I think we need a break. It's not you, it's me...

I miss your sexy little curves
the way you're so sensitive to my touch
God I love you in your sleek little black ensemble
and the noises you make are enough to make a girl
jump right out of her seat and to your side every time

But this my love, this is just too much.
I start to dream of your sounds, just ringing in my ears
I envision myself pressing all your buttons just right
and we go on for hours until you're out of battery..
Oh how it devastates me when you turn off for the night

I know there are others, but they don't know me like you do
they don't know all the things I like to do
or who I talk to at odd hours of the night.
They don't know my preferences for black and never white.

Why can't I leave you alone?
I'll admit, I am obsessed.
It's like when you're in the room
no one else exists

You are no good for me, no good at all
but you're ringing louder and louder
oh dear God, please answer my call.

I forgot my phone as I was leaving my apartment a few days ago. I was carrying five bags of presents down two flights of stairs and into my car wearing a lovely dress and snow boots. I guess the phone was a minor detail. I remembered that I had forgotten it about a mile away from my house and decided that perhaps it was the Universe’s way of telling me to disconnect for a little bit.

Last time I tried to do that I went to this cabin in Wisconsin with no reception on my phone and on the drive back to the city I got a voicemail from a journalist at NPR who wanted to interview me about my response to the 20-something article New York Times came out with. Hopefully this time no one called from the New Yorker after stumbling upon my blog for a one time spot in the next issue or anything.

So I didn’t have my phone (I still don’t have it) and I can’t help but feel so present and in the moment. I’m not standing around mid conversation with someone a slave to the beeping on my phone telling me I have a text message or playing chess while I could be listening to real people around me.

It’s been good to be with people and wholly fully be there. Present and center. I start to think about how I need to change my relationship with my phone. I should turn it off more. I should put it away if I’m with other people and instead be present and in the moment. Why is that so hard?

I start to rethink how much power my phone has over me in waking life. Any message could be a missed opportunity to meet up with a friend who is in town for one night only or maybe that cute boy I met the other night has finally decided to call.

Then I realize that nothing is more important than being here now. This break with my phone has been good, somewhat accidental, but good. That is, if no one from the New Yorker called. :)

My Life as a Bear

My grandmother will be 90 years old in June. She was telling me this over the phone yesterday and I could sense her fear of turning 90 and thought about how many steps her feet have taken over the span of her life. I thought about her growing up in Cuba and Spain, getting married and having a family then watching her only son leave his country. I thought about her moving to a whole new world in Miami – leaving her country behind too.

I asked her if she ever wrote. She said she didn’t much anymore and I told her that she should write all the lessons she has learned in her 90 years down. I was hoping to someday read them and learn about my great grandmother curing colds with fresh eucalyptus leaves or about a country brewing with revolution and then struggling with despair in the aftermath.

I think it’s human nature to not know what you have in front of you until it’s not there anymore. Youth is fleeting. I keep thinking that and trying to convince myself not to waste any time and then I feel exhausted from thinking about all the things I should be doing with my life like returning to Miami, building my own legacy professionally, listening to my elders’ stories more so not to lose my own history… I start thinking about how tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and why I am not living the life I need to be living now?

I may feel like I need a pause from the madness of the unimportant things I give significance to only to realize that nothing else pauses. That while the bear wants to go into her cave and hibernate during the winter there will be a different forest in the spring. The winter may have killed away some decay, some dying trees and the newness of fresh buds and baby insects buzzing await outside the cave. Life does not give one the luxury of pausing so that you could figure out its purpose. It’s a forest of challenges you to keep moving out of necessity. The only option is movement.

I am an animal, always. It will always come back to me being that bear in the woods responding to her environment. Animals don’t have existential crises about the meaning of life – they see a branch in their path and they move past it, they track their prey and they eat, they meet someone and they mate. They take what they need to survive and then they procreate and die leaving enough of this world for their offspring to enjoy for generations to come.

For now, there is no rest, there is only movement. Eyes focused on my prey with the vision of a better world for humanity’s offspring in my mind’s eye and I take the leap.

Rooster alarm clock or the dancing deer sweater? What says I love you more?

Have you noticed that you are feeling more stressed out around these “relaxing days” more than other times of the year?  The crowded shopping malls, the angry shoppers perusing useless crap that no one would buy any other time of the year.  

Then there’s the annoying Christmas music reminding you that if you haven’t found so and so the perfect gift by now you are running out of time.  You must be thorough and consider all possibilities because she might really like that horrible sweater with dancing deer on it and of course your mother needs a new rooster clock to replace the one you got her last year. 

I don’t hate the holidays.  I’m not trying to be a Grinch or whatever else the media will call me for not buying this consumer/product love fest as the answer to the U.S.’s economic problems but I always figured that the point of these times was to hang out with loved ones have some time to appreciate what you have within your family, friends, etc.  It should be a celebration of love and taking time to see what matters but instead we’re like little monkeys looking at the T.V. screen to see what shiny new thing to buy.

