Nov 30, 2009


I apologize to those of you who kindly take the time to read my blog for the long days of not posting. I was hit with a thing I call writer's block (and other folks just call sheer lazyness) and couldn't find a thing to say. If you have nothing interesting to say better stay quiet right?. I didn't want to bore you guys with blathering nonesense just for the sake of posting something.

Anywho, Oh the holiday season is here! Tra-la-la-la-la-la and all that! I am so excited that December starts tomorrow and that finally I can go all Christmas-crazy with a reason. I woke up this morning feeling completely blah and ech and icky (a combination of spicy chicken wings for dinner, a fight with Dear Husband and the start of my monthly cycle) and then I remembered November is over today, I get paid and Christmas for me starts tomorrow woot woot, yay, holla and all those!

I had an amazing time from Wednesday on when Dear Husband and I left to go to Indiana to see the family for thanksgiving. As I have shared before, I have of late developed this paralizing tiny fear of flying and a dear friend of mine was sweet enough to share some of her Xanax with me so I could relax on the way there (bless your heart AL). I rode the flight to Atlanta on nothing but a rum&coke and experienced THE worst flight I’ve ever taken. We were delayed for an hour and thirty minutes because of bad weather and the entire way there was so rocky we couldn’t even get drinks because it wasn’t safe to pull the cart. I spent the flight shaking, watching Cash Cab and pretending I wasn’t praying for whichever God above to let me see another day.

We landed safely in Atlanta with plenty of time to catch our flight to Indy and I sat at the TGI Fridays in the airport downing martinis and trying to get my heart rate back to normal. Twenty minutes before take-off I chugged the last of my third dirty martini with the Xanax I should’ve taken on the first flight and let me tell you I completely understand why people get addicted to prescription medication because I haven’t been that relaxed since I stopped sucking thumb and drinking chocolate Nesquik from a baby bottle. I was laughing in the face of death the entire flight to Indianapolis and every time the plane shook I contemplated my mortality with a cheery thought and prepared with eagerness for my next life (I am a firm believer in reincarnation). I am never flying any other way but with Xanax and Grey Goose running freely through my system.

Indianapolis was as always cold and grey (I’ve only been over there during the fall) and we had a great time on Thanksgiving eating turkey and spending time with Dear Husband side of the family I don’t get to see much. I talked to his charming grandpa who recently lost his wife and was touched by how much in love he still seemed to be with his deceased wife. We exchanged presents (we are not seeing them for Christmas) and spent a few hours playing Monopoly. Spending time with Dear Husband’s family (I haven’t been married enough time to start thinking of them as my family just yet) always makes me think how obviously different we are. Not just his family and mine but how different the interaction between him and his family is, the interaction between them and myself and my family and him. There is an air of… formality I am not used to and that I think is normal here but completely foreign to me. I am used to being irreverent and used to talking to my family members the same way I talk to my friends. With his family there seems to be a more delineated line between “adults” and “children” even though we are now ALL adults there is that deference to the uncles, aunts, parents etc that we don’t use in my family.

I know people that read this blog might think I get repetitive when I say that I get these moments when I realize how different we truly are, Dear Husband and I. But it seems as if I never run out of them. You know those moments when the light goes off and I am presented with yet another example. I try to convey to Dear Husband how I see the differences as interesting but I think sometimes the words come out a little critical as if I was comparing his family to mine (with his losing to mine) instead of just comparing notes.

As his family said goodbye, and his aunt and uncle and cousins left for the day to go back to their hometown which is several hours away from Indianapolis I couldn’t help but be surprised at how differently we express our love for each other. They obviously love one another since they drove hours to come to Indianapolis to spend an afternoon together; but as they left waving goodbye I found it so weird that they would wave goodbye instead of hugging each other or kissing each other. The whole departure was so sudden and efficient I was left reeling! One moment they are saying “we gotta go because we have a long drive” and the next they are all bundled up and waving goodbye at the door.

Do you have any idea how damn long it takes for my family to actually leave a freaking place?! We say goodbye like seventeen times and then there is always someone who has to go pee and another starts telling a story of something that happened twenty years ago and then we are all involved in the story and we say goodbye again and we start talking all over and by the time we are at the door we have hugged, kissed and hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed each other goodbye so many times it could last us a lifetime.

Friday we went to Chicago. I couldn’t help but be in utter awe at the sight of Lake Michigan. That thing looks like the freaking Ocean! The cold wasn’t that bad and I loved seeing my breath puff in front of me. We saw a PETA demonstration in front of a fur store and even though I really don’t like PETA I also really don’t like fur so I was just hoping for some fake-blood throwing scenario but nothing happened (sucks). We spend the night playing Sequence with mom in law’s family whom I adore because they are amazing and laughing at the stories they had to tell. My new grandma is one of those saucy women that haven’t let religiousness get in the way of their humor. She is tiny, white haired and full of spunk.

Saturday came too soon and it was already time to go, a grumpy Dear Husband was suffering from a horrible migraine that wouldn’t go away and concerned family members were getting on his frayed nerves. By the time we made it to the Atlanta Airport after an uneventful flight from Indiana we were exhausted, hungry, annoyed and ready to make it home. All of the sudden a simple conversation trying to compare Chicago to D.C. for our next home turned suddenly into a fight over Dear Husband selfishness and his marriage to his iPhone and my daddy issues. Believe me it was not a fun flight to Miami but again Lady Xanax came to my rescue and I was just too chilled to give a damn.

Oh the issues that come up when families get together and emotions are running high…

We made it home exhausted and emotionally beaten. I hate arguing with Dear Husband and I know he hates arguing with me because I am hard to beat in a verbal fight and if I am angry I get mean.

Today though I saw the calendar and the slate was wiped clean. There is no silly argument that Christmas cannot cure and all I can think of now is the pretty gifts I’ll give, the pretty tree we’ll get, the decorations, the Christmas music, having family over, and how lucky I am to have a husband who loves me, a family that I adore, a roof over my head, money in the bank, an evil cat who loves me in spite of his better judgment and a dog who peed on her bed last night after a doggie nightmare.

