Super-Sized Chicana Blog

A capirotada of thoughts, comments, and observations sometimes telenovela style.

Today sucked…but I need to count my blessings…I’ll feel better.

Last night D. was trying to load a Rosetta Stone Spanish program onto his desktop computer.  All of the sudden the connection to the internet conked out.  I did everything to get it going and absolutamente NADA!  So, today after I got done reading a vampire novel, I got on the phone to see if I could get tech support.  I called Cableone and the tech didn’t know shit.  I called Norton to remove the program that D. bought about a week ago.  I had tried to remove it myself, but it seemed as if the damned thing was possessed.  I could not uninstall it.  After being on hold for about 15 minutes, I finally got this nice lady on the phone.  Crap!  We were on the phone for over two hours trying to get the damn Norton installer, internet, and another one that I forgot the name of uninstalled.  I appreciated this woman’s help, but she kept putting me on hold.  Also, I had a difficult time understanding her.  I don’t mind people having accents because I love to hear people speak with accents, but this time my patience was wearing thin…with myself.  I was not paying attention because I was getting burned out, so I would miss some of what she was saying.  FINALLY, we were able to delete the freaking program.  I tried to get the internet going and pffffft nothing.  I called Cableone and spoke with a delightful man named Charles.  He was patient and had the best sense of humor.  Turns out the modem is F’ed up.  A service person is coming out next Friday to exchange the modem.  We have laptops, so we are not without the internet.  Still, it sucks having someone come out to the house and having to wait for them to arrive within a window of two hours.

I pouted for awhile, had a Pepsi, and figured out that this is no freaking big deal. Shit…the importance that I put on having a nice computer to access the internet.  I am lucky to have a job, house, car, and health.  I have four dogs that drive me nuts and so does D., but at least I am not alone.  Sure, we have a house that has not sold, it has been on the market for a year and two months. It could be worse.

OMG!!! I just had to resurface

After almost two years of not posting to this blog, I got a comment.  Thanks to Sandra, I came back to my blog.  I had forgotten all about it until I was reading my e-mail and saw that WordPress had contacted me.  So, I just had to appre

It’s been two years….

It has been two years since I created this blog and then, as usual, I quit writing for various reasons.  I won’t bore you dear readers with all of the highlights and crap  that has gone on the past two years.  Oh, but there have been some good things as well.

I am off to a fresh start!!!

Christmas time, Christmas time…

I am sitting here debating whether or not I should purchase two sets of fake reindeer antlers for our labs.  I have always wanted to take pictures of them with antlers on their heads.  I am not a dog owner who buys clothes for dawgs, but this year, I have been obsessed with the idea of buy them antlers.  I am enjoying the spirit of Christmas.  It snuck up on me this week.  Well…it kind of started a few weeks ago.  I was in TJ Maxx.  There is a huge one by where I live and I swear they have the most beautiful ornaments and Christmas decorations I have ever seen.  The day I went in it was to buy a mirror for a bathroom I am renovating and I walked through the Christmas decoration isle.  I had, on purpose, began my anti-Christmas tirade of  I cannot believe all of this stuff, people overspending…like other individuals’spending should be any of my business, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  All of the sudden I saw some red boxes stacked very neatly on a table.  They were Lenox ornaments. 40% off!  I started looking at them.  There were beautiful wreaths, a snowman, a gingerbread house, bells and other Christmas images…all Lenox.  Now it wasn’t the name brand that attracted me, instead, all these ornaments are so beautiful. I began to look at other ornaments like the ones that look like shiny metal.  I must have stood in that aisle for about an hour looking at ornaments, mantle decorations, and santas in all shapes and sizes. Later that  day, I experienced the same feeling when I stopped at a garden specialty store.  This place has just opened and I wanted to browse. This place also is packed with ornaments, but these are Shiney Bright vintage ornaments.  Hell…ornaments that were popular when I was a child are now called vintage. *sigh* While I looked at these, I had a fond memory flood…I recognized a lot of them.  When we were growing up, my brother was an ornament freak. Every Christmas, he would buy a box of ornaments to hang on the tree. I didn’t experience a sense of emptiness but I just got very happy because I saw some of those lights that have water in them and when they heat up, they begin to bubble.  Also, I saw a star that is just like the one we used to put on our tree. I enjoyed looking at every ornament that was in the store.  I am glad the manager and the clerks didn’t mind.  They are very proud of their new store.

