Sunday, April 28, 2013

Alone again

Yes, alone... at last.

The last couple of months have been a nightmare, so to speak.
The roommate, who started as a good friend, or as the "sister in pain" because she was, like me, surviving a hard separation; became a stranger. A stranger that I couldn't stand for more than a couple of minutes.

I know know what happened or when it happened.

If you listen to MY side of the story, I'll play the victim and she'll be the horrible bitch that left me hanging with a full rent per month and and half-empty apartment. A poor immature girl lacking of will power and no ability to stand for herself and the drama-drama-drama of a 15 year old teen ager with a decent paying income and a car. A little puppy that was trapped in a boring marriage and found out she could do more than that and more than one male companion.
Hey, I'm not judging, but the fact that some people were starting to believe that it was our apartment "family business", was not pretty. Despite everything that has happened to me, I'm still a good girl. I guess.

If you listen to HER side of the story, she ran away from a patronizing bitch who didn't let her make any decisions and in my constant efforts to please people I ended up putting my own life in danger. Or something like that. But I'm not. I guess.

Whatever happened, happened. She's gone. She moved out yesterday.

Now... I'm picking up the mess, literally.

Her definition of cleanning up was more of "surfacing".
Meaning, she'll just clean visible parts of the apartment. 
Meaning, Mafe had to clean everything else.

Last night, while I was out on a "no guy, this is not a date" date, she called me about coming home to clean up whatever she had messed up... at 11.00pm!!!!!! Can you say "owl-girl"? I said yes, but told her that I was already tired and didn't want to come home to a whole lot of noise and she'd better finished by the time I went back.
I guess she's a little-teeny-tiny right about the patronizing bitch part, huh?

Reorganizing. Filling the spaces where she took her furniture with my own... damn! I need living room stuff! and ha! she needs a dining table and chairs. Mine are too pretty to give away.
I've been cutting, snipping and pampering my plants. I've been neglecting them for a while. I haven't talked to them in a long time... or watered them. Oops!!! Even my little Petunia seems angry.

I finished a while ago and found out she took the plastic trash bag holder.
Stupid thought, I thought it was mine but I won't make a big deal out of it. That's the only thing I can think of right now.

I guess I'll finish the day sitting down on the... oh fuck! she took the sofa!!
As I was saying, I'll finish the day, sitting down on the floor, drinking some vino rosso and knitting myself a new trash bag holder, just because I can and I want to while I listen to... oh crap! she took the stereo!!!

Fine, I'll sit on the floor, with some wine, knitting and playing Pandora on my computer.... there!!

Alone again, reevaluating and thinking who I've become during the last 15 months.
Do I like the person I am today?
Where is the little whinny teary girl that arrived in Cincy 15 months ago?
She might be hiding on the Christmas tree box I just took downstairs.
Maybe she was in one of the old clothe bags I gave away last month because none of my old clothes fit anymore.
Hiding with the teddy bear collection I sent to Colombia last year?

One thing is for sure, she's not around anymore.

She didn't get a chance to say good-bye but I guess we were all getting tired of her, specially me.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Eleka nahmen nahmen

(click play)

Apparently, I'm wicked.

A couple of years ago, while I was "married and happy" there was this one time when we were out on a date driving back home.
I remember holding the guy's hand and telling him: "Slow down, I have a weird feeling. I'm scared".
I have never been a nervous side-seat driver but that time there was something in my gut that didn't want to go home right away. This was a road we took at least once a weekend to visit his family and I didn't feel safe.
I must have had a terrified look on my face because he stopped.
Just for a couple of minutes. That was all. I was fine after that.

We got on the road again and... up ahead where we were, there was an accident, three cars completely smashed. I had happened just minutes before, the police, firemen or emergency services were not there yet. It could have been us there!
"You little witch!", he said. "How did you know THAT was going to happen?"
"I don't know! it's not like I planned it!"

This little scene happened more than once, I'd say about 3-4 times in 6 years.
He knew I wouldn't said "Slow down..." if it wasn't important. So he did.
Every time. Every time there was something weird on the road ahead: car crash, closed road...

