Thursday, November 19, 2015

woes of a poet

i don't even have the energy to get the words out
to express how if am feeling
oh they are there
in the deep crevices of my soul
yearning to get out
 to be heard -read

but to do so, would mean opening up my emotions
put them on display

letting my heart bleed
i can't stand the pain

the thought of putting forth such effort
all for the sake of letting my feelings come out
frightens me

my soul

and so, like a bear during the winter months
i return back to my inner cave
to hibernate

safe haven

my words
my truth
will have to wait

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

the more things change, the more they stay the same

the title of this post says it all for me tonight.  in what has now become custom in my fair city of houston, texas, the houston astros suffered a tough and very costly loss to the kansas city royals.  to say that watching the last two innings of the game felt like being punched in the stomach is putting it mildly.  the devastating loss took the air out of what up until the bottom of  the 7th inning, had been an electrifying and boisterous sell-out crowd in our little juice box, aka minute maid park. literally, mouths open with looks of shock were  visible everywhere.  including in my cubicle at work.  i couldn't watch it but i was listening to it on the radio and following tweets and facebook updates.  i went from edge of the seat excited to hole in the pit of my stomach disappointed. i was so angry and so let down afterwards that i almost wanted to cry.  now, before you start calling me "dramatic debbie" or "drama queen" or tell me it's just a game, let me just stop you right there.  for those long time followers of my blog, it's no secret what a huge astros fan i am and have been since i was about 5 years old.  i've told numerous stories of my dad taking my brothers, sister and i to the astrodome.  i was there when mike scott pitched his no hitter.  i was there when the astros played their last game in the dome.  i am and have been with this team when it was in last place and when it was in first place.  so yeah, maybe i'm a little exuberant when it comes to this team.  come on, let's be real here, this is a houston team we're talking about after all.  this is not our first rodeo when it comes to suffering great losses. not just in baseball, but football and basketball as well.  but for the sake of this post, i will stick to baseball.  the last time i can recall feeling this horrible was back in the 1980 playoffs when the philadelphia phillies beat us in game 5 in extra innings and in the 1986 playoff game against the new york mets, that one we lost in 16 innings.  ouch.  each of those games i can remember where i watched it and how it felt when we lost.  felt like the 1980s all over again today.  so  we can blame it on the players, the bad calls, the poor managing, karma, bad juju, whatever you want.  but the fact remains, we lost.  as a result, we are now forced to go back to kansas city and play game 5 on wednesday. (something no one in houston wanted -except kc fans of  course) it's a winner take all. and by "all", i mean advance to the next level. loser goes home.  can the astros do it?  most definitely.  i mean, no one expected them to come this far and yet, here they are.  will they do it?  i hope so.  win or lose, i'm a fan through and through.  albeit a pissed off fan right now, but a fan nonetheless.

game 5. it's on.  bring it kc.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

The Thrill of Victory -that's it.

Ten years ago, I was anxiously awaiting the birth of my nephew, Ethan and celebrating the Houston Astros as they clinched the division title and went on to the World Series.  TEN.YEARS.AGO. That's a long time yes?  Well, not anymore.  Tonight, my "little engine that  could" Houston Astros, played a do or die game against the NewYork Yankees where they not only dominated the mighty Yankees, but beat them as well.  That's right, I said the New York Yankees lost to my Houston Astros. Let that marinate in your mind for a moment will you? Go ahead, I'll waiit.  Feels good doesn't it?  Nothing gave me more pleasure than watching Carlos Beltran (aka as the "trader" --in Houston) and Alex Rodriguez strike out to our ace pitcher, Dallas Keuchel.  Something about sticking it to the bad guys that always makes me feel good.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.  Excuse me while I basque in the glory of this victory just little while longer would you?  You see,  if you live in Houston long enough, you will learn that our sports teams -all of them, are somehow or other, well, cursed. I mean, they have to be.  How else do you explain the year after year of excrutiating, gut wrenching losses  that we have had to endure? The ever tiresome "We'll be back next year!" mantra that has been embedded in our heads. I think Houstonians as a whole have become numb to the pain.  Seriously.  Even this game. I now have no nails left as a result of the nail biting I was doing throughout the game.  Because although we were ahead, way down in the pit of my stomach, I was cringing with dread that somehow someone was going to pull the rug from under us and say, "Haha not really!" and we would lose.  And so, my nerves got the best of me and now I have to schedule a trip to the nail salon asap.  

