Archive | Uncategorized RSS feed for this section

I don’t believe you

1 Apr

I’ve come to realize that most of what people say is complete bullshit and not to be trusted.  I know, this sounds like a very negative way to begin a post – but bear with me.  I’m going to make a point, a good point, and I think you’ll all soon be nodding your head in agreement.  Or clicking your mouse far, far away from me. To look at porn.  I know you, I do. You pervert.

Anyway, I find that there are several phrases that are used frequently, which when uttered you should know mean absolute bupkis.  (Bupkis is the nice way of saying: Horseshit.  I’m trying to curse less, it’s working well, no?)

1.  “I tell it like it is.”  This phrase you will see used on almost every single reality show.  Whoever says this phrase, you know will be the resident beyotch.  What that phrase tells you is that this person will say whatever they want to, to whomever they wish and then get defensive when they’re called out on being a hurtful mean a-hole. (see what I did there? I did not type out “asshole,” I censored myself. I am so GOOD at this!”).  In real life if someone says this phrase, stay away from them.  This person will tell all your information and have no qualms talking smack about you, behind your back, to the entire office.  Trust.

What is so disarming about that phrase, is that it SHOULD be a good thing.  What they think they are saying is “I’m honest and upfront,” but what they are REALLY saying is, “I say nasty shit all the time, and if someone calls me out on it, I will get really pissed off and only saying meaner, nastier shit.  To everyone you know.  I might even make up some stories, too.”

2.  “My truth.”  If anyone you ever meet says they are speaking “their truth,” please feel free to throw up on them.   Seriously, just stick your finger down your throat and vomit in their face.  The only people I have EVER known to use this phrase are self-centered jerks, usually the same type of person who will “Tell it like it is,” will also be willing to tell “my truth” ad nauseum.   Also, a popular phrase used in reality T.V.

3.  “Your secret’s safe with me.”  What they forget to do is finish the rest of that sentence, which is as follows:  “and just one other person.”  Trust, whatever you tell you someone in secret – it will be told to at least one other person.  Who will tell one other person, who will tell one other person.  Also, don’t tell me ANYTHING you don’t want my husband to know.  He’s my secret squirrel.  And he really doesn’t tell anybody anything, because he’s totally honey-badger and couldn’t give a shit.  Also, don’t tell me while I’m drunk either – because I’m likely to repeat it to teh person sitting at the bar next to me. Especially if your secret is about the person sitting at the bar next to me.  That secret is OUT my friend.

So basically the short version is this:   most people don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves and can’t keep a secret.  What’s the summary of this?  I don’t give a shit and don’t tell me anything you don’t want my husband or my thousands of twitter followers (okay, 45) to know.





7 Jan

Friday was the 6th anniversary of our first date.   I can still very clearly remember seeing him when I first entered the restaurant, and his sweet smile.  A smile I’d get to see every day for the rest of my life.  He literally “lit up” when I saw him, and I live for that smile to this day. It makes every day brighter, no matter how bad it is.  Actually, I think my goal is to make him laugh at least once a day. Even at our darkest moments, we always try to make the other smile. Because what good is being married unless there’s joy?

You should know that I love that man more than anything. More than anyone on this planet, and I live to make him happy. To see him in pain, or sad or frustrated – it practically splits me in half.  And the flip of that is, I know it’s the same way for him, too. 

He taught me to be selfless, to be responsible, to take credit in my accomplishments. He makes me feel beautiful and smart and sexy. He makes my life better for simply being in it.

Six years ago, walking into a bar to share a drink with a stranger, I had no idea that would be the tipping point. That my life would change from simply existing – to really, truly living. Because of him, and the blessing that he is, I am living every day with a heart full of love and a house full of joy. I know that he is the one person in this world I can count on for anything, who truly has my best interests at heart – and because of that I strive to do the same for him.

I don’t know if I can ever love him as much as he loves me – that man puts me first every single day.  And honestly, I don’t think I do that often enough for him. It’s a daily struggle for me to do that, because I am a spoiled bratt by nature. But I’m lucky, because he’s the most giving man I’ve ever met – that’s just who he is.

So you know how people say, “he/she made me a better person?” I can tell you that, without a doubt, meeting Robert six years ago put me on a path to not only be a better person, but to continue to strive to be the woman that is good enough for him. 

Public Transportation: Stop Judging, You Judger and Enjoy the Ride

26 Nov

I am a child of privilege.  Due to the backbreaking hard work of both of my parents, I only have the very vaguest of memories of their struggles.

