As My Dating World Turns...

I'm not much of a "dater" per se. I mean, I date, but I don't like to "juggle", so if I'm dating one person, then I'm dating one person.   I've never been able to date Peter on Monday and Steve on Tuesday and Mario on Wednesday.  Do you follow? Good.   My friend Fatima, who as we speak is on a whirlwind dating tour, dates more than Carrie Bradshaw's closet has shoes! Case in point, I was speaking to her over the weekend. We were kind of playing catch up since due to her "dates" we had not been able to get together. She starts telling me about the men she's met recently and how she's dating them -ALL of them. At the same time.   I started laughing at her because she is hilarious! Her philosophy is "If you like it and it feels good, do it and do it as much as you want." Hmm, something to ponder. So I proceed to tell her about my latest dating anectdotes. She listens and then tells me I need to do as she does. But it's just not me. I'm all for having a good time, but dating is so difficult for me. It becomes almost like a chore and well, where is the fun in that? Seriously, I feel like I channel Lucy Ricardo when I'm on a date. Why? Because everything you can possibly think can go wrong, does -pretty much all of the time. There have been a few exceptions but those are few and far between!
Speaking to Fatima led me to take inventory my latest dating war stories. Now I'm talking about first dates only. Relationships -well that's a whole post!  To help you better understand, let me give you a few examples, or laughs -same thing.

1.   On a blind date once, I met my suitor at the agreed lounge only to find out that it was Lesbian night and he and I were probably the only heterosexual couple there.

2.   On that same date, while at Lesbian Wednesday bar, drinking some wine, my suitor proceeds to put his hand on my thigh, and keeps moving it up until I stop him. He smugly tells me that I "know I want it" and starts again with the hand. So, I take my glass of wine, and smile at him as I throw the Merlot in his face.

3.   I went on an amazing (seemingly) date with a man once that seemed too good to be true.  And well, he was. For as it turns out, at the end of our date, right before he tries to kiss me, he tells me that he is really a she that likes to dress up as a man on ocassion, but hey, "You're cool with that right?" Um, NEXT!

4.   There was a guy I really, really liked. We had been talking for months and finally, we went out. Well, he wined and dined me but when the check came he excused himself to the mens room and never came back. Serious!

5.   I once made plans to go out with someone and he asked me to choose the restaurant where we would be going. He said, "Pick your favorite" so I did. Hours before the date, I receive a TEXT from him saying, "You're a little too high-maintenace for me. I'm more a laid back burgers and fries kind of guy. I no longer wish to go out with you."  WTF???  Oh well, at least he let me know and didn't stand me up. (FYI-I'm not high maintenace but I do like the finer things in life on ocassion, sue me.)

6.   Of course, my all time favorite story is the one about the guy that got mad because I wouldn't give him a blow-job at then end of our FIRST date. (For more in depth explanation, please read "Worst.Date.Ever.")

7.   And then let's not forget about my "One Hit Wonder Dates" -the ones that go smashingly well and then they disappear off the face of the earth!

This is why the thought of joining a convent seems more and more appealing to me lately.  Oh who am I kidding? I wouldn't last an hour in there!

And the dating merry-go-round continues...

I should be sleeping but...

It's 1:41 a.m. Saturday morning.  And I'm wide awake.  That's what I get for taking a three hour nap this afternoon. (Friday afternoon, rather) I never take naps but for some reason, I could barely keep my eyes open today.  So I finally gave in and sought refuge on my couch, thinking I'd sleep for half an hour or so. Heh.  Wrong.  Anyway, so that's my long-winded answer on why I'm still awake in the wee hours of the morning. 

Let's talk turkey! How was yours?  I hope those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving had a fabulous one.  Mine was pretty great!  For the first time in months, I had a "happy" day.  And for that alone, I am eternally grateful.  Little things like that, mean the world to me.  I was surrounded by my family.  As irritating and obnoxious as some of them are or can be sometimes, they're my family, and I love them  very much.  So a great time was had by all!