I might fight with Dear Husband. I might complain about my weight. I might have a homicidal hatred for Dear Husband’s cell phone and his obsession with it. We might be strapped for cash and my birthday this year might be celebrated less than gloriously. But our house will smell like pine and Max and Zoey will spend their first Christmas together and my sister will come down from NOLA and we’ll have a great time together and there isn't any need for Xanax for that.

Nov 19, 2009


I was reading today about Kate Moss’ comment that was taken completely out of context but that sparked a lot of controversy (you people just loooooove the word “outrage” and “controversy” way too much) and made the people fighting the “beauty is bones” view have a mini stroke of rage. Apparently Moss was asked what motto she lived by and her answer was: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” which is apparently one of the mottos of Pro-Anas and Pro-Mias everywhere.

When I read the term I was clueless, Pro-Ana and Pro-Mia or sometimes just “Anas & Mias” was something I have never heard of before, but oh this country never ceases to amaze me! Most of the times the shocks and surprises this country brings me are good, 99% of the time is something that makes me smile and makes me see that moving here was the right choice. There is, though, that one percent that is completely fucked up.

Pro-Ana and Pro-Mia, as my research revealed, are websites and groups dedicated to support anorexia and bulimia as a “lifestyle” and not as a mental disorder of any kind. They see it as a choice, as a way to control the one thing you can do something about, yourself. I entered the website thinking I was going to find it funny and that I was going to spend 15 minutes making derisive comments about the silly girls who wanted to be skinny and fit the twisted mold of today’s beauty. I was very wrong.

I spent three horrying hours reading how these girls (mostly girls but there were some guys) spend their life torturing themselves over a 9 oz. tin of cashews!! It would’ve been funny if they would’ve been just vain and superficial people with an obsession of being pretty, but every line spoke of deep-rooted problems., of pain, cutting, feeling invisible, sheer loneliness and it wasn't funny at all, it made me incredibly sad. There are pictures all over the place called "Thinspiration" where a skinny bobbled head Victoria Beckham poses looking like a skeleton, a bare backed bony Keira Knightly whose every back bone you can see, protuding hip bones, deep clavicles, ribs galore.

It’s confusing because at moments they seem so in control of it, as if their disease was part of who they are, as if it was soothing in a way. Some of them know it's sick, they know it’s not normal and still they do it. They want to stop but can't, they don't hesitate about cutting out people from their lives, friends, family who worries about their health and choose the disease or lifestyle instead. They rather be lonelily counting the calories daily to a high of 400 per day (which was the highest calorie count I read most barely survive on 245 calories a day) than to let people in their little circle of celery hell. They choose lonelyness, emptyness, pain, over anything and everyone else.

Some were angry at being judged, others had survived almost dying after being force fed and taken to hospitals and were trying their best to retain their anorexic lifestyle and not dying at the same time. They were struggling for a balance where they could be what they wanted to be, THIN and remain alive to be able to enjoy it. They all say that happiness is 3 pounds away and then another 3 pounds and another 3 pounds but no matter how thin they got, how their bones poked through, how they faded away into almost nonexistance they still sound unhappy about their body. A girl was worrying about the cup of salad she ate at lunch and how she knew it wasn’t bad for her because it had been only 200 calories but how the feeling of fullness made her want to purge. Part of her obviously recognized how irrational it was for her to worry about those 200 calories but the stronger part, the sickness in her made her want to get rid of it. In the forum she asks for guidance asking if she should or should not purge and even though I didn't get to see what happened later I am sure she went to her office bathroom to throw up the little nourishment she gave her starving body.

Others, thought were simply proud of their accomplishments. Proud that they hadn’t eaten anything solid in 8 months and that they were 84 pounds and 5 foot four. Some of them were in an imaginary war against the world. A war with battles they won each day by refusing to conform, by refusing to eat. To them their disease is control, it’s pure, it’s beauty and the world is simply keeping them away from that higher place where they are above all mere mortals who weigh triple digits.

After spending hours reading about these people torturing themselves over an unhealthy look and goal I couldn’t help but be thankful I spent my teenage and formative years back home. I remember when I started college I decided to drop a few pounds and was 109 pounds at 5 foot 3. My guy friends made an intervention in protest of my fading ass. They all complained that I could no longer pass the “towel test” (a test invented by a pig friend of mine where a girl puts a towel on her butt without holding it and the curve of her butt alone it’s supposed to keep it there) and that they could see my hip bones and that was not pretty. I came to the U.S. when I was 19 and my cousins hadn’t seen me in two years, they both thought I had an eating disorder because they could see every bone in my body pocking out. And I was in a healthy diet! I wasn't starving myself like these people do. As if food was an enemy sneakily waiting for them to fail.

I am so ever thankful that I was expected to have curves, that society back home demanded that I looked like a woman and not like a boy. I was so thankful that my guy friends wanted my ass to be bubbly and out there and liked it as it was and will ever be: Big. I would’ve never survived high school here. I would’ve never survived having my formative years being told I was ugly and fat. I would've turned out like those girls who starve themselves and have breakfast of celery sticks, lunch of a cup of peas and tea as dinner. How can they help but feel inadequate, fat, disgusting, ugly and unhappy when everything out there points out the same thing? That the body they have is not good enough? That happiness and success depends on them being skinny.

I grew up being told that curves were beautiful so I think they are, is it their fault that they think curves are disgusting when they were told that by television, magazines, friends, family, men that sharp angles are preferable?

I read this list of “inspirational quotes” to be thin in one of the websites and cannot help but feel depressed for these lost hungry souls.

  • What nourishes me also destroys me
  • Food is like art. To be looked at, not eaten
  • Anorexia is not a self-inflicted disease but a self-controlled lifestyle
  • Empty is pure
  • If you close your mouth to food, you will know a sweeter taste
  • If it taste good is trying to kill you
  • Giving into food shows weakness. Say not to food and you’ll be better than everyone else
  • Bones define who you really are, let them show
  • They’ll say they are concerned about you, your health. All they want is to control you, they want to pin you down and force feed you that fat they call love
  • People who eat are selfish and unrealistic (?)
  • You don’t NEED food, you just want it.
  • Don’t you want to walk on the snow and leave no footprints?
  • When you start feeling dizzy and weak it means you are almost there
  • Food rots your teeth
  • Anorexia is not a disease. It is not a game. Anorexia is a skill perfected only by a few. The chosen, the pure, the flawless.

