Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Whose bed is this?

I love the feeling of freshly washed sheets. Soft, smellin' good, just so wonderfully fresh...
It's 11:30pm and I'm ready to fall into my blankets and let my bed take me away...

But apparently they've beaten me to it.
Thanks. A lot.


Just what I needed most

Cold mornings, numb fingers, delicious hot chocolate with the perfect ::shhhhwoop:: of whipped cream floating on top...
Since the age of 5 until last May, these things had been my weekly routine.
I first started out helping my father sell at the local street fair. Actually.. I just went along with him instead of staying home alone. Little by little, I started helping him set up the booth and talking to people... and before we knew it, I was a fierce little salesgirl.
And then I'd bring my rollerblades with me and skate around the entire place, and pretty soon everyone know who I was.
It's a bit interesting to note the transformation that took place around that age. After my mother's death when I was five, I was pretty withdrawn for a while. I didn't want to play; I was just sad. There's this giant gap in my memory where I don't remember anything at all the months following her death. It's just this dark period in my childhood.

The street fair turned this shy little girl into a talkative, friendly little kid who could always be found with some remnant of lunch stuck to her face and grass stains on her jeans. Looking back, I was pretty funny to look at. My father had no idea how to comb a little girl's hair, he had no idea on how to dress me... i didn't really have time to worry about what I was wearing because I was too busy worrying about my scalp being ripped off my skull from the intensely tight pony tail he had inflicted upon me.

I became a fixture at the street fair. I knew where every booth was, I knew all the gossip because the adults thought that I was too young to understand what they were talking about.. ("Dad! Did you know that so-and-so has a boyfriend now because she says she needs the organisms that her husband won't give her?") So maybe I was clueless.. but I became an invaluable source of fresh news.
Everyone watched me grow up. They kept me in check; I couldn't do anything without it getting back to my father. Eventually the rollerblades came off and by the time I could drive, I would just set up the booth with my father, leave for the day, then come back to help pack up.

Then he died.

I took over the booth and did it by myself. I found comfort in hearing stories about my dad from vendors and customers alike. I never felt orphaned when I was there. If I missed a day, I'd get grief from my neighbors the following weekend. And when my birthday rolled around, they'd surprise me with cake at 6am. I never once felt alone when I went to the street fair.

Street fair season runs from October-May. I said my goodbyes last May with all the intentions of returning in October. But I didn't go back. I was in such a rut emotionally and I really felt that I was done selling at the fair. Because I was a mess, I barricaded myself for while and didn't call people back when they called to see if I was okay. I just didn't want to talk to anyone. By the time I was okay, I felt dumb for not keeping in touch with people, which just continued my avoidance of their calls.

So last weekend I finally went back. And it was fantastic.
I lost my old space so they just put me in an empty one for the day... but people still managed to find me. I really expected to get yelled at for not being there, but everyone was so nice and just happy to see me again.
And... as funny as this sounds...
I was a total Street Fair Celebrity.

While I was waiting for my space, I made conversation with a new guy.
"So... have you sold here before?"
"Oh yeah, I pretty much grew up here. I've been coming here for like 15 years or so."
He didn't seem to believe me until 5 different vendors walked by and greeted me by name. One lady even started with the classic "I've known her since she was this big!"
He then looked at me. "So you weren't kidding."
"Nope."

I went to buy some coffee, and after a brief conversation, he wouldn't let me pay for it.
My breakfast burrito was free.
Later when I was hungry, I went to buy some yummy dates and pistachios. My attempts to purchase those were denied with a smile and "This time its on me" in Spanish.
It was just so nice. By the end of the day I was exhausted, I didn't make as much money as I had hoped... but I was happy. Really really happy.

And for a moment, I felt my father pat me on the back.

I can't wait until next weekend!

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Missing him...