I do have some memories of hard times:  dinners being sparse, my father working A LOT, poverty and violence right next door.  However, now I am so far removed from it, it sometimes seems as if it all could have happened to someone else.

I have spent the better part of my life living in the suburbs.  I’ve never had to take a bus because I’ve always had my own transportation.  Besides that, South Florida has the WORST public transit system in the United States, I am pretty sure.  We have a large population and a pretty crappy way to get from place to place if you don’t have a car.  Unreliable bus service means you may get fired because you’ll probably be late.  So having a car is a necessity for gainful employment.

Except that now the gas is almost $4 a gallon and I have to drive 45 minutes to an hour to make it 13 miles to get to work.  On top of that, I have to pay to park at a parking lot which is $5 a day.  My friends, this commute has begun to wear on me and the sheer cost of it all is driving me bananas.

Which is why I’ve decided to take the Metrorail.  The Metrorail is an elevated train system that I would describe as a half-assed L Train.  I call it half-assed because it only transfers people around the downtown Miami areas.  These are not the beautiful areas you see on TV (South Beach), no.  These areas are where REAL Miamians live and make a living.

This train system only covers about 1/5 of the county area.  On top of that they built a new station at the Airport that not only DOES NOT have a parking garage for those of us who live West (the city is East), it has no connection to the beach.

I ask you, if you were a tourist, would you want to stay where the people are – in the middle of a crowded city, or right on our gorgeous beaches?  Exactly.

Anyway, I’m getting off subject here.

Basically, what I am saying is that in an effort to save some money AND my sanity, I’m taking the train.  I’m telling you, it’s been pretty great.  I can read a book, catch up on the news, listen to music, and I only have a 20 minute drive at the end of my trip.  All in all, it’s worth it.

Also, the trip in and of itself is pretty interesting, if you take the time to look.  That’s because since the train is elevated, you can see a lot of Miami when you zoom by far above it.  It’s a pretty great perspective.

To begin with, there’s a LOT of poverty.  As I float by, a few dozen feet above, I am filled with gratitude.  I have a steady job and so does my husband, we live in a nice home and are wanting for nothing.  The people down below, well their plight is a different one.  You can see the the run down homes, buildings and shoddy schools with the peeling paint.  They’re not so lucky.

If you look out the window and not in your book, you can see how close we all are.  Everybody has a story and everything can change in an instant.  That was my family just 30 years ago.  Living paycheck to paycheck (if we could get one), trying to find a way to get food on the table, just trying to get by.  It’s a good reminder for me, to understand how good I have it and how quickly that can all change.

My companions on the train are from all walks of life, too.  There’s the nurse going to work, the TSA agent heading home from the airport, the young mother with three kids all stuffed into a stroller.  Everyone has someplace to be, and the train gives us an affordable way to get there.

It’s an interesting slice of life I get to observe as we clang along the metal tracks, and I like it.  We’re all in this together, us Miamians.  Trying to make it through day to day, whatever way we can.

What I’m saying is that by riding public transportation you’re not in your car isolated from the city and its people, you become a part of it all. And I’m enjoying that experience, so far.

Voting in Miami: Pastelitos con Votos

7 Nov

Pastelitos: Pastelitos are a common cuban pastry which can be savory or sweet. They are made with puff pastry and stuffed with meat (savory!), or guava with cheese and sometimes coconut (mi favorito!)

Voting in Miami is very tricky.  The lines are very long (I waited for 2 hours, hubby for 4!) and it can get very hot very quickly -I’m not talking about the weather, either.

If you know a Cuban, you probably know their politics.  It’s Red Republican, 100% and at high volume, but then again everything here is at an elevated decibel level.  So you learn not to take it personally.

But sometimes people can really surprise you.  In my voting precinct, it is VERY crowded and VERY Republican, yet somehow yesterday – I was not subjected to the angry tirades I’d experienced in the past.

I showed up at the polling location at 6 am, and I was the 50th person in line.  Not too bad, I thought.  I’ll be out of here by 7:30, the latest.   It was still dark out, but I was able to find a parking spot.  I had a book, a cup of coffee, and my trusty iPhone to keep me company.

Around 6:30, a gentleman in a black t-shirt began to walk down the line (which was now probably up to 100 people) and began passing out a tray of pastelitos.

