Since everything I've been writing lately is shit...
Here's what you get, you get fucking pictures of puppies. You don't like puppies? I don't know what to tell you, get help.
Crazy-Ass Gringos
Ever seen a well-meaning Mexican suddenly get caught up in a conversation with a crazy-ass Gringo? Maybe you don't notice these things as much as I do, but I seem to see it pretty often. Today outside a deli, a nice Mexican couple that barely spoke more than a sentence of English is listening politely to this dude who is out of his damn gourd.
"I'm sayin to them, don't make me wait till Monday, by Monday I'll be in Bellvue! You know what I'm sayin?" says, crazy-ass Gringo. The nice Mexican couple just nod their heads at him smiling uncomfortably and doing their best to listen intently.
And its sad to me, cause they don't just get to walk away from this crazy guy like we American citizens do. They feel obligated to stand there listening to crazy-ass Gringo go on as long as he wants to because they feel guilty for even being on our streets. It doesn't matter for a second that they make the best damn tacos at the stand on the corner; they have no right to walk away from this mess. They may even have to give this guy a dollar just so he can shut up and they can get back to work.
Later, I get on the train and a similar situation, well not really, but still, crazy American citizen vs. well-meaning illegal aliens. Crazy-Crack Gringo gets on the train going on about how he got in a shelter and all, but now he needs extra spending money (for crack), so won't you please, give it up.
A moment later, this trio of Mariachis (they have the uniforms on and everything) come through the same cart with their instruments, holding them like you know they have skills. They would've gladly played a nice little diddy for some extra dough, but crazy-crack gringo is so loud, they can't. Plus the Mariachi's know they have no right to compete with the citizen, even if he is really loud and annoying and out his damn mind on crack.
So, off they go on their merry little way. Quite humbly I might add. Off to play something nice and uplifting for another cart that I wished I was on instead.
"I'm sayin to them, don't make me wait till Monday, by Monday I'll be in Bellvue! You know what I'm sayin?" says, crazy-ass Gringo. The nice Mexican couple just nod their heads at him smiling uncomfortably and doing their best to listen intently.
And its sad to me, cause they don't just get to walk away from this crazy guy like we American citizens do. They feel obligated to stand there listening to crazy-ass Gringo go on as long as he wants to because they feel guilty for even being on our streets. It doesn't matter for a second that they make the best damn tacos at the stand on the corner; they have no right to walk away from this mess. They may even have to give this guy a dollar just so he can shut up and they can get back to work.
Later, I get on the train and a similar situation, well not really, but still, crazy American citizen vs. well-meaning illegal aliens. Crazy-Crack Gringo gets on the train going on about how he got in a shelter and all, but now he needs extra spending money (for crack), so won't you please, give it up.
A moment later, this trio of Mariachis (they have the uniforms on and everything) come through the same cart with their instruments, holding them like you know they have skills. They would've gladly played a nice little diddy for some extra dough, but crazy-crack gringo is so loud, they can't. Plus the Mariachi's know they have no right to compete with the citizen, even if he is really loud and annoying and out his damn mind on crack.
So, off they go on their merry little way. Quite humbly I might add. Off to play something nice and uplifting for another cart that I wished I was on instead.
Grandma
My dad and I were talking the other night about my grandmother who passed away last year at 103 years old. He said that he and my aunts had been discussing her secret to a long happy life a lot lately. He said there were three crucial things they'd realized about the way my grandmother lived:
1. She found joy in the little things. Walks, drinking tea, chatting with a stranger at the supermarket, chatting with anyone for that matter (she was very social).
2. She always tried to bring harmony into any situation. If you ever talked badly to her about someone or had a fight, she would immediately explain why so and so must be understood and the hard time they were going through. In other words, she always strove to see it from the other person's perspective.
3. She never tried to compete with men.
See, number three is where I think my dad is mistaken. The truth is, my grandmother never tried to compete with men because she felt they were actually the weaker sex and that because of this, as women, should treat them very delicately. I know this because whenever any of the men in our family acted out (especially my mean grandfather) she would look at me with such pity in her eyes and say "pobrecito" (poor thing). She really felt sorry for them. She felt the male ego was very fragile and so out of her sense of kindness never, ever tried to challenge it.
As for us girls, she expected nothing but strong, upright behavior. She accepted no nonsense from us-ever.
