People change...or so I was told

~Once I'm gone, I won't live down my deceit.

There's a weight on my shoulder. Something I carry with me every day. It's not something that I constantly think about, but that which I worry about on a daily basis. It something that arrives before I step foot into a room and something that lingers when I walk away. It speaks volumes about who I am and what I stand for. It's what people judge and what people talk about. It will describe me before you even see my face. It's my name.

I'm not sure what recent events in my life have caused me to feel different about it all. Life I mean. It just seems that from one day to the next my life has taken on a new purpose. Before, or I mean after the event, my goal was just to make it to the next day with my sanity. After a while, just like everyone said, it became normal again. But, my normal wasn't normal anymore. It wasn't really me. My "normal" was spirialling out of control. I had no way of controlling it. I began to feel numb.

The zombie status consumed my life. I could no longer taste the wind. My eyes were void of any life. My ears were immune to the scents of the world. I was walking without purpose, searching for something that I didn't know where to find. I recognized my faithless walk and decided things should change. I just didn't know where to start. Something had to be done and it needed to be taken care of before it destroyed what was left of my heart. Just as sure as you are reading my words, I'm not sure that I completely gotten rid of it.

There are times where I wonder if I am able to feel anything at all. The emotions of hearing my neice laugh at one of my jokes, feeling the kind hug of a friend or being caressed by a hopeless romantic no longer bring thrill to me. How can I write a decent plot line if I don't know how things feel. I find myself digging for some kind of emotion. Crying is a task that doesn't come as easy as it once did, laughing is never forced, but it hurts to bring it up. Like, is this what it has come down to?

The things that used to move me and captivate me, just don't do it for me anymore. A heart that used to be filled with such innocence and love for the world and the people in it, has now become a metallic unidentifiable object that sets off metal detectors in airports. It is something to be feared, but yet envied. Sad but true. Having a cold heart is the new fashion accesory craved all over the world.

I can't change the things I've done in the past. Given the opportunity, I don't think I would change it. Life has taught me so much about the strength that resides within me. Had I not been tested, I would have never known. I now know what I stand for, who I stand with and when to sit my butt down and nod my head. It took a while to get to this point. However, I can't seem to shake the coldness that stirs my heart.

There is a fear that comforts my cold. I am afraid to make myself vulnerable again. There are people in my life that I never thought would turn their backs on me or do anything to hurt me. They too, like the losers I got rid of, have taken the option to shove a six inch blade into the small of my back. What I can't shake is blaming the new people for what the old people have done. How do you even begin to trust again after you have been shattered so many times. Picking up the broken pieces and putting them together repeatedly leaves behind jagged edges and a distorted image. No matter how hard you try to regain what you once were, it's nearly impossible.

Now I am faced with a dilema. It's not anything serious. But, it feels right. The urge and temptation to turn and run is always there. I am trying to fight it. The universe knows this and is pushing me back, but I am resilient, I am battling that force with my last breathe. The whole time I wonder, why bother? It's just going to end up in damaging heartache and what if I can't fix it again? What if this will be the one that will finally break me? Do I really want that?

The truth is I don't. I want to know what it's like to respond to a gentle kiss again and feel that stiring emotion that shakes your heart and sinks into the pit of your stomach. I want to look into someone's eyes and feel their love for me. I want to feel comfortable to break down in tears and be ok with a comforting hug. I no longer want to live in fear of being betrayed and being hurt. I want to live again.

For those that sit around praying for a cold non emotional heart, thing again. Take it from a cold hearted emotionally closed down individual. It's a lonely world out here. It's scary when nothing moves you and nothing motivates you. Just like before when I was trying to survive the incident and I carefully placed one foot in front of the other, I will achieve my goal. The only difference is that this time around I have to undo what I did.

So why bother you ask? Because, I want to be. I will hold on, but this time I won't bleed. My zombie will be killed off and will finally decompose and rest where it fell. I will live again and I will live down the deceit that gave me strength to go one. I will be human again.

Underappreciated is an understatement

Your mind is racing again. It's smack in the middle of the night and you remember that you needed to get that packaged Fed Ex yesterday. You start to wonder how the hell you're going to meet your deadline. There's nothing you can do about it now. It's 3am. You have four hours until you have to get up to prepare the kids for school, but sleep has eluded you. When you were a child your mom would give you a cup of warm milk and that seemed to do the trick. Hopefully, it still works.

You crawl out of bed and make the long walk past the kid’s bedroom, avoid stepping on the dog and walk down the steps. The kitchen seems so far. You remember the day you bought the house. The selling point was the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen. It was just far enough where your spouses early morning coffee routine wouldn't bother you. The neighborhood was also important. You came a long way from the place you used to live in. You worked very hard to give your children the peace and tranquility that you did not grow up with. You have done well in your life.

The long walk to the kitchen brings you past the hallway where your mail sits un-opened. Bills. The first one is that dreaded property tax bill. It seems that while everything has been crashing to a halt, those taxes keep going up and up. Everyone is always asking for money. You struggled to get where you are and it's not fair that people who did not study as hard as you or made the sacrifices you did to put themselves through school should make equal to or more money than you. Civil employees are a joke. Everyone knows that they are just rejects who couldn't make it and had no other choice. Definitely not your fault. You worked hard to be where you are. They are just a bunch of lazy people who got a hand out. They don’t know the meaning of sacrifice.

You get to the fridge and pour yourself a glass of milk. It's 3am and you don't feel like dirtying dishes, so you opt for the microwave instead. You rub your shoulders dreading the day that lies ahead when you hear a noise just outside your French doors. Relief calms your mind. You invested in that alarm protection that they advertise on TV. You know the one where the burglar manages to break in the door and then the alarm sounds and the burglar runs off. A second later someone calls and ask if they are alright. Peace of mind is worth the money. If the burglar were to  manage to make it through that expensive lock you placed on the door after extensive research, the alarm will scare the burglar off. Back to the milk.

You hear the dog racing down the steps and walk over to the pantry to get a treat. But, when your pooch finally gets to where you are, you notice he is staring outside those French doors your mom helped you pick out so you would have a panoramic view of the pool and yard. Then you see it. There’s a shadow lurking in your backyard. It looks like a man. The dog starts to growl. Your heart sinks and your first instinct is to get to the kids and call 911. Forget the alarm.

