrels, but barely, never ever will kiss or hold a pet and tend to stiff arm them upon approach, and have a gag reflex that kicks in instinctively when I see people driving around with a dog in their cars, especially when the mutt has its head poking out of the half-rolled down window, ears flapping and tongue wagging. Puke. My disdain for animals is so strong that I read a Cosmo article recently about the extremely caliente actor Chris Evans (Fantastic Four's only redeeming quality) and how a must for him in a female is the acceptance of a dog sleeping in their bed with them. He instantly lost 50 hot points. With that said, I must let it be known that there has been one animal over the course of my 25 years that was able to garner my attention and a subsequent piece of my corazon, and his name was Tut.

Tut was a small dog, a blend of some sort with a spot surrounding one eye, similar to the RCA versions, who loved to run and leap, and a possessed a swagger that even penetrated my bitchy animal-despising exterior into the heart of me, as if he was constantly saying "I'm cute, play with me, be with me, love me," and actually causing people to buy into the idea. He was the Obama of the animal world, and for the record, I voted Republican. And for the record, spare me your liberal bullshit. But that's a totally different post…I'm not certain what possessed my dad to name him Tut, but as absolutely random stupidity is the foundation for any of the names he and kid sib (the only pro-animals in our family of cinco) have chosen for our various pets, I shouldn't have been surprised. Exhibit 'A': Our current outside beagle is named, get this, Jasper Blue Graysier Roosevelt or some nutty shit like that. Explains a lot actually. So Tut, who I loved, on one of the fated days of my dad's exit out of Indiana, passed away. After our attempts to piece together the events that led up to his death later on in the day, this is what we assume que paso'ed. Tut had been ignorantly chained to the swing on our porch, (I'm blaming my Asian mom here), and had a relatively short leash he was hooked up to. Something, (I'm blaming one of the devilish perros in our neighborhood), came into our yard and got his attention and whipped him into a frenzy in which he ended up a little too close to the edge of the porch and slipped off. The chain he was hooked up to despite the bit of slack that the porch swing would have provided was not long enough to place his feet on the ground and the poor little sonofabitch ended up literally hanging from his own personal gallows. And he had done nothing wrong. Pobrecito. I will not dwell on these morbid details any longer, but needed to set the stage and tone for the events that would follow, in which my Oscar-deserving madre would go on to scar my sibs and I for life based on her portrayal of Filipino gone wild with grief over little dead dog. I'm not sure why she even freaked out so much, I thought they ate dogs in her homeland and that the prospect of a lifeless canine would whet her appetite, and not invoke nut-job amounts of sobbing. All three of us kids were for some reason that morning asleep all together in she and dad's water bed, and I will never for the life or therapy of me, forget being startled awake that day by her shrieking like a banshee, as if she had just watched one of us kids or dad being beheaded. "TUT'S DEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD, TUT'S DEADDDDDDDDDDDDDDD" she shouted over and over and over, wailing like it was an African funeral ritual, and all three of us hadn't just been sound asleep and weren't overall pretty young and impressionable. It was already disorienting enough to be startled awake for any reason, and this took the fucking chocolate cake. I still have never forgotten the literal pitch of her screams and crying.

Either way, we all groggily stumbled outside to the scene of the crime, and as if it weren't already heinous enough that mom woke us in the manner that she did, she took her solid parenting skills to the next level of desensitivity in the fact that before we went to view Tut, she had failed to even take his semi-rigid lifeless little body off the chain. Dear God mom. Dear God. We all proceeded to jump into the grief hole she had dug earlier, and I didn't actually stop crying until later that night. It was during that moment standing outside looking bleary-eyed at him that I vowed inwardly that I would never, in a million years, give any part of my heart to another animal, that no cat, dog, fish, or penguin would ever hurt me like Tut had in his death. I proceeded not only to lose my only beloved that day, but also a bit of my faith, as after a family friend of ours buried him in a small plot under a tree in our backyard, I and kid sib ventured out the site, and sat cross-legged in front of the fresh dirt. I don't know what possessed me to do what came next, maybe it was a lifetime of three church services a week and seeing my dad pray for the sick, or the fact that I knew my heart was broken and dad's would be too upon return, but I decided I would lay hands on the earth in front of me and pray that if God loved us that he would raise Tut from the dead. I am dead freaking serious with this, I sobbed and begged and pleaded the blood of Jesus over the Devil that I was convinced had killed Tut, and plea bargained with Dios that if he would give him life again and bring him out of the grave like Lazarus, that I would change my life, and trust me here people, I was tame at that age, didn't really do anything bad at all, so maybe that's why he didn't answer my prayer, b/c the bargain sucked, I could probably promise him a life change now and bring anyone back to vida. I don't know what I would have done if God actually did cause my dog to come poking up out the ground and bounding into my arms, but as kid sib said today as we rehashed this tale, "Sib, I had so much faith that your prayer was going to work too. It was so real. But if Tut would have come back to life, I would have never been the same; we would have ended up in Africa as missionaries because I would have been so touched." So God, there was your chance to get me to evangelize for always, right out under the tree at home.