“Pastelitos, gratis!” he exlaimed.  (“Free pastelitos!”)  He was smiling at each person, encouraging them to take a pastelito from his plate.  Everyone in line was laughing and smiling at each other – we were just so pleased to see someone be generous for no reason.  He wasn’t from a political party, he just wanted to do something nice for all the earlybirds who came out to make sure their vote was counted.

This encounter warmed our spirits so much, and through our sugar-infused giggles, I had a wonderful two hour conversation with two people in line behind me.  We discussed our families, where we were from (Ecuador for him, Nicaragua for her) and where we wanted to live eventually.  We were careful not to discuss politics and kept our conversation on firm middle ground.

I could gather which way each was leaning (him for Obama, she was for Romney), but for the most part I just really enjoyed their company and was heartened to spend the morning chatting with two American Citizens who had a real interest in their country.  And they were warm, friendly and respectful – I haven’t encountered that in a very long time.  It was a pleasure.

Senor Pastelitos did a good deed that morning, he reminded all of us that we can agree on something:   pastelitos are delicious and being an American is pretty great.

Halloween is my favorite holiday

2 Nov

When I was a little girl, we didn’t have much money.  More than anything I wanted a store bought Halloween costume.  The Tinkerbell costume with the plastic face mask that would get all sweaty and hot, I wanted that.  Actually, I wanted anything that could be bought at a store, but that was rarely the case.  Most of my clothes were hand me downs from my older cousins and my parents never took us out to eat – McDonald’s was a rare treat and not the cheap daily staple of most of my classmates.

In any case, my mother was two things:  1) mindful of the fact that most of the year her kids went without a lot of “extras” and 2) a fantastic seamstress.

My mother made all of our bathing suits, our Easter outfits, and a lot of our clothing.   So every Halloween we were allowed to pick one thing we wanted to be and my mother would get herself to the cloth store and make it happen.

My sisters were the really clever ones with their costumes, I always wanted to be something “cute” or “adorable.”  I so very much wanted to be the pretty sister, so I was very middle-of-the-road with my choices.  In other words I was the following:  Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie; Madonna; Harem Girl; Tinkerbell, etc.  So boring, right?  My youngest sister was the following:  a cockaroach; the family dog, a Rottweiler; a skunk.   She’s the weird, cool one of the group, for sure.

As I get older I am less concerned with being “beautiful” or “cute” when I choose my Halloween costume.  If anything, I just want to make a statement.  And more than that, I want everyone around me to enjoy my costume and get a kick out of Halloween.

This year was no different.  Hubby let me throw a ridiculous Halloween Party and we went with the theme of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.  The front room was the “Castle,” and we transformed the hallway into the “Haunted Forest.”   And in keeping with my theme, my costume was the Evil Queen.

For the costume I pulled together several different costumes to create the dress, and adorned my tiara with red skulls, which looked like red apples upon first look.

As you can see, I am totally in the spirit of the holiday. 

We had a blast – our guests didn’t leave until almost 4 am, with some people crashing in the guest room.  In fact, our dog was exhausted for the next 48 hours which leaves me very tempted to throw another party this weekend just to tucker her out.

That is one tired pup!

The actual day of Halloween, I dressed up for an event at my office.   I wanted to do something fun and whimsical that would bring some laughs to the entire office.  Now think, what is the one thing that is always whimsical, funny and brings a smile?

The Muppets of course!  Specifically . . .

It was a great day, and I am going to quote my darling niece here when I say, “I wish Halloween was every day!”

Nona the One-Eyed Wonder Cat

23 Oct

Nona’s good side

When I first married my husband, we inherited his mother’s three cats.  Bandita was the big, fluffy mama cat and her two daughters – Nona and Culichi.  Nona was named such because she was gray and Culichi had no tail, having lost it in a fight with a Rottweiler.  Nona this point only had one eye because the other had been damaged and resulted in a cataract.

Culichi and Bandita treated me with cautious disregard.  Culichi even peed in my new Coach bag, and Bandita liked to take swipes at me when I would go in my closet.  I strongly suspect they were angry with me for 1) getting rid of their mother (hubby’s mom used to live with us) and 2) bringing a dog into the house (the very hyper Doberman never understood why the old ladies did not want to play).

I gave up trying to get any attention from those two cats, but Nona was a different story.  I couldn’t sit down without a full on cuddle attack from that girl.  And she was ALWAYS purring.  You could hear her purring from the other room, wondering if someone had left a fan on or something.   It was amazing how she’d rev up immediately upon seeing you.  A low slow purr would develop into full throttled throat rumble with just a scratch behind the ear.