Instead, I’m rushed and exhausted by walking past the gray faces on the bus as my tired shaky arms carry bags full of God knows what for people.  Why are we choosing to do this to ourselves?

I had dinner with a friend the other night and he was telling me about how this is the busiest time for a couple of his clients.  One owns a funeral home and the other is a psychiatrist.  It makes me think we have this thing backwards.

I’ve noticed that the holidays are so much less about the point.  It’s become this huge consumption oriented time of busy-ness that just distracts you from feeling what you feel, from reflecting on the year, on what you liked, what you didn’t like – things you’d like to change, things you’d like to remain the same.

In my family, the presents are the least favorite part of the night for me.  It’s the games, the food, the drinks, being with my family that is the primary joy on Christmas day.  

Cheers to those good times!  

I've gotten very good at saying my goodbyes...

It’s always greener on the other side of the fence because you never see the little termites destroying the decaying wood or the mass hornets’ nest right above the hammock.

There is a heavy weight a heart carries in being the one to leave.  There’s a great responsibility and duty to oneself to speak your own truth.  Caring for someone means walking away when you can’t give them what they need or want from you.  It’s not so easy on this side when you wake up with giant hornets looming over you and look across the fence and think: well sure those weeds are taking over the lawn a little but at least they don’t have this. Yet you know the resident who lives on the other side of the fence would love nothing more than to face the dangerous hornets head on just for a chance to lay in your hammock alongside you.  But you’ve only got room for one now, don’t you?

You just got tired of wondering if there’s enough bug spray to last you both, or if you should be worried that he wants to sleep when you feel like rocking the hammock back and forth like a child on a swing.  Or worse, packing it up and leaving because the world needs one more explorer and one less day dreamer swinging on a hammock.  In full disclosure you mention the termites’ ability to eat through the decay of your heart where there used to be room for two and now there’s only one chamber left.

You worry because you only brought your backpack with enough supplies for one and the nights can be long and cold and you’ll only resent having to share.  You worry because you never wanted to hurt anyone and suddenly every action feels as though it’s weighed against two hearts, one of which not your own. 

You leave.  You always leave armed with your backpack and your one-chamber heart still pumping fast and warm.   You bid goodbye to the hornets, hammock and fences because you’ve been practicing your goodbyes and you’ve gotten quite good at them.

Makeshift pathways lead to here or maybe there...

There is something I need to say and I just am not quite sure what it is yet.

Till then I am full of joy and happiness and excited about the uncertainty.  One chapter has ended and I am staring at this beautiful blank page that separates the chapters in a dream almost waiting for the next one to begin.  It’s not waiting so much as being present, in this blank page where suddenly my eyes are playing tricks on me and images appear or maybe it’s a book with pictures (which it is because I’m writing this book and I like pictures).  I am losing myself in this imagery that represents where I came from and this path I walk, not sure where, wondering.

Blessed be this day.

The boy, the bus stop and me...

She had a moment while sitting on a bench waiting for the bus.  One of those moments that twinges on those lost memories at the beginning of a long love affair: the flirtation with ambiguity, the naivety of her youth, the newness of every single little freckle on her lover’s body.

She didn’t run to catch the bus today and instead waited.  She had forgotten to look around all these years because she was running after the bus and now she waited and wished she could sit there all day in the winter’s brisk, fresh snow just to watch. 

She had played the game so well these past few years.  The city looked like a handsome boy smiling and turning away only to look again and smile at her while her face blushed so bright she couldn’t help but smile back.  He would never speak to her though.

All of a sudden she was eighteen years old again, new to this city, these buildings like these giant enigmas filled with strangers.  The pigeons on the street peck at crumbs under the lights on Michigan Avenue.  She is enamored with each begging squirrel, each lingering look from a stranger or the ones that shift quickly by hoping not to be seen.  She is in love.

She is faced with uncertainty all of which is surely leading her away from her lover, Chicago.  The city: the one who nurtured her sweetly in all those bars she nursed a whiskey or a broken heart, in all of those apartment buildings and alleyways.

The city: the one who showed her through mazes of endless streets, brick buildings, steel bridges, wrong directions on the way to finding someone, maybe something new today, maybe herself.

She kept an array of little notes friends and lovers had written her from stupid drunken conversations to times of desperation. They seemed so insignificant at the time but they were like the pigeons now, another extraordinary ordinary moment she’d forgotten to notice.

Her drawings were gateways to periods in her life.  She sat in the living room of her mind remembering the friends that had come and gone, the neighborhoods she had known so well.  They were little snippets into her history – like playing a song from your childhood that would leave you uncertain as to Now’s time and place.

She didn’t get on the bus and instead went back home.  She put on a record and began the process.  The cardboard boxes each categorized so neatly: Kitchen, bedroom, books, bathroom, office…  She sat sorting through drawers and putting new labels on the boxes: Christopher, 2809 N California Ave., Summer ’06…and each item in the box was a familiar pain to the heart, a tinge of anxiety then release, like a needle entering a vein delivering instant relief.  She knew her anxiety hurt her more than the prick of the needle.