Let's talk Black Friday.  For those that don't know, the day after Thanksgiving has long been the busiest shopping day of the year, often referred to as “Black Friday” because it is the day that retailers become profitable thus moving from “the Red” into “the Black.  In other words, retailers sucker people in into thinking that they absolutely have to get up in some cases, midnight in order to go and get first dibs on the great sales that the stores are having.  It's gotten so ridiculous lately, that this year, there were people camping out since Monday in front of the stores (tents and all) just so they could be first in line or at the very least, second or third.  Crazy right?  I just can't justify losing sleep to go shopping only to save a few bucks.  That's just not computing in my brain.  Don't get me wrong, I love a great bargain, but not enough to sacrifice my sleep.  That's sacred.

 So what did I do today?  A whole lotta nothing.  And I loved it!  Best thing about today?  Watching my alma mater, the University of Houston win their 12th game in a row! 12-0 baby!!!  Go Cougars!!!

Alright, this chica is going to "occupy" her bed,  and stop talking in third person

Good night!

Happy Thanksgiving One and All!

I am so grateful for all that I have and even what I do not have.  I am rich in health, family, friends, employment and my bloggies.  Oh and also for stretchy pants, as I will most definitely need them later today, after I consume about a million calories!

From my little corner of the world, to yours, HAPPY THANKSGIVING, with love!

Dream Weaver

Thanks to this post http://crazywithasideofawesomesauce.blogspot.com/2011/11/dreams.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+blogspot%2Frdbl+%28Crazy+with+a+side+of+Awesome+Sauce%29 I decided I would compile a short list of some of my dreams.  We all have them, don't we?  The thing about dreams/aspirations for me, is that I tend to be afraid of them.  Meaning that deep down, in the core of my lack of self-esteem and confidence, I hold this fear that I will never make any of them (dreams) come true.  Of course nothing could be further from the truth, but it's a struggle for me and one I deal with almost on a daily basis. 

Okay, so this "dreams" list of mine, is no particular order of significance.

1.  Conquering my demons
2.  Travel to Spain and to Italy for long periods of time
3.   Become a paid writer
4.   Sell my screenplay to a major production company
5.   Find inner peace
6.   Do something outside my norm at least twice a year
7.   Having healthy and loving relationships (family, friends, significant other, employment)
8.   Become Oprah rich (ok, that's a pretty far-fetched dream.  I'd settle for just "rich")
9.   Make a lasting impression on people I meet along the way
10. Make a difference

Do-able?  Totally.  At least, in my head.  I believe dreams force us to probe into ourselves and deal with the "crud" that we don't always want to face or deal with. 

What are your thoughts? 

Barry Manilow and Closure

Earlier this evening, while driving home, I saw a man on the street that was a dead ringer for Barry Manilow.  No lie! Could have been him or his twin!  Instinctively, I grabbed the cell and started to dial your number.  Who else but you, would see the humor?  But then I remembered, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and continued driving.  My eyes welled up with tears.  I miss you.  So much.  You have not a clue.  It's stupid really.  This whole scenario that transpired.  Why I am wasting my time and emotions on someone who clearly did not give a damn about me is beyond comprehension.  Oh wait. I know why.  Because I'm a masochist, that's why. 

Ugh! I hate this! I hate it so much!  Why did you have to be the jerk that everyone told me you were? Why didn't I listen to them? Why did you have to prove them right? 
I know I have to let this go.  But I can't right now, not just yet.  I keep hoping that I'll somehow miraculously "see the light" and get what happened.  Bleh.  Who am I kidding?  That's not happening.  And while both M&M have told me ad-nauseum to "forget about him", I can't.  How do you just "forget" the past five years of your life?  Michelle answered it best, "The same way he forgot you.  That's how.  Just do it."  Harsh? Maybe.  But true.  I know I will let it go.  I'm actually doing better than I was months ago, when this saga originally took place.  But then something happens or I get good news or have something hilariously funny to share and I reach for that phone again. He was my "person" dammit! 

The best thing that happened in my so called friendship with R, was that I learned (albeit the hard way)  that I will not let anyone treat me less than how I deserve to be treated. Ever.  And I won't settle for mediocre or fair-weathered friends.  I know who I am. I know I am a good person.  I know I didn't deserve this.  I am true to myself and to those that I choose to have in my life.  And for that, I am ever grateful.

So maybe this post, is the last chapter of that part of my life.  I am letting it go.  I am letting you go.