When I had my numerous eye surgeries, Nona became my sympathizer.  It was she and I against the world.  No one else understood my disability, but I am pretty sure Nona did.  When I was facedown for a week while my retina tried to reattach itself, she’d purr and rub her face against mine as I sobbed into the pillow begging for relief.   We were simpatico. 

I even made up a little song for her that I would sing every night when she’d climb up on my chest in bed for a good ear scratch.  “I only got one eye, but I love you with of my heart.” 

She was fifteen though, and she’d been looking worse for the wear for the past year or so.  I stopped letting her outside as much and kept her indoors as much as possible.   She had some dental issues, so I only gave her wet food and would crush up the dry food into a fine powder for her to eat.  I knew it was getting bad when she stopped jumping up on the bed for an ear scratch.  She still purred, but I had to kneel down at her new spot in order to give her an ear scratch.

She started dropping weight rapidly and for the past month she got very thin.  I hadn’t realized how bad it was really until about a week ago.  My husband and his mother said she needed to be put down, but I didn’t want to hear it.  I thought she had some time left, but I ended up being wrong.

On Friday, I made the veterinary appointment for Saturday morning.  That night I opened up a can of tuna and set it out for her to eat.  She could barely get through it.  She ate small pieces, looked at me, sighed then went to her spot in the doorway.

The next day I took her to the veterinarian.  On the way there, I held her on my lap so she could look out the window and watch all the cars pass.  She loved it.  She was so happy and purred the whole way, the rhythm of her purr matching the hum of the engine. 
We have the best veterinarian in the business.  We’ve been taking our animals to him for over thirty years.  He gently gave me the bad news and told me that she had kidney failure and gave me a few options, but the end result was the same:  she wasn’t going to make it and was most likely suffering.    He asked me if I wanted to be with her when we put her down, and I said of course.  I figured if she comforted me in my times of suffering, I’d see her off in hers.

I held Nona as she purred her soft, comforting purr until the medicine hit her veins and she closed her in eyes in peaceful slumber. 

I miss Nona.  I miss her bedtime visits and our nighttime lullaby.  I even miss tripping over her in the middle of the night.  She is a big reason that I love cats.  I had been a very strict dog person for the majority of my life, and I am grateful to Nona for teaching me otherwise:  that cats are pretty awesome.  So thanks Nona, my simpatico kitty cat. 

Zombie Shuffle

12 Oct

For the past few years, I’ve attempted to get into “running” as exercise.  I’ve run in several 5K’s, but several health problems (numerous eye surgeries) have impeded my progress.

Not to mention my MONUMENTALLY fat ass.

Seriously, it’s hard to get any speed to move this monolith.  And once I get into the groove of things, I like it.  I really do.  It’s the snail’s pace of progress, along with my own snail’s pace that is really frustrating.

At this rate, I can run for 30 minutes straight (outside on the road) with maybe two short walks (two minutes piece?).  The thing is, my overall rate of pace is 14 minute mile.

My mother-in-law who is seventy can speedwalk past me at that speed.  Honestly, the dog is just patronizing me on these “runs.”  She constantly looks at me like, “Seriously Mom?  You call this running? I  am sooooo BORED right now!”

I’ve had wonderful tips of encouragement and am constantly told to just “keep with it!  Most people can’t even walk a mile!”  Which I think is bullshit.

Also bullshit?  Advice to work on my “form.”

Please.  By the end of one of my runs, I’m barely upright.  I’m covered in sweat, soaked through with the hudmity and heat, and just staggering toward to the end of my route.  Honestly, I liken my form to that of a Zombie, just slowly shuffling towards BRAAAAAINS!  MORE BRAAAAAINS!  AAARRRRRGH!

I shouldnt be so hard on myself.  I am sure some people don’t exercise at all and at least at this point I am three weeks into this habit, having had to stop running in August due to another eye surgery.    But I would like to see some damn improvement already. 

At least I wouldnt be scaring all the kids who are innocently playing ball int eh front yard and are suddenly faced with the Zombie Apocolypse as I gasp and limp my towards them.

Recently Mindy Kaling said she was a “slow runner” and that she runs an 11 minute mile, to which I say GOOD FOR YOU!  And darnit, she’s fast! 

Seriously, if she ran past me, I’d barely see her  – she’d be a blur. 

So don’t be so hard on yourself girlfriend.  You’re at least WAAAAAY faster than me.  Which isn’t saying MUCH, but it’s something.