I do think number three was dad's subtle way of sending me a message. I have always been willful, argumentative, and competitive with men (including him) whenever I felt challenged. But, don't get me wrong. It's because unlike my grandmother, I see men as my equals. I believe in men. I think they are strong and capable in a way my grandma never did. She never gave my grandfather any shit (even when he really deserved it), but how sad that is to me, because it only meant she never really believed in his ability to change or grow.
Make no mistake, I still think my grandmother was an amazing and strong woman, but I'd also like to think she brought forth a new generation of women in our family. The fighters, the believers...and me.
1. She found joy in the little things. Walks, drinking tea, chatting with a stranger at the supermarket, chatting with anyone for that matter (she was very social).
2. She always tried to bring harmony into any situation. If you ever talked badly to her about someone or had a fight, she would immediately explain why so and so must be understood and the hard time they were going through. In other words, she always strove to see it from the other person's perspective.
3. She never tried to compete with men.
See, number three is where I think my dad is mistaken. The truth is, my grandmother never tried to compete with men because she felt they were actually the weaker sex and that because of this, as women, should treat them very delicately. I know this because whenever any of the men in our family acted out (especially my mean grandfather) she would look at me with such pity in her eyes and say "pobrecito" (poor thing). She really felt sorry for them. She felt the male ego was very fragile and so out of her sense of kindness never, ever tried to challenge it.
As for us girls, she expected nothing but strong, upright behavior. She accepted no nonsense from us-ever.
I do think number three was dad's subtle way of sending me a message. I have always been willful, argumentative, and competitive with men (including him) whenever I felt challenged. But, don't get me wrong. It's because unlike my grandmother, I see men as my equals. I believe in men. I think they are strong and capable in a way my grandma never did. She never gave my grandfather any shit (even when he really deserved it), but how sad that is to me, because it only meant she never really believed in his ability to change or grow.
Make no mistake, I still think my grandmother was an amazing and strong woman, but I'd also like to think she brought forth a new generation of women in our family. The fighters, the believers...and me.
I take it all back...
I want a normal life. I want to learn to bake and make quilts. I want a porch and a yard. I want the neighbors to ask me for a pinch of salt. I want to make jelly preserves. I want to bring the baby to dinner parties. I am not meant to be alone in Sedona! God help me. I may be losing it this time for real.
I'm Not Acting Crazy, I'm Acting Russian
The only thing that really sucks to me about being in your thirties is that you feel like you no longer have time to waste on bad men. Because lets face it, they are always the hottest and funnest men in the room. But try as you may, you just can't trick yourself into pretending you're not wasting seriously, valuable time. You've done this enough times now to know you will not in fact be "the one" to change him, and your eggs, the ones that you still have, would absolutely kill you. So would your friends. You know you've used up all the years you get leaning on those well-intended friends who saw it coming, bit their tongue, and didn't say "I told you so" time after time. At this point you know they won't hold back. They might even stop speaking to you, and really you couldn't blame them. Who will you cry to now? I suppose this is why as you get older you have to pay someone to listen to that kind of self-imposed torture; its called therapy.
Still, its really tough, because while you know your eggs would kill you, other body parts would really thank you. Generously. And, that gorgeous, womanizing, musician or the handsome, successful playboy all beckon you with great force. "No way" I say to these men. Not out loud, of course, so its never clear and somehow I've given them my phone number against my egg's will. I then wrestle with myself over the situation which causes me to act in really bizarre and contradictory ways. And, since these men seem to love crazy women they don't go away just because I'm acting mental.
I often wonder what it would be like to be more like one of my sensible friends. Well, for one thing these sensible women are all married now so I guess I would be too at this point. I have one friend in particular, she is so no-nonsense it drives me crazy! I can't analyze things obsessively with her, she gives me deadlines to get over things, and we're left with nothing but the present and the facts to discuss. Its vulgar, really. I mean what one earth would life be like if we just ran around making practical decisions? Russian literature wouldn't even exist. Its considered great for a reason, people. I understand its unbearable to watch, I mean I can't sit through an entire Chekhov play, but still, we have to consider it all pretty genius. And, tortured is such a good look on me!
Also, I wonder, without any drama in my life could I actually be happy? I suppose I'm willing to try it, just because I'm willing to try anything once. But, I've already come to grips with the fact that either you fall in love with a normal life and man, or you don't.