I truly hope those people someday see that having body fat is not the same as being fat. Eating one cookie it’s okay. Bones are not meant to be seen the same way we don’t see beams on a building because otherwise it’s falling apart. That life isn’t about counting the calories on celery sticks, it’s about being healthy and laughing, crying, eating, living, loving, not about secrets, and purging, misery, loneliness.

See the light, people! Have a doughnut!

Nov 18, 2009


Yesterday I read in the news that Transparency International published its annual Corruption Perception Index which ranks 180 countries according to the “perceived” levels of corruption. While the sentence “perceived corruption” makes it sound less factual and more conjectural I am sure it is a fairly accurate list.

Venezuela was ranked 162 on the list, just 18 spots from the last, only 9 above from Iraq and 5 above Iran. How does that make any sense? We are talking about two nations that have been at war with each other, with themselves, with other countries for the greater part of a century!

Venezuela was lucky enough to only have one battle in its history, the battle for its independence and never ever since has been at war. It suffered through three dictatorships at the beginning of the century and although forever plagued by the corruption of its dictators (Castro, Gomez and Jimenez) who stole millions from the country and even more corruption from its elected presidents like Lusinchi and Perez (who also stole billions) Venezuela was blessed with a certain level of peace, safety, openness, embracing all. Immigrants from China who wanted to have more than one child came to Venezuela and were happy to have as many children as they wanted. People from all over Europe (Portugal, Germany, Spain, Italy, Greece, etc) made Venezuela their home and it welcomed them with open arms. Jewish people felt safe to also make Venezuela their homes and migrated there from countries all over the world during WWII and before that.

How does a country so rich in natural resources, so rich in culture, so diverse, so beautiful and generally peaceful finds itself ranked among nations like Iran and Iraq that have not met peace in decades, Haiti who has been ravaged by nature and political unrest since I can remember? How could it be bellow countries like Vietnam who just 30 years ago was at war? Ethiopia who was just 10 years ago at war with Somalia who is the most corrupt on the list? How could be tied at number 162, TIED with the Democratic Republic of Congo! TIED!!! with a nation who just declared its independence like 10 freaking years ago for Christ’s Sake!!

While I find myself so incredibly thankful that I am here (in country number 15), I cannot help but be thankful with a heavy heart. I cannot feel fully satisfied for having move on when some family and plenty of friends remain behind. I cannot help but remember how it was before I came. I lived in Venezuela for 17 years. It seems so little now that I have been here in the U.S. for almost half that much, but it was an important 17 years. I left Colombia when I was three years old and I hardly remember the 3 years I spent there. Venezuela has always been home. I grew up there. Ran, kissed my first boyfriend, danced my first dance, drank my first beer, went to college, and graduated high school. All that I did never feeling in any way that my country lacked anything! How silly I was. In 2008 Caracas (the capital) was declared murder capital of the world. I was never even robbed once in the 17 years I lived there!

Now more than ever I am enraged with its “President’. For his appropriation of every privately owned industry in the country, for his appropriation of the Hilton Hotels in Margarita Island, for everything he has ever done in the almost 11 years on power. Now he is talking about declaring war to Colombia who is Venezuela’s sister land. Simon Bolivar must be dust rolling on his grave!
God forbid that from happening.

Note: I dont appreciate the fact that I have practically turned this into a political blog. I don't like! I don't like it!

Nov 16, 2009


I need to stop reading the news because all they do is put me in a bad mood at the stupidity of some people. Some people (I am hoping is just “some”) are apparently outraged over President Obama bowing to the Emperor of Japan (some dude named Akihito). I was reading the reactions and everyone seems to think the same, that it was some sort of humiliating move that makes the United States seemed weak.

And…off I go with reason number 501 why people don’t like the United States. There is absolutely nothing wrong with following protocol in a foreign country. Bowing is the traditional and formal greeting so what is the issue? That President Obama bowed to the Emperor? or that he did and the Emperor didn’t bow back? Some dickhead called William Kristol, a republican pundit speaking on Fox News (Naw, Fox? Really? No way!) Said:

"I don't know why President Obama thought that was appropriate. Maybe he thought it would play well in Japan. But it's not appropriate for an American president to bow to a foreign one" "I'll bet if you look at pictures of world leaders over 20 years meeting the emperor in Japan, they don't bow"
So again, I ask: What is the issue with the President bowing? Is he above regular protocol because he is A president or because he is The President of THE United States of America? And why the word ‘outrage’? How about some outrage over something worth being outraged about? Even if the bow was some sort of presidential faux pas the fact is there are plenty more important things to worry about than if the president bowed or not to another head of state, emperor, prince, king whatever the fuck.

Wasn’t it bad enough that President Bush managed to ruin the relationships between the U.S. and half the world? Shouldn’t it be considered a step in the right direction? Isn’t some humility a welcomed change? I bet the leaders of the world see Obama’s bow as a breath of fresh air after the dumb arrogance of a president who said:

"I'm the commander -- see, I don't need to explain -- I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being president."

I am sure because I feel the same way that the world is tired of what they view as the U.S. arrogance. We don’t want to hear another President saying:

"Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter." --in parting words to world leaders at his final G-8 Summit, punching the air and grinning widely as those present looked on in shock, Rusutsu, Japan, July 10, 2008.

It is for a reason that for the first time in decades the U.S. isn’t disliked by people all over the world. Some people here might say that they don’t care and that it doesn’t matter and that leaders are usually disliked, the same way the popular cheerleader and the team’s Quarterback is disliked by all in school. The fact is alliances are important for all countries, supporters, backers, friendships, good relationships are important, no country can afford to go around stepping on everyone’s toes and for far too long the U.S. did. For the first time in a long time a current President is doing his best to change that and is faced with the disapproval of his own people!. I can bet my ass that after a comment like the one in Japan by President Busch just a year and a few months ago, President Obama’s bow was not seen as submission, or weakness but as a respectful indication of his willingness to work with them, as a respectful way to show he isn’t above anything and that the arrogance that the world thought the U.S only flavor is far behind, that those days are over.

So let President Obama bow. Stop getting your panties in a twist over such a meaningless moment, over a gesture that was meant to be respectful and meant to breach differences that were carved by eight years of mocking arrogance.

