Feb 19, 2010


So yesterday we woke up at five am to be able to be in Miami at 9. I don’t live four hours away from Miami but the traffic as soon as you hit the city is so damn slow that last time we went we sat in the highway for an hour and got to my lawyer’s office so late we had to wait until he had another opening and I almost peed my pants in the car stuck in traffic.

We showed up to my lawyer’s office and sat down with the paralegal to review all the paperwork we had to give them to prove to them our marriage is not a sham. So we went through, marriage certificates, emails, phone records, deeds, life insurance, health insurance, affidavits from friends and family stating they believe our wedding to be a real one and have now to pay another $1,010 to pay for my residency application which could be denied of course but that needs to be sent nonetheless.

As I sat there, trying to remember how many bloody times I have been in that office for the past eight years, my lawyer made a quick appearance and told the paralegal to submit everything at the same time and not give the immigrations agent a chance to hold onto anything to get me out of the country.

Apparently one my lawyer’s clients showed up to his interview thinking he was going to be questioned about his marriage and instead was put into detention and deported out of the country.

Poor Dear Husband, who no matter how often I tell him that is a possibility seems to be in denial of what could happen to me, had a horrified look on his face.

I don’t live in constant fear of being deported. I think there are worse things that could happen as long as everyone I love is healthy and alive anything else to me is small potatoes. But the idea of being detained for months until they can fill an airplane and send me to Colombia fills me with anger. Anger that they would dare to hold me like a criminal, anger that I would have to sit on a cell with a bunch of strangers while we await someone else to decide on our future. I never came to this country illegally so the fact that they would treat me like I broke the law when I haven’t even jaywalked in my life pisses me off.

The process is underway and once more things are out of my hands. For someone who likes to be in control, knowing that my future doesn’t depend on me makes me antsy.

Sometimes I want to fight and claw my way in here and others I realized I’ve been here for so long trying to do things right and still it doesn’t go my way. I sometimes feel like quitting and moving away and that’s it. I have been holding on for so long to the dream of staying here that my fingers hurt and I am close to not giving a damn anymore.

Australia is starting to sound awesome, Canada, who doesn’t like Canadians? I think I could pick up again and start all over but it all seems so unfair to poor Dear Husband who never asked for any of this.

He seems to like the idea of moving away when all I want it’s a little stability, a semblance of normalcy in this crazy life of mine.

We’ll see.

Feb 13, 2010


I wish I had coined the phrase since it seems to describe my very existence. I am, it seems, trapped by a sucking, drowning, black-hole of responsibility. There are, I know, people who seem free of such a crippling emotion, because that is what responsibility is, an emotion. A feeling in the pit of your stomach, in the center of your heart that makes one do things we don’t want to do, but we do nonetheless because it is expected, because one has to.

Girls always dream of being Lizzie and holding out for love, for passion, for someone who is going to understand one’s quirks in personality. Girls dream of being Lizzie and being brave and holding out for Mr. Darcy, but I am afraid I would have never been a Lizzie Bennett and that I am destined to be a Fanny Price, my most hated of Austen’s heroines.

I am afraid that my sense of responsibility keeps me from doing what I dream of doing and sending everyone to hell and being utterly selfish and caring only about what I want and what I need and what I expect of life. But I am, no matter how hard I try, going ‘round and ‘round doing what I have to do.

I would’ve married Mr. Collins. I would’ve married a totally unsuitable person to save my family from destitution. I would have had sex and bore him children and endured the attentions of Lady Catherine de Burgh simply because it was expected of me.

There is no rebellion in me, no overwhelming passion, because responsibility shadows, swallows, overwhelms everything else. I am doomed to be responsible. I am doomed to swallow my wants and do what needs to be done. Why do I have to? Why can’t I just ignore everything that needs to be done and simply be? Is it my lot in life to take care of what needs to be taken care of disregarding completely the hungers in my soul that need to be fed?

I wish I was more ambitious. Ambitious enough that only my interest seemed to matter, but my ambitions are simple: Health for those I love, to be loved, a house of my own, a job that I like and occasional travels that show me the world out there. I don’t wish for riches and grandeur, I don’t crave fame and fortune. I work for a multibillionaire and I know that money does not necessarily mean happiness. I can’t help but think that if I wanted it more, wished for it more, ignored others more I could have everything I wanted.

Sometimes I want to run away from everything, expectations, family, friends… and myself. Let’s combine those two and really put together what I want to run away from: Family expectations.

Sometimes I wish I was more like my brother, who has no regard for anyone but himself. No regard but what he wants. Sometimes I wish I could grab my credit card and disappear into oblivion in a small town in the middle of nowhere U.S. and work at some dinner where my name is not my name and I can spend my days doing something little and meaningful and write and get up knowing that I will write some more and do something with my days that does not include disappearing in anonymity in an office, doing nothing worth wile and being invisible.

I know the feeling will disappear and tomorrow I will get up and do what is expected. Dry, cold, reliable, and responsible Melissa, doing what needs to be done, no matter what. But right now I want to be more, do more.

I know it’s silly. I get to the end of this post and I realize how many times I have said in the past, “With privilege comes responsibility” and I am oh so privileged with a big family. I just wish there was someone to share those big responsibility’s with.

They feel so heavy sometimes.

Feb 1, 2010


Dear Husband developed, since we married, a severe case of ‘don’t-know-how’. He forgot how to cook, how to do laundry, how to put laundry away, etc. Even though at times (all the time) I find that insanely provoking and it makes me want to cause bodily harm, all it takes is a girl’s night out for me to be thankful. Thankful that DH is patient, supportive, sweet, communicative and willing to put up with my never ending family drama.