She took a deep breath and found a vein pumping her blood back to her heart.  She plunged the syringe into herself of too many late nights, loves lost and friends loved and began to feel the relief. She let go and allowed her tears to rinse the blood off her arm.  Her work was done here.  

I'll lock the vagrant winter out..

and lock my wandering in...

"Pruébame" Dijo el Veneno

"Puébame" Dijo el Veneno

"Try me." Said the Poison

This is familiar territory

Butterflies wreaking havoc

In the pit of my stomach

Suddenly I’m reverted to

Being a 15 year old girl

And I swear I giggle like this

On a regular basis

I’m too old to have a crush

Because I know better

Than to like your eyes

Or quote the words out of

your pretty little mouth

to my friends

Words beyond an auditory sense

they don’t stream a straight line like logic

but rather float a pretty little cadence

I think I danced to it

At least I did in my head

Damn butterflies look so pretty and free

But I swear they hate me

Their precious wings

Just flap so delicately

In the lining of my stomach

I am riding this rollercoaster

Up the creaking metal rails on a wooden frame

And right before the dive

There’s a bright flash to blind me

Photo will show me on this day

Dumbly smiling happy

with my eyes closed and arms raised up high

way over my head

God, I hope you never read this blog….

Winter Warrior Status: Survivor - 25 years and counting

When it's winter in Chicago, everyone feels like a warrior - you can see the warpaint on the red faces on the street.  Everyone battles the cold just to get on the bus or get to work.  Everyone goes to war the moment they step out of their homes.  They put on their armor - the long underwear, the gloves, the hats, the coats and scarves.

The enemy is tricksy (Gollum voice).  He (clearly Winter is male) is cruel with his ferocious winds...he limits the daylight to only a few hours a day because he prefers you live in darkness!  All the better to defeat you...

This is your enemy. Look at his "don't mess with me" expression...he will leave you defeated and huddled at home over a heater ALONE.  

He is this giant beast that keeps all of your friends fearful -  hiding in their apartments instead of at your birthday party or dinner party.  All your work events become dependent on the weather - it is this fickle enemy that will either take it easy on you or make you wish you were never born.

Yet, staring out my window at the gleaming bright snow, I don't know that I could survive anywhere without a cold winter.  It's a time a reflection and seclusion in a way.  You realize what's really important to you - what will pull you out of your seclusion for battle... You learn about yourself.  Do you take the easy way out?  Do you rise to the challenge?  How strong is your will?

We in Chicago tend to be like bears...hibernating indoors until the flirtation of warmth pulls us out.

Winter is a time of scrabble, movies, chess, close friends and family, making art, playing music, reading, tea,  cuddling, hot chocolate, baked goods and such and such.  It makes you feel all warm inside sometimes.

But then you remember the ugly beast outside your door and like in any war, you prepare by doing things like:  stocking up on canned foods, extra armor and weapons of war (extra space heaters, blankets, ugly wool socks, gross shoes you'd never wear any other time but are entirely justifiable during the winter).

So here's a toast (Baileys is justifiable in your morning coffee during the winter - you've got to stay warm) to my fellow brave warriors in the Midwest.  Godspeed.

Sometimes I suck at dating.

I know it’s hard to believe.  Well, this wasn’t really a date persay, but I had kind of wanted to date this guy eventually because I liked him.

So I had a few drinks and was talking to this gentleman for quite a while.  He seemed really sweet and didn’t mind me talking about dead babies at all so in my mind, it was going well.

It was close to 2 a.m. and so I asked him if he’d like to go back to my place to make some art because I lived so close to the bar.

He agreed.

You’d think making some sort of move to show that I was interested in him would be easy for me considering he’s coming to my apartment.

I'm sure he was thinking I was just as weird as this guy thinks Liz Lemon is...

WRONG – I am like the Liz Lemon of dating – I somehow will find ways to screw something up even when it’s “in the bag.”

We get to my place what do I do?  I go and get my easel and markers and charcoal and instruct him to work with the charcoal while I work with the markers, and oh would he like some tea?

Charcoal, Jen – seriously? 

I don’t think he actually thought I was serious about the art…

It’s late.  We are tired.  So I ask if he would like to watch a movie and he says he would love to.  Okay, good…movies are good, there could be some cuddle action…maybe a kiss. NOPE!

 Another great potentially romantic moment ruined by yours truly.

First of all, I put a documentary on about coal mining.  Really, Jen, COALMINING?!? That’s real sexy.

Then while he’s sitting on my loveseat to one side so I can sit next to him and I step over him to sit on my other couch.  

This time I actually realize I screwed up and am thinking okay, you can still salvage this…just go sit next to him, Jen – it’s not so hard..just go and sit next to him.  Five minutes later I’m still thinking about how to maneuver this incredibly complicated action and finally think: Too much time has passed.  You made your choice.  You have to stay here now.

Naturally he falls asleep.  Why?  Because it’s 4a.m. and WE ARE WATCHING A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT COALMINING!!

I go to my bedroom and fall asleep.  The next morning I wake up excited thinking, okay today’s a new day and he slept over so we can grab a bite and some coffee and talk some more only to awaken to find that he’s gone.  FAILED!