I have plenty of friends and even family that laugh at my passion for the Astros  Remember, they were not always contention worthy.  But a fair-weather fan, I am not.   I owe my love of baseball and the Houston Astros to my dad.  He used to take not one, not two, but all four us (my brothers and sister and I) to the Astrodome.  It was there that I fell in love with the game, the Astros and the players -of course.  My brothers and sister and I, along with my dad, are all passionate about this game and this team.  Always have been, always will be.

So tonight, I relish in the thrill of victory and the excitement that has erupted in our city. Tomorrow I'm sure I will get my share of the negative nellies and haters trash talking the boys, but for tonight, I celebrate. Great job boys!

Bring on the KC Royals!

Thursday, August 20, 2015

invisible pain

sometimes i feel as if i can't breathe.  i take a deep breath but i still feel as if i am short of breath.  a few weeks ago, in true hypochondriac fashion, i was having what i thought was a heart-attack.  i felt clammy, anxious, heart racing, chest hurting and i was having trouble breathing.  so i did what every neurotic person does in these situations, i drove myself to the nearest er.  the young girl at the reception desk was all of maybe 19 years old, had purple hair (no i wasn't hallucinating) and the biggest tongue ring i'd ever seen.  see? had i really been dying like my mind was telling me i was, would i be able to remember such minute details?  yeah, exactly.  as a result of the description of my symptoms, they rushed me to the back in less than five minutes.  that never happens in the er. ever.  after speaking to the nurse and then the doctor on call, both of which were extremely nice and went above and beyond in comforting me, i was given a series of tests.  you know, blood work, stress test, chest x-ray and oh yeah, an ekg.  all tests returned normal.  normal.  i looked at the doctor almost in tears.  " i'm not crazy, i really felt like i was dying"  i said to him in desperation.  he assured me  that i was not dying and that i was fine.  well, not totally fine.  i had suffered an anxiety attack.  now, just to give you a little background history on me, i suffer from anxiety attacks, i've had more than i care to mention since i was about 18 years old.  but none of them have ever been like this one.  i even practiced my breathing exercises as i drove to the er, the ones that calm me down and keep me focused and keep me from totally freaking out.  but they didn't work. i still couldn't breath right when i arrived to the er. bleh.  i then felt really silly, sitting on the bed, wearing the the obligatory god-awful white gown.  i felt embarrassed too.  i wonder how many people like me walk into this place on a daily basis.  once the medical staff assured themselves that i was calmer and my breathing returned to normal, i was released.  the doctor prescribed nothing.  well, he told me to follow up with my doctor and with that, he was satisfied and released me.  the whole weekend i spent it almost alone.  i didn't go anywhere unless i had to and i didn't speak to anyone on the phone.  i kind of checked out and just spent time with me.  trying to recharge my brain and redirect it's way of thinking.  i think too much.  i worry too much.  i obsess about things too much.  i'm just, too much.  -heh.  i have to make a joke somewhere right?  so after a self-imposed sabbatical ( a short one) , i realized that all of these worries that haunt me, aren't even my worries.  they are everyone else's worries.  i carry the weight of the world on my shoulders sometimes.  i care too much.  i love too much.  i give a damn, way too much.  but that's how i am.  what can i do?  in short, my body was  telling me to stop the madness and to refocus all of that energy on someone that mattered more, me.  but again, i feel like i could be stretch man's little sister, stretch girl.  i mean, i am constantly being pulled in every direction, someone always wants something from me and i have a difficult time saying no to people.  what's stretch girl to do kids?

thank god for this blog and for good meds, they are my safety net right now.  oh i know, things will get better, they always do.  it's just sometimes, i just need to come to my safe haven and throw out the words.   it serves as therapy for me.