You run upstairs, calling the dog behind you. You start to think that maybe that Second Amendment wasn’t such a joke. You should have bought a gun after all. You'll be damned if anyone tried to hurt your kids. You enter the first kid bedroom when you hear the French door handle jiggle. Why hasn't the alarm gone off?? The dog's growl is now getting louder. No one is calling.

You manage to get the second child out of their bedroom and hear a voice on the other end of the phone by the time you hear the glass break. No alarm. This is not the way it was supposed to go. The voice on the other end asks you the address of the emergency. You have lived here for over ten years and for the life of you, you can't remember where you live. You inform the operator that someone is breaking into your house. You need the police now. The voice on the other end calmly asks you again, what's your address? You've watched enough movies and enough television to know that they already know where you are. With a pompous and frightened voice you advise the operator she already knows where you are at, just send the police.

The over paid civil employee informs you that they don't know where you are, you are calling from a cell phone and that they need your address. You thought you grabbed the house phone. You give her an address. It sounds about right. Then your heart stops. You can hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. You are scared for your life, for the life of your children. Why you?

The lifeline informs you to lock your bedroom door. She asks you for directions to your bedroom. You tell her it's the fourth door to the left side of the staircase. She asks if you have a closet or a bathroom in your bedroom with a lock. You think of the bathroom. She tells you to lock yourself in the bathroom with the kids and to keep your voice down. She tells you that police are on the way.

You can hear this burglar rummaging through the bedrooms. Who is this person and what is he looking for? You hear the footsteps getting closer. You inform the operator and she reassures you that help is on the way. She's calming. She sounds certain that you are going to make it through this without injury. You will survive. Help is on the way. You try to fight the tears and remain calm for the frightened children that are staring into your eyes. Silently you pray.

Just as you close your eyes to ask Jesus for salvation, the room door burst open and all that separates you from this madman and your children is a bathroom door. Thank God she told you to lock yourself in there. Your kids start to cry hysterically. The voice on the other end tells you that the officers have finally arrived. They are making their way inside. You hear them now. They are shouting commands. They have the lunatic that broke into your home. The voice tells you that the subject is in custody and that you can step out for the officer. You are safe.

Here's the same story from the other end. A story that is not to0 often shared.

A 911 operator finishes a call where she gave CPR instructions to a 12 year old boy whose mom wasn't breathing. She just spoke to the Staff Sergeant who informed her that the mom didn't make it. The story tugs at her heart as she remembers how scared he was. She couldn’t help but to think of her own son. He was screaming that his mom was going to die. This wasn’t going to happen on her watch. She reassured him. He needs to be strong. She needs him to help his mommy. She needed him to be brave and follow her instructions. He could do this.

She let him down. His mom did not make it. When the officers arrived, his mom was already gone. They tried CPR, but it was too late. For every good call, there's ten bad ones. This was supposed to be her day off. She switched days off with a fellow co-worker because he couldn’t take the day off to be with his wife for surgery. The shift was short again. He would have worked his life around for her. It’s something you get used to around here.  Due to staff shortage, it’s not rare to exchange a day off with someone. It’s all about being there for your family. Everyone understood.

She is not able to take a break yet and decided to take one more call before running to the bathroom to cry her eyes out. Some calls stay with you. They never go away. But, maybe she’ll be lucky this time and this boys screams won’t haunt her dreams. The next call will make her forget. It will go away. It had to.

Her next call is a screaming woman. The woman doesn't know her address. She's handled this before. She calms the caller down and mutes the phone as she asks her supervisor to try to trace the call. Someone is breaking into this citizen’s house. At the same time, she creates the call to start officers to the general area where the cell phone grid. She starts adding comments to the call. She forgets about the 12 year old boy who is without a mother. This woman needs her now.

The police dispatcher has been busy all night. It seems that when there's a full moon, all the crazy people want to come out and play. The day started with someone trying to kill themselves, leading the police in an extensive foot pursuit, which resulted in minor lacerations to an officer who struggled to get the knife away from the subject just in time. She hasn’t stopped talking and she is in dire need of a bathroom break. She shouldn’t have had the large coffee. But, caffeine is what keeps her moving. She really has to go, but there is no one to relieve her. She feels the stress start to build up. Air traffic is busy.

From deadly vehicle crashes, to mothers fighting with daughters, boyfriends slapping their girlfriends, loud barking dogs and robberies; She’s ready for some quiet time. Finally it slows down a little and she finally managed to dispatch an officer to the vehicle accident that has been holding for two hours. It's been raining. She feels bad, but due to recent cut backs, there aren’t enough units to go around.  If only the public knew.

Just as she thinks she'll finally be able to take a breath and maybe take a sip of water, she gets a call about an unknown person attempting to break into a residence. She asks for an officer to clear from a call. They are all tied up on some priority call. There are no units available.

The officer who was on his way to the vehicle accident that was holding for two hours, informs her that he hasn't arrived yet. He'll take the call and then respond back to the crash. She feels bad. The call will hold, yet again, but there aren't any lives in danger...just property damages. They can wait a little longer. She hopes that they understand and don’t call back requesting an ETA. We have the call and an officer will respond.

She requests a unit to back up that officer. The sergeant who is tending to the injured officer says he will go and then come back to the officer. There is no one else available. Just then the call heats up. The subject has made it inside the house. The complainant on the call is now locking herself in the bathroom. Her heart starts to race and she starts a game plan in her head, just in case this goes bad. After the many difficult calls she has handled, she knows that every second counts. Everyone is going home tonight.

The responding officer hears the information over the radio. He is tired. He's worked double shifts the last two days. He's can't remember the last time he tucked his kids into bed or cuddled up next to his wife at night. His weekends are Tuesday and Wednesday. He is sleep deprived and hungry. He turns his lights and sirens on and drives a little over the speed limit in the rain, just as he was taught in the academy. He wants this scumbag in handcuffs and in the backseat of his police car. That could've been his house, his family in danger.

He arrives at the house and waits for back up. After all, he doesn't know if this subject is armed and he really wants to make it to his son's baseball game later on that afternoon. He takes a peak into the back yard. He sees the broken glass and advises the dispatcher. He request additional units, just in case the subject runs out, and begins to call out perimeter points around the house.  There’s no way in hell this guy is getting away. He is going to jail tonight.