I finally turn my phone on to a nice text message that says it was great chatting with you and hanging out blah blah blah…but one of those that just means that we’ll probably never do that again.

Men are like chess pieces...

but I still love them.

The deeper into the game I get, the more real life examples I see of why it’s imperative to understand the nature of the game. 

Chess is all about strategy.  When I play I think of all the great leaders throughout history like Ghengis Khan and Machiavelli.  You will always have your pawns that help position you; the powerhouses like the rooks, your unexpected secret weapons like the knights and those who just beg to be crossed like the bishops.  How you play them is what matters; really – how you set the stage for the next thing to happen that’s important.

Lessons I’m slowly learning about dating from chess:

1. Be deliberate.  This means being strategic about what you’re doing and having a sense of what your next moves will be.
2. Learn the basics.  You can’t do anything advanced if you don’t know the basic rules that apply. 
3. Make every move count.
4. The Queen is the key protector of the King.  The Queen possesses all the power and can maneuver every which way.
5. Know your opponent – never underestimate your opponent.
6. PATIENCE.  The game of chess takes time – sometimes games last hours. 
7. Kill your opponent until he is dead

India and Tigers

I am obsessed with both but only wrote a poem about one.
My affinity with the tigers:

I've been stalking you
in my sleep
like a tigress
watching sheep
you just look so sweet...

Faraway in the country
from the jungles I know
the night may be quiet
but it does not sleep
not like the scheming tigress
counting her sheep.

Do not scorn a weak cub, for she may become a brutal tiger. -Famous Mongolian proverb

I love men

I love men.  I know I never talk about this except for the time when I wished I was a man, but I really truly love men.  

Feminism has nothing to do with men and everything to do with equality.  It’s much more of an egalitarian philosophy rather than a bashing of a particular sex.  I have many male friends that call themselves feminists.  Plus, I love men.  I talk about them all the time.   They are beautiful creatures.

Here are the top ten things I love about the men in my life:

1. They make me think and give me different perspectives
2. They make me laugh until I’m heaving and then make fun of me because I sound like I’m having an asthma attack.
3. They don’t sweat the small stuff and make sure I don’t either.
4. They call me to make sure I’ve checked my old car to see if it has enough oil.
5. They are supportive of my endeavors and try to help me both in my career and personally.
6. They are wonderful friends.  They really know how to listen and are sweet.
7. I’m blessed to have an amazing father and a great older brother that I know are there at the drop of a pin if I need something.
8. They keep it simple and don’t overcomplicate matters.
9. Talking business with them is fun.
10. They are just as dedicated to making the women in their life as successful as possible as I am.

So here's a thank you and I love you to all the amazing men in my life.

I want the Pharaohs, but there's only men.

Please introduce me to someone nice before I convince myself to buy 9 cats (that I happen to be allergic to) and die a miserable and lonely death.

When did chivalry die?  I mean, I know I’m a feminist but I am always, first and foremost, a lady.  I love a man that has manners, knows how to behave with people so that they are comfortable and at ease.  This is such an important life skill for any social interaction you will have in your life, why wouldn’t you learn good manners?!  

You're born alone and you die alone..

I’ve been reading this book called The Last Lecture.  It’s about a college professor that finds out he has a few months to live and decides to write life lessons he wishes he could share with his children.

The book is a great read even though the premise is quite depressing.  It got me thinking about my father and his lessons.  There are several but I will mention only one for now.

I was going through my first big break-up and really nervous and scared. I called my dad bawling my eyes out.  As I was sitting on my stoop, eyes red and the world ending in my 23-year-old head, he said to me the following: Jen, we are born into this world alone and we die alone.  The only one you need to hold yourself accountable to or take care of is yourself.

His white beard has been earned through wisdom!

I thought a lot about this and have always carried it with me no matter what the situation.  It’s helped me leave relationships that needed leaving, change jobs, not compromise on my ideals or who I am as a person and also, on occasion, driven me to advise people in the same manner.

One of the many instances where I was trying to help someone happened on my way to Mexico on a business trip last February.  I was sitting next to an older woman and she started some small talk with me and bought me a drink.  We were drinking those lovely miniature bottles of wine they give on planes and then she started bawling her eyes out about a daughter who I reminded her of.  Then came details of a messy divorce after 26 years of marriage and how her life was an absolute disaster and she was going to Mexico to decompress etc. 

I wanted to be sympathetic and all I could think of saying was: well, you’re born into this world alone and you die alone.

It did not come out sounding like my father’s tone of it’s okay, you’re a responsible adult, you can take on the world, you just need yourself.  Instead it came out sounding far more cynical and hopeless.

Then came the kicker.  This woman with such sorrow in her eyes said:  I wasn’t born alone, I’m a twin!

Then she started talking about how her twin sister wouldn’t talk to her either.

Here I am thinking in my head: Goddamn it, Jen!  The one time you try and make someone feel better or give some sort of advice and this happens.  Of course she’s a twin, of course the ONE time you use someone else’s line she happens to be the exception.