thanks for indulging me.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

The Bouquet Snatcher

We were at a family wedding over the weekend and the time came for all the single ladies (yes I'm singing it like Beyonce and putting my hands up as I type this) to gather behind the bride and secretly form a strategy as to how they  we were going to catch the elusive manna from heaven also known as the wedding bouquet.   Me? I just giggled because I suddenly saw my mom walking towards us to join in on the fun.  She took her place beside me and smiled.  Did I mention that my dad was at this wedding too?  Yeah, both of my parents were in the same place and no one had killed each other
-yet.  Relax, my parents are divorced.  Ironically, they get along much better being divorced than they did when they were married.  But that's another story for another time.  Getting back to the bouquet toss, the beautiful bride sat down, her back to us, and began the teasing of the countdown "One, two, three!"  and there was no toss.  And again, "One, two, three!"  and yet again, no toss.  This of course gave way for mounting suspense:  Who would catch it?   Finally, the bride took one last look over her shoulder and the counting resumed, "One, two annnnnd Three!"  and up went the bouquet.  Wait.  It was coming towards... me?  Yes it was.  I could see it getting closer, all I had to do was raise my hands and that sucker would be mine, all mine.  But then, from the corner of my eye I see hands and a body reaching over me. And then, laughter erupted. My mom caught the bouquet.  My mom, caught.the.bouquet.  Seriously.  She somehow channeled her inner JJ Watt and dove for it, literally taking it from my grasp.  Shit just real y'all.  Everyone laughed, got a kick out of it and began congratulating her.  Even me.  I mean, so what if I may never, ever, EVER have a shot at holding a wedding bouquet in my hands again, at least she got to and that's all that matters right? Right.
 -Alright kidding aside, the whole thing the way it was played out, was hilarious.  Even more hilarious was my dad's reaction.  He was a bit miffed.  Ha.  Oh right, he was pissed and his face showed it.  The drive home would be a long one.  Did I mention that we all rode together.  Yeah.  Good times.

Anyway, for years to come, I'll have a story to tell my nieces and nephews, it will start like this: "That one time, at the wedding when your grandma shattered my dreams of being a bride and snatched the bouquet out of my hands  caught the wedding bouquet.  -oh yeah, this story will live on for years to come.

PS- I'm over dramatic can you tell?

Monday, August 10, 2015

H is Hot and Hot is NOT for Me

As sung to the tune of Cookie Monster's "C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me!" (Thanks Sesame Street)  For those not in the know, Cookie Monster is a character or Muppet, if you will, on the long running PBS program, Sesame Street.  He also happens to be one of my favorites, next to Bert and Ernie of course.  But anyway, where was I?  I did have a point to this.  Ah yes, the heat.  Good god man, the heat here in Houston has been brutal the past few days.  In fact, I got a sun tan walking from my car to the movie theater this afternoon, no joke. It's so bad that people are using the "less is more" mentality when it comes to dressing these days.  Seriously, if I could get away with it I'd ditch the garments all together.  Heh.  But I can't, so I won't.  Moving on. (thankfully, as I'm sure some of you are saying amiright?)

Aside from the scorching weather being the hot topic lately (see what I did there?)  It occurs to me that I have been almost silent on the matters of wait for it, big pause for effect, DATING.  (cue the music)  Well, there really hasn't been much to write about in that regard for me lately.  I date here and there, no one special currently.  Which to me is just fine.  I really think I need to work some more on myself and a few things that linger from my last relationship.  Honestly, I feel that if I don't work on those issues then I'll never be in the type of relationship that I long for and seek.  Know what I mean?  Besides, being single is not so bad.  Trust me I'm an expert at it.  The thing is, now that I am creeping near that monumental age of shh... (fifty)  -not until next year but still.  At this point of my life, I feel more centered.  I know what I want and I don't have time for anymore bullshit or games from anyone.  Men love to play games.  Just not the kind of games I like to play -heh.  Yes I know that women can be players too.  Some of my good friends are champion players, however I seek something more meaningful.  A few of my married friends, ok ALL of my married friends, tell me that I am too picky and need to lower my standards.  I just roll my eyes at them and laugh.  If by lowering my standards that means that I date the first man that looks at me or asks me out, just for the sake of "going out" or having someone in my life and totally disregarding my self-worth then no thank you.  I'm good. Really.  That was a really long and incoherent sentence wasn't it?  Too bad I'm too sleepy and tired to fix it. Sorry bloggies.