Every Christmas, our department buys gifts for the family of a single mom or dad who is a student.  I never participate in this because I was always too busy and/or I wanted to avoid going shopping.  But this year, because of my ornament tour, I decided to sign up to buy gifts.  For this Christmas, it is a family of three little ones.  They are family #41.  The oldest is a seven year-old boy, and his sister who are six and four. What impressed me about these children is that their wish lists are very modest. Clothes, underwear, hair ties for the girls, and small toys.  The most expensive toy on each of their lists was around $40.00.  I chose to buy a few presents for the four year old because she is very interested in Dora Exploradora.  I figure that if I was a child, I would love Dora Exploradora and her buddy Diego.  On Friday, D and I went to Target.  Every year he buys a couple of presents for a his friends’ son who this year is seven years old.  This child is the only grandchild so he gets a busload of giftevery year. We always get him simple stuff usually one toy which is popular that particular year and an educational toy. Really, D picks out something he would want if once again he were a little boy. I am on a credit card diet, so I had budgeted a limit of $25.00 for the gifts I had to buy. I had planned to buy a toy and some article of clothing for my little person. Target was having a sale, so I knew I would get more for my money if I went there. D and I split up so we could get done faster with the shopping. He couldn’t make up his mind so he came to get me.  I talked him into getting this Transformer computer.  He picked out some thing that shoots nerf balls. Like I said, I let him pick whatever he wants.  We went over to the Dora Exploradora section, and I selected a little Diego toy and a Dora Exploradora castle with a track and little car.  This would ring up to twenty dollars, so I had five dollars left for something else. I had found a couple of dollars in my purse and this would take care of taxes.  I saw the cash register that the little girl wants.  It was on sale.  I told Dave about it and without thinking twice he said, “I’ll get it for her”  After that, we went to the clothing section, and he picked out a cute hoodie and I got the blouse that matched it for her.  I was surprised that he picked out a hoodie and he explained to me, “I know they are popular with kids because they are not allowed to wear them where I work.”  The rest of the afternoon, I felt so good about this shopping expedition.  I like Christmas again….

Heather tagged me awhile ago….trauma and drama

My friend and avid blogger Heather tagged me awhile ago…finally I am acquiescing, to her request.  Sorry that I took so long, Heather.

When I was seven, I got chased by our rooster and I thought I was going to die. My brother saved me. My mom said the chase, me, the rooster, our half Chihuahua and half pekingese dog, Penny, and my brother going around the house, resembled a carton. We had some great chicken stew that night.

I didn’t make my communion until I was ten years old. Most of my friend had made theirs when they were eight years old. The years I could have made it, my mom had been ill, so everyone in my family kind of forgot that I was supposed to do this.  One day, I must have been nine years old, I decided to quit sitting out this part of mass and took it upon myself to go ahead and take communion.  I was fine until this stupid fifth grader saw me and threatened to tell our priest Father Anthony what I had done. (He ran off with a beautiful woman) This scared me so much, that I told my mom and to my surprise, she didn’t care.  I had this haunting me for a whole year and nothing happened. I went to confession, and the priest didn’t care.  I thought I would be severly reprimanded. A million Hail Marys, Our Fathers, etc. for me.  It would be so humiliating and obvious that I committed horrible sins, because I would have the longest penance to say in the history of our church, the Immaculate Conception.  One of the nice priests had heard my confession, and just sent me off to say a couple of prayers. As for the creep who threatened to tell on me, years later she was the big slut at our high school.

My ninth year of life was quite eventful.  This was the same year that it was reaffirmed for me that my great-aunt was a mean old bitch.  For Christmas vacation, my mom, aunt, brother and I traveled to Laredo, Mexico for the holidays and to attend a cousin’s wedding.  We had to go visit this woman in Monterrey and then she came back with us to Laredo for the wedding.  My father had warned me about her and everything he said was true.  She was on my case for every little reason and worse of all, she would go out of her way to bitch at me in front of everyone. She stopped it when, one day she and I were alone, and I had enough of her crap.  I looked and her and in a calm voice told her, “my father hates you very much and he has told me everything about you, so leave me alone”  For some reason, she left me alone.  I was so afraid that she would tell on me but instead she was sooo nice and kind.  Many years later, my dad told me that she tried to make a move on him. EWWWWW!