The fact is I am thankful that I am not out there, single anymore and having to peruse through the seriously slim pickings. I hate the fact that I have become one half of a smug married couple like the ones Bridget Jones feared, but I hate even more the fact that the many lovely single ladies that I know are out there being victimized by the overwhelming amount of dickheads, women haters, douchebags, arrogant, classless jackasses that roam this earth.
I like guys. I do, I think they are refreshing in their honesty; you don’t have to dig for the truth or worry about insulting them by saying the wrong thing like it happens way too often when it comes to women. But what in the world is happening to them today? I think I had forgotten how they all seem to have escaped from the horrid pages of that disgusting book written by Tucker Max “I hope they serve beer in hell”.

There is no escaping them! I was listening to the radio the other day and one of the DJs was talking shit about women and how he always likes to fuck the ugly ones because they know better than to be clingy. I was so outraged that I almost swerved off the road. The thing is, being pretty doesn’t protect women from their behavior either.

I had to take a refresher course on “elbow to the solar plexus” and “withering glances” last Thursday when my cousins came over from D.C. and my sister, my two cousins and I decided to go to ladies' night at the bar below my work place. Now, I really have no idea what I had expected since it is ladies' night and alcohol is free and men seem to know that night is the night for them to get lucky, but I was surprised at how bold and obnoxious men can be.

Whatever happened to asking one to dance instead of shoving their crotch on one’s ass? Whatever happened to an introduction before you grab my arm and pull me, or show up with a drink I neither want, nor asked for?

I know I already discussed this a few weeks ago, but I had to again since I have the experience fresh in my head. Since when my standing dancing with four other girls gives a man the right to approach me from behind and start humping me? As satisfying as it is to shove my elbow as high as I can up his ribs, as satisfying as I find it to hear them gasp in pain, the fact is I am left with a sense of dissatisfaction at not being able to give them a proper set down.

They all seem so incredibly normal and decent too! None of them seemed drunk, or leery, or disgusting, or lecherous, just your normal, horny twenty-somethin early-thirties loser who thinks he is Casanova.

So what happened to them? Is it the bad guy syndrome? Do they really think that act is attractive? I don’t need poetry being spouted but how about a smart line? Hell any line at all would be preferable than just shoving your dick at me, regardless of how attractive my butt is (because it is) it is still MINE, not public property to rub against.

It has gotten so bad that we even avoid making eye contact so they don’t take it as an invitation to fuck. We were ignoring this guy for so long he ended up having to pull one of us and then we realized it was the waiter! I made the silly mistake of asking a guy to take a picture of all of us and then spent the next five minutes trying to shake his slimy paws off. Short of kneeing him in the balls I couldn’t have been any blunter! I even pointed at my wedding band (which I have never done till that night) and told him to go take a hike and the fuckhead had the nerve of saying “Well your husband isn’t here is he?” And more nerve even to be annoyed that I wasn't flattered. Since when did they all start assuming they are God's gift to womenkind? Assholes!!

I was saved from committing assault by one of my cousins who pulled me away and saved the jackass from me. I am sure he was left with the impression that he had me and the only reason he didn’t get anywhere was because of my intervening cousin.

Men, I have discovered, are horribly deluded. What happened to those days when all a girl had to do was roll her eyes and the guy would take the hint? Now not even using the cuntiest face will save you from being accosted. If wearing skirts bellow the knee and glasses doesnt protect one anymore then what else is left? What does one has to do to get some respect around here? And since when demanding respect makes you a bitch?

I have been reading lately a lot of historical romance and there are two types of men in the books I read. The ones who would force themselves on an unsuspecting female simply because they can and their title afforded them with complete immunity, and the ones who wouldn’t.

It’s disappointing to think that men haven’t changed that much, the only thing that protects us women from being assaulted today is the law. It's sad to say so, but I think I think that most men wouldn’t stop at “No” if the law didn’t protect us from them. Men whose principles are nonexistent and their immediate needs to be fulfilled their only worry seem to be everywhere, and the thought is disheartening. It’s like they think our presence in a club, bar or any place where music and alcohol is present it’s a tacit consent for them to do as they please with our body parts!

It is a sad state of affairs indeed, when one thinks about it. I am sure some would blame it on female’s search for equality; some would claim that we wanted to be treated like men so we are treated like men. I never asked to be treated like a man, I do expected to be able to hold the same position as a man, receive the same salary as a man and have the same rights as a man, I don’t know how wanting my rights to be respected as any other citizen of the world needs to translate into “go ahead and grope me”.

I don’t expect men to stand up when I enter or leave a room, or for them to defend my honor when it's brought to question, to fight in duels at dusk for my virtue, I don’t expect to be treated like a delicate flower about to wilt.

We ask for very little, how about some common courtesy, some respect, some acknowledgement that our personal space is ours? How about showing some fucking manners? Do you guys really think that you are closer to getting any by acting like a jackass?

Believe me, you may be getting some but whoever you are getting it from happens to be as trashy as you are.

So let me be blunt and summarize:

  • No, I don’t want that drink you probably roofied. No means No.
  • I don’t like your “eau of douche” so stop bathing on it, the entire place can smell the cheap cologne.
  • Yes, I am dancing, yes I am standing, and it doesn’t mean you can rub your crotch on my ass.
  • No, I really don’t like you and no, that doesn’t make me a bitch.
  • I really meant it when I said I am here just to hang out with my girls so back the fuck off.
  • Yes, I am bitch. Whatever you wanna call please just do it far away from me.