If Only In A Dream

"I came to tell you that I'm sorry."
My heart raced at the sight of him.  Hands shaking, I opened the screen door and let him inside.
"Thanks." he muttered as he stepped into the house.

We stood there, staring at each other, for what seemed like forever, but really, was only a few seconds.  Finally, I told him to take a seat and offered him something to drink.  He declined on both counts.

"I miss you.  I miss talking to you and I miss our friendship. I was an idiot! I'm sorry Lola, I'm sorry I hurt you!"

I had been waiting and waiting for years for this apology.  I finally had it and I was at a loss for words.
He realized this and filled the void, "I fucked up ok? Is that what you want to hear? I did.  I hurt you.  You were my best friend and I'm standing now in front of you, asking for forgiveness..."

My eyes brimmed with tears, I could barely make him out as he stood a few feet in front of me.
Without any further hesitation, I threw my arms around him and hugged him.  He hugged me back.  We stayed that way for a long time.  Just holding each other, me crying softly, and him telling me over and over how stupid he had been.

"I forgive you!"  I meant it.  I forgave him, just like that all hurtful words, painful acts disappeared.  Forgiven.  We smiled at each other and an overwhelming feeling of calm, mixed in with happiness filled my heart.  We hugged again...

"Lola,  wake up, it's time."

I opened my eyes, tears falling down my face. Reality sinking in.  Gustabo was never here.  Slowly, my mind started focusing on the present.  Sadly, I remembered that he had been killed in a car accident three days before.  The visit had all been a dream. 

"Are you okay?"  My sister asked me.

I stared blankly at her and nodded.

As I drove to the church where the funeral mass would take place, I quickly glanced up at the sky and whispered, "I forgive you."  And I smiled.
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*I don't know why but death has been on my mind a lot lately.  It's trickling over to my topics for my stories and poetry.  Hope you like this one!

"Moving on" - a short, short, short story

Saturdays are normally set aside for running errands, maybe some shopping, definitely a visit to the grocery store and let’s not forget laundry, you know, chores and what not.  Normally. Today however, I woke up, sun was shining, and my inner child refused to cooperate in getting any of the aforementioned done. So, giving in to "the kid", I showered, got dressed, and took off.   It had been ages since I had done anything like this!  Ages…  Just me and this beautiful Saturday morning!  A “beautiful” day merits "top down on the car" kind of music.  I pop in my "old-school"  mix CD –what can I say?  I love "old school" music!  First up, Earth Wind & Fire's "September" “Do you remember?” ---I belted out loudly.  The wind blowing in my hair created a mini-tornado.  I glanced at myself in the rear-view mirror and laughed at what I saw.  I found myself on I-10 West, San Antonio bound!  No particular reason.  I’d drive there, have a nice lunch, walk around the Riverwalk, maybe shopping and then head back.  As I drove away from the city and the traffic, my mind began to wander... 

"I still can’t believe you are not here anymore.  Well, not physically I mean.  I miss you so much!  Do you miss me?  Sigh.  You know, I’ve often wondered what our lives would have been like if you had not gotten sick.  Do you? Would we be married?  Would we have kids?  Would you still dance with me under the stars, even when there was no music?  I miss that a lot.  Dancing with you.  You were always better at it than me.  Just so you know, I’m okay.  Really. I mean, it took me a long, long time to feel this way.  But I really am.  It was scary there for a while.  I didn’t think I was going to get over losing you.  But I did.  You should be very proud of me!”

"I am proud of you.  And I miss you too, so much."

Whoa! I glanced trepidly to my right, only to see Alex sitting beside me.  He saw the look of terror and disbelief on my face and quickly tried to calm me down.  "It's okay baby. It's okay.  Don't freak out.  I'm here.  I'm really here.  You're not imagining it."

Refusing to look to my right again I kept my eyes on the road and continue to drive.  Turning the music up louder,  to drown out my thoughts and my apparent hallucinations.

He touched my arm trepidly.  "Pull over" he said in that "take charge" voice of his.

Instinctively, I do as I am told and pull the car over on the side of the road. 

I slowly turn my face to see him staring back at me.  Sitting in the passenger seat, smiling.

"Oh God, it's really you isn't it? I'm not crazy???" 