I busted in on my brother after he got out of the shower.  I was nine and he was sixteen.  We had only one bathroom and I had to go, bad.  Just like some kids, I would wait until the last minute. Apparently, he forgot to lock the door. He got so mad, and I was so freaked out.  I come from a family whose members never walked around the house half-dressed, I think I had seen my mom’s boobs a couple of times. In regards, to the men in my family…nada.  So, when I saw my brother nekkid, I screamed and he yelled. I thought I had seen the devil but at the same time I was totally grossed out. In my nine year old mind, if men looked like that down there…EWWWWWWW!!!!  In my fifty-year old mind, it’s not pretty, but that is not what counts.

When I was a freshman in high school, I had to be escorted out of one of my classes because unexpectedly, my period came a few days early. That year, my body was betraying me more than ever.  Boobs, hair all over the place, smelly armpits, and menstrual cramps. That day, on a fall afternoon, unbeknownst to me, I had a huge blood stain on the back of my dress.  This ocurred during my Health Education class…what a coincidence. The teacher who was also the coach of our football team saw it and walked up to my desk and whispered to me “young lady, you need to go to the nurse, the back of your dress has a stain. I just knew what it was and I wanted to cry and throw up at the same time. I had to tie my sweater around my waist and go to the nurse’s office. Everyone in class stared at me as I left the room.  The nurse gave me a lecture on how we girls need to keep track of our cycle and start being prepared by wearing a Kotex. I hated Kotex’s. Those little wafer thin pads did not exist and I always had to buy them in a super size.  I just knew that they could be seen through my clothes, and frankly, them damned things just grossed me out. The vice-principal drove me home. I have never been so embarrassed in my life. I didn’t want to go back to school the next day, but my mom made me. I just knew that the other kids would be staring at me and making horrible jokes about what happened. My life at fourteen years of age was ruined.  I was mortified to return to the class. The next day, no taunting or teasing ocurred. All of that trauma and drama for nothing, because no one said a word to me about the big splotch of blood on the back of my dress. That was just too weird because I was at a high school where something like this would be prime material for ruthless comments about my personal hygiene.  Lucky me, nothing happened.  For once, I was so thankful that I went unnoticed. For once, it was so worth it to be invisible. I just made sure that I never wore that dress again that year.

In the mid -seventies, when I was in college for the first time, (I dropped out and then went back) I caught my boyfriend with another woman.  That has to be one of the top worse feelings that someone can experience. I was so pissed off and sad at the same time.  I was just so crazy about this jerk.  For some time, I had suspected that something was going on because he would not show up when he was supposed to, or he would be late.  Well, on one afternoon, when he didn’t show up, I decided to go to his apartment.  His Ford Bronco was in the parking lot, so I knew that he was home.  I knocked on the door, but he was not answering the door. I left and came back a couple of times, but no answer. Finally, I knocked on the door, but decided to imitate one of his friend’s knocks.   He answered the door in his underwear. There were clothes strewn all over the living room floor.  I shoved him and started screaming at him. I threatened to go into his bedroom but he begged me not too.  So, I grabbed all of the clothes I could plus,  her shoes and purse.  I dumped all of the contents of the purse outside of the window and then, the rest of the stuff followed. His apartment was on the fifth floor.  I sulked around for a couple of weeks and he started showing up at my apartment.  My friends begged me not to go back to him, but I forgave him and we go married three years later. “If I knew now, what I didn’t know then.”

I was in a History of Psychology class.  This was the second time I went to college; I flunked out the first.  I used to like to sit in the very front row because I didn’t know what the hell was going on and because the professor was very soft-spoken.  During one class, I was taking notes and the pen I was using ran out of ink.  I grabbed my backpack and as I did, the contents spilled out on the floor.  An unused tampon came out, bounced out of my reach, and was lying there all alone where several students could see it.  I pretended to not see it and when class was over, I scurried out of there. My face was burning from embarrassment.  Now I think it’s hilarious.