A couple of other officers arrive on the scene and he advises the dispatcher to hold the radio traffic, he's going in. He draws out his gun. He has his back up right behind him. He’s the first going in. His heart starts to beat a little faster. Everything inside him is screaming for help, telling him to turn around but, he is help. If he doesn't go in there, who else will? He closes his eyes for a brief second and makes a quick prayer. Lord, let me make it through one more. He walks in.

It isn't difficult to see where the burglar went. He follows the mud prints through the kitchen, past the hallway and to the staircase. Thank God for the rain. Just as he makes his way up the stairs, he hears the door being slammed open. He rushes up the stairs, not sure of what he will find when he sees the subject about to walk into the bedroom. POLICE! He announces, LEMME SEE YOUR HANDS! LEMME SEE YOUR HANDS! Luckily the guy comes out, hands first. No weapons in sight. GET ON THE FLOOR! GET DOWN!! The subject is down. He walks over, gun drawn and ready to shoot. He hears his back up approaching and when he gets the ok, he walks over and handcuffs the subject. Case closed.

He gets on the radio again. Tells the dispatcher that the subject is in custody and to advise the complainant that she can step out. He walks into the fourth door from the left of the staircase to hear the bathroom door cautiously open. He says in a firm but gentle voice, its ok ma'am we got him. C'mon out. She runs out and into his arms. She gives him a tight hug, thank you. Thank you so much. He smiles. Just doing my job ma'am.

He transports the dirt bag to jail, Finishes his report. The vehicle accident had to be given to another unit. His shift is over. He has enough time to stop at a local coffee house before heading home and taking the kids to school. He's dead tired, but he has to go to court after he drops the kids off. Caffeine is a miracle. Hopefully, his court appearance doesn't take long and he can catch some sleep before picking up the kids in the afternoon. He has to work again tonight.

He sits back in his police cruiser and he starts to think of the uncertainty. The many times he's had a close call. The many situations he's wanted to run from, but instead runs into. He thinks of the disrespect he deals with from every angle. And yet, these are the same people that look to him for reassurance that everything will be ok. But, who does this for him? He thinks of the pending budget cuts and whether or not it's all worth it. He always wanted to be a cop. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to help people. But, the cost is his life. He looks at the time. He's going to be late to get the kids. He wants to call his wife to drop them off, but he fights the temptation. He needs to see his kids. He’s doing this for them. As he sets his car into drive, he thinks to himself, things could be worse. He could be without a job. Yet again, he could have lost his life today. He drives off not knowing if today will be the last day he takes his kids to school. It's just another day in paradise.

What was your work day like?

I am a writer

As quick as it started, it ended. A friend of mine once told me that she thinks I suffer from A.D.D. I’m starting to suspect that she is right. The words start to flow in my head and if I don’t immediately get them all down, they go away. It’s like there’s this pathway to this hidden creativity that roams the world. If I don’t grasp the idea as quick as it comes, it will go away and fall on someone else’s shoulder. Make their way to a known, published writer or some word genius who sits around waiting…leaving me with a desire to become a published  and successful writer one day.

At times I wonder if this dream will ever come true. I’ve wanted this from the time I was a little girl. Actually, I think I wanted to run my own publication. I started with my spin on the New York newspaper, The Daily News…I called it The Daily Kids. The paper started as an attempt to make candy money. I sold it for twenty five cents a copy. I was also under the impression that whatever was written or printed on paper, in coupon form, would be honored. So, I created coupons for the things that I wanted. Barbie’s and dollhouses, books and stationary. Sometimes, my mom would honor them and other times, she would laugh and say that she would buy it when she won the lottery. To this day, she owes me soo much!

As I got older, the dream kinda sorta faded. I began to concern myself with the things that other kids were worried about. Hair, clothes, music and who was cute and who wasn’t. My road map was thrown off track. Soon after I got married and my priorities changed. My passion became my husband and my household. I wanted to start a family and was heading in that direction. Eventually, I lost myself and my dreams. Being a writer was far from my thoughts. Occasionally, I would right in my journal. I found that I only wrote when I was down about something. It was my release. As my marriage began to fail, my words became my only sanctuary.

I didn’t rely on them as much as I should’ve. I did start to count on alcohol a whole lot more. In fact, it became my best friend. I became addicted to that feeling of NOT feeling. It felt good to not be in control. To follow that initial instinct and not worry about the consequences made me happy. At least, I felt happy at the moment. The morning after was a whole other story. After making several mistakes, one of which was drunk driving, I decided a change was in order. Thankfully, I did not injure someone or myself, but I did wake up the next morning in my bed with no recollection of leaving the club, driving home or crawling into bed. I was done.

I don’t know what changed in my at that moment, but I have never again been that intoxicated and I am very well aware of my limits in regards to drinking. With that said, I had the desire in my to write at that point, but I didn’t know where or how to start. Keep in mind, that my whole life, prior to that, I never had to work at words. They just came to me. But, now I found myself fighting for the words. Craving to have them embedded in my brain and have them flow out on my computer or on paper.

Lines came out at me, but not full paragraphs. I followed my other passion…reading. I began picking up books. Each word was a struggle that I never had to face before. But, I forced myself to get into it. I read, not for pleasure but because I had to. I had to rediscover my love of words. No matter how horrible the book, I was going to force my brain to like it. It was a learning experience after all.

After some time, the words slowly began to make their way back to me. Little by little poetry formed, then I discovered blogging. Disorganized thoughts became post. I even joined a writing group. One day, one of my writing mates, came up with a writing schedule. If we wanted to be published writers, we had to dedicate time. I was going to do this. I was going to write a book.

Well, the time that I was supposed to dedicate to my best selling novel, became dominated by my blog post. Each becoming organized and reader friendly, but again, I had no direction. I created a new blog after joining a blog challenge. This was going to be the beginning of awesome. I was going to be a writer. I even had business cards made.

As I sit in this French café, enjoying my Mochacchino and croissant, I have yet to figure out the direction I want to take as a writer. It’s a dream that I have held for a very long time in my heart. The words still struggle and for the first time I find myself working towards something. I have decided that I have job security and I feel comfortable where I am right now. But, this is not where I want to see myself when I am forty. My dream is to become a writer. My dream is to live part time in New York City with my apartment being steps away from The Village. I want to jog in Central Park in the morning and catch the train to have dinner with my mom by Yankee Stadium. The flame has not burned out, it’s being re-ignited and I will reach my goal. One word at a time…

This song says it all. . .

