Endings

After speaking to my counselor, I started thinking about JT and my previous post. I had told her about my rage and how I wanted to just end the friendship. She told me, "Why? It seems he cares for you, and I don't think he tried to hurt you, he just doesn't know any other way."

I thought about this all the way home and discovered something ugly about myself. I am selfish, self-centered, and made this whole thing about ME. Not once did I think about how my giving up on him must have hurt, not to mention my scathing words when I was angry. Looking back, I have always waited for others to fail me in what they promise or vow to me, and I think I may subconsciously do or say things to sabotage my relationships.

I can only think that the roots of my "failure guaranteed" mentality stems from this: In 6th Grade I asked my Dad if I could join Band and play the clarinet. His response was, "I'm going to get you that clarinet, but stick with it. I don't want to put this money into it, and then you end up quitting." I got the clarinet, but I only played that year.

I've always wondered and have asked myself, exactly how much can an eleven year-old try to do and quit to have received that response? It has always been in the back of my mind. As a forty year old woman, however, I can list numerous goals left unaccomplished.

So I apologized to JT for all the mean things I said, for my selfishness, and even for the things that I failed on as well. It's a two-way street, afterall. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that I am not going to wait on him and hope we end up together. I love JT, and I want him in my life as my friend. More than anything, I hope and pray his circumstances improve. I know he's trying, and I will remain by his side and encourage him.

As if coming to terms that something I wanted had to end, someone it had ended with already abruptly came in from left field - and it was most unwelcomed.

"Eric" (not his real name) and I met in 2009 and dated very briefly - about four months. I really liked him a lot, but quite frankly was horribly confused by his words. It seemed he wanted more, but would pull back and remind me we were friends. Ultimately, just when we were getting closer, a failed intimate encounter put everything to a screeching halt. No, I wasn't a bitch about it. Gravity was his enemy and when I tried to smooth it over the next day by telling him that I liked just being with him, he lashed out and told me I had invaded his space for the night, he had been unable to sleep, and was very uncomfortable. Ouch!  I didn't talk to him after that.

Fast forward four months. I got an email from "Eric" and we talked on the phone for a few minutes. Over the next few weeks, we were able to get past what had gone down (no pun intended) and work on our friendship again. At first, everything was really good. I was able to talk to him and he was a source of comfort when I had breakdowns over my sister. We talked politics, about our families, and we prayed together. He went with me to see my Neurologist and he helped me with various things I needed to do, or places I needed to go. He was there when I was involved in the accident I was in that I describe in my post entitled, "Zemblanity".

Yes, I was in love with him, or so I thought. Looking back, I believe I had mistaken my gratitude for love.

It again came to an abrupt end very shortly after JT had contacted me, but the two were unrelated. My circumstances had changed completely in the previous months, and I became bored with my life. Even times with Eric seemed to always be the same. He liked going out in the evenings, and we only went to about four different places. Having gone through a bad marriage and divorce years ago, he was emotionally scarred and seemed to have fears that I just didn't get. His thoughts seemed unconventional. For example, he constantly hounded me about not wearing lotions and perfumes in order to avoid toxins from entering my pores. He removed a single strand of small seashells hanging from my rear view mirror because it would "obstruct" my view. We never went down to San Diego because he feared the hazard of driving on the freeway. He was excruciatingly fearful and his safety precautions were borderline paranoia.

By this time we'd been dating for about 7 months and it seemed like things were well. Deep down, however, I was bored, but pushed it aside and blamed myself for it. I WAS SETTLING. Well, one night as he's driving me home, he tells me the story of a song (hell if I can remember the title or artist) about a man who needs to tell a woman that he's been dating that he sees no future for them. Blah, blah, blah. It wasn't hard to put together. I asked him if he felt that way, why he'd bothered to say "I love you to me". His response was that he loves all his friends. I don't think he was quite expecting so much dialogue about it, and what the jist of the conversation was that he had become "disenchanted" with me, bored (that made two of us), and he did not want to enter a relationship, as it would take his time from his parents, kids, (ALL of whom were out of state) and future grandchildren.