I had been teaching for two years so this incident occurred nine years ago.  Some important scholar was giving a talk in the student union and I had decided to attend.  I had on one of my favorite dresses.  I just loved this dress because it was a navy blue empire-style dress with a full a-line skirt.  I had watched for it go on sale.  When it finally was 75% off, I was able to buy it and even then it was kind of expensive.  I felt I was justified in buying it because I would be able to wear for it job interviews, work, and other important dates.  Before I entered the room where the event was taking place, I went to the bathroom.  Later, I walked to the room, it was packed and standing room only.  I must have stood by the door for about twenty minutes, some other people arrived and went into the room to stand in back.  A friend of mine finally showed up, and she had the weirdest, kind of freaked out look on her face.  She asked how long had I been standing there and before I could answer here, I felt her pullat the waist of my dress.  As she was doing this, I realized  that part of my dress, in back, had been tucked into my tights!!!  No telling how many people had seen part of my butt and this dress bunched up into my tights!!

Re-entering the atmosphere of Bloglandia

It has been quite awhile since I have blogged.  I was experiencing blog block…or blog denial, blog abandonement. Then my friend Char sent me a message to write something because she was bored.  hahaha.

Well…here goes.  These past two months have been the most unsettling 60 days of my life.  My mantra all of this time has been “1000 people want to trade places with you right now.” A man I used to date years ago told me about this saying and I should think about it when I thought I was having it very rough.  Right before my birthday, I received the results of my pap smear.  Unfortunately,  the test was positive.  I lost it because it has been a year and a half since my partial hysterectomy.  Crap!  Back into the hospital.  I made an appointment to go back in to see my physician to get a biopsy done.  I did not get in to see her until a month later which was November 2nd.  I had a coloscopy done which is where the vaginal walls and the cervix are dyed with a solution of vinegar and iodine.  Those two combined are unpleasant…I would compare it to having an alkaseltzer tablet dissolving up there plus itchy.  OK…I kind of can joke about it now.  I didn’t hear from my doctor for a week and a half and figured that no news is good news.  She informed me that I am going to need surgery because the region where my vagina joins my cervix has abnormal cells.  She referred me to a surgeon who is supposed to be outstanding in his field.  I know one of his patients and she thinks he is awesome.  The day of the appointment arrived.  I have never been so nervous and miserable in my life.  I took the day of from work because I decided that if I was going to have a meltdown it would be in private.  It turns out that he is a nice, friendly man.  His nurse put me off because when she was going to take my blood pressure she jokingly said, “I am going to check if you are happy to see us.” To which I replied, “If that is what you are going to measure, then don’t waste your time because I am not happy to see you.” She took my blood pressure and remarked, “Oh, you are not happy to see us.” Biatch.  The surgeon came in and we talked about the different options that I might have for surgery.  One is a simple, outpatient procedure, where a lasar is used to plane an area of the vaginal walls, another would entail a laproscopy to remove my cervix, and it this wasen’t possible, then it would be back to the horizontal incision.  The first option would require me to stay home from work that afternoon, the second, I would need two weeks off, and the third it would be six weeks again.  We also talked about complications that I had during my last surgery which was excessive bleeding due to the surgeon cutting an artery that she did not see. There was a fibroid attached to the artery.  Also, the artery runs through my cervix.  After that surgery, my surgeon came to let me know that she had some difficulties and that I had lost a lot of blood.   This guy tried to joke a little bit about it saying that it can get very messy with blood all over the place but he has had this happen before and it is no big deal.  However, he was a little concerned because my other surgeon is an excellent surgeon and she had a hard time.  Uhhh…I didn’t think he was amusing.  After this conversation, he examined me, and decided to do a biopsy of my cervix.  Once again, that freaking dye, and then he scraped my cervix in order to collect some cells.  I experienced some sharp cramps that made me wish I could practice a biopsy on him.   I won’t know get the results of this analysis until the 18th of this month. So a bit more waiting.  I just hope it is the simple procedure.