He takes me in his arms and holds me.  I inhale his smell.  "You're not crazy Caro.  I'm here to tell you that I'm okay.  Go on with your life.  Be happy..."

I look into those beautiful green eyes that I fell in love with a lifetime ago.  I touch his face, run
my fingers through his head full of thick curls.  And then we kiss.  Hungrily, yet softly. 

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry we fought that day... It was my fault!"  I was saying what I had been holding in for so long.

He cupped my face with his hands.  "No.  It was not your fault.  It just happened.  I love you.  Go on with your life.  I love you..."

Just then this buzzing noise went off and I jolted up in bed.  Alarm clock.  Sigh, so it was a dream.  Still more asleep than awake, I get out of bed and walk over to the window.  The sun just coming out. I stare out at the sky.  "Thank you Alex..."

*Just an idea I have swirling in my head.  What'd you think?

change is coming

It's official.  The Houston Astros have been sold and will be moved to the American League in 2013.  Excuse me while I throw up a little in my mouth.  To say that I am totally bummed out about this new deal, would be an understatement. First, no offense to anyone out there but, I HATE the American League. I've been a National League kind of girl since I went to my first Astros game at the Astrodome, way back when.  Why does Texas need two American league teams?  The Rangers are doing just fine on their own.  Ok so my beloved Astros have seen better days, and yes they totally sucked this year.  But still, why the American league?  That's not the solution that so many of us in Houston were looking for!  There are talks among the masses of boycotting the upcoming season and forgetting about their home team altogether. But I could never do that.  I'm not a fair-weathered fan. Is that so wrong? :)

Alright.  I just needed to get that off my chest.  There is one teeny, tiny, silver lining in all of this, . two words: Derek Jeter.

Good night!

some things are better left unsaid -or not

If memory serves me correctly, I wrote my first story in the fourth grade. Mrs. Gaston was my teacher and told us to write about anything we wanted to, but make it a story.  I took it upon myself to create what back then, for a 4th grader, was a masterpiece! I wrote about living in Alaska.  Mind you, I had never even been there and knew very little about it.  Nevertheless, I received a gold star (the ultimate of ultimates) for my prose and it was displayed on the tack board in the front of the classroom for the entire month! Not too shabby eh? I remember I continued writing short stories, stuff I made up about my classmates. The funny thing was I would use everyone's real names, real situations and make up all kinds of stuff! I then would pass around my notebook/tablet to whomever wanted to read what I wrote. Scandalous! Some of my classmates were not too amused but most were intrigued and hooked! Soon I was writing for them all the time and I soon figured out, as long as I wrote to the masses, I was popular! Hmmm, some things never change.


Writing calms me down, excites me, and sometimes, forces me to look into myself -the self that I have a hard time dealing with. I'm not what you call "structured" when it comes to my writing. I'm all over the place! lol Because of this, I get myself into trouble at times. Being very impulsive, I often (too often if you ask me!)act before thinking things out, or speak without regard of the consequences -I can't help it. I'm an "act now" "think later" kind of gal!

I suppose I started this blog to showcase not only what comes out of my mind but also to gain insight into my psyche -if that makes sense? I realize that I'm putting myself in a very vulnerable place. I mean, most of the people that read or will read my blog are people I know. Do I gloss over my words for fear of retaliation from everyone? Hmm, I thought about it and came up with this rationalization: If I have to mind my "p's" and "q's", worry about what others will think of me, of what I write, then, I'm defeating my purpose. I write what I want, however I want. It's what I do. So, although some things ARE better left unsaid, I will take my chances and write the good word or bad word -enough said.

Loud Silence

In the wee hours of the night when all is quiet and dark and calm
it is then that my thoughts are loudest most of all.

I try and quiet the clutter in my mind
but it's on it's own schedule
wreaking havoc
causing me to lose sleep
to worry
to wonder
and tonight,
to cry.

Sometimes, it is this silence, that speaks the loudest. 
Too bad there is not a mute button.

my "monster" and me -an update of sorts

November is two weeks old today.  The holidays are right around the corner and soon, the world will once again, grow a year older.  Time is literally flying by.  What's up guys?  How was the weekend? Share with me. 