But - - he thought we should remain intimate!! Are you fucking kidding me?? I think I saw him about four more times and I made it very clear the intimacy was over. The very last time I saw him, he essentially verbally castrated himself, telling me he did not have a need for sex. That was the last straw. Not only was I no longer moved to indulge in carnal activity with him, I felt some disgust at his words.

My assessment of him is that he has a Savior Complex, trying to fix others and refusing to see what is wrong with him, which leads me to Narcissism, as he does not acknowledge any wrong that he says or does. He is a kind man, but beneath that is someone who has been damaged to the point of being emotionally unavailable. Damaged to the point that he has psychologically castrated himself.

Back to the recent contact I received from "Eric". He had read my last post about JT and made some assumptions and condescending remarks. Reading his email, it was very obvious he was attempting to incite a reaction. I responded with sharp words telling Eric that he'd made assumptions based only on scraps of information I gave on my blog. I gave him my assessment of him, and told him that while I cannot stop him from reading my blog, he is not to contact me any further. His response? He was trying to joke with me and I had responded negatively. No apology, of course. Narcissistic, judgmental, passive agressive, and out of my life.

Does my previous post look like something to joke about? If we have not communicated with one another in eight months, isn't it clear we're not friends?
If you're reading this, "Eric", for clarification, we are no longer friends.

Goodnight. Medusa out!

JT

I am going through some rage right now. A lot of negative feelings that Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" referred to as the Mean Reds, with a twist of anger. I call it Mean Magenta. I am angry, sad, scared. When I feel this way, I go into a rage. How do I deal with that rage? Medusa appears. She has a sharp tongue and is capable of destruction with words.

Someone I met years ago came back into my life in May 2010. We talked daily, and I fell in love with him. He is a gentleman, is sensitive to others' feelings. He is kind, unselfish, intelligent, and has had some great experiences that I like to listen to. However, I ignored all the warning signs. I thought my love would help him.

I was so wrong. He told me he loved me, wants to marry me, be with me wherever that may be. He even offered to help me relocate to be near my parents. What he did not tell me is that he doesn't have a clue how to do it. He doesn't have the resources, and his health will not permit it. I've tried to encourage him, but he continues to drink. Yes, it's only on the weekends when he works at the club, but he drinks enough for his speech to slur. I have insisted he stop,and he has - twice. However, instead of saying I'm sorry, now he tells me it wouldn't be like that if he was with me. He chose a career of a "professional partier" essentially, and it has taken a huge toll on his health and finances.

I paid for his airfare to visit me, as a loan. I have received one $25 payment in 3 months, and only because I kept insisting on a payment. It looks like I will have to continue to ask for payments, but I am considering writing it off - and him. I know he has had some rough times, but couldn't he send a $5 - - WITHOUT ME HAVING TO ASK? The week that was here was wonderful, but now, I feel ripped off. The memories aren't so great anymore.

If he doesn't even TRY to pay me back, why would I want to live with him, much less marry him?

I'm tired of the apologies after he gets drunk. I am disgusted knowing he's been drinking. I don't know how someone can decide to give up on himself and then expect a woman to have the faith in him that he doesn't have for himself. You have to love yourself first before you can love another.

I love you, but the disappointment, disillusion, and disgust has turned to rage. I feel like Medusa when I think of you, and sometimes when I talk to you.

William

The picture above is from my first grade class. I am

the little girl in the red turtleneck, and William de Herrera,

one of my best friends then, is on my left.

 I don't know if it still is, but back in my day, it was not "normal" for boys and girls to be friends and play at recess together. Yet, one of my best friends was William de Herrera. William, Michael, Vivian, and I often played together at recess, and even had nicknames for each other: Big Mouth, Blabber Mouth, Motor Mouth, and Jabberjaw. The names were always interchangeable; it just depended on who called it first.

There were shrubs against the back wall of Yucca Elementary where Vivian and I would take refuge behind one, and William and Michael would shield themselves behind another. Each one of us was either Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marine Corps, but would fight against each other in pairs of boys vs. girls. For example, Army/Air Force vs. Navy/Marine Corps. We would use the branches of the shrubs as machine guns and make the sound effects of blasting guns and bombs. It never failed, vanity would prevail in the midst of war, and either Vivian or I would scream out, "Hold your fire! I need lipstick!", at which time Vivian and I took time to primp for battle.