B.A. (Before Atlanta)

In a typical Ymelda fashion, things were forgotten. You would assume that the many times that I have traveled in the past, by now I would have a mental check list of everything that needs to leave with me. Very cliché to say so, but, it should flow like clockwork. Apparently,  I need a new clock. Unfortunately, my sacred memory stick is sitting in my work bag on top of my bed or on the floor somewhere. Can’t remember exactly where I left it. Therefore, all the work that I was supposed to get done on the plane is not going to happen until I arrive back in Miami.

Yes, I said on the plane. For the first time in about seven years I am flying without my reliable relaxant, Xanax. To say that I am freaking out and just seconds away from being tased by the hot Marshall sitting in the corner, is a HUGE understatement. I am keeping calm by pretending I am sitting in a chilly Starbucks and writing on my blog, like I would any other day of the week. I have my iPod on and Godsmack is playing in the loudest possible setting that I can stand. This technic is used in order to drown out the sound of the engines, which I’ve learned get louder as the plane speeds up. It gets lower as the engine slows the heavy mass of metal down and that’s when my heart feels like it’s about to burst into a never ending hysteria.

On a less psychotic note, this will probably be the third time I visit Atlanta. For the life of me, each flight there has been a total blur. Thank you Xanax! Since my total stay this time will be about two days in the city, my usual recovery time of a day is going to be a waste. So, I decided this time not to take anything and wing it. So far so good! I can’t see myself flying to L.A anytime soon without it….but It’s good to know that I can last an hour or so without having a minor heart attack.

My writers block has somewhat lifted. It’s not as bad as it was, but the stump is still there. Things don’t come as easily as it used to and it’s starting to feel like work. There are currently three stories in my head, from beginning to end. Each detail is outlined perfectly and I can see the characters and I know them as well as I know my closest friends. But, the words won’t come. The letters will not formulate and make sense long enough to bring these people to life.

It seems that lately the easiest thing to write about is myself and what I’m going through. And, if you’ve been following my blog at all, you would know that it really isn’t much. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with where my life is now. I am comfortable, I have a dog, I have a stable career that I love…my friends and family are amazing and I am truly blessed to have them holding me up. But, man, I get tired of talking about myself.

I hear that you are supposed to write what you know. It flows easier and the story comes together easier. I do write about what I know. Or at least what I think I know. The ideas are there. It’s the spitting it out that’s the problem. Even now as I write this the words just don’t make sense to me. I could blame it on my one hour of sleep, the nervousness about flying or the fact that I am on a Delta flight and I really really miss Jetblue right about now…but that’s not the case. It’s just not there.

I tried free writing the other day. I can’t remember when, but I’m thinking it was on my flight from New York to Miami. That was a Xanax induced free write. There was a tone of rambling. In the mist of complaining that I had nothing to write about and that it was probably the dumbest thing I have ever written there were two main points that created one of my stories. In fact, I could’ve elaborated on those points right now, had I remembered my memory card.

I could’ve slept, but I’m sitting in a middle seat. And, I also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write sober on a plane. What exactly brings me to Atlanta this time around? The last time that I was here, it was for a couple of hours. I had a connecting flight while on my way to New Orleans. This time, I actually get to experience Atlanta and all its glory. I plan on it being a calm relaxed visit. I was in desperate need for a vacation and this trip presented itself. Lord knows I can’t turn down a chance to step out of the box and try something new. This is definitely new. According to the besties, Atlanta is as South as it can get. Although, I have pale skin and somewhat light hair at the moment, I will be classified as a “Mexican.” Not really offended as I love tacos and margaritas, but it’s pretty messed up.

Bestie told me a story about her brother in law. He is a pharmacy technician in a large chain. He was working the midnight shift. After responding to work and feeling ill at around 4am, he decided to go home. On his way home, mind you he’s wearing his uniform, which consist of a lab coat; he gets pulled over. I doubt he was speeding, as I’ve been in the car with him before and he drives like a grandma. Or maybe that’s why he was pulled over…hmmmm. Anyway, the officer approaches the vehicle, and proceeds to ask him how much he had been drinking that night. Brother in law, hereafter referred to as BIL, denied drinking and stated that he wasn’t feeling well and was on his way home from work. The officer stated that he knew he was Mexican and that all Mexicans drink and drink a lot. BIL advised the caring officer that he was not Mexican, but in fact from El Salvador and that he had not been drinking. Officer advised BIL that it was all the same thing and asked him to blow into a breathalyzer.

There is a certain kind of “racial profiling” that comes into effect when one swears to protect the laws and citizens of this country. But, that’s taking it to the extremes. I’m ok with getting pulled over because I drive fast and my vehicle has extremely dark tints (I hate the sun), BUT, to be pulled over because I look a certain way. NOT COOL.

My task at hand is to keep my mouth shut. Which, in the last couple of days has actually worked wonders for me. So much so that I am constantly being asked “what’s wrong?” I don’t remember where I heard this quote, but it went something along the lines of being quick to anger but slow to speak. I know I’m slaughtering that quote right now, but that’s what I took from it. I am very quick to get upset over something and speaking my mind right then and there. Most of the time, if not all, my human filter goes out the window and the “words made of knives” come out to play.

Keeping my mouth shut and not saying things when I want to say it has made me laugh more.  I am NOW starting to realize how bad of a temper I have. My outburst are less and my stress level as decreased a little. I have come to the realization that when I am not in control my emotions go haywire. However, I am also learning to let go and realize that I cannot control everything and that’s ok. Sometimes one has to kick back, relax and let someone have the last word. Because, all though they have the last word, silence speaks volumes.

Jeter made it simple

It was hot. I like the house to be at a certain temperature. BELOW FREEZING!! Granted the energy conservationist in me puts up a fight, but the fat girl that wants to lay in bed and dwell on day dreams and comfort always wins. And when I say comfort, I mean COMFORT. Sixty-nine degrees of straight chill, while I marinate under my level three Ikea comforter. So, this morning, when I woke up in a pool of sweat...I was a tad bit pissed.