I bought the next round after that.

What NOT to say to a girl on a date...

I won't go into too many details but here's what not to say or do to a girl when you are out with her on a date:

• Why did you cut your bangs?  They looked so nice before i.e. like two years ago when you had just met me..and was it really necessary to continue to return to this subject for the duration of the night?!
• Mention one of my friend's ex-girlfriends and then allude to possibly having slept with her (note: this will ruin ANY chance you would ever even fathom to have to me having any physical contact with you at all - even a hug is definitely NOT happening.  Gross.
• Text your super awesome friends that are clearly having more fun than you are right now (although probably not since they are texting) ALL NIGHT!  Really, are things that important that you need to literally stare at your phone for five whole minutes in the conversation?
• I hate striped shirts.  I mean, you didn't know before so it's cool but yeah I can't stand striped shirts.  This while I have my brown and cream striped sweater on.  That was nice of you. Next time let me TEXT you about what I should wear!
• Please don't force any date to answer where she would rate your physical appearance on a scale of 1 - 10 during the conversation.  This is incredibly awkward and irrelevant and just goes to reinforce how much you are thinking about yourself and trying to stroke your ego the whole time.  Especially as my opinion based on your personality gets lower and lower throughout the night.

So Jen, this sounds pretty awful, why did you let it continue for so long?

I had fun after a few glasses of wine talking shit to this guy.  Sometimes I do that.  Anyway, I hope we can be friends although if he ever reads this not sure if that will be possible. Let's hope he thinks I'm funny and goes with it.  

Did you seriously just call me that? Do I know you?

To all the men that just meet me or have a casual friendship with me and think they have earned the right to call me babe: think again.

I am not your babe.  Furthermore, this makes you look incredibly sleazy and it annoys the hell out of me.  It is condescending.  How would you like it if I started calling you little pet names after just meeting you?

The worst ones TEXT you like “hey babe, thanks for that information – look forward to our meeting soon.”   Many things are wrong with this:

•          This is business.  I don’t call you sweetcheeks in communicating with you during a meeting or via email or text, do I?
•          You are texting me or emailing me and INTENTIONALLY TYPING the word babe.  You may think you’re being cute or hip because I’m young, but you are very mistaken.
•           Just because we are drinking and hanging out in a casual atmosphere does not give you the right to call me babe.  You can call me by my name, thanks.
•          Calling me a pet name must be EARNED – it is not given just because you deem yourself worthy.

Give a girl a break.  Don’t call me babe unless I’m dating you or you want to be called sweetcheeks in reply.

Let's Get Serious..

I've been having fun.  Lots of fun - as evidenced by my past few posts - most of which I think are hilarious, but something happened today.

I logged into my blog to see that I had lost a follower.  :(  This made me unbelievably sad.  So now, I will refrain from discussing the following topics as a result of the loss I'm experiencing:

• dead babies (yep...still keep thinkin' about them)
• feminism (writing a book instead)
• and  oil covered seagulls - (I guess some people might be sensitive to innocent animals suffering because of human interference with our environment).

On a serious note I found this awesome article about how men that do housework and have more egalitarian relationships with their female partners are happier in life.  Read more about this here.

If you read this and don't follow me - please follow me to make me feel better - it's kind of like losing a pet and then getting a replacement pet.  Will you be my replacement pet?  My life feels empty without you following!

Also, if you like my blog - pass it on!  Pass it on to your friends, family, dead babies (nah nevermind - they suck as followers), and the like.

You can follow my by pressing the follow button on the right hand side.

Advice FROM THE FUTURE!

Dear Jen last night,

This is future Jen from this morning.  Please listen to my following suggestions prior to drinking Makers Mark like it's water and you're in the middle of the desert.

1. Dead baby jokes are not a good conversation starter with every single boy you find attractive.  STOP bringing it up. 
2. Hooking up your i-pod to the bar's sound system and dancing to Le Tigre by yourself isn't as cool as you thought it was last night...oh and look someone took pictures.  Future Jen from this morning had to do a lot of begging and bribing and other unsavory things to get those pictures back..
3. I know I said no dead baby jokes already but I really want to make sure you get this through your head.
4. Apparently, you lie a lot when you're drunk.  Apparently, you also gave your real number to someone who just texted you "I'd love to hear more about your recent trip to Thailand and the elephants.."  WHAT?!  a)Who did you give your number to and why would you give them your number when God knows what else you made up about yourself? b) Thailand?  Elephants?!?!  SERIOUSLY?!?  Future Jen is super pissed off right now.
5. You need to pick better wingmen/wingwomen for this type of thing.  Your wingman last night sat across from you and your new friends telling everyone that they "were so young and beautiful"  all night while you were telling dead baby jokes.  It was doomed from the start.

Happy as a clam, weren't you?  Before the madness..

In conclusion, my dearest Jen from last night, you were a mess last night, but from all the hilarious and slightly weird texts from this morning it seems like it was a fun night.  Just don't do it again.

Love,

Jen FROM THE FUTURE!