William and I attended church at Immaculate Conception and were enrolled in the same First Holy Communion class. We got ticket stubs as points for attendance or some kind of reward, and they were redeemable at the end of the year, when the annual bazaar was held. I remember William and I walking around and looking at the tables to see what we could "buy" with our tickets. William was so sweet, he gave me some of his so I would have enough for a purchase.

I remember his voice, and how sweet he was. If I would have had a brother, William would have been him. We never fought, and I remember him looking out for me. I have always wondered whatever happened to him, and always thought to seek him out to see what we each remember about those days or one another. I am fairly certain William remembered me, and I'm sure fondly.

I have let the tears flow today, and probably will for a couple of days. On the bright side, when it's my turn to go, and I get to the other side, there are some wonderful people that will be there waiting for me. I expect one bad ass party!

William de Herrera

July 27, 1970 to November 2, 2006

Sammy

I had quite a bit of a scare with Sammy (my Angora Mini Lop bunny) last week.

About 2 weeks ago, Sammy's appetite slowed down, and he was sleeping more. Since there was a sudden drop in temperature, and bunnies do slow down during the winter, I thought that's what it was. However, when I noticed on Friday night (Dec. 3) that he had not eaten his pellets, I put fresh apples and cabbage in his cage. He ate, but his feces were black and small - not a good sign.

I took Sammy to his vet on Monday night, and Dr. Gallerstein thought he might be in pain or have the beginning of GI Stasis, a deadly and extemely painful shutdown of their digestive tract. He gave Sammy a prescription and told me to count the feces. I was really, really worried, but with medication and a box of fresh hay, Sammy is now doing very well. He is constantly eating (and pooping), and he seems more alert and happy. It took about 2 days for me to see results, and I made about 6 calls in that time. I was a panicked Mommy!

The very first rabbit I ever had was named Stu. I had bought him for an ex-boyfriend after we'd been playing with him in a pet store, and as we were leaving he stood up as if to ask, "Hey, where y'all going?". Long story short, I found out that this ex had been spanking Stu for no reason, so I took him home with me immediately. Stu loved me so much, when I would pick him up he'd put his paws on my chin and kiss me. Bunnies are not normally so affectionate. Unfortunately, I did not know anything about rabbits. Stu got GI Stasis and died in three days, in agony. I vowed it will never happen again.

Years later, I find Sammy, my Angora Minilop, at a tack and feed store that allows people to drop off their pets and livestock for adoption. It's June, North Inland San Diego when it's hot and dry. I see this strawberry blonde furball in the back of a hutch, trying to escape the sunlight that was inches and minutes (as the sunlight passed) from hitting him directly with no shade. I felt so bad for him, I adopted him. As soon as we got in my car, I put him on the passenger seat, but he hopped over and sat in my lap all the way home. That night, I placed him next to my pillow, and he sat there the entire night.

I decided to name him Sammy after Sam Kennison, the comedian, since my bunny had the same color hair and seemed to have an attitude. He didn't like for me to kiss him. I got nipped on the cheek and lip a few times because he did not approve of my affection. If he hid under or behind furniture, I would use a plastic hanger to scare him out. Instead, he would growl and box the hanger! I thought rabbits were prey...

Months later, Sammy started to go through puberty. I found out what it was the hard way: he was marking me as basically his bitch, by spraying me with urine. I got really tired and pissed of having to clean up, and change my clothes and bedding almost every day. Finally, one day after spraying me, I'd had enough. I got up, yelled at him, and grabbed him by the ears with my right hand. He lunged forward and bit into my left forearm. I had to pull him away, tearing my flesh, because he would not let go. Everyone told me to either take him to the Humane Society or release him out in the desert, where he would surely die.