Jeter was fidgety in his kennel next to me. They guy at the pet store told me that I shouldn't keep him locked in there longer than eight consecutive hours. I timed it in my head. I got home at about 1:44 am. Crawled into bed at like 2am, so I could stay in bed until 10am. It was 8:17am and I was awake and even worse, I was hot. My roomate was already gone, at least I think she was because I couldn't understand how anyone else would be surviving in this torturous Miami heat. My mom told me the other day that New York was in the high nineties. At least we have ocean surrounding us...so I really shouldn't be complaining. But, anyway, back to my story.

I roll my chunky monkey self out of bed and make my way to the temperture control thingy for the air conditioner. It was up to SEVENTY NINE!! Seriously?!?! I went ahead and lowered the temperature and made my way back to the bed. By this time, Jeter is up and jumpy because he thinks it's play time. I look at him and say..."Not yet baby! Go back to sleep." He begins to whine. It's breakfast time and what kind of mother would I be if I deny my child food?

Whatever, I was out of bed anyway. So, I open his kennel and lead him to the back door. My puppy needs to do his morning business. I leave him outside and walk back into the house so that I can get his breakfast ready for him. But, he follows me back in. I walk back out with him and ONLY when he is sure that I am watching and not moving...he poops! Yaay, he poopied outside and not in my room. I get all excited and then he recipricates by doing it again. Sad that at my age I get excited that my dog can poop outside. I thought it was a given!

We walk back in the house and Operation Feed Puppy begins. I prepare his food and bam...Jeter is eating. I take the opportunity to walk over to the bathroom and brush my braced teeth. Jeter follows. I look at him and tell him..."Go eat Jeter." He looks at me with his sad puppy dog face and his big eyes and his head tilts over just a tad. I hear his look telling me "Come on Mommy!" He wins....I'm just a sucker for wimpering and sad faces.

I walk over and I lean on the kitchen wall and watch him enjoy his breakfast. When he is done, he runs towards the front door and I take that as a sign that he needs to go use the "facilities." Turns out I was right. He runs out and bam...baby pee-peed. Again, a swell of joy fills my heart and I am happy. In turn, I make him happy. A simple good job and a tummy rub go a long way with a puppy. I start to wonder if I could benefit from one of those.

He follows me through out the house and is constantly searching for my attention and affection. He loves me for apparently no reason. It's easy. I give him and he gives me. At night when I come home, he's there. Tail wagging, smile on his puppy dog face and he is excited to see me. I can't tell you how much joy this brings me. To know that there can be a relationship where you don't have to invest everything you are and everything you could be into the other being to make it work baffles me. If it's so simple in a human/dog relationship, why can't it be simple in the human/human dynamic?

Friends are love...

There are those times in life that one feels alone. Its that feeling where you think that there is no one in the world that understands you. Since no one understands you, then no one cares. And, since no one cares, what's the point of going on? Then the craziness and the madness starts. Take it from me, I've been there more than once in my life. I have to say that the cliche of take it day by day or what doesn't kill you make you stronger....yeah, they are all on point.

Last night I had one of those moments. Or actually this whole trip was like that. I was hesitant to come because of the circumstances that occured prior to this. I wanted to crawl into a hole and dwell on my own sadness. I guess I should give you some background information before the epiphany of my life slapped me to my knees yesterday.

Ok, so it all starts with an ex-boyfriend of mine. He and I had a good relationship. I would have to say that it was my first REAL adult relationship. Yeah, I know that I was married and with the same man for the beginning of my twenties AND we were together for about eight years. But, I wouldn't call that an adult relationship. It was more of friendship with aspirations to become a relationship. But, enough about that.

Ex-boyfriend or Bruce (name has been changed DUH!) had a relationship like none I have ever experienced. We talked a lot. But, it was more than talking. It was communications. I would speak, he would listen, he would give his thoughts on the subject and vise versa. Everything was on the table. There was nothing that we couldn't discuss. For the first time, my thoughts didn't scare me. He taught me the art of communication and how to have an arguement without shouting and without judgement.

Example: Our arguements would flow like this:
"I can't believe you just said that."
"Said what?"
"That you prefer pink."
"I don't get it. What's the point?"
"How can you like pink? Your such a jerk sometimes."
"It's my opinion. You have yours and I have mine. And, your right...the way that I said it made me come off as a jerk, BUT not the words. I should've said it differently. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."

I'm sure you guessed that he would be the green, while I would be the peachy color. Our relationship was awesome. We would go out and he would always ask me what I wanted to do and would never complain about it. He would laugh and have a good time no matter where we were. We never had any uncomfortable silences. The silence was soothing. We were comfortable with one another. But, I feel way before he did and ummm he had a situation that he never told me about. He was still married.

Needless to say, our relationship ended and our friendship continued. When I say friendship, I mean friendship. He's there when I need him and he understands me like no other. He gets me and he gets my craziness. He accepts me for who I am and we can still talk and hang out like we used to. I respect his marriage (now that I know he has one) and he respects my single life and the fact that I go out on dates. Why am I telling you this?

Well, someone came into my life soon after he exited who was single. He meet all the qualifications and we were off. We were soulmates. I wrote about him a couple of days ago, the post is titled "My Soul Mate?". Up until last night, I believed that we were. Everything was there. We could talk, we shared the same passion for baseball, had similar retirement plans...we were a match made in heaven.

Last night, over a sober game which lead into a conversation, two of my besties started to analyze my relationship. One more than the other. She asked me what I saw in my "soulmate." My reaction was like dude, you met him. You had a conversation with him. You told me you liked the way he interacted with me, the way he respected me and the way he gave me this caring look. I told her that she had given me the green light. Then she asked the question that changed everything.

"Other than your shared love of baseball, what else do you like about him?" Seemingly, this should have come easy. I should have been able to gush about him and my answer should have been, "where do I start?" Instead, I found myself struggling with why I like him so much. It was his eyes, his height...no....he's smart, he has a solid career....no...none of these things had anything to do with why? I mean, this is the answer that you would give a random person on the street, not a good friend.

