A girl can hope right?

Or maybe I should just let it go? I like this girl, I can’t deny it. But it’s all about timing. For about a week I hadn’t heard too much from her, until I told her I for reals want to hang out before she leaves for spring break. I felt like I was even annoying her, because she had midterms that week and l was probably the last thing on her mind. But she tried to reassure me that she also wants to hang out and “see where we are at.”
Welp, I guess in the end my mind had changed a bit, and hers went the other direction. She doesn’t know what she wants and I guess in the end neither do i. But I never do. All I know is that everything just kind of melts when I’m around her.

Like when she sang a Corinne Bailey Rae cover at this open mic a couple weeks ago. I had to turn away for a second…melt.

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Totally digging her

And the feeling seems to be mutual, but I haven’t actually heard her say it. I also have a feeling with all the shit I’ve been going through, that she just doesn’t want to get involved. I mean quite honestly, I don’t know who would. Life’s pretty crazy right now, and I really don’t expect anyone to be around for it. I also already told her to avoid getting the hero syndrome, like when someone just wants to swoop in and save you from whatever the hell is bringing you down. I told her no matter who it is, her, my family or friends, no one can change my mind but me. I’d like to think I’m doing a damn good job considering the circumstances.
Now I can’t help but think about what Sally calls the “self fulfilling prophecy.” That because I have these thoughts, thats the exact direction my life will head.
So I guess in this, and in general, I’m trying to stay positive but give space. Because shit, I bet I can get annoying.

Being alone…

Isn’t too bad when you have some things in your life to make it easier. Like a heat pack! My back and shoulders are constantly in knead of a massage. Bah! I know stupid. But a heat pack helps. I feel asleep with one on my shoulders last night and I feel absolutely amazing today. I massaged some kinks and knots and although only a professional could get them out, the attention I was finally paying to myself paid off. Hm, what next? A little self tlc goes a long way.

How To Be Alone

A friend just posted this on Facebook. I recently cut out someone from my life, Cigarette Lips. It took him a while to say the words, “I don’t feel the same for you as you do me,” even after asking him 4 times to say those words aloud. With his hesitation, and his hysterical begging to still talk to him afterwards, I realized he was full of shit. A part of me still wants him to admit how he feels, but he said what I asked him to instead. In the end, I’m left having to take those words and act on them. I know I’m terrible at getting over him since I definitely failed the first time around. But this video, this small reminder that I can at least be okay with being alone. I forget how valuable I am, just me, alone. My thoughts and work and actions and singing and dancing and all my ability and love. I have so much to offer, I forget to offer it to myself.

So although I can’t control who I end up falling in love with, I can remember to keep my love for myself burning strong. Because I should, I can, and I deserve it.

Cigarette lips and my intern

About 2 weeks ago she said she hadn’t hung out with him in over a month. Recently his name has come up in my stories about my day and I have a feeling that’s why she’s been making an effort to see him. He’s suddenly attractive to her. And he’s completely into the attention. It’s awkward on many levels. I’m friends with my intern, and of course, she’s my intern. So that puts me in a weird position–a place where I’m helpless and can only walk away. I guess that’s that.

Bitter feminist.