As if this were not enough.  This week, an organization on the campus where I teach invited  Chris Simcox, the founder of the Minutemen Civil Defense organization to come on campus to speak about imigration issues and how his group protects the borders of our country.  It was very tense for the majority of the week on campus.  This event upset Latino students and students who support them very much.  I attended the talk.  The majority of the audience was against the presence of this individual on campus.  Besides the students who organized this event, very few members of the community who support this organization where present.  Nevertheless, his talk managed to stir up some feelings of frustration and anger in all who attended.  At first, Simcox began his talk as if he were in favor of protecting undocumented individuals and that they should be enabled to come to the United States but under a secure plan.  He also went on to criticize the Bush administration for not being pro-active in addressing imigration issues.  When things started to get heated up was during his closing statements where he indicated that there should be one language, one flag and that immigrants should “assimilate to the dominant culture.” For this last part, he used Theodore Roosevelt’s speech which was given in 1907 to base last comments.  What got the majority of the audience going was that “one language” part.  A heated question and answer period ensued that resulted in Latino students walking out.  That ended the talk right there.  I got up to walk to the exit where students were filing out and some man called me a “Mexican Nazi.”  He had been harassing everyone of Mexican descent who walked by him, except he yelled that at me a bit too loud.  I had to start laughing because I have never heard that term nor had I been called something so ridiculous. But, what affected me the most is how angry he was and that he was determined to piss me off.  He managed to enfuriate a friend of mine to the point where they were about to go to blows, but a policeman told them to stop arguing. This man started to give me a history lesson on how Mexico had oppressed indigenous peoples throughout the centuries, and I told him that I agreed. That must of made him mad because he went back to arguing with my friend.

Another thing that has been bothering me about this event is that when I went into the salon where it was being held, I decided to sit in back.  I had the intention of leaving early.  What happened is about nine members of the community sat around me and after awhile it was very clear that they were in favor of the speaker.  They started making comments amongst themselves such as ” We move from California to get away from this and look now, we are surrounded by them.” Oh hell, I was on of them.   They made other ridiculous comments that are just too stupid to mention.  This affected me because it has been several years since I had been exposed to racist comments such as this.  I felt so uncomfortable and then so angry because I was sitting in the midst of them and I did not say something.  Why?  Because, truthfully, I was afraid.  These individuals made these comments as if they were talking about the weather.  I began to think what it would be like to be the only person of my ethnic background and have to live amongst people who held these opinions of Mexicans.  I also think about how lucky I have been.  When I moved to Idaho, I had been somewhat nervous about how I would be treated. I have had some problems, but mostly it was because of ignorance rather than open racism. I became very comfortable or maybe too comfortable in my environment.  Damn, I feel like I did when I moved here.  I am revisiting that old saying “one step forward, two steps back.”   OK…there are 1000 people who want to trade places with me right now.  Honestly, I know that there are people who have it worse off than I do and my heart goes out to them.

Billy

All day I have been thinking about my childhood friends. I have been wondering what has become of them. I had several good friends when I was a young girl.  All of this reflecting  started with a conversation I had with D. this morning about Billy a boy who I used to hang around with when I was six years old. I would see him just about every Sunday when I would go visit my aunt.  His grandfather was a veteran.  He was a WWI vet.  Around this time, I used to worry about the Russians bombing the hell out of us.  John F. Kennedy was president.  When I was supposed to beore preoccupied or occupied things that pertained to six year old girls, I was more worried about when my father was going to start building a bomb shelter.  I wanted a bomb shelter for my birthday or Christmas; it didn’t matter as long as my father would build one that would house my parents, my brother and my aunt and her drunk woman-chasing husband.  Billy’s grandfather would confirm my fears because he had a pantry full of cans of food, water, and other stuff you would need in case our town got bombed.  He told me that those supplies were for emergencies and a direct hit on our town was one of them. I went home and told my dad this and he just kept reading the newspaper.  After awhile, he looked over the newspaper at me and said, “We are not going to get bombed and I am not building a bomb shelter. If I find out that we are getting bombed, I will go to your school and bring you home. We will all go to Mexico.” I was so relieved to hear that my father had a plan.  Mexico was twenty-four miles away.  That was far enough for me to feel safe. My family’s first language is Spanish, so we would be fine living in Mexico.  The Russians were not going to bomb Mexico.  Then I started worrying about whether or not I could make friends, would I have problems in school, where would we live and other things related to moving to a new place.