I have nothing else to say but to part with my favorite quote that actually makes some sort of stupid twisted sense:

"I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe - I believe what I believe is right" President Bush Said in Rome, Italy 2001.

Nov 11, 2009


I have to admit that this is the first year this day holds any meaning for me. Not because before I was indifferent to its meaning, or because I didn’t care or wasn’t thankful, but because a Veteran I knew passed away this morning. He was sweet, kind, funny, spunky, witty, stubborn, smart and had so many things to say. He lived to be 92 and I feel it was just yesterday we celebrated his 88th birthday.

I am not very familiar with death, I am one of those blessed happy few who had never lost a close family member or friend, but Papou was special, not in the way all dead people are suddenly great and flawless but in the real way. He lived a remarkable life, saw the world change, his children grow, his grandchildren be born, lost the love of his life and did it all it a flair. I never asked what he saw or what he did, the things he witnessed so many years ago at war will remain forever private but I can’t imagine how he did it all and remained true to his spirit, how he survived the lost of a loved one, war, leaving his home country of Greece and remained the sweet man he was.

I remember having lunch with him two years ago and Dear Husband, who was just my boyfriend then, called me and I didn’t want to answer because I didn’t want to interrupt the lunch we were having and he said: “Answer and tell him you are having lunch with a hot Greek stud” I did and I remember how Papou belly-laughed when Dear Husband screamed “What?” over the speaker phone. He had such a young soul for such a long busy life.

Today has more meaning because is not just a celebration of millions of faceless people all over the world who sacrificed everything for the greater good. Today it has a face, it’s Papou’s and next year, and the other years to come I will raise my glass for those like him but specially for him who sacrificed, gave joy and touched so many, many lives.

I am consoled by the knowledge that you are finally in Yaya’s arms Papou. We’ll miss you.

Nov 10, 2009


I don’t think most people here realize just how amazing it is to be able to enjoy watching the seasons change. Most people here take for granted the breathtaking coloring of the leaves, the white pristine snow that cover their cars, bloomy spring that comes and greets you when you’ve had enough of white and gray and blistering summer when you are yearning for the beach. They rather concentrate on the leaves they have to rake, the salt to break the ice, the allergy from the pollen and the humidity that comes with heat. Ungrateful bastards you all! (Sorry, I am bitter).

Oh how I wish I could enjoy some snow fight and catch some ticks on the leaves (I read somewhere they love dead leaves) or walk under full bloom cherry blossoms in DC and…well to be honest I could give up summer for a while. I know people in cold weather envy the Florida heat, ignorant bastards all of you (again I apologize) but believe me there is something to be said about change. About pulling out the boots and gloves, and thick woolen socks and scarves. Something to be said about wishing for spring so you can wear that cute white summer dress you didn’t get to wear as much as you wanted.

There is no break in this Florida monotony. No kaleidoscope of colors, no white to the horizon, no romantic and tragic naked trees, just green and green and green and more green. Back at home we didn’t get a change in season; we got hot summer with cool breezes and no humidity and lots of rain and then blissful chill that lasted for months.

I don’t think there is anything as frustrating for me than to go shopping for a Christmas tree when is 89 degrees outside. So freaking discouraging! How is one to choose a beautiful tree to light one’s Christmas if is blistering hot outside? Last year I had to wait until almost the 20th when it finally got chilly (Florida chilly) the nerve, the fucking nerve!!!

But no matter, there is no weather wretched enough to ruin Christmas for me. Hell, October ends and I get the tingles! What is going to make this Christmas more special than others is that I am married this year for the first time and you know what that means? Only one set of gifts from the both of us!! I knew there had to be something good about being shacked up (I kid, Googly Bear, I kid).

Every year Christmas gets here and I go a little crazy. I admit it, there are worse problems to have than this. I am one of those psycho people who are done with Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving and is totally broke in January because of the 12 foot tree she jammed in her living room. I go all out, I go insane I even buy presents for my cat Max who cannot possibly celebrate Christmas since he is the spawn of Satan and that would make no sense... And the worst is (for those around me not for me) that I don’t consider Christmas just the 25th of December, for me Christmas is to be celebrated for the entire month of December from the 1st to the 31st!! *She gives an evil cackle* I sing carols at the office, my iPod plays nothing but Christmas music and Dear Husband hates me because he ends up with: -“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too. Come on is lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you. Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling ‘Yoo-hoo’ Come on is lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!”- Stuck in his head until May.

I tell you, you people have AWESOME Christmas music. I mean don’t get me wrong I have wonderful memories of my dancing to my Christmas music from home but there is just something so typical Hollywood and United State-y to the music, so cheery and happy and I can feel myself going crazy already and I can’t wait for December to start!!!! (Yes, all those exclamation points are needed). Poor Dear Husband is probably already dreading the month to come and my obsession with it. I guess is because I am myself a Christmas baby I consider the whole month my month.

I am flabbergasted every year when I see the 27th of December, sad looking trees thrown carelessly on the front porch of some houses, littering the sidewalks and just thrown there, ignored without dignity as if they didn’t matter as if they hadn’t gifted them with hours and hours of shiny sparkly color. I name my tree every year (hey, don’t judge) and every year I feel the loss when is time to say goodbye and I am holding onto one end and Dear Husband is pulling the other screaming “It’s February!!” Sigh, good times.

Back at home Christmas starts sometime in October and doesn’t end until late January. We enjoy the hell out of Christmas, with concerts, food, more food, drinking, never ending dancing, shopping and some more food. Back at home Christmas is a black tie event. Even if you are just throwing a party at your own house with the three members of your family (which is impossible because we are Hispanic) you still dress to the nine to welcome baby Jesus and the New Year. We don’t wear jeans, or cotton, or flats. We do our hair, our nails, our makeup and in full attire gorge on pastries filled with pork, beef and vegetables.

Here you have Christmas during the day, which is so odd. We first of all celebrate Christmas Eve so the 24th we spend the day preparing, getting ready, cooking last minute, finding shoes to go with the outfit and then around 10 pm we start eating and drinking and dancing and then at midnight we wish each other a Merry Christmas.

