Mama Pee Pee

Almost a man... my little boy has grown up.  I hear these thoughts randomly cross my mind and still remember the awe I felt as I looked at him for the first time.  Can't help to feel a little scared at what's to come.  Will he be a good man?  Will he call me?  Will I get along with his wife?  Will he have children?  Will I be close enough to care for them?  So many questions and yet we have no way of knowing what will happen.

Then I breathe in. Hold my breath and remind myself he just learned to peepee in the potty.  That's when I realize I have to enjoy each fleeting moment since it is just that fleeting.....

New York, New York! My Official Hiatus...

So there I was sitting in the airplane staring out the foggy window surpassed by an extreme moment of exhilaration at the bewilderment of what was to come.  The plane had landed over 3 hours ago but there was traffic on the terminal.  Are you kidding!  I needed desperately to exit the plane, to start my new life in New York.  I had so many plans and had to start right away, no more time to waste... the dress rehearsal was officially over.

(See my entire life I had this overwhelming sensation I was in a dress rehearsal.  I had the feeling that official opening night was yet to come, but rehearse I did in preparation for my debut.  Too bad I wake up now with the realization THIS IS THE REAL MCCOY, it was somehow uplifting to think there were second chances.)

Back to New York... there I was after a very strange plan ride.  Let me preface by explaining how the wierdness all began... I was sitting in the terminal waiting for boarding time, when I turned to my left to find a very tall, very white, blonde man looking at me.  At that very moment my cell phone rang and I answered (partially to escape his glance, partially out of curiousity).  It was my mother, she had just dropped me off at the airport and was struggling with the idea she wouldn't see me the following morning.  I don't recall the conversation, however, I clearly remember telling her in SPANISH that a very odd looking man was making me feel uncomfortable because he kept his glance on me.  I told her again in Spanish that he was probably American and didn't understand a word I was saying.  At that very moment, the gentleman leaned in and said, "Lo siento mucho por averla hecho sentir incomoda, pero la miro por lo linda que es".  Well, I was completely mortified to say the least.  It was quite uncomfortable to come to the realization he had not only overheard but understood everything I had said to my mother moments before.  The wierdness continued when we boarded the plane and this man offered the lady sitting next to me $100 to switch seats.  At that moment, I cringed at the idea of spending the entire ride sitting next to this strange man.  The wierdness worsened when he proceeded to tell me his life story which consisted of him spending his youth in prison for a drug deal gone bad.  I guess I've always had quite a penchant for dealers (that will require another post all together).

In retrospect, I was lucky to have met this man because he kept me quite entertained during the 3 hours of rush hour traffic we experienced upon landing in NY until we were able to exit the plane.  Additionally, he was kind enough to share a cab ride with me to my destination.  Apparently, my cousin who I was going to stay with lived in a questionable part of town.

I arrived at 11pm and proceeded to follow my cousin to a strange club in Brooklyn where I saw a boy wearing a pink g string which was visible because his skinny jeans barely reached his hips.  I ate my first falafel sandwich and saw my first sunrise in the big apple.  So many possibilities after such a memorable day...

"i am high enough from all the waiting"....

Most of us are inspired by a  variety of objects or entities, yet we find ourselves spending the majority of the time waiting.  What are we waiting for exactly?  I ask myself this very question daily.  Surprisingly enough, no answer is ever the same.  On some gloomy days I tell myself I am waiting for the armageddon.  On other happier notes, I am waiting for the lottery ticket I never buy to come floating down from the clouds.  Some mornings, I am just holding my breath waiting for that one inspiring song to come on radio.  While others I sit in silence and desperately attempt to hear the sound of my own breathing.

What are we waiting for?  What is the overpowering feeling that one day the magic will just happen?  I, for one, have come to the realization that there is no magic.  There is nothing unusual to be expected of life.  We all sit by and complain in silence of the monotony of our existence, yet we go about our daily lives just waiting.  To have enchanting experiences we have to create extraordinary circumstances.

I am done waiting...

The morning I grew up.

I lie in my bed squinting my eyes trying to focus my hearing. "What is that?", I ask myself. I think I hear people downstairs, but it’s 4am. What’s going on? I get up and stretch my arms as I am walking to my bedroom door. My room is so dark, I can barely focus. I open the door as I am turning the corner to face the staircase, I turn and run back into my room fast attempting to escape his grasp. I barely close the door on his arm and pushed it hard. He screams out, "open the door!" It’s happening again. They're in the house. Flashes of the day our house was broken into surge my mind. Where are my parents? I just realized that I noticed my parent’s bedroom door ajar as I was running back to my room. What do I do? I pushed the door harder until he squeezed his arm out in an attempt to save it from being crushed as I continue to thrust the door shut. He starts yelling, "This is the police, open the fucking door", he yells as he is kicking the door. The police? The police? How did they get in? What are they doing here? Are my parents OK? I need to put on some clothes. "Wait", I call out, "I am getting dressed." "What for hun", he responds, "I already saw your panties… the polka dots are a nice touch."  I throw on some PJs quick and open the door and stare him dead in the face. "Does your arm hurt?", I ask sarcastically. He winks at me and grabs my arm to escort me down the stairs.