I was amazed by my friend because he knew so much about football, baseball, and all sorts of stuff my father never talked about.  It was obvious that Billy spent a lot of time with his father; this was something I never did at the time because my father worked twelve hours a day, six days a week.  He, his grandmother, my aunt, and I would sit under this huge tree and talk about all sorts of things.  I remember the two women treating us as if we were adults.  I never had anyone pay that much attention to what I had to say.  I remember those Sundays fondly.  Later I would find out that these afternoons kept my aunt sane because her husband would be gone for a few days drinking his paycheck away.  I just thought my aunt was very tough and I admired her very much.

Billy and I never had a fight.  I remember being a little jealous because he had met a little girl named Linda on the first day of school. We would talk about toys, horses, and cats.  He would describe his house out in the country and how some day soon he would get a pony.  Back then, I wanted a pony so bad but my chances of getting one were as good as having a bomb shelter built. Billy would tell me that when he got a pony, I could go over to his house and ride it. He would talk about all of the places we could go exploring and how we could take a lunch and water so we could stop somewhere to eat.

The last weekend that I saw him, I remember telling him about my birthday party that I was going to have.  I was just going crazy with excitement because my mom had actually bought invitations, filled them out and delivered them to our neighbors.  I wanted to invite Billy but my mom said that he lived too far away. I had saved an invitation so that he could see it. He liked it very much and said that when he turned seven, he would get some invitations like the one I showed him.

I had a fabulous time on my 7th birthday.  It was on a Wednesday, after school, that I had several of my friends from the neighborhood come over.  My mom bought a  chocolate birthday cake at the supermarket, some paper plates with Barbi on them, sugary concentrate for punch, icing-covered animal cookies, and two half gallons of ice cream.  My aunt had come over to help my mom with the party.  After my party, I went with my father to take my aunt home.  When we arrived to her house, my uncle was standing at the gate in front of their house. I could tell there was something wrong because he never greeted my aunt when she got home from being at our house because either he was too busy reading the newspaper or watching television.  He came up to my dad’s truck and he told us that Billy’s father had been in an accident.  He was a gunner at the army proving ground.  They had been testing some kind of new artillery and it backfired.  In the explosion, Billy’s father along with three other men died.  My uncle had to help my aunt out of the truck because she looked like she was about to faint.  I remember that we left as soon as my aunt made it into her house.  She had left the two pieces of cake she had brought home for my uncle and Billy’s grandparents. I thought maybe I could take their piece of birthday cake to them but I looked over at his grandparents house and I saw that the lights in the house were off and their car was gone. On the way home, I had a bunch of questions about people dying and Billy’s dad for my father, but he just kept looking straight ahead  hardly answering me.  I had never seen him appear so serious.

The Sunday following Billy’s father’s accident, I didn’t go to my aunt’s house. In fact, it was over a month before I went back to visit her.  My father had been spending more time with us on Sundays.  Billy never went back to his grandmother’s house after his father died and my aunt gave me strict instructions not to ask Billy’s grandparents about him or his father. Later, I would learn that his mom didn’t get along with his grandparents and she would not allow Billy or his sisters to go visit them.

I didn’t see Billy until several years later when we were teenagers.  He went to the same school as I did, but we didn’t hang out.  He was in a gang and I was a total nerd. Billy and I would sneak glances at each other and kind of signal a “Hi” to each other.  Several years later, I found out that he was in the sheriff’s department.  I wish the best for him.

Here I am again…

It has been a busy, busy week.  But that is good.  I have been dieting to some extent.  I decided to cut down half of what I eat.  I checked out some websites on exercise and diet.  I had originally planned to follow a website’s diet plan, but I have decided not to because I didn’t like the recipe’s that were recommended for the diet.  I need meals that I can prepare in thirty minutes to an hour.  I eat simple foods and I like spices but do not like haute cuisine sauces etc.  Elegance in regards to food is nice when I am dieting but convenience is better and more effective.  I enjoy cooking a lot, but I really don’t have much time for it when I am working.  During the weekend, I can prepare some time-consuming dishes.  I have been culling some recipes for magazines which feature light meals and also, the Epicurious website has a wonderful section on light recipes.  I am excited about preparing these.

I have been taking Wellbutrin for depression.  As I had mentioned in another post, my mother passed away and it has been tough dealing with grief.  I like the effects of this medication.  One of them is that I have been able to eat less.  Apparently, it is a med that is good for quiting smoking, or obsessions.  For me, I am obsessed with eating.  I eat when I am stressed, happy, depressed, bored, lonely, socializing.  Also, I will eat when I am working on a project.  This is the most dangerous type of eating because I will be totally mindless about what I put into my mouth.

