rain delay

life gets a kick out of screwing with me.

the first thing about being prepared is to take the future seriously. this chick selling me a sausage and egg biscuit asked me about my tattoo. she wants to get some words inked on her upper arm and was curious. “that hurt?”

girl had good timing and a knack for meta-statements...
“nah, wasn’t bad… upper arm is gonna hurt like a bitch, though”
(yeah, you know what? today, i’m feelin it)

it’s not that taking the future seriously is causing me pain… it’s making me hurt. my heart is heavy, there’s a sinking in my stomach, but somewhere inside me i know i’m doing right. i’m the most selfish woman i know (well, almost…), and have lived these past few months as if my happiness is all that matters. so what happens when that joy, that satisfaction with life, is born out of hurt? what’s a gal to do when her fulfillment comes out of doing right by someone else?

i fought back tears today, and caring that much makes me happy. i’m actually happy, and that devastates me… like when someone smiles so genuinely and for so long that her face aches.

so, screw with me all you want, life, two can play that game… for the first time in a long time, i’ve got my head planted solidly on my shoulders while i let my thoughts float around in the clouds. i can live balanced, can be balanced… bet you didn’t see that one coming.

"i'll just call this domino game a draw"

life is too full of misunderstandings. he's excited for us to come, and i forgot that traveling for an overnight means i have to pack.

double wrapped reese's

i have an idea for a screenplay. i'm hoping someone in the biz stumbles on this blog and steals my genius, cause i want to see this shit made into a movie.

three 20-to-30-something gringas head out from their dominican home to stalk down the short, feisty one's delinquent boyfriend on the other side of the island. the girls head out on a holiday weekend adventure last minute, and hilarity ensues. moments of drunken girlytime self-loathing, a dance montage, and maybe some three-way high fives between roomies. you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll laugh until you cry. at worst, we'll be sure to include a midget somewhere in the film for a cheap thrill... there are side stories- romances, forgotten friends, and maybe a little drug use. and the story hinges on the beginning scene:

hippie dippie chick opens a mini reese's cup to find (with daisy mae playing in the background) her delicious american chocolate & peanut butter confection is wrapped in two paper wrappers.

(offhandedly) "hey look, two wrappers"
"holy shit, two wrappers is like a sign of good luck!"
short feisty one and goofy dykey one laugh like they've just downed a bottle of wine. little did the hippie know that just a few hours prior, the girls had been devising a plan to make a double-wrapped reese's cup a "thing." like, some stupid superstition people reference in movies and when in mixed company to cut the awkwardness. we had just made it up, and already it was blowing the fuck up.

life's little pleasures.

"a fridge full of thanksgiving"

so....... a terribly daunting party for 30 turned into an intimate gathering of 10, and gracias a dios it did. it was delicious; the conversation was lively, the supply of wine was seemingly unending, and the turkey was wrapped in bacon for christ's sake. after a few weeks of the ups and downs of uncertainty, i found myself feeling a bit of home, finding the warmth i've often been lacking in this country. shit, i woke up this morning with a nearly clean kitchen (after cooking without cleaning for over 6 hours the day before) and treated myself to a cafe con leche and eggs cooked in bacon fat. i didn't need to seek out any adventure, i was comfortable with my cigarettes and pork right at home.

but no matter how quickly unrefrigerated butter melts around here, time passes so so so slowly in arroyo hondo II...

it's that moment the afterglow of getting a puppy wears off, when the little puta bites your hand and draws blood... it's that moment you realize (listening to pink floyd's "sorrow," of course) that you are not the person you want to be

what's a girl to do? does she go to punta cana to see for herself that things are gonna work out (or blow up in her face)? does she keep seeking the ups knowing damn well that she'll suffer just a few too many downs because of this pursuit?

i think she does like she always does, and on these off nights consoles herself with wine, skim ice, and dominoes... fuck, just charge the hotel to my card, cause we all knew i was gonna go back and do it again anyway.

it'd be like "my best friends wedding"

lezzy style

"i think cleaning the stove is making my hangover worse"

we have roughly 30 people coming over for thanksgiving dinner at 8pm and no gas for our stove/orno/thing that is necessary for cooking A BUNCH OF FUCKING FOOD

"i am thankful for ashley
and we have power, i'm thankful for power
i'm thankful for cranberries
and i'd like some gas, but i'm not gonna be a bitch about it"

"i don't need to eat at the beach..."