On a sidenote, I was woke up unexpectedly again in my 19^th year by my roomie at the time, the Hellion, who startled me yet again with crying, this time involving thousands of tadpoles she had attempted earlier to save out of our backyard pool, only to kill them later by putting them in an empty bucket that had chemical residue left in it, unbeknownst to her. This incident is memorable, but didn't do anything to me other than get me out of bed and make me feel like I lost about a half an hour of my life that I would never be able to get back. Love you anyway B.

I'll be back in a few. I'm off to dinner with some friends. Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Losing, but not lost

2009-02-20T23:05:00.001-05:00

Passengers, you have the geniuses that comprise Coldplay to thank for tonite's headline. "I may be losing, but I'm not lost…" I heard it, and I can't think of a better summation for my life at this current hour. I feel as if I am paddling furiously to get to a shore that always gets further away instead of closer most of the time, and yet I know I have potential for greatness tucked deep away in me, covered by years of accumulated failures and heartbreaks and screw-ups and bad choices. And yet, although it may take much more tiempo than I believe I can actually stomach, I pray each nite to get it right, to be strong when I'm normally weak, to stop using the "I just don't have any common sense" crutch to explain my fucked up thought process. I can liken my life right now to a morning after under-aged campfire, littered with busch light cans and the air reeking of smoke and bad decisions. However, despite the regret-filled, vomit-speckled atmosphere, there is a still a bit of a fire smoldering under all the ash, and in that fuego pequeno is where I find myself. With just the right breath of air I could ignite at any time, or a little douse of some sort of accelerant, but if there is one thing I am learning in the hardest way each dia, it's that it isn't luck that starts a fire, because luck doesn't exist. Luck is when a lot of leg work meets the right opportunity, not the result of a random whim or erratic behavior.

I will light this mundo up one day like a reckless, unapologetic California wildfire and you will all watch me burn. But don't get it twisted, I mean stay aflame. I don't mean burn out.

And now, as I'm half an hour away from getting a change of venue for a noche & heading to e-ville with baby bro and the boys, without further adieu…the 60-40.

Bad- Clay City boy's b-ball team couldn't make the most of their many opportunities to knock off northview for the first time in boy's varsity hooping history in clay county, but good effort regardless.
Good- I rocked a dress to the game that hugged in the right places, concealed in the lackluster, and sealed the deal on some free dinners if I want them on down the road. See, I told you a good closet is an investment.
Good- Even though I've seen my "When I grow up" list since kid-dom go absolutely kicking and screaming down the drain, I am still a dreamer. I am moved on the daily by the smallest things in life, a beautiful picture, an ill dance routine on AbDc, song lyrics, the hand of someone I love on the small of back, a swished 3-pointer at the buzzer.
Bad- The boy that has had me tripped out on and off the past five years, the Texan, hasn't called me back or returned my texts since 2 nights ago, when I missed his call at 4 A.M. and he sounded like he was crying on it. I have no clue what that even indicates.
Good- Part of me is irritated that he's gone MIA, but the majority of me is solid no matter. Too many really cute, more than adequate boys to pass my time. At my disposal. And so many more that I haven't even met yet.
Bad- I am going to be redic amounts of tired when I roll into sushi central at 10:30 in the morning.
Good- My job is the absolute truth and so are my co-workers and so I'll get into the swing of things pretty quickly. Especially if I can get my hands on a tall soy vanilla latte with whip before I get in there.
Bad- I took the night off work to catch up on homework and honestly didn't get jack shit done.
Good- I enjoyed every second that I spent just attempting to re-charge my batteries.
Good- Everything's not lost.