Suddenly, I realize the screams I heard earlier where coming from my mother. She was being held against the wall halfway down the stairs. "Ray", she screams through her tears. I look down and my father is face down on the floor with his arms behind his head. He is in boxers and surrounded by seven men yelling at him in English. "Wait a fucking minute", I shake off his grasp and push the man holding my mother. "Leave her alone. What the fuck is going on… who is in charge here?", I yelled. For a second all eyes are on me and I just realized I better step up my game even though I felt a trickle of pee wet my pretty polka dot underwear.  "Let her go", I stated a little more calmly, "is she under arrest?" "Stay where you are, you need to stay where you are." The voice was calm yet demanding. It came from this massive dark grotesque man looking up at me from downstairs. He cracked a cynical smile as he caught my attention. I grabbed my mother’s arm and shoved the man holding her against the stair handle. The other pervert who had been harassing me seemed bored looking down at me from the second floor. "Is she is under arrest? Am I under arrest? Do you have a search warrant?", I questioned. "No", he replied. "He is under arrest", he stated as he pointed at my father on the floor. "I wanna see the warrant. I wanna see your search warrant. You all need to get out of our house! If you have a warrant for his arrest then take him outside and show me your search warrant!", I yelled. All of a sudden there was a lot of movement, men were walking around touching things, one of them was still leaning over my father blocking my view. I couldn't see his face. I felt so confused. My mother walks over to my father and leans down to touch his arm, he looks up and holds my stare and I noticed he seemed calm, like he understood. The rest of the morning is more of a blur, there are still images in my head but the one thing that I remember clearly is my father’s face as I dressed him. They had him handcuffed and I pleaded with them to let me dress him before they left. I remember the walk upstairs to his closet and I clearly remember choosing a denim long sleeved shirt that clearly matched the jeans I had selected. I even picked out socks and the nicest sneakers he had. The whole time I was putting on his clothes he held my stare. I could see the pleading in his eyes, I could see the embarrassment, I could see the guilt.. but the entire time I didn’t understand why.

In hindsight, this experience sums up my life. That was the moment where my childhood ended and I realized I was a grown up.. tough to swallow at 17. Most of friends were still thinking about rushing sororities and first semesters in college. And here I was with a clear understanding that adulthood had arrived and smacked me clean in the face.

Melancholy

DEFINITION:
feeling or causing sadness: feeling or making somebody feel a thoughtful or gentle sadness. pensive sadness: a thoughtful or gentle sadness.

Why is it so unacceptable to feel melancholic? I googled the beautiful word and was astounded to find it described as "gentle" in the meaning. Really gentle? How bad can sad be? Everything in life is all about the choice of words selected to describe the moment. If you hear someone say I am sad or I am depressed you are immediately surrounded by negative emotions about a state of mind which can offer moments of existential genius. How many beautiful things have come out of sadness... let's take Woody Allen as an example. He is the epitome of sadness. Well, wouldn't you be if you looked like an albino beetle? Yet his creations inspires many. Agatha Christie, another infamous girl with a frown whose literary works have been the cause of so many bitten off finger nails.

However, you say I am melancholic and they lean in. They lean in awe and wonder because the phrase has caught their attention. Language is a power tool we all have at our finger tips, yet such few actually take the time to pack a good supply as arsenal.

I AM MELANCHOLIC! I stand proud with my frown and hope to find a moment of clarity to transform me.

Good Friday...

Why is it that today is the one day of the year that I actually crave devouring a T-Bone? Let me preface by stating that I have never actually had a T-Bone and probably never will. Is it however to my bewilderment that this morning as soon as I awoke images of mouth watering chunks of beef filled my head.

"You can't eat meat"... my mother's voice playing over and over in my head as I nod away the thoughts. I am not relgious but I am spiritual. Yet, I believe the main reason I follow the "thou shall not eat meat" ritual is to honor my grandmother's memory. Don't get me wrong, I've screwed up several years and engulfed monstrous burgers, but in all honesty, I have completly forgotten the meatless code.

Either way, Happy Easter... another wonderful reason to eat chocolate bunnies.