... i'm having so much fun i don't need to eat

"i'm gonna have wine and a nacho lunchable for dinner"

so......... the gringas are having a thanksgiving party, and since columbus killed enough tainos 'round here that people don't feel much like celebrating some gay-ass american holiday, we actually know a lot of grown people who are willing (dare i say interested) in coming to our casa for thursday's big meal. this time last year i was making a pretty fabulous, overwhelmingly vegan thanksgiving meal for my girls; tonight i'm grocery shopping for bacon-wrapped turkey fixins with mi mujeres. new recipes, new culinary experiments, and an apparent lack of sweet potatoes at the nacional.

"crazy dog's going outside!"

when lola is being bad, ashley punishes her by giving her vertigo. she holds little lolita out in front of her, stomach turned toward the sky, and explains in a calm voice what lola has done to deserve being stranded midair, tits up.

i think ashley and i will be friends forever

"i don't follow anyone's blog, i'm a free spirit"

we need to stop drinking wine every night

when it rains, it pours

in michigan, when it was raining, it was "rainy."

¿no entiendes? voy a repetirlo:

in michigan, when it was raining, it was "rainy." like, i'd look at weather.com or listen to chuck gaidica and discover that today deserved a little rain cloud over a sliver of cartoon sun, that it's gonna be a rainy one, drizzle in the morning giving way to rain showers the rest of the afternoon and overnight.

but here i only ever listen to a crackling radio disney broadcast or watch sueña conmigo or 2-week-old "chelsea lately"s, and weather.com is broken. that is to say i can't find The Weather Channel and online weather is an unending picture of either stormy clouds or sunny skies, depending on the weatherdude's mood i guess (my theory- they've employed two weather predictors, an optimist and a pessimist, and they alternate their shifts on a weekly basis).

¿y entonces?

osea, there's no predicting weather in la capital. want to go to the beach? too bad, it's raining. want to lay out in the backyard? too bad, it's raining. want to snuggle up with someone in the rain? too bad, it's... well... it's raining, so that part works, but it's all just a bit more complicated than willing it to rain, really. want to walk to the nacional to save money on a cab? too bad, it's hot as fuck and your drenched, gringa ass is gonna freak out a lot of grocery store patrons out while you spend an inordinate amount of time cooling down in the yogurt section and considering six different brands of mozerella.

so i wonder, is it really necessary to predict? to "know"? cause it seems i only know for certain when the rain is falling down all around me, when the roof over the patio starts to leak and the urge to put on a sweater and stare out at the night and smoke half a pack of cigarettes takes me over.

i love the rain. i can't predict it, nor does my will have any influence over its presence in my life... but damn, when it rains, it pours

tried to kiss a guy last night

woke up with wicked allergic reaction crawling up my legs
"who would have known you'd be allergic to conch?"

the only way out is in

tonight i feel as if i have a decision to make... do i settle in or run? see, i made this friend lola (both in a book, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and a furball) who explained "you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in."

what's confusing is, what's a girl to do when she's deciding to run away or stay in? one can't give way, simply facilitate the other. i want them both.

she's gonna come home with one of the three

a tattoo
a puppy
o
un moto

"i need to go out dancing"

carpet-munching, faggy demon

"dude, i'm not sure if he's even coming"

y cuántos minutos?

i think it's gonna be like four minutes

sweep it under the rug

something about moving to a new country for no clear reason motivates a person to live life creatively. this doesn't necessarily mean one lives it better, or even well, but instead that she does so in a new way. i've been living outside myself for upwards of three months now, and have learned that physical separation from all one knows sets free this reckless abandon for life that encourages just that: abandon. in order to live fully this new life i was creating, it was easier - no, necessary - for me to sweep my previous existence (friends, family, coworkers, pretty much everyone i know) under the rug.

three months later, i wonder to myself "why is my rug so lumpy and my heart so restless?"

i'm learning, one day at a time, how casual and regular sweeping, mopping, and general upkeep eliminates the necessity of sweeping mass quantities under the rug at any one time. i either need to maintain a normal life or get a maid, cause mi casa has stone floors and no rugs.

"would you rather watch icarly or zack y cody?"

my roommate has watched this show three times:

i'm a kenny g fan now

i like his christmas shit

(and it still smells like cow shit)

there was a point last night when i woke up and was like...

wait, i'm awake. fuck.
and i'm unhappy. fuck.
and it smells like cow shit. FUCK.

that's like saying "a gyspy who has a lot of sex"

i AM a slutty hippie

"can you imagine how different our world would be if we could do laundry from 3-6 on weekdays?"

i live in the third world, but think in terms of facebook statuses. this is a blog of blog names, cause i wake up too many mornings thinking to myself you shoulda wrote that down. this won't have the same pizazz as new year new me, and will likely be even more short-lived and erratic, but if a woman doesn't stand for her blog, what does she stand for, really?