I have lost 19 pounds in a haphazard way.  By haphazard, I mean skipping meals, eating ice cream for dinner, and  junk food.  But I was counting calories and fat grams. I started cutting back on my food intake in August. I have lost this weight in six weeks.  It is making a big difference.  My knees do not hurt and I do not get sleepy.  My sleep apnea has reduced significantly.  I have 81 pounds to go.  My starting weight was 268.  That was tough to admit on this blog, but even tougher to accept when I saw the numbers on the scale at my physician’s office.  Thank God, I have a wonderful doctor and her nurse is an angel.

I decided that I will take this diet one step at a time.  And I have made a list of things I will do.

 1.  Exercise twenty minutes every day and work up to an hour five days a week.

  2.  Not condemn myself if I miss a day of exercising or if I overeat.

  3.  Will not call this a diet, instead it is a change of lifestyle.

  4.  Decide that all foods are bad, instead that I can make good choices

        regarding food.

  5.  Drink as much water as possible.

  6. Have a glass of wine a day.

  7.  Take breaks from projects every hour. (Before, I would sit until I finished)

 8.   Remember that this process is going to take time.

On Columbus Day

I didn’t realize that today Columbus Day is being celebrated until I read the newspaper. I thought it would be next Monday when people got time off in honor of this sin vergüenza.  Although he is considered a hero to some, he is a shameless man because in his letter to Luis Santangel, the treasurer of Spain, he embellishes what he sees so he can get more money for more expeditions.  In this same letter he describes how the Indians that “he found” on the island could be enslaved.  Instead of Columbus Day, some Latinos celebrate “Día de la Raza”  which makes waaaay more sense.  Dia de la Raza in Spanish means The Day of the People.

Thinking about Columbus day, has taken me back to forty-four years ago when I was first grade.  We used to celebrate Columbus Day.  “In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.” lalalalala. My grade school teachers would go on and on about how CC sailed across the Atlantic and he discovered America.  Also, he met some very nice indigenous peoples. Back then, way way before the era of political correctness, the word indian was used instead of indigenous. We kids would get so happy that we were assigned to draw ugly little pictures of the three ships, la Nina, la Pinta, la Santa María.  With a crayon in my fist, I would scrawl the three galeons plus a little figure who was supposed to be Columbus; He would be on the first boat because he was the very brave man who decided to take this trip. Being a first grader who loved school,   it was exciting for me to learn who actually discovered America. It almost made me crazy to find out that in November we would get to learn about the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock and how they had a big big banquet with the Indians. The Pilgrims were responsible for Thanksgiving Day! I had not clue what Thanksgiving Day was about since I came from a Mexican family that didn’t celebrate this holiday. My older brother must have kept this information to himself and didn’t share it with my parents or me. Go figure, maybe he didn’t like turkey and all the trimmings.  Anyway, I was incredibly happy because I would get learn more about the people who “were here first.” In my six year old way of looking at things, people who were first at something had to be some kind of badasses. That is how the Columbus and the Pilgrims were to me.  There was no words spoken about Columbus almost being thrown overboard because his crew was fed up with him nor how the Pilgrims starving to death, just that they just had a very tough winter and the friendly Indians helped them.

Our teachers left out some very important information or maybe they just had no clue, or they were just teaching us the bit that they knew about CC’s landing by mistake on some little islands west of the United States.

I believed this version of history and felt kind of awkward at how I could not make a connection with this.  I thought, ”I am a US citizen, but I don’t fit into this history.  When I learned about how the Spaniards got to Arizona and the rest of the Southwest, this started to make a bit more sense.  I go home and ask my parents if we were  Spanish or Indians and my mom and dad look at each other, then turn to me and say “NO!”  in unison. But you are an Indan because you were born in Arizona.  Then, they would laugh as if it were some private joke between themselves. This just made me believe that I was not part of the family, but I didn’t care because I just loved to see Native Americans on television with head-dresses, wearing clothes made from buckskin, and riding on pinto horses. Little did I know then about misrepresentation of underrepresented groups in Hollywood.  But, I had finally made a connection with US history. This lasted for a year, until a girlfriend who is Quechan informed me that I was not an Indian, but a Mexican. I kept believing , to myself, that I was Native American and would read all the childrens’ books about Native Americans that I could. Little Blue Cornflower which was a story about a little Pueblo girl was my favorite.