When women break down men for other women. Women that you are not emotionally connected to, we tend to say "Look at him, why wouldn't I want him." When you break him down to another woman that you are emotionally connected to, you go deeper. You tell her how he makes you feel and you give her details, situations, small insignificant things that meant the world to you. When I couldn't come up with anything to tell her...she said the words that made me fall on my ass. I had the night to sleep on it and I have yet to get find my way back up.

She said, "You are not into him. You are settling. The person that you want is married and is unavailable. You feel that the closet you can find to him is your 'soulmate'. Your 'soulmate' is available and meet some of the qualities that Bruce has but he isn't Bruce. 'Soulmate' is an asshole and Bruce isn't. You are blind to him being an asshole because you are too busy thinking that you aren't going to find anything like that again. Think about it. Do you really want to settle?" Then the other bestie jumped in (she had been quiet this whole time) "You settled for your husband and look how that turned out." Then they both exited the room.

Well, I'm in analysis mode right now. But the point of this story is that friends are hard to come by. Friends that understand you, love you, and who give you harsh words for your improvement are a needle in a haystack. I have said this many times before and I will never tire of saying this. I am blessed to have the people that I have in my life. If friends are the family that we choose for ourselves, I've held on to a great set of people. Each one has their own personality, their own ways, and they have different backgrounds. The one thing that they all have in common is that they love me.

God has blessed me many times. From the family that I was born into, to the challenges I have had to face and overcome, to the people he has put in my path and has held there throughout the years. There's a calm in knowing that whatever dark times lie ahead, I have a solid support base. They know me well enough to know when I lie to myself and call me on it. My peace of mind is priceless and that's what friends do for you.

It isn't so black anymore...

He called today. I had to remind myself to breathe. I don't know if it's weird or not, but we've been dating for a couple of weeks now and I've already assigned him a ring tone. From our first date we discovered that we both share a passion for Pearl Jam AND our favorite song (which we discovered over Starbucks coffee, he likes that too!!) is Black. The song is basically about a break up and how that person being gone has turned your world to black. There's an absence of feeling and emotions now that the person is gone. I've felt that way before and he has to.

Not that it's in our control, because people are an evolving species, but we promised that we wouldn't hurt each other intentionally. I know that it's a lot to promise so quick in the relationship, but we've both been hurt in the past. We have both felt used in previous relationships and this time it's going to be different. This time I will put his feelings, his wants, his needs and his desires before my own. He's going to do the same for me. After all, isn't that what a relationship is supposed to be like?

So, my phone rang. I was half asleep. I don't get up that early. I see that it's him and immediately my heart flutters. I answer the phone and he's awake and super happy, the best way to wake up in the morning. Good morning sleepy head, he says. I have a question for you. It's too soon for him to ask me to marry him, so I laugh and say shoot. He responds with I'd rather not, but I would like to know if you knew why golfers wear two pairs of pants? I didn't even know they did, I respond. He laughs and says it's in case they get a hole in one. I start laughing hysterically and he laughed too. You're silly, I tell him. You like it, he says. In fact I do. 

He reviews our date information for tonight and says he's really excited to try this new restaurant. It's not really new new. It's probably been around for a long time. But, the other day when we were driving around Miami Beach we saw this little bistro and decided that it was worth a try. He remembered and is taking me there tonight. I asked him if they served anything with mangoes, reminding him of our inside joke. He laughed and said, no silly, I have all the mango I need. Go back to sleep and get some rest, you'll need it for tonight. I smile, agree and hang up the phone. I don't go back to sleep.

The truth is that I am happy. I haven't felt this way in a long time. There is something about him that moves me. He inspires me to do more to want more out of life. Our connection goes way deeper than the physical and believe me when I tell you that this guy is gorgeous. I feel privileged to walk hand in hand with him. But, putting his ten status out of the picture, it's his attention to detail that makes me so proud to be with him. He knows me. He analyzes me and plays close attention to what I like and don't like. He wants to make me happy and will not rest until he knows that I am satisfied. I like that.  

So the question that hangs in the air right now is what I will wear for our date. I was contemplating wearing a black dress. Something classy, but sexy. After all I am a woman, and I have to look the part. Slight cleavage but the dress comes down to my knees. To make sure I stand out, my shoes are a romantic bright red. Give my outfit a little flair by adding a small amount of red accessories and my hair will be in loose curls and picked up half way. The make-up of course will be light and highlighted with a red lipstick that matches my shoes and I will be set. I hope he likes it. 

As I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. I'm amazed.  I hope this feeling doesn't go away. I am tired of being disappointed and being hurt by men. I do realize that I give too much in relationships. I hope that he won't take advantage of me. I hate being just another number on someones list. I wasn't made for that. I was made to be in a committed relationship with someone who feels the same way I do. A couple of years ago,  I would have crumbled at the idea of being on the verge of turning thirty and not being married and not having kids. I had a plan back then. 

I heard somewhere that when we make plans, God laughs at us. I think this is most true in my life. My life plan wasn't supposed to be this way. I started off twenty one right on track and it came to a crashing halt at the age of twenty seven. Then I had to start all over. I'm glad. This is the way my life should be. Me, my dog, and peace. Nothing to come between us and nothing to upset me. Everything else is an add-on and for that, I am grateful.

 

 

 

Ju wan man-go?

I was exhausted the day we met. It was the crack of dawn. I had barely slept. My hair was all over the place, my pajamas hadn’t left my body... come to think of it, I don’t even think  I was wearing a bra . This, with DD size breast, isn’t cute. I probably had eye boogers and dried up saliva on my mouth. I tend to drool sometimes. Either way, I resembled a Picasso. I was distorted and not making sense, but in his eyes, I was beautiful. At least that’s what I believed when I found out the extent of what he had to do to find me.

He knocked on my door and proceeded to ask the age old question that every person with a Mango tree gets during Mango season. Good morning, he said, may I take some mangoes from your tree? A million thoughts ran through my head at that point. The main one being, why would you wake me up at 7am to ask me for some damn mangoes? Jump the fence, grab them and then flee the scene. I would’ve been none the wiser and I’d be hibernating in some deep REM right about now. Contrary to what I was thinking and feeling, I was nice. Of course, I said behind sleepy eyes, take ‘em all if you want. He walked around the house and into the back yard.

