Sunday, July 13, 2014
Monday, June 23, 2014
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Even, a month ago I had no idea what I was doing. I had a job that I liked and I wanted to get promoted and move to Colorado. The job was just that. A job. I met tons of people every day, but I worked alone. I got fed up when they kept making payroll errors. I looked on Craigslist and there it was. My future.
Did I ever in a million years imagine that I could sell cars? No.
Now that I'm doing it, I wonder why I didn't start sooner. It's not for everyone. The hours are ridiculous. You have to actually know about every car. You have to know how to talk to people. I love it. I've been there 3 weeks and I already made sales alone and with coworkers. It's addicting. I thrive in high stress environments.
I can actually see myself doing this as a career. It's not just a job. We all basically live there, so our teams are like families. What's even more awesome is that my motivation and skills are actually recognized. It's not like I've sold 15 cars in one month, yet, but they all see that I will. I can't wait to prove them right.
Take notes, parents. When you believe good things about a person, they will do anything to prove you right. After my mom died, I had no one left that believed all those wonderful things about me so I stopped believing them myself. I have that again. I have a whole slew of people that believe the best, so now I believe it again too.
Monday, June 2, 2014
My brother and I are the only ones who went to therapy when my mom died, and I kept going when all the other shit went down in my life. Still, the stigma is terrible in that culture. Because my brother and I were the only two in the family to be proactive and seek help, we are crazy, right? Soooo fucking crazy. Just because no one else went, it doesn't mean they wouldn't have benefited. Still though, in that particular culture, if you go to therapy or counseling for any reason (even bereavement counseling) you are crazy to them. They ostrazise you.
Incidentally, this is what also happened to my friend. Her family (also Mexican) found out she went to a couple of therapy sessions, so they ganged up on her because they think she's crazy. The fact that she sought help means she shouldn't have her child, according to her family.
Unfortunately these people (her Mexican family) are the same type of people I had to deal with as well. There is a fucked up cultural barrier there. I'm not being racist when I say this, and I wish it wasn't true, but my family in Mexico has no idea who I am, how Americans live, or why we say the things we say or believe the things we believe. They will take anything you say and attach their own meaning to it, or twist your words. You could say something as innocuous as "the pot called the kettle black", and they'll turn around and tell everyone "oh my god, she honestly believes pots can talk. She must be schizophrenic or something! "
It's a God damn figure of speech. God forbid you use any metaphors on social media or around these kinds of people. They don't have the mental capacity to understand metaphors. They take everything people say literally. Zero critical thinking skills. People at my work will say " I'm a beast!" When they sell a car. If my best friend or I said that around any of our family members, those family members would turn around and say "SHE THINKS SHE IS A BEAST! INSTITUTIONALIZE HER ASAP!"
They probably can't even connect the dots between examples either. To make this easier to understand, I said "I'm a fucking princess!" to someone who I thought was a friend, and who I (wrongly) assumed would know what I meant. Imagine my surprise when weeks later my family intervened and informed me that I thought I was (really) a princess. The fuck? No. People abroad were so kind to me and I wasn't used to it. They were making me (and all the other girls) feel like princesses with their hospitality. I use metaphors and hyperboles quite liberally in conversation.
Anyways, sorry this turned into a mini rant. When there are very real cultural and language barriers between you and your family, shit gets really uncomfortable really quickly. I was shocked when this happened to my bestie. It also made me realize that maybe this type of behavior is way more common than I thought. It's not right, and maybe by talking about it other people won't have to feel so alone. Just remember no one knows what is best for you except yourself, and you shouldn't let others persuade you to do what they would do. Maybe they have a solution that WOULD be better for them, but they don't know what goes on inside your mind and what makes you happy. Only you do.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
So, I took a logical step and found a new place to work. The new place happens to be the number one Nissan dealership in the state. My last job was in sales, this one is even bigger sales. The hours are insane, the office is like the car dealership equivalent of Mercy Grace hospital (Grey's Anatomy), but I'm loving it so far. I think my brain was so starved for knowledge, that it doesn't matter that it's cars I'm learning about. It's just happy to be studying something.