Xoxo to all, and to all a good-nite.

In through the nose, out through the mouth

2009-02-20T11:47:00.002-05:00

Passengers of flight 022007, your captain is speaking a little earlier on in the day than usual because of an unusually high volume of tarea to do over the next three dias, which has avalanched upon me because of the fact that I took a week off school and had been procrastinating well before that. I am about to try and see if I can get a cover at work tonite, even though I adore my job and know I'm losing a triple digit shift, b/c if I don't, I might as well just yank out of school for the remainder of this semester. I chose today's title because the actions are known to scientifically slow one's heart rate down if he/she is under duress or stress, but as much as I keep doing it, I might as well be trying the pant-blow technique of pregnancy because either way, it's not freaking working. My life is jacked up right now because my heart hurts, not because its racing, and my stress level is up because I'm the queen of dragging my feet and letting my emotions manipulate my day's to-do lists, and so, like always, as the master of my own destiny (or disaster as it so currently seems), this is all my fault. Disculpame. I hope to be the largest nerd over the next three days and just eat some adrl's and hope that I crank out copious amounts of reading and work and really nothing else. All of this will be in efforts to return to my normal life routine on Monday at 8 A.M., ready to actually start cranking out productivity again like I know I'm capable of—attending classes and staying on top of my work, running, going to church @ least once a week, being an A-list server @ my job, and finding a place to pencil in my friends, who are of paramount importance in me maintaining my overall well-being. Next week I finally get to start piano lessons as well (my first one falling yesterday, not so great timing-wise) and I just might give in to this zumba craze that's sweeping all of the mundo, or at least has all of the Filipino nation in Terre Haute, Indiana dancing around like former President Imelda Marcos got yet another pair of shoes. But as siempre, we will just have to wait and see what I actually do, in contrast to what I say or want to do.

Random thought of the morning: How did Anoop not make the top 12 of A.Idol? Ugh.

I am foregoing my 60-40 for the moment because I need to get on some Shakespeare and various other bullshit and crank out a couple papers before mid-afternoon, and so I will post it later this evening, when hopefully, cross your fingers, I just might have done 6 positive things on the day that I could actually write about, because I know already that I won't have to wrack my brain later too hard to figure out at least 4 things that I screwed up. At least I'm consistent with some things.

Xoxo to all, and to all a lovely day. Had to reconstruct my normal sign-off. Doesn't flow as well. Have a good one regardless.

Into paradise...may the angels...lead you

2009-02-19T21:49:00.002-05:00

Passengers aboard Flight 021907, today one of the great was laid to rest, and in this case, it was my Grams, finalizing an exhausting past 6 days. I cried less than I had thought I might, and remembered more names in the receiving line than I had thought I might as well. But these two positive points aside, I know the real gravity of what took place today has yet to hit me, will find me a semana from now, or four and a half months, or years into the future when I birth my first child and she isn't there to see her great-grandchild, something she had always hoped for, which her eldest granddaughter had not produced for her, and myself in my whack job of an almost three year marriage had basically refused to do, as the prospect of a few things kept me from wanting to mother... 1.) The potential that I could (even though the chance was slim to none, just watch the south park episode on gingers) produce a red-headed baby, 2.) The potential of gaining weight that would take who knows how long or what type of surgical procedure to remove, 3.) The potential that it is a serious possibility that when I have a child that I could literally sleep through his/her cries, and 4.) I'm still selfish and immature. There you have it, sorry Grams. But it is with thoughts such as these, that I realize, that it isn't in death (or at least the point one draws his/her final breath) that a person is truly lost on those who live, but much further down the road, in jagged pieces, like during birthdays, and holidays, and the moments when I finally succeed and want to call her and can't. I will miss her more than now at these times, and have to sit Indian-style in front of a piece of rock and babble aimlessly about finally graduating from college, or being in love again, or getting my life right with God, fists crushing inadequate flowers that will either blow away or be run over by the crazy graveyard groundskeeper, these are the moments that will jar me, not so much today. But regardless, today's services were tremendous, it was standing room only, the room so full of love one could drown in it. And so, in honor of the enormity of today, I dedicate tonite's 60-40 to this am/afternoon's proceedings.