First, lets start off with the correct definition of feminism. It’s simply wanting equality between men and women. That is all.
Any argument that feminism equals misandry is void. I will not hear it because it is not the same.
And onward.
Lately, I’ve internalized chauvinistic acts and have come to a realization. No, these acts aren’t a new thing for me. I’ve been hooted and hollered at since before my cycle, by grown men (or should I say boys?) A child, yup a kid, getting cat calls every time I walked down the street. Growing up with it I had to learn to push my emotional hurt aside. Like many women, I grew numb to it and would shrug it off like it was expected. It got to the point that when conversing on a walk I wouldn’t even skip a step, in my stride and my speech.
I used to be a feminist that like to view myself as balanced when faced with these encounters. But I can honestly say that I’ve grown extremely bitter. I absolutely hate that I’m bitter. Please ignore the redundancy in that.
An incident last night has left me dumbfounded and enlightened at the same time. My friend (formerly known in a past post as Cigarette Lips, now lets call him Jason Segel) someone I always speak highly of and whom I can say I was in love with at one point in my life, felt it okay to feel me up–in front of people, during conversation. Granted, it was a party setting and drinking was definitely involved. However, never did I think he’d do that, especially because of his awareness of my feminist views.
Long story short, it blew up. We argued through text and probably used attitude and sarcasm we shouldn’t have. In the end, there were a couple things he said that stuck with me.
1. I won’t quote him to spare sharing people’s names, but he compared my reaction to the way a mutual friend of ours might handle a situation. This mutual friend is quite misunderstood, I think. When people ask, “why are you offended by that?” he throws back, “well why aren’t you?” And sure I may have thrown that same question back at Jason in a different way, but this mutual friend also struggles with chronic depression. Him and I do not handle situations the same way, nor are our minds and chemical balances or imbalances the same. Not to mention our personalities. However, what irked me about this remark the most was that this mutual friend of ours is always referred to as too feminine in his emotions, as if that’s a bad thing. Also, why must having and showing them be a strictly male or female characteristic? Because thus far, society has instilled in boys that crying should be left to girls? Because its a sign of weakness and boys should not be weak? I mean this is a common topic nowadays as these norms are constantly being questioned and redefined. I guess I just wanted to point out the underlying reason why his remark bugged the crap out of me. The entire analysis behind his reasoning and the rest of society’s view on it could easily be left for its own post. Onward.
2. I told him it upset me that he “joked” at my expense. He retorted with, “at what expense was it to you? I acted like a fool in front of our friends.” Okay. Deep breath. Okay.
Yeah, no.
At what expense is it to me? Really? How about the fact that my body is just that, my own body. Not some fucking plush toy sitting on a shelf with a sticker on it that says TRY ME. I’m sorry I’m not sorry that you acted a fool and got embarrassed more so by my reaction than the fact that you acted a fool in the first place, in front of our friends. Let me just go ahead and stick something up your ass in front of everyone and see if you think I did it at no expense to you. You know, I bet you’ll be super comfortable with it and feel not at all violated. No, not at all. Then let me turn the attention to myself and play the victim, because I was so hurt by how I, myself, chose to act a fool in the first place.
And this is the underlying mentality in most men that irks me to my core.
What is it that is instilled in young boys that makes them grow up thinking that crossing into our personal space, moreover touching our private areas, shouldn’t make us feel like it was done at our expense? Is it the usual story of little Johnny chasing little Sally around the playground no matter how loud or how many times Sally says to stop? When this story arises in conversation, what do people usually call it? Usually not what it is, which is harassment. “Oh little Johnny is just being a boy, you know how boys are.” Of course I know “how boys are.” I grew up being sexually harassed and cat called, and I was told to ignore it instead of addressing this deep-rooted issue. This misconception that it is pure instinct to fondle a girl at a young age needs to be corrected. No, it is not instinct. What if little Johnny doesn’t “grow out of it?” Treating sexual harassment as a phase in a little boys life is like cutting weeds from the garden instead of tearing them out from the roots. It’s going to come back, and we better hope not with a vengeance. So why not a new tactic? Seems like the one used in society now and in the past hasn’t curbed sexual harassment. How about treating sexual harassment for all ages as a bad thing? Hm. What a concept. And I wish it was that simple. We’re up against the rest of history, one that made it the norm to objectify women, and one that is obviously still in effect today.
I told my friend last night, not Jason, that I thank Mother Nature for bringing me into this world in the decade I was born. That I would have hated the housewife lifestyle of the 50’s and the corsets at the turn of the century. However, the idea behind those mentalities still exists, which makes me wish I was born in year 3013.
Can I please just have my personal space and my private parts respected? Nope, I guess that’s asking too much.

What’s my price?

He got my attention and motioned me closer to him to hear what he had to say.

“What’s your price?”

“Excuse me?” I asked, sure that I heard what I had heard, hoping that I hadn’t.

“What’s your price?” He repeated.

His two friends said nothing, but they grew uncomfortable looking at how my face changed to anger.

“Don’t you fucking look at me, touch me, or talk to me again if you don’t want to get fucking punched in the face, you fucking asshole. Go suck your own dick.”

I turned around to the faces of my friends, confused about what just occurred. I can feel him behind me still looking.

“Do you want to go?” My friend Evangelista asked.

I tried to play it cool, like I cared only to tell him off, then when I did it was all okay.

“Whatever you guys want to do.” But I could see their eyes looking passed me at that sorry excuse of a human.

“Let’s just go,” She said, taking hold of my arm. I knew she could feel me trembling.

The second we got out into the filthy street, they all asked what happened.

They couldn’t believe it, just like I couldn’t the first time I heard it. Then a slew of comments:

“You don’t even look like that, what the fuck were they thinking?”

“He was drunk and just an asshole, don’t even listen to him.”