I want to spend the day with you today. I want to make us some lunch, I want us to just go somewhere nice and do absolutely nothing all day; I want to forget all the things that need to be done, forget the deadlines and the responsibilities. I just want you here, I want to be there, I just want to be with you.

Today is solely dedicated to fighting the urge to drive to Utah to visit Mark. I don't care that I don't have a cell phone, that my truck has been acting funny lately, and that I have super important things to do in the next couple of days. No, I want to just up and leave and drive 10 hours to spend a day with him. And when I really want to do something, I make it happen. I'm persistent and persuasive, which are great traits when they are directed at someone else.
So here I am on this lovely Saturday morning figuring out my plan, telling myself I need to be more responsible and stay, but I really do deserve a break, but not when I am broke and have things to do, that I shouldn't be so rash in my decisions, but spontaneity is a good thing... And I MISS HIM!

Diego has my car keys now. He has been instructed not to let me have them back unless we need to go somewhere locally.

I love my long distance relationship, I really do. I love that we have no choice but to learn the important things about each other; that this is real, based on far more than fleeting physical attributes. We've got this solid relationship that can withstand the 600 miles between us.
I love that feeling of seeing him after being apart for entire weeks at a time. Weeks that would normally just zoom on by now feel like forever. . It's almost been 3 weeks now... and I'm struggling. A lot.


Like last night when I was thirsty and I was too afraid to go to the kitchen in the dark because there's a big scary window by the sink and Diego kept telling me, "No you go first" and then I'd walk a few steps and he wouldn't even go with me like he promised...
That's when I realized just how much I miss My Handsome.


But I have to wait. I don't want to wait. ::stomp stomp stomp:::

I've thrown my little fit and I've realized that I haven't eaten today. So, My Dear Handsome, I will make us both some lunch and eat it in your honor. Only because I love you. These are the sacrifices I am willing to make.

I'll clean the house and do what needs to be done. I'll save my money. I'll take care of all my responsibilities! I'll be so good and responsible! Look at me!

I'LL TOTALLY DESERVE A ROAD TRIP NEXT WEEKEND!



Friday, January 12, 2007

Friday! Hooray!

Every once in a while, an incredible force takes over my body and I can't control my actions.

This only happens when I go to Carniceria Rancho Grande to buy groceries.

Walking through the doors into this store, where minimal English is spoken, takes me back to my Mexico. The people are friendly, humble, and polite. Somewhere between picking up cheap vegetables and ordering 2 lbs of meat for my delicious carne asada, I become 1000% mexican. I dance through the aisles to the cumbia music that flows though the store, I wiggle my hips while weighing my avocados... I order my beloved goodies from behind the meat counter without my little american accent; and I can't hold still as they are packing up my favorite cheese. I'm a total mexican now. I've become Rosario.

There's a spring in my step as I make my way back to my truck, ingredients in hand. I'm one hungry Mexican on a mission to make the most delicious meal ever.

I get home and greet the dogs in Spanish. They aren't bilingual so they're a bit confused, but not for long. The smell of carne asada is a universal language. I've got the Mexican radio station blasting. Yes, the Mexican oompah music. ACCORDIANS and all. I'm beyond the point of no return... I don't even speak English at this point.

The meat is a sizzlin', the music is a bumpin', and I'm dancing, fork in hand... looking like the quintessential drunken aunt that appears at every Mexican wedding. The dogs have retreated to the living room, north of the kitchen, back into American territory... but I remain here, determined to satisfy the hungry Mexican within me.

I toss the tortillas onto the fire like a pro, flip them without the usual accompanying 3rd degree burns, and pop them on a plate. And they wait, naked, until my delicious carne asade joins them. I add some peruvian beans - the lighter, more delicate sibling of those overused pinto beans. Normally the trio is completed with the addition of these beans... but not tonight. Tonight is different.

I've got ceviche tostadas.

I look at my creation with a faint "Ay dios mio, que lindo" and settle down with a glass of lime-aid. I close my eyes and forget where I am... and with every bite, I come back down to my original state. My thoughts are in English again, the music is now slightly annoying, but the food - the food remains just as delicious.