Some other day, he was out of town and I couldn't sleep.
It was 2AM and I couldn't sleep.
A friend txt'd me at that hour, she was sick and feeling insomniac, I called her and we started talking on the
phone for about an hour. Laughing and being loud on the phone made both of us sleepy.
The next day, the police knocked on my door saying that there had been burglars on the apartment next to mine. They forced all doors on my building except mine. Everyone else was sleeping, I was the only one making noise.

One weird afternoon, he was driving back home from Chicago and I called him. I felt something weird.
I told him: put on your hands-free thingie, put me on speaker, I want to talk to you please?
He stopped on the shoulderto do it and we started talking about our day, like usual.
A couple of minutes later I heard him scream: "Son of a b----!!!!!!!"
A mile ahead a huge long truck flipped over and he saw it happen. A big cloud of dust appeared ahead of him, I took a small mini van with a family of 4 with it. A mile ahead.
Last thing I heard was: "Just so you know, I'm fine, this looks bad. Don't worry. I'm fine but I have to go. I'll be home soon. Don't worry.".
Later, when he got home scared and dirty he told me all about it, how he was the first person there, he called the emergency services and helped rescue 2 little children from the van. We saw it on the news that night.
"You called me and made me stop. It could have been me instead of the minivan. My little witch!!"


I don't see my ex anymore.


I usually don't dream, or have nightmares, but a couple of weeks ago I had a weird one: he was crying. Inconsolable and I didn't know why.
I haven't told this to anyone. I thought it had something to do with my weird brain and my stupid memories. I thought it was my subconsciousness playing games on me.

Last week someone told me his godfather had died of cancer. His favorite uncle.
He was devastated and couldn't go to the funeral.


Some time ago I had another nightmare:
A horrible gore vision of blood and death scenes.
This time it was someone else.
I don't know how to tell the story to this person without coming out as a crazy-towner.

I'm not crazy. Just a little wicked. That's all.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

I'm diabetic

... well, no. I'm not.
Seriously, I'm not.

Here's the story:
I play racquetball every Monday 6-8pm.
I started playing 7 years ago. I used to play just for fun and it was just "hitting a blue ball against a wall and running all over the place to try to hit it again".
A year and a half ago, I started playing for real, by the rules, with a group of friends who were on the same track. I'm proud to say that I've become a petite racquetball bad-ass... slowly but surely.

I've twisted ankles, hurt my wrists, cut my fingers, fell on my bum-bum and been hit with a blue ball on my back, arms, chest... blah, blah, blah. All the normal things that can happen on a speed paced sport.
I won't mind. It's part of the game.

Sometimes we play with this French guy, who is a REALLY good player. He has taught us several techniques and strategies to play smart. We don't play by hitting the ball with all might. Like all games, strenght is not what matters. Sometimes the softest swing can drive your opponent crazy.

This French guy has a tiny little French friend who decided to learn the game. They thought he could practice with us.
Well... I'm not playing with that animal anymore. I WON'T.

The little dude has incredible force for his size (he's shorter than I am... meaning he's super tiny) and believes the game is 100% force and 0% mind. Horrible technique, if you ask me.

Two weeks ago, this dude swung a first serve and the ball came flying 25mps right on my mouth... TWENTY-FIVE MILES PER SECOND, straight into my mouth.
Of course, there was blood, I was dizzy, my friends had to call the gym's nurse so he could see how bad it was. He gave me aspirin (wtf?) and I was sucking ice for about half an hour but  right after that I was back into the court, but far away from the tiny monster. My racquet still has drops of blood from that day (ew!)
The next day, one of my racquetball dudes saw me and said: Ohhhhh... Mafecina Jolie!! sexy lips!!
Oh... so.... funny...

Anyway, two days ago, it was our last game of the season and I showed up late.
The guys were playing and the tiny monster was sitting there waiting for his turn.
When I got there, all he said was:
- Do you want to play? or are you afraid of me?
And well, 'twas brought: he lost 21-1, 21-0... and just when he was about to lose on a third set 21-2 ----- HE HIT ME ON THE HEAD WITH HIS RACQUET!!!

WHAT THE F^&%&^&^%*!!!!! 

The guy apologized a million times and wanted to change the subject, but I was not in the mood for chatting.
So there we were, sitting outside the court, awkward silent... aaaaand the guy decides to talk:
- ... so... any exams this week?
- No, I just have to proctor an exam. 
- Which class?
- Models of urban transportation.
- So, mass production?
- Nope.
- What else can you transport?
- Oh... I didn't know people study that.
- What?
- Well, yeah. That's just buses... that's not rocket science. That's not hard.
- Dude, you just offended me in so many levels...
- I promise next time I'll bring candy.
- What for?
- Candy makes girls happy... that's how it works. I'll make you happy.
- I'm diabetic.