On New Year’s Eve we wear yellow underwear, eat 12 grapes for 12 wishes for 12 months, we carry money for a prosperous New Year and carry suitcases around so the year to come brings some traveling. We dance until our feet weep and vow never to wear the shoes again that go so fabulously well with the outfit we purchased to wear that day.
I have seen friends here welcome the New Year in their PJs. That is unacceptable! What kind of year can you expect ahead if you welcome it on your Hello-Kitty slippers and your hair like a nest? Hell New Year it’s so damn important that even Microsoft Office 2007 knows it because it won’t let me put it on lower case!

Back home and now here, in foreign land we choose to spend them with family because that’s how we want your next year to be, around family and friends, surrounded by love ones, with plenty of food, money, travel, adventure, awesome clothes, looking beautiful and full of hope for the things to come.

We are only 16 days away from Thanksgiving and we all know that means December is around the corner.

Poor baby, get ready!!

Nov 9, 2009


Yesterday I woke up at noon and spent my afternoon lying on the couch watching TV. I ran across the movie Milk and was about to change it because of my previously discussed feelings of anger toward Sean Penn but… I can’t stand the man but it cannot be denied he is an amazing actor, the motherf*cker had the nerve to make me forget it was him and before I knew it I was riding along with Harvey on his quest for equality in the 70s.

I am a sucker for movies. Good movies touch me for days and I am left with weeks of an aftertaste that haunt me. When I was 14 years old I spent a month depressed over the death of the people aboard Titanic, Kill Bill left me with an eagerness to learn Japanese and martial arts, Ratatouille made me want to be a chef instead of a writer, and I think my family it’s still trying to forget that summer I saw Gone with the Wind and walked around talking like Scarlett O’Hara (it wasn't pretty).

Milk was a movie that made me feel even more than usual because the issue it’s so close to my heart. I have plenty of out and closeted gay friends and family members and there is nothing than incenses me more than people with no “tolerance” for homosexuality. I am not even comfortable with the word “tolerance” since the dictionary defines it as “capacity for endurance or the act of allowing something”. Homosexuality shouldn’t be something to endure or allow to happen by those of us who are heterosexual. The same way heterosexuality isn’t “tolerated” but simply accepted as a natural thing homosexuality should be.

When Maine voted “Yes” last week for Prop-1 I wasn’t angry (okay I was) but more than anything I was sad. I was sad because I thought we were moving forward and then something like this happens and the disappointment feels so bitter. It wasn’t as disappointing as Prop-8 in California was but it was a disappointment anyway. I want this country that it’s my home now to be as good as it can possibly be. Some people might argue that since I am an immigrant only I have no right to want to change it and should be happy that I am allowed to be here, count my blessings and shut the fuck up. And to them I say that I left my country without a battle, I left it without ever having the chance to fight to make it better. This is my second chance now to make the place live in a place I respect, love and I’m proud to call home.

My friend Erin was livid last week over the Maine’s loss (she is the weirdest republican) and all I could think of was to tell her that progress cannot be stopped any longer and sooner rather than later the country will see that their archaic views on what a marriage should be have not place in the law. As rational as I wanted to be when I told her this inside I was feeling just like her, which is why I decided against making a comment on the blog then, because I was so upset I didn’t want to sound like a radical.

After seeing Milk yesterday I realized that I am, all of us are incredibly lucky to be here in the U.S and even though the battle seems impossible and loses like the one in Maine and California earlier this year makes us despair, I am now filled with a new sense of hope. Hope that no matter how many steps we take in the wrong direction what is right and what should be will one way or another prevail. Because we have seen it happen time and time again here.

Only 145 years ago white people thought that black people were property, that they were inferior beings, that five blacks amounted to one whole being, that a few of them could only come close to the value of a one white person. Only 62 years ago we women weren’t considered smart enough to vote. Our opinions weren’t as valid as those of men.

One person in my acquaintance who for religious reasons does not support, condone or accept homosexuality as anything but a sin, told me he didn’t understand why the cause was so important to me, why I cared. He said that the “issue” should be battled by homosexuals only and that the rest of us shouldn’t take sides.

What if only Black people fought for their rights back before abolition? What if those uninvolved didn’t care and didn’t fight. Justice has no color, or gender, no religion, or sexual "preference" (another word I have a problem with since homosexuality is neither a choice, nor an inclination or a preference). What if we sat back and never fought for what was right except when what is right directly affect us? How can we sit back and ignore the rights of others? What if they were our rights? Wouldn’t we want others to fight along with us?

I understand the problem people have with homosexuality. I understand that some people are repelled by the idea of homosexual sex. That some people think of the act as only anal sex, penetration, fucking, and fornication, a dirty and unnatural deed. But most of them have no problem with lesbian sex. The double standard is galling! What I don’t understand is what they think is important to keep marriage as a union between a man and a woman. They are worried about the corruption of the sanctity of marriage. As my favorite blogger (who happens to be a flaming gay guy) would say "Bitch please!" People don’t respect the “sanctity” of marriage anymore regardless if they are gay or straight so why deny a group of individuals the right that other of us have? Who are we to decide who gets married and who doesn’t? The church has the right to deny marrying a man with another and a woman with another woman, but the state should protect, deliver and offer each and every right, benefit and opportunity to every single one of the people that reside in it regardless of how some people feel about how others live their life.

The banner for Maine’s Prop-1 is disturbingly obvious in its attempt to convey a need to protect the American Family. Protect them from what exactly? I am not sure. I am incredibly annoyed by the faces of the couple with the two kids who smile beneath the lines “Stand for Marriage”. I am annoyed because they don’t get it. We stand for marriage, those of us who believe is everyone’s right to make the unrealistic and hallow promise of loving someone until death. We stand for a marriage that should include all and exclude none. Some go as far as to say the term “marriage” is taken so they should find their own. I don't even want to touch that one because this post will never end.
As upset as I am for Prop-1 passing I am filled with the sense of wonder the movie left in me. Against all odds, when faced against shameless bigotry and narrow values, victory was theirs. How the movie ended is meaningless. I am not saying that the death of Harvey Milk was meaningless, what I am saying is that the death of a man who didn’t sit, didn’t conform and didn’t rest, couldn’t stop progress from occurring and makes me see Maine as nothing more but a stumble on our way to victory.