The Awkwardness of Dating

So I've never really dated before, that is to say that I've been in long-term relationships for most of my adult life that somehow magically happened without having to go through the whole "dating ritual."

It's a foreign concept.  It's awkward.  It's let's go out to dinner to evaluate whether you would be a good incubator for my spawn. Or let's do something incredibly cheesy like go ice-skating to measure whether I could potentially spend my whole life with you.

Call me cold and unromantic, but I'm just not into that type of thing.  I don't like premises, I don't like expectations, I don't like feeling measured or judged, but sadly, I love men.

What a dilemma.

Here are some quotes from my favorite artists that I think about when I think about dating:

I was afraid to be alone
Now I'm scared that’s how I'd like to be
All these faces none the same
How can there be so many personalities?

-Azure Ray

Promise me we won’t go into the nightclub

I really don’t think it’s our scene

What kind of people go to meet people

 in a place you can’t be heard or seen?

-The Be Good Tanyas

The one person who really knows me best

Says I’m like a cat

The kind that you just can’t pick up and throw onto your lap

The kind that doesn’t mind being held

But only when it’s her idea

The kind that feels what she decides to feel

When she is good and ready to feel it.

-Ani DiFranco

Guilt-Trippin' in the U.S.A.

My lovelies,

Somehow this blog has become like this really sick relative that will completely chastise you if you don’t call every other day.  I don’t know how it happened really, but it’s become this crying baby that I birthed and I never imagined so demanding.

This post is inspired by GUILT!!  That little gnawing feeling you have when you did or probably didn’t (if you’re Catholic) do anything wrong.

My mother (she always comes up in our conversations, Blog) is the master of making you feel guilty for just about everything in your life (especially when you don’t call).  As a consequence I’ve grown immune.

My immunity allows me to do the following:

• Tell new parents that I’ve DEFINITELY seen cuter babies.

No Mommy!  I don't want to bite on the stick!

• Tell my dog that she would be much better as a mop because she’s so hairy and then try to get her to bite hard on a long stick so I can drag her across the floor.
• Tell funny jokes about dead babies.
• Tell even funnier jokes about dead babies that were mutilated in some way and or stock piled…
• Drive a Hummer.
• Drive a Hummer full of food and fresh milk through Africa passing all the hungry famous children from t.v.!
• Pour a bunch of motor oil on top of seagulls’ heads in the Pacific Ocean.
• Take pictures of said seagull and laugh hysterically while tweeting them and face-booking them to all my closest 402 friends.

You may get this image texted to you later with a "hahahahaha" as the caption.

• Float leisurely on a huge iceberg while watching Polar Bears drown

and finally:

• Vote Libertarian and Green in really tight elections.

My artwork

This is just my latest piece.  Let me know what you think - feel free to comment:

Still a work in progress at 8p.m.

All done!  Midnight!

Singing Over Bones

I rewound, defeated by memories
we are stuck in your bedroom
on a cold winter day
watching light growing shadows on the walls
content with each other, doing nothing at all
The quiet cold is outside
Our heat is inside; hiding under covers

Fast forward and I'm that girl
speaking to strangers at bars
her little heart dancing around
in a pretty metal lockbox
there are no shadows on walls

Her fingers fumbling around drunk
trying to remember the passcode
one click past 41, between 25 and 30
She forgot the winter days
though the leaves keep changing
the cold winds are gusting

I locked myself in my apartment
sorting through all the albums you gave me
I sang along like I could sing you back from the dead
a curandera sitting over her spells
creating altars from your notes,
art we'd made on my bedroom floor

I'm not allowed to mourn you
if I killed us in cold blood
what kind of sorrow could I plead?
I stood over the body, licking my fangs
and singing over the bones of the remains
won't unlock metal boxes or rewind time

So my baby, you and I
a cold winter day
underneath your blankets
well that's where a part of me stayed.

Why won't this last forever, I hope this lasts forever...

It’s a shame that my ex-lovers have ruined so many great songs for me…this being one of them.

How to find a husband - tips from my mother

Mom:  "Jenny, will you please stop writing about feminism on your blog so much?  You will never find a husband that way.  Men don't like feminists.  I could put gas in my own car, but why should I when your father does it for me?  Sometimes it's nice to have men do things for you, they like it..."

Me:  "Okay, well I love it when men do things for me...I would never try to stop them, really.."

Mom: "Good, men don't like feminists.  Write about other things."

Me: (laughing hysterically at this point) "okay."

There you have it, friends.  This is my official last post on feminism because I've been known to be only the most obedient daughter.

I think I might write a book on feminism now..you know, to attract a husband.

The Goddesses and me - a journey through cycles

Viene todo a su tiempo…

Youth is fleeting.  I’ll be 27 in February and for whatever reason, 27 has a special significance for me.  To me it wasn’t 18 that represented true adulthood or even 25.  It was 27.