As for me, when last we met, I got all emotional and had a "wah" moment.  I wrote about how the "monster"  aka "depression", was back and how I was afraid that I was falling deeper and deeper into that "black hole" that has become more and more difficult for me to climb out of lately.  Writing about what I'm feeling or going through emotionally, helps me more than you can ever know.  But I understand if you are put off by it.  The "morose" world is not for everyone. Heh.   At any rate, I'm taking steps to help me cope with this latest "episode" of mine.  But as with everything, it takes time.  I wish it didn't.  I wish "recovery" was instantaneous.  How great would that be?  Sigh, yeah, it's a nice thought anyway.   Over the weekend, I had someone tell me, "You don't look depressed."  I was a little taken aback.  He caught me off-guard.  But I told him that just because I wasn't laying in bed, under the covers, in the dark, didn't mean I wasn't sad or depressed or sick.  He told me I just needed to get laid.  Good lord, why is that MAN's  cure all for everything???  As if that would solve all of my problems.  I mean, don't get me wrong, it would be incredible wouldn't it?  "Feeling under the weather? Have a little sex".  "Stressed about work?  Go have sex!" Ha.  If only life were that easy guys.  Men are so silly!   I understand that some people, ok, a lot of people, cannot understand that being depressed is an illness.  It's not something that we can just "get over" or "snap out of."  Again, wishful thinking.  And I hate that I have to defend how I'm feeling.  I mean, I can be smiling and laughing on the outside, but on the inside I'm falling apart.  I don't know how to explain it so you will understand.  Then there are times when I am so dark and just very sad.  Those are the times when I don't get out of bed.  When I have to literally make myself get up, or brush my teeth.  When it takes every ounce of energy that I can find, just to will myself to open my eyes.  That's what most do not see.  Sure, I have my crying spells too.  It's sounds weird I know. But it is what it is.  You know, I have good days, good months and even years, and then I have bad days that last forever -to me at least.  I don't have an agenda.  I can't predict when the "monster" will show up.  I can only try with every fiber of my being to fight it and battle it, so it doesn't take over my life.  Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose.  Right now, I'm losing, but I know that it's only temporary.  Better days are ahead for me.  Bleh! So serious on a Monday! What's the matter with me??  At any rate, thanks for allowing to share this with you.  I promise it won't always be so glum.

That's it bloggies. That's all I have today.

You know the drill, new week, new possibilities. Make it happen!

ode to my lover

you always make me smile,
feel giddy with excitement!
the anticipation running high,
bring out the "fun" me that i keep hidden most of the time,
behind work, responsibilities, worries.
Happy, you always make me happy.
Oh FRIDAY, how I love you so!
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*Happy weekend! Do something fun and blogworthy, and then come back and tell me all about it! :)

more than this

I participated in this week's writing prompt from RemembeRED:
Doomed relationships:  This week, we asked you to write about a relationship you knew was doomed from the start. It could be your own relationship or one of a close friend or family member. The only thing we required was that it not be fiction.
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This is my contribution:

 "more than this"

I  knew it the minute I met him.  He was a jerk.  He looked like one, acted like one and was one.  I  saw right through him.  Too bad she didn't.    Love makes you do stupid things.  In hindsight, now, after all these years, she can honestly say she did not love this man.  She loved the idea of loving someone, the idea of having someone in her life and forming a relationship. That is what she loved.  She was tired of being lonely.  So she convinced herself she was in love.  She somehow managed to believe herself that when he hit her, it was because she did something wrong.  It was her fault. But he loved her, apologized, and promised it would never happen again.  And it wouldn't.  Until the next time.  This self-destructive and abusive behavior lasted all of three years.  A lifetime.  Each time she left, determined she was done.  Determined she was strong enough to be alone, each time, he would convince her otherwise.  And so she would return.  Her family and friends suffered for her. They knew she was making a mistake.  Hell, even she knew she was making a mistake, but she just "knew" it would get better.  It never did.  The night he almost beat her to death was the day she left, for good.

To say that this was a relationship that never should have happened, would be putting it mildly.  I can't pretend to know what was going through her head, why she did what she did, why she took the abuse. I can only speculate, that this was how she felt. 

They say time heals all wounds and "they" are right.  But the scars remain forever.

one day at a time, every day...