1. Good- I did sing, for Grams, with no music, as heartfelt a rendition of "His Eye is on the Sparrow" that I could muster, although my nose was clogged and my intestines were so curled up within me that I wanted to vomit.
2. Good- A crazy guy (who I'm convinced was a funeral crasher) started the visitation's receiving line off right when he walked by my sister and I and shook my hand stating "Your GRANDFATHER was a great person." I kept my composure for literally five seconds and then turned to my right toward my brother and absolutely lost it.
3. Bad- Even though we were in a tent at the graveside with some lame ass excuse for a space heater in it, the cold air from outside still penetrated the tarp and caused my first 3 toes on each foot (my fault partially because I wore peep-toe stilettos and a pencil skirt) to start to hurt so bad I had to do deep breathing/meditation exercises when my dad was speaking, like "Ohhhhhmmmm, you're in Turks and Caicos....Ohhhhhmmmmm, the summer sun is washing over you like a hot pocket."
4. Good- My friends Z and the Pilot as referenced yesterday came to show their support of me at the visitation.
5. Bad- Red, the ex, got muyyyy enojado because the Pilot (who he referred to as Clive Owen) gave me a best friend extended hug that he felt was questionable. But Red, honestly? Even though we have the best divorce of all time, we're still divorced. Remember that.
6. Bad- I went up to touch Gram's casket at the graveside and between my shoe choice and the spongy ground I almost face planted into it as I got thrown forward, and because I didn't want to turn around to see if anybody saw me, I tried to make it seem like I just might have planned the trip, and kinda laid my arm out in front of me and whispered a bunch of stuff to her. Muy loca.
7. Good- I managed to channel Audrey Hepburn for today's que pasoings, huge sunglasses, Burberry scarf, pencil skirt and button down, 4-in heels, and black trench. Dress, dressing is a habit, get like me.
8. Good- A random, sort-of estranged family member of mine referenced my blog in the receiving line, saying she knew Grams was proud of me despite my insecurities in my first post. How did she even know? Dear Lord.
9. Bad/Push- At the food get-together after the burial, someone made a macaroni dish that tasted like cheese going in initially, but had the finish of a slightly burnt pancake with a hint of maple syrup. And I have like 4 people that will vouch for this. And I kept eating it.
10. Good- Daddy delivered the message at his own mom's funeral and I was amazed by his composure and stamina up there. There you go Grams, be proud, b/c your son, my father, is a great, great man.

Signing off out of physical and emotional exhaustion. Xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

Controlled chaos

2009-02-18T23:57:00.002-05:00

Passengers, welcome to flight 021809, and this is your vaguely irritated captain speaking. Irritated because I'm an 11 on the normal life stress scale of 10 and instead of my parents trying to help me lower those points, they are hassling me about what I'm wearing to Gram's funeral in the morning and what I've chosen for my kid sib to wear. Are you kidding me parentals??? I might be one of the jokers in a standard deck of cards, but question my fashion sense, and especially in regards to my grandma's last hurrah. For the literal love of God Madre y Padre, question my sanity, question the firing of synapses in my brain, question my understanding of life in general, but do not EVER, EVER again, act like for a minuto that I might show up in some fucking clown suit to a funeral, and especially hers. I'm almost speechless. (insert 30 seconds of huffing obscenities under my breath and rolling my eyes). Ok, back to normal. I have honestly been compiling the most insanely comprehensive perfect seasonal wardrobe for the past five years and you two think instead of a tasteful LBD that I might show up in my second skin tight liquid leggings and a bustier in the morning. Holy shit. Anyway, today was otherwise pretty positive. I had lunch with one of the elites in my life, M. or the Pilot as I'll refer to him as furthermore, and we discussed his impending summer move to Florida when he graduates end of May for the furthering of the rest of his life. I really don't want to dwell on it b/c it makes my heart hurt, but thus is life. He and my otro boys will be in attendance at the funeral , which should be interesting because Red, mi ex esposo will be there as well. Red has never met M, or any of my international friends, and he has forbid me to even answer M's phone calls when I'm in his presence because my voice quote-unquote "changes" when I talk to him, whatever the hell that means. Actually, I do know, but here is neither the time nor post for this story. Otherwise, I had dinner with another one of my elites, in this case one of the muchachas, the Hellion as I'll endearingly refer to her as. She's a more unapologetic, random version of myself, and I love her for that. As destructive as it might sound, I could use a little more Hellion in my life and believe it or not, she's coming to church with me on Sunday. Father, forgive us, for we know mostly all the time what we do that's wrong and we do it anyway. I swear I'll get this right one day God. Scouts Honor.