Slowly, I’m beginning to realize how precious time is.  I have no idea where this year went.  The fall always seems to fly by so quickly particularly because it’s my favorite season.  Then comes the winter; it springs to summer and then fall again.  I’m beginning to understand cycles in a way I’ve never known.  Even the cycles in my own body as a woman, my emotional ups and downs are becoming increasingly easier to predict, so now, in the dead of winter of my mind, staring out at the icy blue patches of ice across my driveway I remember the smell of green grass and the sight of trees budding.  What goes up will come down eventually and furthermore what comes down has nowhere else to go but up.

Following the change in the season I am reminded of the life/death/life cycle that women used to know so well.  Women used to be in charge of the dead in ancient societies.  They would not only birth new life, but they would know when to let go of life, having intimate knowledge of the life/death/life cycles.  Just as there is a time for birth, for living, there is also a time for death.  There would be no life without death, no light without dark, no forward without backward and no future without past.  There is an ebb and flow to life that cannot be realized without embracing Death. 

Coatlicue

I think of Coatlicue, the Aztec goddess of death and rebirth.  How ominous is she who destroys life?  How beautiful is she who creates it. Women in many ways live with this duality. 

In some Native American cultures women are not allowed to participate in ceremonies when they are menstruating because they are considered too powerful.  The menstruation is a symbol of a woman’s power to destroy life. 

Isis

I remember the story of Isis– the Egyptian Goddess – birthing life from death through her love with the ability to create something from nothing.

So as I wander through this earthly existence starting to feel older and more grown up I am reminded of Grace that exists in all stages and that viene todo a su tiempo (everything comes at its time).   I am thankful for all stages of womanhood, not just my youth, but great gifts are given at all ages.  I will not fear crow’s feet around my eyes; I will thank the Crows for their wisdom.  I will let the white take over the black of my hair as a symbol of my duality – reminding me that Death approaches with every breath and that fact gives me more reason to live a fuller life.  I will embrace the power of my cycles allowing my blood to remind me of my ability to create new life.  There is a reason we are affiliated with the moon - her cycles from full to new to full again every 28 days resonates through a woman's body.  I am but la hija de la luna, the moon's daughter learning from my my mother.


I leave you with this fantastic song I wrote this blog listening to:

The Earth is but one country; and mankind its citizens

Blogs this week are more picturesque while I contemplate the meaning of life.

I love traveling to different places and going to see the places of worship.  Locally, my favorite temple is the Baha'i Temple.  If I ever were to get married I would want to get married here (although I really don't think that they allow weddings here).  The detail is magnificent and unfortunately camera on my phone does not do this place justice so please go here for better pictures.

The symbol here means "O Glory of the All Glorious"

I love this place because it's welcoming of everyone, there is a strong interconnectedness between human beings no matter where we come from or our spiritual background here.  There's an openness and quiet peace you feel as you enter the temple.  

The Baha'i religion recognizes all major religions and combines the key teachings of each.

There is this quote inscribed in one of the columns that I love: The Earth is but one country; and mankind its citizens.

Because I have A.D.D. this week

This guy makes a great Obama.  Brings up a really great point....a friend of mine helped produce it and is in it.  I'll give you a hint: he's Mexican.  :)

I would be your Meg White

I would go live in a log cabin in the woods with this man.  I would spend my days knitting by the fireplace and listening to him sing.  I would comb the excess food crumbs off his beard.  I would excuse his slight serial killer appearance.  I would probably have his children....

Acid Can Do Some Messed Up Things! Friends Can Do Worse....

This video is HILARIOUS - seriously, it cracks me up.  







"Noway, noway, get real.  Who's chair is that?  Who brought that Goddamned chair in here, not my chair, not my problem, that's what I say....I'm in love with seahorses, they're so beautiful and cute...I love things with seahorses on them like blankets and towels and little bags...seahorses forever."

Travel Tales: Lessons from the Ocean

A few months back I was backpacking through Oaxaca after a long Chicago winter and some lovely adventures through the chilly mountains of San Jose del Pacifico.

 Finally, we arrived at the beach.  I was so excited to smell the salty breeze, watch the endless blue waves colliding and feel the soft sand beneath my feet.  After a five hour drive from the mountains I was ready for a swim.

Oaxaca is not known for its beaches to tourists largely because of its huge waves.  It is, however, known as a hot spot for surfers.

Excited and brash as I was, I ran into the ocean swimming past the surfers with such rigor you’d have thought I was in a race.  I wanted to get to that spot in the ocean where the waters are calm and everything in front of you is as never-ending as the blue sky on a clear day.   My best friend and adventure partner, Kristin, was back on the beach and dusk was quickly approaching; I started to swim back to shore.

Nearing the shoreline I didn’t feel content enough with swimming past the surfers.  My soul yearned for another adventure with the ocean and when I saw the wave coming I knew how to pursue it.  My feet were touching the oceans floor barely and then comfortably as the tide washed ashore.  The next thing I knew I jumped and the ten-foot wave pulled me under.

Immediately my body hurled and tossed about violently – I thrashed around trying to break the ocean’s surface.  I felt as thought I had been punched in the throat, esophagus and the very pit of my stomach all at once.  I was in survival mode and I don’t remember much other than somehow surfacing, heaving heavily and in a complete state of panic – fearful that breath would never return to my body fully.