Remembering his first day with me and how he got close to me immediately, but had defensive mannerisms, I thought there may be underlying reasons for his behavior. I think at some time, he was probably very loved, but maybe someone in his household turned out to be mean to him. So, I had a talk with him. I said, "Sammy, I am the only one who will take care of you. If I don't, you're dead. I love you, and I'm sorry for upsetting you and disrespecting you. Now, you need to respect me. Stop peeing on me and 'marking' me. I'm Mama, not your Girl. Be a good boy and this will work out." He never marked me again, and he only nipped my lip one more time.

It was 2005 when I adopted Sammy. I was very mobile and used to take him out for car rides on the weekends and the park now and then. He knew me when I was at my best, and when I'd gotten worse, and I fell in my room one day, he was scared for me. He ran into his cage, ran in circles, and hopped onto the top shelf of his cage as if to see if I was okay. When I had him neutered and picked him up, I cried and babied him. There was a fire in San Diego in 2007. Since I lived very close to the danger zone, I lined my car seat with blankets, set up food, water, and a makeshift litter box. I took him to work with me every day and left the windows open, checking on him on my breaks and lunch.

In 2009, I found a lump the size of a pea on his chin. He had an absess and it turned out to be in his right cheek as well. He needed surgery, and my poor Sammy had his cheek shaved, and got an inch-long incision in his cheek. I gave him medicine twice a day. When he didn't eat, I force-fed him using a huge syringe and powdered pellets with warm water. I gave him IV's so he would not get dehydrated, and I put him in bed with me at night for comfort.

I am not a hug-a-bunny activist, pardon the pun. I am not a vegetarian, nor a vegan, and I do not belong to or support PETA. I love animals. Our furry companions can't speak to us, but we learn to communicate with each other. Sammy has been in my life through some good times and bad. When I get good news, I pick him up and hold him, as I do, when I am sad. He doesn't hold grudges. He trusts me. I laugh at the things he does. Sammy is my fur angel. I love him and he knows it. I know that when he puts his head on my shoulder and chatters his teeth in contentment, he loves me too!

Tacones

Tacones is Spanish for high heels.  Yes, I could have titled this post "High Heels", but saying it in Spanish sounds sexy.  Say "tacones" as you look in the mirror.  It looks like you're saying something naughty.  That's how I feel when I wear mine...

I will be getting ready to go out in a little while and it just occurred to me, that while I know exactly what I'm going to wear, the shoes will be difficult to decide on.

I have at least 40 pairs of shoes, but only about 8 that I can wear. I no longer wear heels more than an inch and a half tall, and they have to either have an ankle strap, or have a strap that goes across the arch of my foot, so it doesn't accidentally slip off.

My favorite type of shoe has always been ankle straps pumps. They look so demure, yet something about them is incredibly sexy. Perhaps it's the strap, which suggests bondage. I have two pairs that I always wore Salsa dancing because I knew no matter how fast I was turned, the shoe was not going to slip off. The ones I used more were blood-red patent leather, and they attracted a lot of attention, and being the attention whore that I was, I lavished in it.

Heels are better than any chemical that can be ingested or applied, in my opinion. A woman can instantly go from 5'4" to 5'8". You can wear jeans and sneakers and go from kinda frumpy to vavoom with a pair of heels. The walk is transformed gloriously. The legs and back feel longer, the shoulders are squared, and the head is held up. You then walk one leg in front of the other. This makes the hips swing side to side. Wear a low-cut, snug sweater and a pencil skirt, and you are now a vixen. This is the part of my life I miss so much.

I still dress well, wear my make-up, and my hair is nicely coiffed. What I do not have is the heels and the walk that made me the Diva.

I still have those Nine West ankle straps, some silver heeled stilettos that look like sexy biker sandals, black patent-leather Coach maryjanes, others I refuse to do away with. Someday, I will build a showcase of my shoes.   I have great memories tied to them.

So I'm off. Time to get dolled up - just for a couple of errands...

Reminiscing

I've been thinking of my sister an awful lot lately. I mean, I think of her everyday, but she's in my subconscious. She's recently been in the forefront of my mind.