America is brave, because when people everywhere were still hiding their homosexuality, here in the U.S. they were fighting for what is right. Back at home indifference is a disease that helps us in some cases and works against us in others. I don’t see the kind of progress happening here happening any time soon back at home because nobody cares. Because even the ones affected don’t care and maybe because they are all afraid of what might happen. People here are never afraid it seems. They shout, they march, they speak up, they fight for the rights that are theirs and I am so eager to do the same.

So bravo U.S. for fighting the good fight for so long. I know we want to despair and want to give into the hopelessness of another failed battle. But there is nothing else to do but fight and nowhere else to go but up. President Obama signed the Matthew Sheppard act into law just a few weeks ago and with the flick of a pen made a move that now protects the LGBT community from hate crimes against them. It is not a shield against bigotry. It won’t protect them from name calling, humiliations or even physical blows but it will protect other young Matthews from being killed and hung from a fence from having their death treated as any other crime, it will make the perpetrators pay a harsher sentence.

So, Maine enjoy your victory while you have it. Wallow in the mean spirited joy of having taken someone’s right away from them. In 50 years when the country in its entirety defines marriage as the union between two consenting adults you will be seen by the future the same way we see now those who thought themselves above a Black person.

The future is coming, equality is here, move along or get out of the way.

Nov 6, 2009


My body aches, I have crammed this week two 40-minutres sessions of cardio on the treadmill, yoga, abs and arms workouts and even my lashes are weeping. People here are obsessed with fitness which is funny specially when one considers the fact that America is one of the heaviest (I don’t like the word fat) countries in the world. Like I have pointed out before this is a country of extremes where the morbidly obese and the scarily thin coexist in shaky harmony. Since I am neither skinny nor obese I find myself being in that unhappy middle where obese people hate you because you complain about your weight and you hate the skinny people because they complain about theirs. I gave the gym a shot last year. I went every day for six painful, miserable months and actually gained two fucking pounds.

I am now happily exercising at home with my yet-to-be-paid-for treadmill. I rather bust my ass at home in the privacy of my own four walls than do it in front of a bunch of strangers. Granted is not really easy to exercise around a hyperkinetic dog that licks, pushes, barks and shoves her snout on your crotch but I’ll take that over talking a stroll down to the bowels of Hell. Dante didn’t talk about it in his Comedy, but I am sure it was a mere oversight. What else can you call a place where they make you weigh yourself in front of your husband and make you take measurements of your body so you know IN NUMBERS that your ass is too big and your boobs too small? As if you weren’t well acquainted with that fact. What else can that place be, if not Hell? With all the mirrors and the unflattering harsh lights, the inane music that makes you feel trapped in an elevator while you endlessly loop on a treadmill. You add to that the people around you that are a walking promise of what you might become (Gym Barbie and Willie the whale are your choices) and that sounds to me like a cocktail for insanity.

I remember clearly a girl in particular from my six-month stint in hell (a la Persephone) she was a chubby girl who was trying so hard to lose weight, you could see it. She used to jog/crawl on the treadmill next to mine, sheer determination coming off of her like waves. I could feel her need to fit in a pair of single digits Jeans. So there she was, wheezing air in and out, everything jiggling while her face got purple with a mix of pain, heat and concentration. She would watch Dancing with the Stars on the TV in front of us, seeing the graceful dancers and the cute outfits as an incentive to lose some weight and the shimmery lights distracting her from the pain. Inevitably damnation came in the shape of an Applebee’s commercial, with their fake “healthy” food and their yummy, greasy goodness. You could see the bodiless hands dipping the boneless wing in the sauce, damn them! And the girl would stop jogging, she knew that I knew that she was going to go home and wolf down some wings and there’s no point for her to kick her ass any longer for the night. Right when she is fantasizing about the drippy wings up come from the stairs the trim gym goddesses, in matching Nike outfits and perfect hair. They don’t sweat, they glisten and they climb the stairs gracefully while they pat the nonexistent sweat with a hand towel.

One time tired of seeing her defeat I did the unthinkable and talked to her, I NEVER talk to strangers but her face was just so sad that I couldn’t help it so I look at her and I could hear her thoughts: “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!!” and I didn’t judge her because they were my thoughts too. Granted I didn’t really hate the skinny bitches in matching outfits and washboard abs. I would totally push them out of the way if a bus was going to hit them. I would just push reaaaaal hard. So filled with pity for my kindred spirit I told her: “Whatever they have like no ass” and smiled at her. She looked at me and I guess she thought I wasn’t heavy enough to hate along with her because her withering stare still gives me the hibbie jibbies and she replied: “Yes, they have no ass, but I have TWO” and she spits that “TWO” at me like a dart.

Even after that I kept going to the gym. I became one of those people I “ugh” about. I never really belonged there, tough, but kept going anyway. Dear Husband loved the routine, the endorphins (an urban myth as far as I am concerned). He would be all peppy and smiley and my eyes were stinging from the sweat, I was blinded by the fog in my glasses, my muscles cramping all confused because they were never worked like that before and my lungs didn’t know quite what to do with the air.

I hated that fucking place; even just remembering makes my blood boil. I still remember Dear Husband’s voice saying: “When you cheat while exercising you are only cheating yourself” every time I took a break. I love that man. God knows I do but when we were at the gym he would say stuff like “Don’t lock your knees” or “Give me two more”, “Love the burn, feel the burn” or my personal favorite “There is no can't here” and I swear I would feel this homicidal urge that only the fear of being someone’s bitch from 15 to 20 and that horrid orange jumpsuit, would stop me from going “Snapped” on his ass.

I tried. I really did. I would wake up tired and achy and not an ounce thinner and I would just say to myself “muscle is heavier than fat” and fool myself into going again. I would try to be all positive and shit and imagine myself jogging at the beach in my thong with nothing jiggling. I would repeat “The Secret” in my head over and over again “Don’t just wish to be happy, be happy, feel happy” Smug bastards.

The pain, I assured myself, was a gentle reminder of my efforts, I would someday, laugh at my pains, no! Someday I wouldn’t even remember what it was like! And I would be curling 35 pounds and I would run around naked in the beach, thong? Who needs a thong!? I would walk around the gym doing nothing, patting my forehead with a towel and being hated by all. Sigh. That’s when you know you are hot when petty women hate you on principle.