A Spanish couple came to my aid asking if I was alright.  I of course, embarrassed and clinging despartely to my autonomy, lied and said I was fine.  The ocean had just caught my off guard (translation:  I almost fuckin’ died and am majorly freaking out right now).  They then told me about the blood on my chin.  I rinsed it with the salt water for them to see.  Their faces were all I needed to see to know I needed to go to a hospital.

Finally, on solid ground I searched for my friends.  Nothing is as awkward as running towards these two guys you had just met (and yet thought appropriate to travel with them in their car for the past four days) half naked and in panic holding your hand over your bloody face. 

We got back into the car as they tried to comfort me.  My best friend by my side helping me put a shirt on through my crying.  We arrived at the village doctor ten minutes later who cleaned my wound and told me I’d be needing stitches.  My gut reaction was to ask when I would be able to go back into the ocean.  He replied that I wouldn’t be able to for at least seven to ten days while the wound healed.  He also mentioned he had no thread and referred us half an hour away to the nearest hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital there was quite the line with injuries much more severe than mine.  An indigenous couple tipped us about a doctor in town who could take me right away.  Back into the car we went.  It was at this precise moment that I knew: these guys were not my new travel companions for just a couple of days, these guys were my friends. 

In town and at the doctor’s office he worked quickly and efficiently while Kristin supervised his stitch-work (I was close to having Kristin stitch me twenty minutes earlier).  I walked out bandaged up and happy to see our friends again.

A few days after getting stitched

Right before leaving Mexico City 10 days later.

This scar on my chin represents many things to me:

I am damn lucky.  At some point when you walk through a sleepy beach town with a bandage covering half your face, the locals start to recognize you.  I like talking to new people so I explained what had happened.  They then proceeded to tell me horror stories about stupid tourists, people who don’t know how to respect the ocean and how tons of visitor die each year from broken necks and drowning because of the current.    I felt much better about not being able to swim for ten days after that conversation.

Respect the Ocean!  She is far more powerful than any one person can even imagine and although she was easy on me this time I understand her power more than I did before – on a level that DEMANDS respect, fear and gratitude.

Friendship can be found in the places you least expect.  I remember before heading into the ocean being slightly nervous about leaving my wallet in the car.  How ironic that when push came to shove these boys took care of me as well or better than friends who have known me my whole life would have.

 

Fascinating - perhaps justifies the rise of Social Entrepreneurship

I feel as though we are evolving in a completely different direction than most people understand within the business environment.  An area of more vision, possibilities and collaborations for purposeful work.  It's a beautiful thing!  I LOVED this!

Engine Oil and Feminism

I had a dream that my car had run out of oil and I was left stranded on some highway with the engine fuming.  I remembered my dream when I started to smell a burning on Interstate 55.  I freaked out and jumped lanes getting off at the next exit and heading to the nearest gas station.

I walked into the gas station stylin’.  I had started to feel sick this morning and spent the majority of my day in bed reading and drinking tea.  I was wearing my 17 year old cousin’s red hoodie, black pajama pants and purple slippers.  I hadn’t even bothered to put on real shoes.  I picked out some motor oil and waited in line.  The gentleman in front of me started a conversation with me as he gave the numbers he wanted to play to the attendant.  I asked him what he was planning on doing if he won.  He replied he would come and find me and take me out some place nice.  I laughed gesturing at my slippers.  He then told me not to worry about what I was wearing, that he’d get me out of my clothes first.  It was then that I responded, still laughing at this dude’s nerve to say something like that to me, that this conversation was over.  I paid for my oil and went back to my car.

One of my close guy friends accused me of being too flirtatious and then getting angry when someone crossed the line even though I had provoked that sort of response (please read here for more background).  He said it as though I had somehow “asked” to be treated with less respect than I thought I deserved.   I disagreed with him and even felt angry that he would think that.

My experience earlier this evening isn’t so unique or even interesting other than I had an epiphany while pouring oil into my engine.  Human beings learn from each other.  We learn from interacting with different people from different walks of life and engaging them in conversations or discussions.  While this man started a conversation with me, I wanted to participate.  People play the lotto all the time – but why (aside from the obvious reasons)?  I wanted to engage this man, curious of what his dreams were.  I wanted to participate in dialogue with the community around me.

If a man had asked the same question to this guy maybe they would have realized that they both want to buy the Chicago White Sox team or that they both want to invest in lobster boats or maybe this guy would have told him that he has always wanted to live in the north of Spain or something.  Maybe there would have been dialogue, maybe there would have been a connection – not as a race, not as a sex, but just as humans.

Feminism isn’t about praising women as these creatures wiser and nobler than the other half of the world.  It is not about superiority or control.  It’s about being seen as a human being and not as a gender or sex.  It’s about equality and egalitarianism.  It’s about freedom: the freedom to engage new people in conversations, the freedom to learn about the world around you and the freedom to participate actively in it.

I'm not angry about what men say to me; I'm angry because I can't participate as fully as I'd like to  in society because of the limitations that my sex carries.