Life has also had a funny way of surprising me lately, in a good way.
For the first time in a long, long, time, I'm not just pretending to be happy or pretending to be excited. I am! I am genuinely pleased with myself, and curious about the future. My last year, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Looking back, I can say with complete certainty that I can survive anything. I depended on myself. I got through it on my own. There will be dark days, everyone has them. Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my mom's death. The day, this whole month, is not easy. I don't have a time machine, though. I can't go back and fix anything. Dwelling doesn't help, clearly. The only thing I can do is keep going. People can't help you if you don't want to be helped. They especially can't help you if you don't ask, or if you don't try. I learned that I can rely on myself...but I learned that it's okay to lean on friends during the bad days. Knowing that is priceless.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
I can't stand the idea of living in the suburbs with a mortgage, credit cards, a job that doesn't travel...but that's so many people's dream. If that's what you want, go for it. Get it. Just understand that to people like me, that's hell on earth.
I want green, I want animals, I want to travel around the world. My goal is to move to Europe, but in order to do that I need to make sacrifices now. To me, less is more. I don't want stuff. I just want a place where my pets and I can live without stressing about ending up on the street if I don't get my next paycheck on time.
I've been having to rethink everything. Clearly I need to get out of Arizona for my health. I'm allergic to every native tree and bush. It's causing circulation problems, peripheral neuropathy, and misery. It's not a sustainable life for me here. I always owe at the end of the month.
I talked to an airforce recruiter, so that's still an option.
I also floated out the idea of Colorado to my boss. My company is opening a branch there, and the sooner I go the more likely it is for me to get a promotion.
I want to try living in an RV, with a minimalist mind set for the next year. Maybe it sounds trashy or ridiculous to you. I don't care. It sounds like freedom to me. I can cut my expenses to less than $300 a month. That's including gas to get to work, and food. I can save. Pay off debts. I can actually enjoy my time between paychecks and spend time with people that matter. I can write. I can paint. I can read. I can ride horses. I could afford to go see my favorite bands play. Maybe I can volunteer at the Humane Society.
Quality of life is more important than how much shit you can buy. Experiences matter more than staying in the (not so comfortable) comfort zone.
I'm ready for more change. I control what direction my life takes. You do too.
Friday, February 21, 2014
What's that like, normal people?
Saturday, February 15, 2014
I'm also becoming increasingly suspicious that my sales are directly correlated with the amount of cleavage I show. It's like people aren't even excited about microfiber anymore. -_-
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
The girl lay in an empty apartment, counting the dragonflies on the ceiling and the stars in her eyes. The room, somber and silent, came to life. The patterns were undulating around her, and the still air became restless. She ignored it, her gaze transfixed on the ceiling. The wind whispered and sighed, attempting to capture a moment of notice from the starry-eyed girl. She seemed to grow weary, and at last let her eyelids drop. The black oblivion she longed for did not engulf her yet. Instead, the familiar kaleidoscope of her mind greeted her warmly. A breeze fluttered through the open window, and the wind delivered an echo of sound from a different time to the helpless form on the ground. She heard a clinking of bottles, the sound of a screen door, and unfamiliar laughter. The colors in her mind rearranged themselves into still frames. She saw the door. The sweat forming on the cups. The dark night. The smoke swirling towards a ceiling, before dissolving into the night. Another echo, different laughter. She recognized this. More still frames, this time of all of their faces. Her. Him. A cat. Him. A set of fingernails with chipped black polish. That guy's tattoo. Her necklace. Warmth.
At this point the girl tried to open her eyes, but it was as if they had been glued shut. She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat. Another echo...the same laughter from earlier, but sharper, more defined. The still frames enveloped her body, this time showing her the dripping wax, the ash on the ground, the cuts behind her knees, the aching in her throat. The sparkling laughter still resonated in her mind. It seemed out of place, a sharp contrast to the images, like someone started playing a movie with the wrong soundtrack. The breeze calmed and the scene dissolved. She was back to her familiar view of dancing colors in the darkness of the room.
That's when the girl finally understood.
