Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Don't be like that

"Don't be like that... you're fun! don't be stupid like that!"

That's what a friend told me Friday night just because I didn't want to drink more than ONE glass of wine at a party.
I don't like to drink when I'm driving. Call me a coward, call me stupid, call me smart. I honestly don't care.

There are plenty of reasons why I feel so strongly about "drinking and driving", each one of them very important to me:

First, I'm not THAT big a person, meaning, I'm petite, tiny... alcohol concentration in my blood get's higher with little amounts of alcohol so no, I can't drink as much as a 200 lbs 6'6" man without being completely dead in a short amount of time. I can handle my liquor but I don't like being hammered.

Second, the type of alcohol that I like is not cheap. And no, it's not because I'm a spoiled brat... or maybe I am. I don't like beer. I prefer a nice glass of wine, maybe some whiskey or a cocktail.
Add to the fact that I'm on a diet, I won't drink too much of liquid sweet stuff in one night.

Third, I'm a Transportation Engineer, not only I've read the effects of blood in the human body but me getting killed on a car accident would be like an oncologist dying of lung cancer because he smokes.
Well, that does happen but I don't want my death to be as stupid as THAT.
(Am I talking about my own death?... I just creeped myself a little)


Fourth, while in college I lost one of my closest friends because of drunk driving: Camilo.

This super cool guy, smart, good-looking, cute, funny, fun to hang around with died because someone else decided it was fun to drink and then take a road trip.
Camilo didn't like drinking as much as the average college guy. He was actually sober most of the parties.
Camilo didn't own a car, so he never drove drunk... actually he only drove when someone else was drunk.

I remember the night it happened.
I got back home after a "Last day of college so it's a PAR-TAY!!!" night out with some friends. Everyone wanted to celebrate in 20 different ways so our big group of friends ended up going to 3-4 different things: I went to a small city 2 hours away from Bogota, got home relatively early (3am is early, right?), with a twisted wrist and super tired.
Camilo went to another party and my best friends Coso and Alejo stayed in the city with some other friends.

My dad wakes me up: Coso is calling.... WTF?!?! why is he calling me so early?!?! my mom's going to kill me--- well no, she's going to kill HIM!!!!!
My dad wants me to answer the call in their room, my mom is still talking to Coso (oh dude, you're in so much trouble!!!!). My mom is crying...  what??

I pick up the phone and Coso tells me something like:
"Cosa, listen to me... Camilo's died. There was an accident. I'm on my way to the morgue. 
[Insert anonymus guy's name here] was driving, got super drunk and apparently my cellphone number was the only thing he could blub out... I have to go and ID the body.
I need YOU to call his uncle and tell him what happened. Your mom's friends with him, I've already talked with your parents... they'll help you.
This is what I need you to tell him..."
He gave me information on phone numbers and people's names, places and police officer's... I don't remember any of that.
I repeated everything he said out loud so my mom and dad could take notes. My brain was dead.

I hung up the phone and told my parents exactly what Coso told me.
They called his family.
My mom cried. I didn't. I went to bed.

Later when I woke up I called Alejo and told him I had a nightmare, Coso called me the night before telling me that Camilo died.
Alejo said:
"Lovey, that wasn't a nightmare. Coso called you. Camilo's dead."
I called Coso, that was a cruel joke from Alejo:
"It's true Cosita, I saw him and the morgue. He's dead."

I didn't cry.
The next day was Sunday and my family and I went to church, like always.
When the Priest got to the part where we all prayed for "our departed love ones"... I started crying.
I cried during the rest of the service. On the way home. I didn't wanted to eat. I just wanted to cry.
Camilo was dead.
I don't remember how much I cried.

I went to Camilo's service. I saw his parents cry. I saw his little brother and sister cry.
I saw my friends cry.
Two weeks later at our graduation ceremony there was an empty seat close to mine.
Our last names were close on the alphabetical order so I was close to Camilo and Coso... it was supposed to be fun.
There was a white rose with a white bow instead of my friend.
When they called his name and his parents walked towards the podium, everyone stood up and clapped for 5 minutes, and we all cried again.

I can still remember his face, this voice, his cute little eyes making fun of everything and being one of the smartest and sweetest guy I've known.

Respecting my friend's memory and knowing how Camilo could have been an amazing professional, have a nice and cute family and could have been an awesome father to the girlfriend we all knew he wanted to marry is the reason I never... NEVER DRINK AND DRIVE.

So yeah dude, I'll always be like that. As you say, stupid.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

My dad, my peace (i)

"Each one of us is a work in progress. We're always building ourselves.
When something unexpected comes and makes you tremble, don't worry, don't be scared.
Don't be scared, there's always a missing piece in our story. That's why we tremble. 
Just focus on what you're building and everything will be all right."