I'm gonna get into the 60-40 because homework calls that I'm going to put off even further b/c I got a new Cosmo in the mail today. But can you blame me? One of the headlines is, and no bullshit with this one, "An Orgasm Almost Killed Her: We are NOT Kidding." Yep. Shakespeare, your masterworks are being trumped yet again in my life, and this time by "The 'O' Heard Round the World."

Good- I'm about to start telling you guys the craziest love story of all time and its only making the good category right now because he told me he loved me today. But then again, as you'll learn soon enough, I've heard it all before.
Good- I, as a huge fan of "The Office," pretty much had one of the best moments of my fanhood earlier when one of my best friends, Diggy, started telling me a story about how she cut her culo cheek shaving, saying "Han, honestly, my ass hurts so good right now," to which I was finally able to reply, "that's what HE said." Wow. Perfecto.
Bad- I told my parents with whom I am still annoyed that I would sing "Amazing Grace" tomorrow and I'm going to do it in the most vulnerable, ballsy rendition ever—a capella. I might want to sing through the song a couple times when I'm done with this.
Good- One of my best friends who is now in DC with the feds, whom I'll refer to as D.C. B, sent me a beautiful, unexpected tulip bouquet today to let me know he's thinking about me in my time of need. I miss you D.C. B, more than you'll ever know. Road trip anyone?
Good- I made up a word today (reserval), in which I used in a contract that my restaurant sent to a client referencing the rental of our private room, as in a spin-off palabra of the real word "reserved." It just felt right to me so I went with it. Screw you Webster, I don't need your validation.
Bad- Diggy, who is not only my mejor amiga but also works with me, called the English Chair at the college I attend and left him a message as to my use of the non-word "reserval" and asking him to please contact us with an answer as to its use and existence if any when he gets time. And I'm an English major. That he knows personally from having taught me semesters past and because I've waited on him.
Bad- I hadn't drank in 10 days and kinda sorta told people that I was going to quit (for "good") and had two tall drafts with dinner tonite. I was thirsty. That's about it.
Good- I received an unexpected cien dolares hoy. Muy bien.
Bad- I have to turn right around and use the money to pay off a speeding ticket that a prick state cop gave me a few weeks ago.
Good- This weekend is shaping up to be loca if I let it.

As always, xoxo to all, and to all a good nite.

uh-oh spaghetti-o

2009-02-18T01:12:00.002-05:00

after 1 p.m. manana I'll be done with all of my commitments for the day (aside from iglesia @ 7 Pm), which is going to lead me to post a little something something about the males in my life and on my radar. This is going to get really interesting. Stay tuned passengers.

Premature ejaculation?

2009-02-18T00:11:00.002-05:00

Passengers, welcome to Flight 021709; this is your pilot speaking, Ms. Hap. I am equal parts amazed, excited, overwhelmed, grateful, and humbled by the tremendous responses that I received from my fledgling post. If I recall correctly, having one's cherry popped is a typically uncomfortable experience, and yet, in the blogging world, yesterday felt more like a multiple orgasm than awkward rite of passage. Thank you guys so much, for taking the time to read a lengthy first post, and for more than that, for letting me know that you recognize that there is talent under my troubled surface, that you saw yourselves in some facet of my own life (even in the flawed parts), and that you would be back for more. I am typically a far cry from a nervous wreck, or someone who doubts my strong suits (as writing has always been), and yet the influx of activity that took place on my blog the past couple of days and your sung praises have made me feel like I'm sitting on a verbal hot plate—either about to be muy caliente or to boil over and fizzle out. For my sake and yours as well, I'm hoping that I didn't prematurely ejaculate with yesterday's work, and am actually working toward a climax and not having to towel off my leg instead already. Haha, ahhh, the sexual connotations have been rampant in this intro, but then again, don't find it strange, this is all "coming" out of my warped tour of a mind.