She opened her eyes.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
I miss going to school. I miss...everything. Sometimes it's easy to get so caught up in missing things and people, that I fail to realize what's in front of me. I was starting to feel defeated, like maybe this acting/modeling thing was just a pipe dream doomed to fail and maybe I threw everything else I ever loved away for nothing. I haven't been this poor since my freshman year of college. I was applying to normal, 9-5, soul-sucking jobs again. I was losing faith...
It always seems to go like this with acting though. Just when you think your passion is going to bankrupt you, opportunity knocks at the door.
Now I have an audition tomorrow. I have a photoshoot this weekend. There will be talent scouts at said photoshoot.
Maybe it's not a lot to most people, but it is to me. You don't have to be famous to act for a living. Everyone has to start somewhere.
It's getting a lot better, but I had been so sad... so I agreed to start anti-depressants again. Unfortunately, they did not react in a good way. They made everything worse. I felt like giving up. It exaggerated any negative thoughts I was having. If you or someone you know suffers from depression and needs meds, it's important to note that sometimes they do make things worse. Luckily I was warned, and luckily I made peace with my brother and we're friends again. He noticed. Sometimes all you need is for someone to notice. It was a rough patch, and I'm getting out of it. Everyone has to get out of it on their own, to some degree. I feel like I have a lot of reasons to be sad, but sometimes there really is no reason. I hope it's situational, and not something I'll have to deal with forever. I was a very happy kid, and a very happy teen, and I just want to get back there again. The Bloggess taught me that depression lies. Sometimes she writes very candidly about her struggle, and she offers encouragement. It's a hard thing to do. Being candid on the internet is a scary thing. People can use it against you. People can judge you for it. The Bloggess puts it all out there anyways, and I love her for that.
So, since I'm on the other side of the dark fog now, maybe I can offer encouragement for someone else.
What works for me when I'm so sad and every little thing seems so overwhelming and I feel like a failure is...my wanderlust.
I think of the places I haven't been. I step out of myself and try to see a bigger picture. I think of the history of this planet, and all the landmarks I want to touch with my own hands. I think of how foreign air smells. I remember how I felt on my honeymoon at the Mayan pyramids. I remember my walks around Alster Lake in Hamburg. I picture myself on the ocean, floating on my back. Just floating. Many people might not know this, but I was a beach baby. My parents had a timeshare in San Carlos, and we were there every year, without fail, for my birthday (until Alexa was born). Of course I would also tag along any time anyone else in the family went to Guaymas or San Carlos. So it helps me to remember the salty smell, the sound of the waves crashing on rocks. I remember that time when I was left unsupervised at a new beach. It was really clean and I had those goggles that covered my nose so I could swim underwater like a mermaid. I swam out, squirming my way on the seafloor, when suddenly there was a steep drop. I came up for air and down I went again to explore. I could feel this cold, cold current coming from this steep, dark drop. I went down as far as I could. Obviously that situation could have ended badly, but something scared me and I came back up. As I did, I thought to myself "I'll be back when I'm bigger. I need to know what's down there."
I guess...that. I need to know. I need to know what's out there in the world. I need to know what's on the bottom of the ocean. I need to know what's under the polar caps on Mars. I need to know what else is lurking in the rainforests. I need to know how my story ends.
Curiosity might kill me one day, but it's the only thing saving me right now.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
I know I can never go back to that...but I miss it sometimes. I never thought this would be the case...but I do.
I miss the fearless, reckless, careless girl with the unfinished phoenix tattoo. I miss the girl who resisted sleep (for fear of nightmares) until she passed out on the floor saying hi to her cat when she got home in the morning. I miss the girl who loved to go dancing every night. I miss the girl who wasn't afraid to go have fun by herself. I miss the girl who made friends so easily, and secretly trusted everyone. I miss the girl who could spend all day singing, never once worrying about whether other people could hear her or not. I miss not caring.
Then...The Incident occurred. The Incident was a culmination of many things, but it seems to have had one outcome. It killed the part of me that was that girl...and I'm so sorry about it.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Maybe it's silly, but it almost felt like she was ignoring me while I was fucking shit up. I was doing the wrong things, on the wrong track, and she would never have stood for that nonsense.