Flash forward to 1992. After my divorce, I had gone back to college and enrolled in several courses in Mexican American history.  I was appalled at the one-sided version of history that had been taught to students. I remember being so angry at learning the true history of the colonization of indigenous America. The words colonial, colonies, colonizers, took a whole new violent meaning. I was so pissed off, but my anger wasn’t really directed at anyone because the men and women responsible for the upheaval of the Americas  died a long  time ago.  I felt like I was in first grade again, but this time, I had another version of history with which to deal.

On October 12, 1992 marked the 500th anniversary of Columbus bumping into indigenous America. This would initiate the violent envangelization of the people who were first here and the beginning of the hostile takeover of lands that actually belonged to someone else.  That day, students held a protest at the university I attended.  I joined them and it was exciting to hear speeches and chants. I felt that in a figurative way my anger was justified and the missing piece of my identity was found. This symbolized a circle for me from being a little kid excited because Columbus landed in America to a very angry Chicana protesting CC’s arrival to a world as old as what supposedly was uncivilized according to the European perspective.

 I choose to celebrate this day as Dia de la Raza. It is appropriate in the sense that symbolically this day commemorates the beginning of the blending of Indigenous and European blood and thus, initiating a new race of people.  As a result, several cultures, ethnic groups, registers of Spanish, and rich traditions emerge from this blend and this is very worthy of a celebration. Columbus Day? For us whose ethnicity originates from the union of Native American and Spanish blood, let’s not celebrate this day but remember to celebrate our day, “El Día de la Raza.”

Sunday!

I am not going to blah, blah,blah, about how boring my Sunday is turning out. It’ll get better because I will be meeting my boyfriend, partner or whatever you call that man who occupies part of your house, later today. Life companion would be suitable…when you are fifty years old like I am, what do you call them?  Boyfriend sounds like someone half my age. I  use the word partner and people ask if I am in business with someone or if I am a lesbian.

We will be watching a football game at a local bar because our satellite dish is still laying abandoned out in our backyard. No we are not hillbillies, well D. my male unit is kind of one.  I guess we are just waiting for the dish to find it’s way up on the roof again. D.’s house got re-roofed and the dish didn’t get re-installed.  So, after D. finishes Halo 3, maybe he will find time to call the satellite people to come and install it.  He is 52 years old and gaming is one of his hobbies. Fifty-two is a bit mature for playing video games, but our society is going through a craze in which D. got caught-up. I prefer him having this hobby because I decided that this would be better than having to put up with a mujeriego; a man who chases women.  Not that he has ever been like that but this video stuff will keep him at home.  It’s either this or football when the television channels are available. D. is stuck on a certain stage of the game because he keeps confusing the  good and bad non-human life forms and running out of ammo because he engages in friendly fire too much. When he gets his butt blown out of the water, D. has to start over again from the last checkpoint.  Hell, I have been watching D. play too much of this. I’m not interested in playing because I tried one time and I got dizzy plus my stomach got very upset.  Stuff on the screen moved around too much. All that movement just made me sick. Fortunately, D. games sporadically, he is not hardcore…well only when he gets a new game. I am glad that it will be a long time before a new version of Halo comes out.

  We have been TV free for almost three months. In a way it has been nice because I have time to do other things, but I am starting to miss my Mexican soap operas.  People get caught up in all of the sizzling drama.  They start to talk about characters as if they are a relative or a neighbor.  My mom’s friend used to cry at the end because usually the couple that had been kept apart for the entire telenovela was getting married.  She was not only bawling her eyes out because of the wedding but because she would never see them again. They would go off into an imaginary perfect life without villains, rich in-laws, and jealous boyfriends and girlfriends.

 For now, until the tele gets fixed…I will settle for local channels, reality TV, shows about big people like me losing weight, and sports. I think D. will finish the game tonight.  I am keeping my fingers crossed that he does not decide to go up to the hero or legendary level of Halo 3 because his butt will be grafted to the sofa for another week.