I closed the front door and was walking back to bed when it hit me. He might need a bag for the harvest he was lifting from my backyard. I got some plastic shopping bags that I keep on deck for my puppy’s poopies and open the back door. It was then that I noticed it. He was hot! It wasn’t the normal hot that I am attracted to. I usually go for the funny nerd sitting in the corner. Not one to chase looks, intellect attracts me. But, this time, the outside had grappled my attention and I was hooked.

By God was this man muscular. He had his back to me, but he had to be about 6’2, not sure about the weight because the muscles might make him sound heavy. He had dark hair, light eyes and when he reached up to the tree to grab a mango, something moved inside me. It wasn’t sexual, it felt deeper than that. Something that hadn’t been touched in a really time. I craved his attention, but this one had to be played properly. I called him over and asked him if he needed a bag. When he turned around with about 5 mangoes resting on his tattooed deliciously formed arms and I saw the dimple on his cheek when he smiled at me I was sold. I wanted him.

This was a first for me. My besties always told me that I was the male in every relationship that I’ve had. I love to tease them, draw them in and once I have them wrapped around my little finger I lose interest and break their hearts. Truth of the matter was I didn’t believe in love. Love was for suckers. I had fallen one to many times and I refused to play the idiot ever again. Get what you want and then leave them wanting more. That way you will always be the one that got away, but you will always have your integrity and an untarnished heart.

All this changed for me once we made eye contact. Wow. I didn’t think that a cold heart could warm up with one smile and one gaze, but my heart did. It felt as if instantly I was in love. He could see right through me. I knew him like no other and he knew me. We were…..soul mates. Destined to spend eternity together and having a link to the past. No one would ever come between our bond and nothing on this earth could ever tear us apart.

He walked over to me and grabbed the bag. He smiled again and said thank you. He sheepishly looked down at my chest and then I remembered. NO BRA! I did not brush my teeth and this Adonis was standing a spoiled milk breath away. Oh my God, my curly kinky hair was probably pointing out all the flaws in the earth at that moment. Not to mention the fact that my breast were not perfectly shaped and plumped up to reveal a suggestive decollage. It seemed as if I were an octopus. I had hands and arms flailing about to cover my breast, draw down my shorts, fix my hair, wipe my mouth and remove the eye boogers that had accumulated over night. All the while, I continued to smile with my eyes and draw him into my web of proposed happiness. I could tell how he cautiously laughed that he was sold. This man was going to be mine.

Thanks for the bag, he said, rather shy I thought. This was no way for him to react to me. I mean, I’m practically naked in front of him. Men can always tell when they have a woman where they want them and THIS man can have ME any which way he finds fit. I was ready to be molded and delivered to an eternal bliss. Regardless of how my body and heart alike, quivered for this man, he didn’t notice it. I politely smiled, said you’re welcome and told him I was going back to bed. Hope you get some sleep, he coyly said, I’m sorry to have awaken you. Don’t worry about it, I smiled as I walked back up to the door and walked back into my house.

I stood up against the door for what seemed like hours. I smiled. I hadn’t felt this happy in a very long time. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know who or what he did. I just knew that he wanted my mangoes. My mangoes made him happy and because he was happy, I was too.

My Soul Mate?

Baseball bought us together. Inability to commit tore us apart. There was something about his eyes that immediately registered with me. There was a kindness, a loving touch hidden between his intimidating demeanors. He made me comfortable from the first time I said hello. It felt as if I had known him my whole life. For the first time in my life, I actually believed in the idea of having a soul mate.

We were both divorced. He had a child, I wanted one. We were in the same line of work. We both had a similar manner in dealing with people. He was the extrovert, I the introvert. He was the balance I longed for and desperately needed. I was the spunk he was missing in his life. So, why is it that I find myself without him?

From the beginning, I was more open that he could have ever wished for. Coming from many failed relationships, I was done with the sugar coating and the BS that is normally associated with dating. I was up front from the beginning. “All that I expect and could ever ask from you is honesty.” I asked him. I also threw in there that if I ever caught him lying that would be the end of my respect and our friendship. He promised to never lie and asked the same from me. It was a done deal.

He told me he was in the process of getting a divorce. It wasn’t final. They had a child in common and multiple properties. My divorce was simple and uncontested. His complicated. I was a virgin to his issues. However, I offered my support and was there to listen when he didn’t have an ear. I don’t think we ever really went out on a date. All of our outings were surrounding baseball games that I willingly provided my television for; he would bring the wings and beer. We formed a bond.

I could feel myself catching feelings and I knew it was time to establish what we were and what we were going to be. We, yes WE, both decided that we were not prepared for something serious. Things were going good the way that they were and there was no reason to spoil it by placing a title on it. We would wait for his issues to be settled, but in the meantime, we were going to enjoy each other’s company. 

I don’t know why it hit me the way that it hit me, when I found out he was also dating one of my co-workers. Turns out this co-worker was married. I don’t know what bothered me more, the fact that she was a MARRIED woman or the fact that he was sleeping with someone that I saw on a regular basis. Either way, it disgusted me. Just like I had promised, I asked him about it. No sugar coating, no leading up to the line of questioning. I wanted to know.

He was hesitant at first, and tried to cover up his tracks. I never ask a question that I don’t already know the answer to and I ALWAYS do my homework. I like to be prepared with an opening argument and a solid case. I normally wing it when it comes to my closing statement. He failed on all accounts. I believe I even went so far as to add my own truths and see where that would lead me. Of course, my bluff worked in my favor because he gave me more information than what I cared to know. 

Although, I felt a sting in my heart, I called it quits. There was no point in working towards reconciliation. Keeping in mind that we were never official, I was offended that he was actually dating other people. We were never a couple, I had hopes that one day we would be. I gave him the respect that I felt he deserved. Even though, I had many opportunities to see other people, I never gave in. I wanted his voice to be my wake up call, I wanted him to be my first call after work, I only wanted his lips to brush up against mine, I wanted his hugs to console me….there was no one else for me.

After a couple of months of being free from him, a death rekindled our relationship. I wanted to make sure he was okay, and we began talking again. Once again, I found myself falling for him. This time around, I was going to keep myself on guard. I was going to date around and not be committed and I definitely would not sleep with him. I was going to stay sober from this drug that consumed me and left me empty inside. It didn’t work.