One thing that has been bothering me is that I have forgotten a lot of things in my life. I remember the jist of the event, but not so much the details. Similarly, I cannot remember as much about Daniella as I would love to.

I have so many regrets. I wish this and that, but I will not torture myself with those thoughts. Things were as they were, and not solely of my own volition.

I do have more to be grateful for when it comes to Daniella. I remember us being little and playing cars, school, Barbies, and going outside to play with the neighborhood kids. We liked the same movies. I remember when we were little, Mom and Dad would take us to watch the typical kiddie movies: Snow White, Cinderella, etc. First, it was great because Mom would make burritos and bring candy and sodas, so we had a feast during the movie. It never failed, though. After the movie, as other kids were being escorted out by their parents, my sister and I were sitting there crying and being comforted by out parents. Not because the movie was sad, but because it was OVER!! I have never heard anyone else tell such a pathetic reaction to a movie.

We thought it was cool how some twins have a unique capability of devising a secret language. No we weren't twins, but my sister and I loved going to stores and pretending to have a secret language. We had nonsensical "conversations" which included questions and laughing. I don't even know if people listened to us. I just remember we had fun doing it.

I've been going through counseling ever since Daniella left, but my grief and devastation is not significantly lower. I have her pictures and her beloved Papa Bear in my room, and they make me smile, but I always have this lump in my throat. My sister and I had not been getting along for the previous 5 or 6 years, but thankfully, had made peace with each other. I told her that I love her and didn't want our parents' funerals to be the next time I saw her, and that I don't want to argue with her anymore. My brother-in-law told me she was happy about that. I am, too, but I expected us to be getting closer during this very time period.

One thing that really hurts is that someone she was close to most of her life, and I had become close to as well, is no longer part of my life. There was an incident that resulted in this person verbally assaulting me, making false accusations against me that were so very hateful. Unfortunately, I was in a situation that because of my lack of mobility and other circumstances, I had to shut up. I am still very enraged over this, but I know I need to eventually forgive this person so that God can do His justice. 

My counselor tells me I am doing well with my grief. I suppose I am. I have not given up on my life or my dreams. I think I have done well in being there even more for my parents. I even want to do more now to make my Sister proud of me. My Faith is strong, so I know someday she will greet me and give me a big hug. For now, I want to live my life in the most positive way so that I will see her after my final hour and the other people I have loved in my life.

Until then, I will hold on to the memories.  Memories of us hearing a child fall at church and using our fingers to count the first scream.  Memories of me trying to teach her to dance, and listening to her Pink Panther laugh.  I was blessed to have had her in my life, and she will always be a part of it, always in my heart.

Zemblanity

Serendipity, according to Wikipedia, is "making fortuitous discoveries while looking for something unrelated". An example would be Christopher Columbus seeking a new route to India, and inadvertently discovering America. Zemblanity is the opposite of Serendipity. I find it very curious that this is now a defunct word. So much so, that it is an invalid word for Scrabble. I have no examples other than my story.

Last winter, I was heading to see my mechanic about an oil leak. It was just after sunset, when there is barely any sunlight left, and the streetlights have not gotten to their full brightness. I'm driving along a section of fairly dark road, and I suddenly see an oh-so-brief glimpse of a man either dark-skinned or wearing dark clothing in front of me, with his hand was outstretched in a "STOP!" motion. I seem to remember seeing a flash of turquoise. I then remember hearing a huge "thud" on my car and I remember being pulled over, screaming.

I get out of the car, crying and screaming, "What happened!". I see a woman behind my car, visibly stunned, who indicates she is the man's mother-in-law. Another woman who had been driving behind me had pulled over and asked if I was okay. She said she hadn't seen the man either, and almost hit him after he'd flipped over my car. She gave me a hug and went where the man lay. I sat in my car and waited for the police to come to my car. The questioning is somewhat of a blur. I remember only telling them the brief details that I remember.. I try not to guess anything, because dispite my shock, I know how these things can come back to haunt you.