(random sidenote: I have a DvR'ed episode of American Idol (guilty as charged) que paso'ing in the background as I'm writing right now and I just teared up when the legally blind piano kid made it onto season 8. Oh, little emoootional basketcase me, and it's not even those seven days this month. Sigh.)

My day was pretty standard fare: a skipped 8 a.m. Shakespeare class (lo siento Dr. S), being vaguely comatose until about 2:30 p.m., and then putting in the daily grind @ Umi, where I legally hustle the most amazing clientele ever for some dinero to pay for my bills and vices, and usually more along the lines of my vices. But hey, my credit's improving people, albeit at a snail's pace. The most pressing matter that was served up to me today came from my dad asking me if I felt up to singing "amazing grace" at Gram's funeral on Thursday. It's not a matter of the song (one of my faves), or my voice (not Mariah's, but genuine and on-key), but more the situation. "It's what she would have wanted Han, you know she so loved your voice." As if it's that cut-and-dry, that straightforward. Your grandma was your biggest fan, she's gone now, and so in her honor you will sing. And sing I will, although my vocals have been ravaged lately by a months-long cold this erratic Indiana weather has gifted me, and although I am already reverting mentally back to a few summers ago when I sang at my Inay's funeral in Seattle, putting a lifetime's worth of emotions into Celine's "Because you loved me," (although a few keys lower), only to lose it the last 20 seconds when I cast an ill-timed sideways glance at my grandma, which provoked rivulets of tears to begin meandering down my cheeks, which eventually gave way to me choking up so bad that I literally whispered the final words ("I'm everything I ammmmm(sob) because you loved meeeee" (trails off). So yeah, everyone was touched at Inay's service by my added human element to the song, but I frankly don't know if I have it in me to risk that sort-of breakdown again. I feel like I've been crying for the past half year and the prospect of doing even more of the same, and this time, with a wider audience than the normal one, or two, or three people that see my mini-meltdowns all the time is weighing heavy on my heart and mind. But for you I will Grams, for you, I will.

(random sidenote 2: "I just have two words with a hyphen for you—'sold-out arenas'"—Paula Abdul to a Season 8 contestant. Oh my, you do the math. Keep eating that valium Paula.)

And now for the 60-40.

Good- I haven't totally fallen apart like I had feared I would following Gram's passing. I've still worked the past two nights and put on a brave face, even managing to allow myself to succumb to a handful of genuine belly-laughs at and with my co-workers.
Good- My espanol is improving with each passing dia. I aspire to being tri-lingual in the next five years (English (which, I've sorta mastered), Spanish, and Tagalog (anything for you Mom), and gracias to the boys @ mi trabajo for teaching me the business. Even the really silly, totally inappropriate stuff. Yo quiero hacer cosas malas contigo. Ayyy papi.
Bad- I'm convinced my face is never going to get back to anything resembling its relatively peaceful state circa 2007 and before. I break out like it's the standard and not the occasional exception, and honestly, I think it's God's way of saying, "I forgive you, I always will if you ask, but don't think for a second I'm going to let you out-and-out sin all the time and not take your vanity down ten notches."
Good- At least he [Dios] hasn't messed with my legs. At least my showpieces are yet unmarred.
Good- Baby Sib (who I will refer to as one of her many nicknames- Karma) started running yesterday following a helluva freshman entrance onto the varsity basketball scene, which is positive b/c she hates running with a passion, and I'm convinced only does so because she doesn't want to send dad and I into a tailspin and because she's addicted to success. The girl's gonna set some high school records this year and I cannot wait.
Bad- Karma, at 15 years old, has the boobs that I'll have to have paid for someday, or cough up the money myself. What kinda hormones are in foods today anyway and how did I miss that lunchbox? Sigh again.
Bad- I'm still way behind on homework and instead of cracking into it, I'm catching up on my dvR. But seriously, I'm grieving, and Gossip Girl and ABDC trumps King Henry the 4^th anyday of the week. Sorry 'bout ya.
Good- A co-worker of mine (Sum-Sum) told me she wanted to talk to me about some personal issues later on in the week because she knows I'm going to lend her a solid listening ear and even more solid advice. And she's only known me for less than 2 weeks. I dig you too kiddo.
Bad- Tatiana on American Idol is still haunting my mind and time with her gratingly annoying presence. Please America, vote Danny or Anoop this round of 12, please. She's killing me.
Good- I'm around to blog yet another day.
Xoxo to all, and to all a good-nite.
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Good-bye Grams…