“Yeah, don’t let him get to you.”

My heart was racing.

And not even a minute into our walk, I saw Evangelista react to someone touching her ass as we walked by. She gave him the dirtiest look, then continued walking.

My insides were turning.

“Look at that place! It’s playing latino music! Maybe we should go there,” She suggested.

“Well, it can go one of two ways,” I told her. “It can either be amazing, and no one will talk to us or try to touch us, or it can be the complete opposite and the most sleazy place in town.”

So we took our chances. I bought myself a huge Corona with lime and salt to shake off the tension, then we danced the night away until our heals asked us to give our feet a break. By the time 2am rolled around, we were ready to head back. Evangelista’s idea to take our chanced at that cantina was the first great idea of the night.

We parted ways with some friends. Evangelista, Green Eyes and I all walked back down the street the way we came, trying to stay friendly to our feet as we continually sped up.

Two minutes later…

“Hey Mami! Get me some of that!” This huge black truck drives by slowly, so they could get a good look at the human beings they consider pieces of meat.

“Fuck off,” I said, along with the universal signal. But they weren’t giving up.

The other two girls sped up, not saying a word.

I realized they weren’t going to say anything, so something ridiculous and quiet hilarious took over me.

“You’re fucking ugly!” I shouted at them. They sped off embarrassed, while people around us laughed.

“My sister always did that to gross guys growing up. I was always embarrassed by it, but now I get it.” I spoke fast and confidently, trying to mask my nerves. “It’s empowering to embarrass them instead, especially when you have no other way to gain that power. My sister was right, it feels great!”

I had a false sense of hope that I could have some sort of control over such an uncomfortable situation.

Not even 5 minutes later, I witnessed this hideous gross excuse of a man smack Green Eyes’s ass. She turned and glared at him. I realized she wasn’t going to say a word to him, so I turned around and started walking towards him.

“Don’t! Just stop! It won’t do anything!” She yelled at me.

So I stopped. But my brains were screaming at me, and at him. My insides were still walking with all their might towards him, and my heart was so tense I swore it would tear itself into shreds. But my knees were completely weak.

“I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

I completely broke down.

All the feelings that I had been pushing deeper inside me were just spilling out onto the disgusting, grey concrete. My tears were non-stop.

“I’m strong, I know. But I’m not strong enough for this. Not anymore.”

Green Eyes took hold of my left arm, lifting it up in case my knees would give.

“Let’s just get a cab,” Evangelista said, “None of this is worth it at this point. You’ve completely broken down.”

Her second great idea of the night.

We all squeezed in the back seat of a small taxi, not wanting to be more than a few inches from each other. It was too uncomfortable to be apart.

My eyes were puffing, I could feel their weight. My nose began to run. My mouth ran too, repeating itself over and over, “I’m so angry. I mean look at us. How pathetic is this world that we have to catch a taxi to avoid being touched by disgusting men?”

The second the cab driver heard me crying he turned down the music. It was like he wanted to respect whatever mood we were in. After what I said, I could tell he was listening. It didn’t stop me.

“I hate men right now. I really do.”

“Something needs to change, something big,” Said Green Eyes.

“Yeah, and the fact that you’re so upset by it makes me rethink how I reacted,” said Evangelista. “You being upset tells me that it’s not okay. I’m just so numb to it.”

“But that isn’t okay! You can’t be numb to it. Half the problem is that fact that we let men do it.”

I didn’t mean to scold them. But I couldn’t stand my best friends being violated, then watching them brush it off because they feel helpless to the situation. We have more power than we think.

“But what were you going to do?” Asked Green Eyes, “You had no clue if he was dangerous. He could have hurt you if I had let you go up to him.”

I bit my tongue. I knew she was right but my boiling blood didn’t want her to be.

“So we’re fucked. No matter what we do we’re fucked. I feel so fucking trapped it hurts.”

We arrived to the apartment, handed the guy the fare and got out as quickly as possible. The second we entered the room we completely unwound.

“How funny it is that a place that isn’t yours suddenly feels like home in times like these,” Evangelista said, wiping up some smeared eyeliner from under her eyes.

That night I had the weirdest dream. I was in my kitchen cooking up some food, when I noticed the ugliest cockroach I had ever seen. It was huge, absolutely enormous. I wasn’t scared of it, but I set down newspaper over it to step on it so many times that my kitchen was covered in newsprint. And it still got away. I turned to the roach spray, but I missed every time.