... and I left.

Monday, April 1, 2013

It's always fair until it happens to you


Do you remember the Arizona SB 1070 law? Don't worry I'm not going to make you read it all, the wikipedia link is there if you want to do it.
The SB 1070 is that law that talks about how us immigrants in the US must register upon arrival and keep our documents in order, which is fair. I think not only immigrants but everyone should be registered and carry and ID to be able to be part of the system and enjoy the rights of being a citizen/visitor of this country.

The problem with this law is that it also requests, and I quote, "that state law enforcement officers attempt to determine an individual's immigration status during a lawful stop, detention or arrest, or during a lawful contact not specific to any activity hen there is reasonable suspicion that the individual is an illegal immigrant."

More or less, it states that if you do something that might LOOK illegal and you happen to LOOK like an illegal immigrant, the Police is entitled to take you with them until everything is settled.

So, here's the thing... I don't think that's fair.

Why? because looks can be deceiving. And, of course, give someone a little bit of power and there's the possibility of they becoming drunk with it.

Of course, you hear all these horror stories about the single mother who's here legally but wasn't carrying her documents on the specific day she missed a Stop sign and spent 3 years in jail and her children were taken by child services, never saw then again and became a coke addict.
Or the man who was just walking his dog and forgot to clean after it, didn't have his driver's license and was deported because of a piece of shit... literally.
The old Hispanic lady that came here, legally 40 years ago and forgot to change her address and had to return to her home country where she didn't have any family and died of sadness.

... and other soap opera-like creepy things.

Well, I don't know if these stories are true or not. All I know is that is not fair.

Just because you "look" different, doesn't mean you are a bad person. It's racial profiling, that's what it is.
I have a Mexican friend with green eyes, super white skin, tall, blonde and full Scandinavian looks, but just ask him a question and you'll hear George Lopez' accent aaaaaaaaaaaaaaall over the place.
Hell! ask Mr. Big! he doesn't look latino, AT ALL, Colombians are not famous for being tall, blonde and white... ha! but ask him to speak Spanish and that preppy Colombian accent will give him away in a heartbeat (yeah dude, you know it, I know it... love you!)

Anyway, my friend Loli and I we were discussing the topic with a couple of guy-friends, let's call them M, F and E.
They were saying that this was not a big deal, if you spent a couple of hours in jail and everything was settled, you could just sue the system and you'll be rich or just forget the entire episode. No big deal.

My argument: Man, there isn't enough money IN THE WORLD to make me forget I had to spent a minute in jail or was wrongfully accused of something just because I look 1 shade tanner than my roommate!!! It's not fair to have been born looking the way you do, or where you were.

The conversation went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, infinitum et ad nauseum.

Anyway, that was a couple of months ago.

This weekend, Miss Lady-fate had a surprise for them:
M is tall, big-build, dark-skinned (well, for Colombian standards he's just a little tan ).
F is tall, slim, light tanned and bald.
E is medium height, medium slim and tanned.
And yes, all of them look very very Heeeeeespanic.

We all went to a party and when we ran out of food, they were nice enough to get some pizza for everyone.
Funny thing: M forgot his ID at home, E doesn't have a driver's license but carries his passport everywhere (big mistake if you ask me). F just went for the ride. None of them had cash and the mid-nigh pizza place is not famous for taking credit cards.

The guys stopped at an ATM for some money. Nothing suspicious there, right? Tree tall, dark men all together at an ATM in the middle of the night, that's normal. RIGHT?
Long story short: 3 police cars showed up at the scene, asked for their docuemnts and gave them a hard time for about two hours. They couldn't use their cell phones to let anyone what was going on and... saddest part of all... no pizza for the worried people at the party.

Of course, when they finally made it back to the party outraged, scared and completely humiliated... everyone was on their side.
Everyone, except Loli and Mafe.

They looked at us for support but all we could say was: well, you can sue the system, make a lot of money, it was just a couple of hours... it's not a big deal.

It's always fair until it happens to you.