2009-02-16T09:13:00.003-05:00

It has been said that when it rains, it pours, and it has honestly never rang more true in my life until now. As I stand without an umbrella, rain slicker, or even some fucking wellies in this deluge of an existence known as my vida loca, I'm not quite sure whether the water running down my face each day is due to precipitation or to tears of frustration, anxiety, and surrender. I never expected to have to tread furiously to keep my head above water in the puddles of my life 25 years into it, and yet that is where I am. And although scientifically a person is unable to control the weather that befalls him/her, I cannot help but believe that this monsoon I am being subject to ahorita is of my own damn instigation. And so, welcome to my stream of consciousness (or believe me, at times, lack thereof), "Confessions of a Quarterlife Crisis." This is your pilot speaking, Ms. Hap or Ms. Stake, whichever I prefer at the moment, and if you look to your right side, you can see a world of opportunity, hope, dreams, and wishes, and for those passengers sitting on the left side of the aircraft, you can see my current emotional and physical landscape, dotted with such lowlights as lessons not learned, laziness, disappointment, and fear. Buckle your safety belts because turbulence is to be expected, but ready your hearts, minds, and sides, because the in-flight entertainment is equal parts enlightening, tear-inducing, and hilarious.

(for a more detailed run-down on mi, see the biography link on this blog)

Oh what a difference a week makes. At this time a week ago I was sitting on my grandma's nursing home bed, laughing at her mistaking my kid sister for an aide, and having to shout in her "good ear" that it was actually me, her prodigal granddaughter finally there to see her, inwardly cursing myself for waiting this long to actually do so. She asked how my husband (her favorite of any of those I have ever been romantically involved with) was doing, to which I replied, "just working a lot," although Red (as I will reference him as) and I have been divorced since October. As her health has been steadily in decline the past year and a half, and mind in further deterioration with each passing day, we decided it best to never inform her that he and I couldn't hang anymore, had thrown in the towel like 50% of other marriages in the world. It wasn't only the fact that she loved him that kept me from telling her, but also the fact that I couldn't ever quite stomach the prospect of piling yet another disappointment of mine on her that she would fret over, wondering why God wasn't answering her prayers and why such a bright, young talent such as I could not for the life of me get my shit together, EVER. In a 25 year long epic, she watched me go from varsity athlete-president of everything-most likely to succeed, be rich or marry rich, future president or at least his/her speech writer-bright-eyed-bring it on life and watch me fucking dominate you badass, into a college dropout, lazy and unmotivated, debt-riddled, self-medicating, own-worst-enemy, self-loathing and deprecating, walking, but still talking my old, big game disaster. My 2.5 year marriage to the nicest guy in the world was the bright-shining lighthouse in a sea of wastewater, and to take that away from her, even though I had taken it away from myself months and even years before was unfathomable. So yes Grammie, he's fine, we're fine, I'm fine.

As I kissed her still warm forehead this afternoon, a week after my final conversation with her, in the few solo minutes I asked for before the funeral people whisked her into oblivion, I choked out what little I was able to. During those moments, I, the queen of word vomit suddenly went nearly mute, as verbalizing the swirl of thoughts and feelings inside of me felt like sticking my finger down my throat every time I'm shit-faced, a large-scale waste of time, b/c I can never get anything, regardless of how imbibed I am to actually come up. In between sobs I blurted out something along the lines of how sorry I was for thus far never getting it right, how much I loved her, how I was finally taking up piano again, and that one day, someday, I was going to make her proud of me. Red told me I looked like a grieving A-lister when he walked into the room, trying to tell a loved one good-bye while attempting to keep a low-profile from the paparazzi as well, small face covered with Jackie-O, Gucci sunglasses, and hood up on my sweatshirt. I wasn't the only person whose heart was breaking today, and so I never took my glasses off so no one would have to hurt any extra because of the pain in my eyes, and honestly, looking at Grams through shaded ojos made it all feel a little more surreal to me as well. Oh, and did I mention that I'm weak yet? That was part of the sunglasses routine; I hide from anything that I am able to.