And, if I don't I promise to be happy in all my drama, live in the desert, have many animals, and paint in between torrid love-affairs. I will never cut my hair once it all turns grey, and I will wear long, sheer dresses and amazing jewelry. Lets forget I don't paint for a second, because anything is possible. This really isn't such a bad life, is it? Hmm...maybe I will go out with that charming mess, then. I mean, I do love Sedona, and I have always wanted to learn how to paint. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that the best part of being in your thirties is finally, really and truly getting to know yourself.
Still, its really tough, because while you know your eggs would kill you, other body parts would really thank you. Generously. And, that gorgeous, womanizing, musician or the handsome, successful playboy all beckon you with great force. "No way" I say to these men. Not out loud, of course, so its never clear and somehow I've given them my phone number against my egg's will. I then wrestle with myself over the situation which causes me to act in really bizarre and contradictory ways. And, since these men seem to love crazy women they don't go away just because I'm acting mental.
I often wonder what it would be like to be more like one of my sensible friends. Well, for one thing these sensible women are all married now so I guess I would be too at this point. I have one friend in particular, she is so no-nonsense it drives me crazy! I can't analyze things obsessively with her, she gives me deadlines to get over things, and we're left with nothing but the present and the facts to discuss. Its vulgar, really. I mean what one earth would life be like if we just ran around making practical decisions? Russian literature wouldn't even exist. Its considered great for a reason, people. I understand its unbearable to watch, I mean I can't sit through an entire Chekhov play, but still, we have to consider it all pretty genius. And, tortured is such a good look on me!
Also, I wonder, without any drama in my life could I actually be happy? I suppose I'm willing to try it, just because I'm willing to try anything once. But, I've already come to grips with the fact that either you fall in love with a normal life and man, or you don't.
And, if I don't I promise to be happy in all my drama, live in the desert, have many animals, and paint in between torrid love-affairs. I will never cut my hair once it all turns grey, and I will wear long, sheer dresses and amazing jewelry. Lets forget I don't paint for a second, because anything is possible. This really isn't such a bad life, is it? Hmm...maybe I will go out with that charming mess, then. I mean, I do love Sedona, and I have always wanted to learn how to paint. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that the best part of being in your thirties is finally, really and truly getting to know yourself.
A Funny Thing Happened to and from Work
The other morning on my way to work my sense of smell was so strong, I could smell every passenger on the train's breath. I could even smell what they'd had for breakfast. One guy had apparently had booze for breakfast. I looked at him disapprovingly. "Before work??" my look said...tsk tsk. He looked ashamed. Anyway, it was absolutely disgusting.
On the way home, there were these teenagers (who tend to scream a lot, I've forgotten it seems). One girl kept yelling out to another very pretty girl, "Where is my girlfriend!! Come here girlfriend!". Finally, the two joined each other in the midst of the other teenagers, holding hands. The other kids asked the girls, "So, you're not lesbians or bisexual, right?". To this the more vocal girl of the couple said, "No, not. We just have this thing with each other". This answer apparently made total sense to the other teenagers and they were on to the next subject just like that.
I found this totally fascinating. Sexuality amongst urban teenagers nowadays is about as important a decision as what type of music you like. It was the first time I'd ever felt like I'd really experienced a generation gap. This would never have gone down so easily when I was in high school.
It made me feel happy that with age comes the newness of seeing things for the first time...Also, as smelly and gross as the subway is, I do learn more than I ever could driving in a car. So, there you go. Eat it middle America. You're sheltered.
On the way home, there were these teenagers (who tend to scream a lot, I've forgotten it seems). One girl kept yelling out to another very pretty girl, "Where is my girlfriend!! Come here girlfriend!". Finally, the two joined each other in the midst of the other teenagers, holding hands. The other kids asked the girls, "So, you're not lesbians or bisexual, right?". To this the more vocal girl of the couple said, "No, not. We just have this thing with each other". This answer apparently made total sense to the other teenagers and they were on to the next subject just like that.
I found this totally fascinating. Sexuality amongst urban teenagers nowadays is about as important a decision as what type of music you like. It was the first time I'd ever felt like I'd really experienced a generation gap. This would never have gone down so easily when I was in high school.
It made me feel happy that with age comes the newness of seeing things for the first time...Also, as smelly and gross as the subway is, I do learn more than I ever could driving in a car. So, there you go. Eat it middle America. You're sheltered.
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