Within a couple of days, my relapse had begun. I sent him and email one night, where I confessed my feelings for him. I told him that I was ready to settle down again. I saw myself getting married and having children one day. Don’t misunderstand me; I wasn’t rushing him down the isle. I’m not even sure that he is “the one.” But, I do know that I am getting older and that I am done with the games. I am currently only accepting serious applications. 

We had a decent conversation. He wasn’t where I was. He didn’t see himself getting married ever again. I totally could deal with that. The deal breaker however, he did not want more children. He had a son already from his previous relationship. Kids were out of the question. I couldn’t compromise on that note. He understood. He didn’t want to lose me and wanted me in his life. I couldn’t be his friend and accept the fact that he would be with someone else. Call it quits again. I had to get over him. 

I know this is redundant, but we were at it again. Actually, we are at that point again. I love being around him. He has this comforting aura about him. My guard is immediately brought down and the major stressors in life become nothing in his presence. When I am wrapped up in his arms, I feel protected from all the evils in this world. I have deep emotions for this man. He knows me like no other.

But, yet, we just aren’t meant to be.

simple and sweet

Love is simple. Take for instance the love of a puppy. As I write this, my puppy, Jeter (Yes, I did name him after my fifteen year crush New York Yankee Shortstop Derek Jeter) (GO YANKS!!)...ok got it out of my system....Jeter is currently sleeping on my lap. He's a mix between a bull terrier and a pug. For those of you who are dog lovers, you know that the puppy training phase is a difficult one. Right now, I am battling the potty training war. So far, he's winning.

After a detailed conversation with my bestie and many poo-poo pick ups, I have decided that I am going to become very strict with his kennel training. So all day today, he's been stuck in his kennel. Whining up a storm! Each time the whines would become a little bark, I would let him out and direct him outside. He didn't get the reasoning behind it and thought it was play time. Let's just say that he needs his nails clipped. So after many scratches to my feet, I decided to let him stay outside, in the gated back yard, by himself and see if he would figure out that I wanted him to go poo-poo outside. 

He understood this as abandonment. He stayed by the door and cried and cried and cried. I went and got him and let him back inside the house. I turn my back and not only did he drop one load of enormous poo-poo on the floor, but he left me three loads along with a nice puddle of pee-pee to wash it all down. So, I wipe him down and place him back in the kennel. Of course he still is at loss. He wants to play, he wants to be with me.  He needs my attention. The sound of my voice or my presence sent him in to crazy mode. I don't like hearing him moan and groan in pain. I want to play with him, but he has to learn.

After leaving him there, to the point that I can't stand the screams, I decide to pick him up and sit him on my lap. I pull one of his softer toys and give it to him so that he won't nibble on my arm, which he enjoys doing. As I updated my facebook status, Jeter played with his toy on my lap. He's relaxed. Eventually, he dropped his toy and cuddled up on my lap, close to my belly and decided to take a nap. And this is how he stayed. 

This is how many of my relationships have gone. I give in to the whines and pleas and always come back. I never let them go long enough without my attention, so how can they appreciate me when I do give it to them. By no means am I comparing men to dogs, because a dog is loyal to the hand that feeds him. Now that I think about it, it makes me sound like a bitter jaded woman...which to some extent I am. So, how do I go about changing this.

Going back to the comparison between men and dogs, certain dog breeds are "crazier" than others. You need to find the breed that works for you. The first step is to identify the personality traits that you are attracted to. Figure out which ones all of your exes have in common and go against that. Keeping in mind NOT to take some of those "traits" as a negative thing.

For example, I dated this guy, Nissan for a while. He was super sweet and very attentive. There was this one day that I needed a car wash. I drove to his house, I followed him to the place he gets his car washed. We went to the mall and did a little shopping while we waited for my car to be washed. Not a big deal...right? Well, a screw went off in my head. Since he was forcing me to go to HIS carwash and go shopping at HIS mall for HIS items, then that meant he was controlling. I freaked out and placed him on the back burner. He was just too intense and exactly like my ex who controlled me. I admit that I had a moment of psychosis there. I probably ruined what could have been a good relationship. Because I looked WAY to into a small kind gesture. 

Life is learning process. There is a right way of doing things and the wrong way. The wrong way would be NOT to learn from the mistakes made in the past. I choose to learn and adapt. The ideal man doesn't require much from me. Just my attention and my affection...the rest just falls into place. If it's too difficult, it wasn't meant to be.

Moving on...



Break ups can all to often feel like a death. In fact, it is the death of the relationship. Someone that you wanted to spend your every waking hour with, is now the object of your pain and sorrow. How could it be that you went from having butterflies when this person popped into your head to now feeling an aching pain in the pit of your stomach that will not go away?

I, like many people before me, have experienced extreme heartache. I have felt the belt of deceit and her welts are imbeded on my heart. I thought this person would be with me forever. Even though I wasn't happy, I was settled in where I was and thought that one day everything would work out. I was in it for the long haul and there was nothing stopping me from making this work.

Unfortunately, he didn't feel the same way. He traded up or down...depending on how you want to view my replacement. It was hard to get over it. No one really knows the battle that took place inside of me. I was happy that it was over, but afraid of where to go. My persepective of where my life was headed was now jaded. In reality, I was a walking zombie in my twenties. My life didn't really have a purpose. I took it day by day and whatever happened, happened. I carried the relationship and knew no better.

I don't regret any of it. In actuality, I'm tired of even bringing it up. It's in the past and I learned an immense lesson. It may sound cliche, but no one can make you happy, they can only accentuate it. Right now, that I am on the verge of turning thirty, I can say that I am happy and I am more comfortable in my skin. I know who I am and what I want. I finally have a solid perspective on what a relationship should and will be for me.

I would like to meet someone that DOES NOT have a wife or a girlfriend. It seems that recently I've been walking around with a sign that says JEZEBEL posted on my forehead. I mean seriously...what is it about me that makes unavailable men think that I am available to a cheater. I love how nonchalant they are when they tell me that they are in a relationship. Usually goes, "hey, your cute...I have a girlfriend, can I get your number?"

I refuse to acknowledge the fact that men are dogs or that every romantic story that has ever been told was written by a woman. There has to be a loyal man out there with a generous heart that still believes that a woman should be honored and treasured. Someone that knows when to make a woman laugh and when to console her. Where does one find him though?

There has to be a formula to all of this...game is on. =)