I am stunned and don't remember anything during that time period except that I did not have my car for about a month, my performance at work became unsatisfactory, oh, and the man died the following day. He was 61, and his wife and mother-in-law were picking him up after work. He was on the south side of the street and crossed to meet them on the north side, and had J-walked in front of me from my left. An investigating officer spoke to me a couple of weeks after, explaining in detail all of the forensics that had been done on my car and the road. I was driving under the speed limit, braked, and tried to steer out of the way. In essence, I was told, there was nothing I could have done to avoid the accident, I did everything I could to avoid it, and had he lived, he would have been cited.

How do I feel? Disgusted. Talking to the officer helps ease my conscience. I then get angry. How could that man do this to his family, taking such a risk?  Why didn't his wife pick him up on the other side of the street? Having lost my sister back in July, nothing could come close to being so tragic. I don't feel guilty. I feel that God has His plan, and this man's time was up. For whatever reason, God chose me to deliver him. I can't question it, and I don't have the energy to get angry at God. I'm still dealing with my sister being gone. I make an emotional "bookmark" of this and continue on...

Medusa

Medusa was a beautiful priestess in Athena's temple. She and Poseidon " Lord of the Sea" lay together in Athena's temple and out of rage, Athena turned Medusa's beautiful tresses into serpents, and her face so terrible to behold that she would turn anyone who looked at her into stone. Medusa has since become womens's icon for rage. I have entertained the thought for many years of getting a Medusa tramp stamp.

I read my friend's blog today and it broke my heart. Her grandfather passed away, and she'd had a dream about his passing and thought of one of his favorite songs just hours before she had found out the terrible news. I can't help but think it was him telling her he had left. I was very saddened because in reading about his life, I wish I'd known him. I would loved to have listened to him talking about his travels, his adventures, his loves, his losses. I guess I'm just very sentimental, or maybe I was channeling her loss. I just have not been able to get rid of this lump in my throat.

On Facebook today, someone I've not talked to or seen in 20 years gave me a Friend Request. Of course I accepted! Mike is someone I met 20 years ago on a plane from San Diego to El Paso when I was returning from visiting Missy on January 3, 1990. Mike and I had been checking each other out since the plane departed San Diego, and when it stopped in Phoenix, I moved and sat by him...not him come sit by ME; I was the "aggressor". We talked continuously until we reached El Paso, but we did not say goodbye there. We continued to talk over the next few months, and he went to Alamogordo to see me about six months later. Yes, we had a hot weekend. We wanted more, but there were issues, like he was in San Diego--oh, yeah, and I was engaged. So he calls me as soon as I accept his friend request, and we spent about three hours talking and reminiscing. He tells me he's been looking for me for years, especially the past five--and I was the love of his life. Woah...

So ANYway...

I just read someone's blog bitchin' and bellyachin' (as Liberals do) about Arizona's SB1070 Bill. He called upon the Tea Party to intercede because they "stand against intrusion by government against the rights of individuals". Does this guy not know what the Tea Party back in 1773 was a revolt dealing with TAXES?? Therefore, would common sense not tell Idiot that the New American Tea Party has to do with taxes? Infact, the Tea Party Movement is a "coalition of citizens and organizations concerned with the recent trend of fiscal recklessness in government". Additionally, the Tea Party is all about the Constitution and vehemently against the Governments refusal to adhere to it. Illegals receiving financial aid of any kind and NOT being deported is clearly non-adherence to the Constitution. I think he means the ACLU. God knows those pieces of Liberal shit stand up for anything. Remember when they defended NAMBLA?? Google that one. It infuriates me to see someone make blanket statements and not back them up. Liberals use the same lines that are fed to them by that Pelosi C.U.N.extT.uesday and her puppet, B.H.O. Rarely do they use statistics or facts. Rarely do they take the time to truly educate themselves about the issues. SB1070 is clearly unread and misunderstood.

Tonight I went out for coffee with Rich. We talked, but our conversations are just not as heartfelt (on my part) anymore. He asks questions, trying to seek something to talk about, and I am a little short and just say "yes" or "no, no, no". He thinks after telling me he won't ever marry me that things will stay the same: hugging, kisssing, sex. Right. I am deliberately showing him the difference now. I don't kiss him. I don't see him everyday. I tell him about Mike. I don't tell him about Clyde, but I do let him know that there are men that want me. I am certain that he will someday regret letting me go. I just hope he tells me someday so I can gloat internally. He will not be the first. Many have come back years later, telling me how much they missed me, how much they learned from me, how much they regretted letting me go. I can't help but think that in that sense, I have affected them in a Medusa sort of way.