But getting back to what I was talking about, I'd like to be attracted to that person or at least, have something in common with them other than being single.  Why can't my friends get that? My single friends get it. It's my married ones that are full of advice -mostly unsolicited.  Their concern is appreciated but damn let me breathe!   And while all of their concerns and advice and potential suitors are appreciated, I truly believe that I am single because I am still working on myself.  No that's not an excuse, it's a fact.  I really want to find someone and be a part of their life and live this great love story that I can write poetry and stories about but for whatever reason, it hasn't happened yet.  I'm holding on to hope that it does happen for me one day.  Hell, my entire family is hoping for that as well, they have prayed to every saint known to mankind and lit more candles than I care to tell you about.  Hope springs eternal and all  that.  Right?

I'd like to hear from any other fellow single person over 40 who is in this holding pattern   Tell me why you think you are still single or why you haven't met that man or that woman to woo you from "party of one"?  Do you think you're a great catch?  I do.  In fact, I know I am.  And yes I'm bragging  a little, ok maybe a lot.  But I know what I bring to the table.  Do you?

Ok that's enough for a Sunday night.  Thanks for indulging my rambling and I hope I make some sense, I know I was all over the place tonight.

It's the start of a new week kids, make it a great one.


Thursday, July 23, 2015

Party like it's 1999 er 1985

Well, I did it again.  I let days turn into weeks without blogging.  Patience my little grasshoppers, patience.  Rome wasn't built in a day and my quest to blog on the daily won't happen over night either.  Enough.

So it's Thursday, not too long ago, when I was fresh out of school (no smart alec remarks from the peanut gallery)  I used to refer to Thursday as "Friday eve" and treated it as such.  My friends and I would get out of work and head to one of the trending bars of the month, where we would proceed to contemplate life and the injustices in the world and even have heated debates over such important quandaries as "Which came first the chicken or the egg?" and lest we forget one of my favorites, "Why did the Chicken cross the road?"   These and other lively discussions took place while imbibing in alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol.  Good times back then.  And then, just like that, it's 2015 and you are suddenly forty-something and your thirty year high school  reunion is staring you in the face.  No that's not a typo, I meant to type Thirty.  Oh god.  I graduated from high school thirty freaking years ago guys!


I was in the graduating class of 1985 from Incarnate Word Academy. (IWA).  IWA is the oldest Catholic all girls school in Houston.  Yes friends, I attended this very prestigious high school and no, unlike some of my classmates, I was not forced to go there by my parents. I went there by choice and because I took the entrance exam and passed.  Alleluia.  Don't laugh, getting into that school was tough back then.  Actually, I think it's tougher today.   Anyway, I loved going there and I will always be thankful to my parents for working two to three jobs sometimes, just so I could attend that school.  Hell, they sent all four of us (my siblings) to private schools.  I think there should be a monument created in their honor, in all parents honor that worked their ass off  for their kids education.

But I digress.

So tomorrow we are getting together at a local restaurant/bar to start off the evening and then take it where our spirit moves us.  (see what I did there?)  I am looking forward to seeing my old classmates.  It's always as if time stands still whenever we get together, be it for a happy hour or some type of special occasion.  When we see each other, we may be older (ahem, not one word) but we are all still the same.  We laugh and laugh, reminiscing about the nuns and our antics and the teachers and the scandals.  The football games we attended at St. Thomas, (IWA's brother school is St. Thomas High School, the oldest Catholic all boys school in Houston) the ever infamous school dances, the pep rallies, so many different memories.  But the best memory, for me anyway, is the bond that was made with these girls.  Some of us are wives, moms, grandmothers (hot ones), some are now in heaven, but  what we created lives on in our hearts.  We really are sisters.  Some of my best friends (to this day) were made there.  I just can't get it through my head that it's been that many years.  Can you?  I don't even look a day past (pause for dramatics) twenty-five at least.  (Oh shut it)

So here's to the class of 1985 -Sisters of the Incarnate Word -that's what we are.  Falcon pride (our mascot) never dies.

Oh yeah, I know you're all wondering if what they say about Catholic school girls is true.  Yes. All of it.  It's true.