If you ever accompany me to Carniceria Rancho Grande, do not question what is happening to me. Embrace it... your stomach will thank you. And perhaps you'll take with you a little bit of my querido Mexico.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

I Win.

Okay, I'm all good again.
The last couple of days really threw me for a loop. Life has this way of making sure that I don't take my sanity for granted by making me completely insane, irrational, and emotional once in a while. Mother Nature does this same thing on a monthly basis. And when these things coincide... watch out, forget it, don't ask and keep clear.
It's frightening... but can also be used to my advantage.
So in normal Rosario fashion, I wondered: "How can I make the best of this situation?"

I decided to face my enemy, my archnemesis; the one who sucks the life out of my soul and the money out of my purse.

I went to Bank of America.

Bank of America is the worst bank ever. EVER.
Of course with all of these large financial institutions, the customer is just one in a million and there is no such thing as "We value your business." I know that. But BofA takes this to another level. They actively HATE ME. They don't budge. I remember calling once, crying my eyes out because I overdrafted like $1.50 and then this snowball effect started taking place and I was in overdraft hell. At $35 dollars for each fee, it got ugly. I had no money. It was awful. After submitting a refund request, the computer said no. That was it. The computer was the decision maker. I told them I was going to close my account. They said I'd have to bring it out of negative first. Idiotas.

I stood in line and took myself back to that place. I silently channeled the energy and feelings I felt on that fateful day, the day BofA showed no mercy. By the time it was my turn, I had become a force to be reckoned with.

That poor teller.

I was relentless as I ranted and complained. English did not limit me, no; I let loose a few "inútiles!"(useless people!) and "sinvergüenzas!"(people without shame!) here and there. I even stomped.

And suddenly, the computer did not have the last say. I watched the Vice President of that branch as she peered down her nose through her dainty reading glasses. As her fingers danced across the keyboard, her perfectly manicured red nails composed a most pleasant click clickity click sound that calmed me. It took her no effort whatsoever to override the computer's decision. She smiled at me, almost acknowledging the fact that I had made it this far; I had made it further than countless others who dared challenge this heartless oppressor. I bid her farewell and proudly headed for the door. Moments before walking out, I looked back and thought to myself, "Screw all of you, I am coming back tomorrow to close my account."

I think I'll go to another branch for that.

Sunday, January 7, 2007

Neurosis and a Cold Nose

I can't do a damn thing today. I'm anxious, I'm emotional... and I'm not getting anything done. I try to do something, and for whatever reason, I can't finish.
I was just out in the garage and I was trying to cut something in half with my table saw. Because of the size of the piece I'm trying to cut, I can only use my table saw.
But as soon as I switched it on, I was afraid. AFRAID! I think I made a cut of about 3 inches before I turned it off. I couldn't do it. What the hell??? I am not like this! I've used that thing before. It is by no means my favorite but I've used it. Successfully.
So to calm down I decided to search the web on the dangers of table saws.
Kickback is caused when the blade catches the workpiece and violently throws it back to the rear of the saw, towards the operator. It can be thrown very hard and can injure the operator. It is not uncommon for the object to have high enough velocity to become embedded in a wall or to cause other damage or injury.
Oh hell no. Not happening.

I'm one of those folks that can't relax when things need to get done.
But I'm also too anxious and nervous to do anything. I can't explain this at all.
My Handsome man did a great job at calming me down earlier with the magic of his logical reasoning and kind words, but the effects only lasted a good 20 minutes.

There are just a bunch of tiny things that are bothering me. chomp chomp chomp... that's all I hear. Teenytiny termites eating away at my construction. Of course I'm shaky! I feel like I'm about to fall apart.
I will be fine tomorrow. I just don't know what to do now to calm myself down. Every little thing is either getting on my nerves or stressing me out. AARRRRRRGGGGHHHH.