Esperanza

Esperanza is my Catholic Confirmation name, which is Spanish for Hope, and that is something I am putting into this new medication -- and that God agrees with me on it.

I got in touch with my cousin, Chem, today. Yes, it's pronounced like it's spelled, not "kem" like some sci-fi killer doctor. We were discussing the family, and I told her how my Dad has an even stronger sense of loyalty to my Mom's side of the family after my sister's death. My cousins Cindy, Francisco, his wife, and my Tia Nicky (on my Mom's side) either flew in or drove 5-6 hours just to attend my sister's funeral. The whole time I was in Arlington I don't recall my Dad's phone ringing with HIS side asking about my sister as she lay in a coma, or checking on Dad after she'd died. Then again, I wasn't paying attention to much, but I am a little pissed about that. Okay, as my therapist would say, I'm hurt, but that I use anger as a defense. What's the difference? Hurt, pissed, these are feelings that I've mastered at suppressing or resolving on my own. Besides, I get motivated to act when I'm angry. Sadness is for wimps and doesn't accomplish anything but self-pity and crying. Somewhere in my subconscious is a boneyard full of gnarliness and mournful, angry spirits waiting to arise. I'll bookmark this and revisit later. For now, I'll supress it.

Didja get that, Chris?

FlorEspinoza

Florespinoza is derived from my Grandmothers' maiden names. Francisca Flores was my Maternal Grandmother's name. She died around 1940 of cervical cancer. My Paternal Grandmother, Mama Pepa, was Josefa Espinoza. I remember Mama Pepa at her kitchen table, sewing, when I was little. She made Papa Bear, Daniella's teddybear, a cute cordorouy suit. Rob was gracious enough to give him to me after Daniella left, and I have him in it, sitting on my desk. So when you put the two names together as FlorEspinoza, it translates to "thorny flower", which is how I feel sometimes. My mother likes the name.

Losing my balance and my mobility slowing down has been devastating to me. I was that confident, bitchy and girly-girl that women admired but were jealous of, wearing the high heels working my ghetto bootie with the side to side ass-movement, just like a runway walk. I liked wearing my low-cut blouses for slight jiggle effect (because they're firm, not flabby), or not-TOO-short skirts showing off my thick thighs and accentuating my bubble butt. I was always nicknamed "Sexy Raquel", but made sure never to venture to the sleazy side. I always had somewhere to go, and made a presentation of it, as I do have a great sense of style and flair. Boy, did I work it!

My passion, and perhaps my biggest loss, is dancing. I was getting pretty damn good at Salsa, and my ass is perfect for Merengue. I had developed my style of flutter-step for Cha-Cha, and loved doing my "disco" flairs with my arms and hands. The Salsa scene is like a caste society, especially at Cafe Sevilla. An excellent dancer may choose to dance with a lower-level dancer, but that lower-level cannot dance "up". I was gradually moving up, frequently dancing with one "upper-level" man I used to love watching. Then again, maybe he danced with me because I'd slept with him a couple of times, so he knew I had good rhythm. Regardless, dancing is my passion, and I refuse to believe I will never dance again. I'm just calling it a hiatus, and will take up Tango and perhaps Samba (a very difficult Brazillian dance) when I make my return debut.

I subscribed to my friend's blog, and another guy whose name escapes me. I feel like quite the novice having read them both. They are really great writers and have links and everything attached to their blogs. I feel like the Freshman on the Varsity football team. I can attach photos, but links? Songs? Videos? Fuggetaboutit.

I'm listening to the Tropical station on Music Choice TV right now. It's Fania All Stars, and I feel a stirring in my gut and pain in my heart. I'm holding back tears because the desire to move and dance is so intense. Me siento como una flor espinoza en este momento...