He's back.
My old friend.
We have a love-hate relationship.
He loves to torture me
I hate him for it.
He comes to me in doses. 
Sometimes full
other times, only half
Still, ever painful.

I call him "Monster"
Others know him as "Depression"
I feel that he is male because he hurts me
like a jilted lover
over and over again.
He's got to be male right?

As hard as I fight him
I feel I am losing this battle.
I've beat him before,
many times.
But this time, I am tired.
So tired.
And I can't see past the tears.
This choke-hold he's got on my entire being,
engulfs me.
I can't breathe.

Sometimes I want to give in and let him win
So I give up.
But then I remember that I am a fighter and I don't like to lose.
Especially to a pseudo man.

God give the strength.
I need help or I will fall deeper into that black hole;
the abyss of sadness and despair.

I don't want to cry anymore.
I hate that I am so weak

Sometimes I make myself believe that this is all a nightmare and I will wake up to "normalcy", but then morning comes, and I realize that I'm living the nightmare.  My battle with depression has been ongoing since my late twenties. The "episodes" come sporadically.  Sometimes I will go years without an episode, sometimes, months. And then there are times, when I live, eat and breathe it, for what seems like forever.  Medication and therapy help. The dreaded phone call has been made, an appointment set, and soon I will once again, be spilling my guts to someone that will listen for an hour, and then tell me to stop talking, and come back next week.  As trivial as I make that sound, the more I talk, and get the "garbage" out, the better I feel. I hate taking medication to "stabilize" my mind.  But I realize that without it, I am doomed.

Then of course, are the nay-sayers, the skeptics, the people that look at me and tell me I'm "faking" it or that I just need to "get over it" already! Believe me, if I could, I would just "get over it"  I want nothing more!  But it doesn't work that way.  Depression is an illness.  It can lead to really bad things.  To them I say, "Fuck you!"  and walk away. I don't have time to convince you.

It's a brand new week, let's ALL make it a great one!  Or try to at least.  :)

Recipe = Memories for a lifetime

Today I'm participating in a writing prompt by RemembeRED.  — Recipe
This week, we’ve asked you to share with us a special recipe. But, we’ve asked you to do more than just list out ingredients. We challenged you to take us back…to take us into your memory, in 500 words or less.
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A dash of memories
Sprinkles of love
A spoonful of warmth

That’s how I would describe the best recipe my grandmother ever gave me. But for you to understand, you would have to know that Christmas time in our household could only mean two things, lots of decorations and TAMALE time! For those not in the know, Tamales are a traditional Latin American dish made of masa (a starchy dough, usually corn based, which is steamed or boiled in a leaf wrapper. The wrapper is discarded before eating) Tamales can be filled with meats, cheese, vegetables, chiles, or anything you deem delicious. (See pic below)

As is customary during the holiday season, (at least in our home anyway) the making of tamales is a pretty big deal. Almost as big a deal as orchestrating Thanksgiving dinner! There were no better tasting tamales than the ones my grandmother used to make. Even now, almost eleven years since her death, I can close my eyes, let my mind drift to early Saturday mornings at abuela’s (grandma) house. She’d call all of her daughters and grandchildren and put all of us to work. Whether it be chopping, mixing, cutting or frying, everyone had a job to do. I loved those times the best. We worked and talked and laughed. And she’d tell us stories of her childhood, or how she met my grandfather. Sometimes, much to the rolling of the eyes of my aunts and my mom, she’d even tell us stories of how our mothers misbehaved while growing up. The time would pass by quickly. And soon, once the tamales were in the oven or on the stove cooking, we’d all seek reprieve in the living room while my grandmother made chocolate caliente (hot chocolate) for us. And then we waited for our labor to be nice and cooked, so we could devour our creations. We had tamales for the entire month of December it seemed. And sometimes, she’d get orders from other relatives or friends. She was always busy with orders. We worried that so much undertaking would take a toll on her faltering health. But she reveled in it. The holidays always make my heart ache for my abuelita. I would give anything to walk into her kitchen and see her standing over the stove, like always. Sometimes, when I go over her house now, if I inhale I can smell of the faint scent of her perfume and of the masa (dough), permeating the air. No greater recipe than that.