However, I'm exhausted at the moment from all facets of my life—the frailty of it, the prospect of moving back home to my parents, fighting God, juggling a full-time school and work schedule, getting my summer body back, finding ridiculous love again, and some legal stuff I may or may not discuss on here, and I need to sleep. But oh wait, I can't, I'm big time behind on tarea para escuela, and if I don't read some of King Lear I might as well just start to dig my own grave plot next to Grams. So, as will become standard, in wrapping this up, I will present my first 60-40, a list of ten things, 6 good, 4 bad and in need of improvement that come to mind to mention each day, as I feel that even when life is totally que paso'ing out of control in one's life, with some level of perspective and optimism, the good always outweighs the bad.

Bad- I will watch one of my heroes being laid to rest on Thursday, knowing that I should have stopped in to see her more this past year instead of rushing back home to watch stupid shit on my DvR or whatever the hell else I felt like was more important, and will subsequently sob the next xxx amount of days.
Good- Grams has been in chronic pain since I was born and I'm certain even a little before that and now she is in heaven where she has so longed to be and not hurting anymore, unless she can still look down and see the shit I'm in and bound to create.
Good- My family, friends, and co-workers have been tremendous this past 24 hours, each one of them blowing up my phone with "I'm here for anything, absolutely, drop-of-the-hat anything's", giving me rides when I was crying so hard I could puke, telling me they love me, and even tearing up as well. I am so blessed to have the most ridiculously wonderful group of people, b/c without them, turns out I'm sort-of a certified mess.
Bad- I am being counted on a week from today to be the speaker of the house, face of my fabulous job at the most insanely amazing sushi joint in America (and I dare you to counter me on this) at our grand opening/open house, and I feel like I'm about 20 pounds overweight and my face is broken out like a prepubescent teenagers because of the stress of this past 6 months. I wonder how much weight I can drop in a week. I think I'll try a heinous mix of 2-a-day workouts, no carbs or dairy past noon, and a.d.d. meds to trim some fat. This is going to be fantastic when I look terrific next Monday and then collapse on the podium my boss is constructing for me to stand on. Stellar me, really stellar.
Bad- I am going to break someone's heart who loves me, very very much. I am his "vida" and "corazon" and "amor" and honestly, I do have love and attraction for him as well, but it's not going to be enough. He and I want two very different outcomes in life, and this is going to end with an unequal amount of pain in the end, not because I do not care, but because I know who I am, and I, especially at this stage in the game, am not a pretty sight, regardless of what my exterior looks like.
Good- I started running again. I've run 3 of the last 5 days, and had planned on running all of them had Gram's not succumbed, so I'm taking that into account. Running is therapeutic for me, and if ever I've needed some mental help, it's now, and not only that, when my body is sub-par, so is my mind, and as compared to my lithe frame this past summer, I'm a little whale right now. I know I must take into account that I suffer from body dysmorphia and see a fat kid where others see health, but either way, that is just how I feel right now. So yeah, I'm going to full-out train for a mini-marathon in April, and hopefully, somewhere along the trail until then I'll find my mind again. And fitting back into my 00's from Abercrombie can't hurt my attitude either.
Good- I netted an 'A' on an exam that I missed both lectures for over the past few weeks of the start of this spring semester, following a one-hour cram-athon previous to it. Honestly, I blow my mind sometimes.
Bad- Aside from my fortunate 'A' on one of my tests, overall my attendance to all of my classes has been absolute shit, and I'm behind on like 3 assignments. The rest of the semester is going to require a great deal of missed sleep, structure, discipline, and actual hard work, all of which I am capable of, but just not very motivated to achieve. Sigh.
Push/Good- My sister's high school called me last week and although I didn't get offered the varsity assistant coaching job that I wanted to badly (b/c a most likely unqualified teacher got it b/c of corporation policy) they did offer me the head coaching position of the junior high team with the option to skip out on any meets that are conflicting with my sibs. Not bad I suppose.
Good- I have my first piano lesson this week for the first time in over a decade. This is for you Grams. Watch out American Idol.

This is your captain signing off. Xoxo to all, and to all a goodnite.

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