I am a stinking failure because no matter how obsessed this nation becomes with a 100 pound ideal of beauty I am never going to be it. I am Hispanic! My ass alone weighs close to 100 pounds. I cannot fight genetics. I am not meant to be thin and I am okay with it. I just wish every commercial, TV show, model; clothing store would stop ramming their ideals down my throat. Only in this country you go to a store where the size L is actually small enough to fit a 130 pound woman. Who do they think they are catering to? The average American woman is a size 10 to 14 but the stores carry jeans from 0 to an 8. Cero is not a size damn it! It’s a non-size! You have to actually go to that dark, musty area of the store where the “plus sizes”. Nobody wants to walk to that area of the store. That means the cute, tiny and acceptable jeans don’t fit your fat ass! Just walking in the periphery of the “plus” size is bad for your reputation, people look at you funny and you want to get violent... remind me, why do I like shopping again?

No matter. I will work out at home and be healthy and fit and God forbid curvy.
Fuck this country idea of beauty.

Nov 4, 2009


I was reading the news the other day and ran into the case of the Justice of Peace in Louisiana who resigned his post after refusing to marry an interracial couple. When Dear Husband told me about it he wasn’t really incensed but he was a little put out by it since we are an interracial couple ourselves and I just couldn’t muster enough caring to give a damn.

I will be honest and say that maybe since the issue hits so close to home I should be offended, annoyed, outraged, enraged and all those other superlatives, but in reality I am feeling somewhat indifferent about the issue. Not indifferent enough not to talk about it but indifferent enough that it didn’t ruin my day when I read about it and indifferent enough that I actually laughed when I read the article.

I was too busy reading it and trying to wrap my mind around the man’s logic to be able to get pissed off and weeks later I am still not angry at him. See the problem with this guy isn’t that he is racist; his problem isn’t that he is close minded, mean spirited or cruel. I don’t know the man, I don’t think any less or more of him because of his stand. I do not understand why he “worries about the children” of such unions and I truly don’t give a flying fuck. Why I do care about is the fact that he took it upon himself to decide not to marry this couple. The description of his job as a justice of peace isn’t to decide who marries whom; it doesn’t include deciding someone else’s future because of personal misgivings. As a government official he should do what the job requires regardless of how he feels about interracial marriage or the future of the possible offspring. When gay marriage happens all over the U.S. (Don’t bitch, is happening) Justice of Peace like him won’t get to decide to marry a gay couple or not. They shouldn’t be protected by their personal feelings, religious inclination or their inability to grasp why a man would want to marry another man. They should get the job they are being paid for done. They should perform the job and move on to the next couple who hopefully to them will be a man and a woman of the same color that will keep their need for uniformity satisfied.

The problem isn’t that Keith Barthwell refused to marry this couple. The problem is that the Parrish that hired him allowed this to happen before, since by his own words he has refused to marry interracial couples before and referred them to someone else. The problem is that the Parrish that hired him didn’t do a good job at doing check on the man and weren’t aware or didn’t care about his prejudice. He isn’t require to think, feel, ANYTHING he should be blind to anything else but the law who states "the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State."

See that is a thing that happens here in the U.S. that doesn’t happen back home. Back home when a black man marries a white woman or vice versa there is not going to be a Justice of Peace who gives enough of a damn to “take a stand” and not marry them because of their skin color. First people wouldn’t give a damn and second if they did they still wouldn’t care enough not to do it. Indifference works wonders in such cases. Back at home people do not think their inclinations, preferences, racist bias etc, should be respected enough to do something like that. We do not think that because this is what we feel, because this is what our conscience tells us, then the state, the country need to respect it. Citizens in this country feel the country needs to respect whatever brain fart comes out of their mouth which works in some cases and in others simply doesn’t.

I harbor no resentment toward Mr. Barthwell, first because he is an old, set on his way bigot who is not going to change his mind so why bother getting pissed off, and second because the poor man is obviously slow since he doesn’t even recognize his actions and words as racist when he says: “I'm not a racist," "I do ceremonies for black couples right here in my house” Well bless his generous heart for being so open minded as to allow the darkies in his living room.

The man is a closed minded fool to be pitied and ignored. Instead he is being sued by a couple who saw an opportunity to make some money out of the situation. If they were truly interested in justice they would sue the Parrish for hiring a racist and allowing him to refuse to marry interracial couples. Instead they are seeking unspecified damages claiming “emotional distress as a result of the incident”.

Give me a fucking break. I don’t think is right that this couple had to be reminded of the narrow mindedness of people the day of their wedding when it should’ve been a happy day for all involved but if all it takes is that to cause emotional distress then I wonder if this emotionally fragile couple should marry at all instead of being institutionalized until they are balanced.

This man was given free reign by the Parrish to decide on his own accord based on his personal beliefs who to marry and who not marry. The Parrish should be the one held responsible for not monitoring this man who abused his power and got away with turning interracial couples away for two and half years. The thing is he is right. He has the right to choose what to believe in. It stinks that what he believes in is stupid, backwards and ignorant, but he is entitled to those beliefs. I don’t like them but since he isn’t riding in the night (as far as I know) in a white hood burning trees and stoning people then I say he is a pretty harmless old bigot like there are all over the world. What he did was wrong disgusting, but he righted that wrong by removing himself from the position that gave him the opportunity to excert his bigotry on other people. I do not believe his stupidity and ignorance means he has to pay the rejected couple any money.

This couple have the opportunity to open the eyes of many in that Parrish of Louisiana, they have the opportunity to bring light to a problem that we all want to believe is gone, but is in reality alive and well all over the country, and instead of choosing to turn this opportunity into something good, they are victimizing themselves and looking for monetary compensation for something that was wrong, annoying, insulting, hurtful but hardly traumatizing. They should, as someone who has been touched by this issue, make sure that the Parrish does a better job at hiring unbiased individuals that won’t put their personal beliefs before the job. Instead they choose to go after a guy who is no longer working as a Justice of Peace in the Parrish and therefore holds no power to repeat his abuse in the future. The Parrish however, holds the power to choose to hire as many bigots as they please. This couple seem to be aware of the fact that is easier to get money from a civil suit to an individual than to sue the government. If justice is what they were after instead of money, they would make the Parrish and the whole freaking State of Louisiana pay for their negligence and indifference. Instead they rather make a few bucks of the dumbass who already quit.