Then I woke up to the sound of my Evangelista’s voice.

“I just had a dream about a cockroach,” I whined.

“Awww, you’re so cute,” Green Eyes said to me, making me feel like I was 10 just waking up from a nightmare.

But then I sat their as they got ready, and I began to pick at my own brain.

Men, or should I say boys, like that are vermin to me. They are the scum of the earth and I only hope that one day they will learn at any cost to them what it feels like to be looked at as inferior. But as vermin that creep around an infested kitchen, these sad excuses for men creep around our lives never to leave. Until we make them. Until other men help correct them.

“I’ve got a solution,” I told them.

“Wait what? For what?” They asked.

“For these sad excuses of men that continually demean women.” I said, softly and somewhat lost in thought. “I’m going to get one of those blow dart things. The solution on the end of the dart? I’m not sure, yet. But what I’m sure of is that it’s small enough to conceal it anywhere. The next time some fucking asshole grabs my ass I’m going to turn around and shoot him in his ass. Maybe he’ll pass out from it, I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

“What the fuck? That’s hilarious!” The girls congratulated me on my plan.

It’s been two days ever since that night, and I’m still nauseous with anger.

Howdy Doody

On the phone with Ms. Irish Fire.

Me: Hey you awake? I’m coming over to get the keys.

Ms. Irish Fire: Ok I’m up!

Get to the house and go up to her room.

Me: Here’s some yogurt…(setting it down on her desk, then realizing a used condom is right next to my hand. She doesn’t notice it’s there.)

Me: Goddamit, Ms. Irish Fire. There’s a used condom. Well, there’s some yogurt. See you in a bit! (leave non-challantly)

Ms. Irish Fire: (as I walk away) Oh Goddamit! I thought I cleaned everything up!

Me: “Closed for season” my ass.

conversation with Ms. Irish Fire during a 3 hour car ride from point a to point b.

1 hour into the drive:

Me: I don’t know what he wants. I mean I do, like all men they just want to get in your pants. But he may want more.

Ms. Irish Fire: Well do you want more?

Me: No. I can’t do that right now. He’s great but I’m not ready for that. And I don’t want to just sleep with him. I can’t do that.

Ms. Irish Fire: Yeah, well. Just go with your gut feeling.

Me: Yeah I will..

1.5 hours into the drive:

Me: I don’t know, maybe something will happen. I guess I have to talk to him and see what’s up.

Ms. Irish Fire: Yeah, ask him what he wants first. It’ll give you an idea of where he is emotionally. You are going to say the same thing no matter what anyway. You aren’t ready for a relationship.

Me: I just don’t want to hurt him, but we’re already in too deep and people will be hurt. But I don’t know, maybe something will happen.

Friend: I thought you said it wouldn’t.

Me: I don’t know!

2 hours into the drive:

Ms. Irish Fire: I’m just in some kind of mood!

Me: Oh my god! Me too! I just want to make out with someone. I mean you’ll be doing that tonight won’t you? Oh dang girl! He be all up in your goody snacks!

Ms. Irish Fire: Naw I won’t be giving him my goody snacks, just making out.

Me: Yeah right…”Closed For Season” my ass. I found a condom on your desk this morning and you said you weren’t having sex!

Ms. Irish Fire: I know! That was hilarious! Goddamn!

Me: Yup! Wasn’t even surprised and I didn’t even skip a beat.

Ms. Irish Fire: I know! We’re at that point in our friendship where it doesn’t even matter anymore! You were so casual! Well I’ll be seeing The Neighbor tonight, and I swear we’ll just be making out! He asked to have sex, and I was like “Nope! You ain’t getting up on my Howdy Doody.”

Me: Howdy doody?! What the fuck? Goddamnit, the shit you come up with.

(silence)

Me: Damnet, now I’m feeling some kind of way. Goddamit.

Ms. Irish Fire: Yup, now you’ll have him all up on your howdy doody…

Me: Stop calling it that!

Ms. Irish Fire: ALLLL UP in your HOWDY DOODY!

Me: Goddamit. Making out with someone could be nice.

Ms. Irish Fire: Yup, all up in your howdy doody.

Me: Nope, not having sex with him. Maybe just making out, I mean it’s not more than we’ve already done.

2.5 hours into the drive:

Me: Goddamit! Now I’m all feeling some kind of way!

Ms. Irish Fire: Right?! Now we’re both in a mood. Howdy Doody and shit.

Me: Fuck it, why not?

Ms. Irish Fire: I thought you weren’t gonna have sex with him.