- My dad, the engineer, 5 minutes ago -

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Growing up

Growing up, deciding what the course of your life will be.
Growing up, being scared of what's to come.
Growing up, saying good-bye to teddy bears.
Growing up, making fun of your own stupidity.
Growing up, pitying those who enjoy your suffering.
Growing up, understanding you're stronger than you ever thought you were.
Growing up, calling yourself "better" than those who are truly NOT better than you.
Growing up, finding a place to call your own.
Growing up, learning the true meaning of the words FAMILY, FRIENDS, WORK and LOVE.
Growing up, letting go.
Growing up, not looking back.
Growing up, learning to flirt without being a bitch.
Growing up, being a bitch without regrets.
Growing up, becoming a witch.
Growing up, staring at your naked body in the mirror and smiling.
Growing up, wearing tiny thongs under shorty-short-shorts.
Growing up, sleeping in your undies on a hot summer night.
Growing up, walking calmly in the rain without an umbrella.
Growing up, talking about politics, sports, women and sex with friends that happen to be men.
Growing up, thinking about starting a family someday.
Growing up, changing a Friday night out partying for a Skype chat with your geekiest friends.
Growing up, learning how much Vodka your body can handle.
Growing up, going beyond your Vodka limit on purpose.
Growing up, knowing you don't need anyone to make you happy.
Growing up, wanting to have someone by your side to share your adventures.
Growing up, enjoying a glass of Whiskey with a poet.
Growing up, going to the movies by yourself.
Growing up, partnering up with a friend for a whore-house-with-free-wifi business plan.
Growing up, painting your nails and toenails with colors that match your mood and not your clothes.
Growing up, being brave and saying "I miss you. I love you. Come back to me" knowing your chances are slight to none.
Growing up, uncovering the scars in your soul.
Growing up, putting your favorite wines and fine cheeses in your grocery list.
Growing up, keeping wine and beer at home, just because you like them.
Growing up, wishing there's someone, somewhere peeking into your life.
Growing up, being able to say what's inside your heart without regrets.
Growing up, discovering you became someone's nemesis and cracking up.
Growing up, enjoying your wet dreams.

Growing up, growing out of your own skin.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

I've found my Justin Bieber

... not because he's a good singer, or a good person, or anyone to be considered a role model BUT... I've found my Justin Bieber.

You know? that artist that you are willing to go "the distance" to see him LIVE, pay no matter how much tickets are because he's super HOT and once you're are the place you get nervous and as soon as he jumps on stage you become one of those 12-year-old screaming brainless pre-teens??

Yes, I found my Justin Bieber.

Last night Shelley and I drove 2 hours to Columbus (rush hour... ugh!) and 2 hours back to see Juanes in concert.
As part of our "Girls just wanna have fun PLUS we are two single girls who need some eye candy from time to time not because Cincinnati's male market is not good enough but we are surely looking for something outside the state lines" plan... we went the the Palace Theater in Columbus and behaved as any preteen would do so at a Justin Bieber or what's-their-name-One-Direction-maybe-? concert.

Yes, we screamed, we cried, we jumped and danced and lost our voices and were not able to wake up the next day.

One of our guy friends offered to go with us to keep us company but, honestly, I'm pretty sure he wanted to go from the very beginning.
Note to self: I love my friends!!

We were sitting a couple of feet away from the stage  and... OH MY GOD!! yes, that hunky piece of meat is H-O-T.

We sang screamed and danced every single one of the songs and whenever he came close and touched another girl's hand we would scream:
ME! ME! ME!! 

We cried when our love songs were playing... we held hands and hugged each other... stupid us.

Yes, just like your average preteen, I fought a security guard who tried to take my cellphone, just because I was trying to take a picture.. WTF?!?! yes, I can recall screaming in the middle of the concert to a guard: "You stupid son of a %^&*!! I didn't paid MY ticket to take pictures of your a$$!!".
Oh man... I honestly hope my mom doesn't read this!

My cellphone died 10 minutes after (go figure) so I had to youtube the experience.
I'm pretty sure Shelly got some good pictures while I was fighting "the man".

This is, pretty much, what the concert was like. We were standing front and center to the stage... super close. If you can see in the a couple of crazies in black t-shirts, jeans and pony tails jumping and screaming like someone is ripping out one of their legs... that's us.

For one night I became a teenager and I'm proud of it.

Thursday night I'm going to play dress-up, put on a little black dress, super high heels and go to the opera so... yeap.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Talking to myself

My friend Shelley is my best friend here.
She's the first one I told I was coming back to Cincy with a broken heart a year and a half ago.
She's the one that picked me up at the airport the moment I landed with two pieces of luggage, a camping backpack a carry-on, a purse and eyes full of tears.
She's the one that kept my head afloat and took me to a psychologist to help heal my wounds, sat me down and helped me bring my feet back on the ground.
She hugged me and kept me company.
She helped me find a roommate and a place to live.
She listened every time I wanted to talk about the exact same thing: Him.
She said things I needed to say and what I didn't want to hear.

I owe most of my happiness to Shelley.

Shelley's husband moved out of their house last week.
They are getting a divorce.
Shelley's heart is devastated.

Now is my turn to keep Shelley company; to help her pick up the pieces of a shattered heart and help her to put them together and learn to be happy again.
It's my turn to show her the city under different lighting: "single girl lights".
No, we're not going crazy... too crazy... yet.

Talking and listening to Shelley is like talking and listening to myself.
Who said that? Was it Shelley? Was it me?
Did Shelley or Mafe said that a year and a half ago? or was it a month ago?... last week... yesterday?

I miss him... It's hard to live without him but I must learn.
I hate him for not fighting for something so fulfilling and happy and... [sad puppy face].
I feel like a huge piano has been lifted from my back.
Since then, all my sleepless nights went away.
I'm too much for him to handle.
I helped him get to where he is... and this is the thanks I get?!?
He's dead to me. 
No, I don't miss him in bed... I miss talking to him. 
I'm the mean one, I lead him away from me, if he doesn't want me back it'll make sense.
It was my fault.
He's my best friend. I miss my best friend.
No, I'm not happy... but I think I found peace.
Sometimes I just want to call him and say "Are you watching Colbert tonight?!?! my stomach hurts from laughing so hard!!!".
This is the end. I have to face it, we're not meant to be together.
I can't do it! I need him!
I've moved on.
That son of a b*&*^&... I hate him!!
I love him.