My dog wont stop following me around the house, won't let me use the bathroom alone (he scratches at the door) and every time I've sat down to do stuff on the computer, he's nudged me or otherwise shocked me with a cold nose. Instead of labeling him needy and annoying, I am going to just tell myself that he senses that I am nutty today and he's just making sure I'm okay. And more annoyed.
Look at him! He has a big goofy head! STOP STARING AT ME! CAN'T I BE ALONE FOR ONE SECOND?!

Breathe
Breathe
Breathe

So I give up on getting things done today. I am in no condition to be operating heavy machinery anyway, right? I am going to snuggle with Diego, make myself a cup of decaffeinated Cafecito Con Leche and try to read the book that my dear friend Danielle sent me for Christmas.

Saturday, January 6, 2007

A Tale of Two Pancakes

I made perfect pancakes this morning. Golden brown, not burnt, plate sized and perfectly round, these were pancakes to be remembered. So I ate them.
Arranged neatly next to my eggs, accompanied by my pulpilicious orange juice, I couldn't help but admire this perfection of a Breakfast Trifecta.

Now this may not sound like some major achievement, but it is. I've been burning ruining making pancakes since I was 7 years old. No one ever supervised me... I just followed the directions on the box. In the beginning I thought it perfectly normal to eat my pancakes to the sound of the smoke detector.
Since then, my pancakes have been nearly perfect. Misshapen yet delicious, stacked from largest to smallest - what was lacking? It's simple.

Love.

These pancakes were the first pancakes I have made since I've been in love. They were worthy of the cover of Pancakes Weekly magazine. Coincidence? You decide. I think it's fairly obvious.

Friday, January 5, 2007

Blogging... here I go again

I wanted to start this off again on a pleasant note, but getting back into journaling only reminds me of why I stopped in the first place.
I did livejournal. I Blurty-ed. Then there was Xanga.
That all ended a year and a half ago, when I became involved with a man Douchebag that made my nightly blogging adventures seem ridiculous. I was also incredibly unhappy and my posts would have been pretty dark and awful... and embarrassing. I erased everything I had ever written. I'll call it the dark year of my life.
I don't want to go into a lengthy dissection of why and how I could have ever gotten caught up in such an awful relationship. I'm a bit hard on myself about it because I knew all along. Lots of red flags. Rage, extreme beliefs....This guy destroyed me in such a fashion that I felt that only he could reconstruct me. Things I considered completely unacceptable became excusable. The fact that he didn't literally hit me with a fist was my reason for staying. Somewhere my reasoning became the opposite of what it should be; I was thankful for the bad things he didn't do rather than be upset about the terrible things he did do.
It got to the point to where I had a hard time looking my little sister in the eye whenever she'd ask about him. I was just too embarrassed. If she was dating someone like this, I'd have him hunted down! (what Mexican doesn't know a felon? Por Favor)
As I'm typing this out I still feel pangs of embarrassment. But I wouldn't be who I am today (I am so very fantastic, kneel before me!) if I hadn't been through this garbage. So for that, I am thankful.
He's out of my life, I'm happier than ever, and I've been strong.
...because there are times when he attempts to get back into my life, tries to get a reaction out of me. Not happening. My reasons aren't even spiteful. I just don't give a damn.

Interesting things have happened since then. It seems that as soon as I discarded that cloak of unhappiness he had placed on me, good things started occurring. I started working an enjoyable job, I reconnected with long lost family (more about that later) and I revived a few old friendships. Most importantly, I found the love of my life. No, rediscovered is a better way of putting it. Be forewarned: I am in love and I will exercise my right to ramble on and on about it, I will not hold back on the cheese, and you will roll your eyes and/or make cutesy "awwwww!" sounds.

Things are great.
So without further ado, welcome to my new little world. It may not always be fanfare and festivities around here, but I'll always be honest. And hungry.