Me: Yeah but he’s hot and makes me feel some kind of way. And you have no room to talk!

Ms. Irish Fire: Um no! I told him to back off my howdy doody. Back off my howdy doody! Back off!

Me: Stop calling it that!

2.45 hours into the drive:

Me: Fuck it. I’m having sex with him.

Ms. Irish Fire: Yeah I thought so. Godammit. Howdy doody!!!

5 minutes later:

Ms. Irish Fire: (pointing at a billboard of weird looking sausages, and sounding unsure) That billboard makes me feel some kind of way.

Me: They look like dicks!

laughing

Me: Damnet, how old are we?

Ms. Irish Fire: Howdy doody! Howdy doody!

Pulling into the driveway:

Ms. Irish Fire: Notice what happened in a 3 hour span of time. You went from saying no completely, to making out and having some fun, to having sex.

Me: Fuck, you’re so right. Welp, at least I’ll enjoy it.

Get home to find our water is shut off because the water company fucked up our account.

Ms. Irish Fire: Well I need to shower, I’ll probably just go to The Neighbor’s house.

Me: So he’s gonna be all over your howdy doody?

Ms. Irish Fire: No! just making out!

Me: You’ll be naked and in the shower, you really don’t think he’ll be all up on your goody snacks?

Ms. Irish Fire: No I won’t let him!

Me: Yeah, uh huh. Well let me know how that pressure is in that shower….

awkward silence

Me: Yeah, you know the water pressure. Not his. But that’s what you were thinking so that means you’re totally having sex.

Ms. Irish Fire: No I’m not! Why don’t you believe me?!

Me: bullshit…

And now we wait and see.

Saved

I find it quiet hilarious
that one of the things you didn’t like about me
you ended up doing
not as easy as it looks, is it?
Okay, maybe not hilarious,
but ironic that the heatheness in me
only spread to you
all while you were trying to save me
from my love of affection and hate of its opposing factors
I enjoy the seconds and years of my life I have spent
exploring beautiful beings Mother Nature created
Save me
Save me mother from the nature of the beast
Save me from yourself and the fake attitude you call believing
while believing is not knowing fact
is not always victorious when written by men many years ago
So listen here
Listen and hear the voice of a victorious woman
Living a life of love and affection
Saving the life of the little girl she used to be
A woman proud to have failed and lost
Failed at her highest and lowest
Only to rise and greet mother nature once more
Save me
Save me mother, save me
But don’t save me for the wrong reasons.

The strength of the women in my life.

My grandmother moved to the United States from Mexico when she was in her 20’s, looking for work to feed my mother. She gave up everything she knew to start a new life. However, immigration told her she could only choose one, a life in Mexico, or one in the Unites States. Under her agreement, she was not allowed to declare residency in the United States, and even if she did, she was not allowed to travel across the border. She did both. My grandmother couldn’t go two years without seeing her daughter.

My mother crossed the border with a student visa when she was 9. She excelled in school, way more than any other kid. The education system here has never been the best. She grew up in an era of racism, gang wars, and through the second wave of feminism. She bought mens 501s and sat in bathtubs of blue waters to fit them to her female curves. She sewed her own prom dresses and wore her hair long and wavy like a true Californian. And through it all, she never got along with her step-dad, who treated her like a servant–demanding the world and more from her. And although I wish she had it easier, as no one should wish hardship on others, it made her the strongest woman I know. Her nurturing raised me, my sister, my friends, and children we have never seen again since their grade school years. She taught us all how to hold pencils and ride bikes, how to be polite and how to stand up for our own beliefs. She’s a powerhouse of a being who isn’t afraid to admit her faults and never feels the unknown. And I love her so.

Recently, my mother told me a story about her crossing the border. My grandmother had illegally crossed back to Mexico after illegally declaring residency so she could visit my mother, numerous times. On my grandmothers cross back to the United States, with my mom’s small hand in hers, the immigration guard checking their papers said to them, “I knew it. I knew there was a reason you kept crossing back over. I’ve checked your papers each time and something told me not to turn you in. She’s your reason.”

There are good people in this world. Sometimes they don’t know it, and most of the time the rest of the world doesn’t see it. If it weren’t for that guard keeping it silent, I may not be here today, my mother probably wouldn’t either and my grandmother could have been in huge trouble. But here we are.

And the strength of the women in my family. They are all so beautifully strong. I can only hope I have a sliver of that strength in myself.

Happy United States Mother’s Day!