I have nothing else to say on the issue aside from: Mr. Barthwell you needn’t worry about any of the mixed children I may or may not have with my blue-eyed, lily white husband. I assure you any children I have with him will be incredibly smart, bilingual, culturally rich and hot as hell.

To the couple who is suing Mr. Barthwell instead of the Parrish: Shame on you for ignoring justice for the sake of some cash.

For the article please follow the link:

Nov 3, 2009


One only has to turn the TV on to see all those faces full of hope, talent and sheer determination. From singing hopefuls with beautiful voices to limber stretchy dancers who twirl on a stage hoping for a chance to shine.

The U.S. truly is the land of dreams. Not because here they magically happen but because here you can dream about being whatever the hell you want without having to worry about what people may think. Children here are told from a very young age that they can do and be whatever they want. There are Magnet schools specifically designed for those whose bright future is undeniable. Doors open, paths are paved to make way for those with the talent to walk through them.

I know the freedom to want to do anything and feel that you are entitled to do with your life and fate whatever you want is very American but most people here have no idea how it is everywhere else and they feel they don’t have to worry about reality getting in the way of their dreams.

Back at home one is forced to be practical. There are no dreams of being a star, singer, actress, painter, and writer. The arts are so incredibly underestimated that even if the need to paint, dance, sing and write makes everything else dim in comparison, even when it's all you ever want to do, one holds those thoughts close to the chest as if it was a shameful dark secret to be taken to the grave.

My best friend in high school was a beautiful dancer. She used to watch all those dancing shows, and go to the ballet with me and sigh over complicated contemporary choreographies or painful looking arabesques. I had no idea she wanted to be a dancer. One time for P.E. we had to either make a choreography for a dance or something else that had to do with balls and headstands and all that stuff that require coordination and athleticism and since I am not at all athletically inclined she and I decided to go for the dance. Our group of four met at her house and saw her choreograph a dance that would make the producers of “So you think you can dance” break down in tears. Her arms flew with a grace I didn’t believe her capable of, and the shy friend who never spoke up came to life with her movement. After doing the homework we stayed over to do some underage tequila drinking and only after force feeding her some shots she admitted she dreamed of being a dancer. I never stopped to think how depressing it was that she had to be drunk and coerced into admitting her dream. We never spoke to her about it and we all pretended after that night that we didn’t hear it, that the confession never happened. Neither one of us wanted to be the one to tell her it wasn’t going to happen. Neither one of us wanted to be the one to say her talent would be forever wasted.

I was a closet writer for as long as I can remember. I used to sit in my room, under the bed, in the closet and devour harlequin novels. I would spend hours re-reading Wilde, Twain, Dante, Dumas (Jr. & Sr.), the Bronte sisters, Austen, May Alcott and everything I could get my hands on, from vampires to history, romance, satire, mystery and a bunch of erotic stuff I shouldn’t have been reading but I did anyway and use them for inspiration for romance novels I would never finish, science fiction stories with horrible endings and historically inaccurate novellas.

I couldn’t tell anyone I wanted to be writer. It was such a silly unreachable thing to want to be. I had to dream of being a lawyer, a doctor, engineer or something that could provide for a bright future because otherwise I would be silly. It was shameful to want to be a painter, or dancer, a writer or a philosopher, it was shameful because what kind of future could that afford? What kind of silly person would consider that an option when realistic possibilities were everywhere? I spent my school career writing essays for everyone else because to me it was fun, writing love letters for my friends for their boyfriends and girlfriends and pretending it was just a hobby. I remember telling my dad once I wanted to be a writer and maybe a veterinarian and he said he wouldn’t pay for my schooling just so I could end up being homeless. Way to support your youngest daughter, dad!

Here in the U.S. it's so very different. One can afford to dream to be whatever you want. It is not a dirty secret. It is not something to be ashamed of. I remember the first time Dear Husband read something of mine. I had posted something on facebook about missing home and he was shocked I had written it. He had no idea I “dabbled” and he encouraged me to do a blog, write a book, etc. I hated it when I first met his family and he would say “she’s a writer” when they asked me what I did for a living. I would blush and stammer as if he had just say: “She panders ass” and felt so incredibly uncomfortable about people knowing my secret because deep down I was expecting a lecture. Deep down I was expecting them to smirk. Deep down I was expecting them to say behind my back “what is she thinking?” and laugh at me and my silly notions.

Back at home we are never truly encouraged to pursue our dreams, we are taught what to dream and encouraged to pursue those dreams and those dreams only. We have drilled into us the need to make a profitable career. We are taught that poverty leads to hunger, prostitution, destitution, death and there is now possible way to rise above that. We are taught that only a career will save you from the certain future that will await if you don’t go to medical/law/engineering school.

The funny thing is that when I came out of the writing closet nobody was really surprised. They all assumed it was what I have always wanted to do and all the things I had done so far were simply to pay the bills. It felt so exhausting keeping such a big personal part of me private. As if I was hiding a child that everyone knew was mine.

Here you can dream about being anything you want. You can be the president, an astronaut, an actress, a singer, a fashion designer, a painter, a circus freak, anything! There is no warranty that you’ll make it but just being able to dream about it, just being able to voice it, just being able to put a name to it, just being able to believe it might be possible is incredibly rewarding.

I still have ways to go before I am comfortable saying I am a writer. I haven’t published anything, I don’t have an English degree, I have never gone to a creative writing class and I have a hard time remembering when to use “If” and when to use “Whether” but I am a little more comfortable each day about it. I don’t freeze when Dear Husband throws me under the bus and tell people I write and I no longer give him dirty looks. I ask people to read my blog and when I see someone posted a comment I feel a little less scared every time that they are going to say I am a talentless fool who should shut the fuck up. I fight against that pragmatic Hispanic upbringing every day.

I am so damn thankful that I don’t have that secret burdening me anymore. Because I don't make it I will know it was because it wasn’t my time, or I didn’t have enough talent and not because the Hispanic in me was too much of a chicken shit to dare to dream.

My cousin who is an amazing artist has been blessed with an undeniable talent she has no doubts about and she can blatantly go after because she is here, please check her out at