I've had a few dreams in my life that have stuck with me. The first one when I was maybe 4. Two after Austin died. The memories of them are so fresh. Last night was one of those that I will never forget.
I saw my mom. We were in some futuristic looking place, all shiny and cold, but it was full of people.
I was running around trying to find the room where I was supposed to be, and none of them were the right one. I would see my friends, different friends in different rooms, and each time I would think "Okay, he/she is here, so I'm supposed to be here too." Each time I would get sent out of the room with a brisk voice saying "you're in the wrong place."
After the frantic running to several rooms I just stood in the hallway. That's where my mom was. She was just standing there. She wasn't ordering me around, or rushing to anywhere like all the other people. She was just this silent presence. She looked sad... As I burst out of the last room and saw her face, I just started crying. I went to her and she asked me what was wrong. It just made me cry more, and I tried to tell her how I was so anxious, and I was never doing the right thing, and there were all these people who knew what to do except me...and then I just couldn't talk anymore because I was crying and my heart was about to pound out of my chest. So she hugged me. She hugged me so tight and let me cry. I could feel her arms. I could smell her perfume. I could feel her warmth. Then she told me, in her no-nonsense way, that it didn't matter what other people were doing and it didn't matter what anyone else thought. Then I looked up at her face as she told me that the only thing I needed to do right now was to fix my heart. She told me to do whatever I had to do to put my heart back together, and to find peace. And, of course, to ignore other people's words. I curled up into her again, calming down. I knew in my dream that she couldn't stick around so I just let myself feel her presence. No need to explain anything, she just knew how I felt. She knew what to say. She knew what to do.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again-
sparkling and broken. But I didn't really mind it because I knew that it
takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what
true freedom is."
For some inexplicable reason (or sheer stupidity), I had never seen drugs as a violent thing.
Now, I know better.
Rewind to a blazing hot day mid-July. I was not yet tampering with or taking any drugs. My only addiction at the time was to people. I craved company. I could hardly fall asleep when I was alone. I was crying a lot. So, I did what I had to do to escape from being alone. I quickly inserted myself into a new group of friends.
These were people that I knew, day or night, if I needed to "get away", vent, have a sleepover, stay for a few days, cry, laugh, whatever- they were there. I knocked on a lot of doors that summer, looking for a shoulder to cry on, someone to lean on, someone to laugh with...and with them, I had finally found just that. I knew some of them did drugs, but I didn't care. I didn't judge. We were all dealing with very ugly realities. I understood the desire to escape more than anything, even if I wasn't partaking...yet.
been living- they asked me why. But theres no use in talking to people who
have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other
people, for home to be wherever you lied you head."
-Ride, Lana del Rey
So, I get to Tom's house. It seemed to be a safe area, quiet neighborhood. I was introduced to Tom the tattoo artist. While Jude was gathering his things, I followed Tom to his room to see sketches or pictures of some of his work. I still had no idea he made most of these sketches while he was in prison. As the dim room came into focus, two beautiful, tall, blond women walked out of the adjoining bathroom. They both had bright smiles, but Lisa was a lot more bubbly and friendly. We were talking up a storm while Tom showed off his drawings.
I knew that in this group of friends, a simple favor like that could earn a lot of trust points. Every one of us seemed to have a hard time trusting people, and all for different reasons. After we dropped off Jude at his place, Tom directed me to a shady neighborhood. We pulled up to a house that had a massive pile of broken cabinets and shelves out front. It looked deserted.
"Should I come with you?"
"No...uh...you should definitely stay in the car. I'll try to be quick!"
I didn't stop to think that maybe the reason I should stay in the car was for my safety. I assumed it was because I stuck out like a sore thumb in those neighborhoods. People start conversations, and it takes a long time to leave. It was upwards of 115 degrees Fahrenheit that day, I was low on gas, and did not own a functional cellphone at the time. The A/C stopped cooling the car within 5 minutes, I was worried about running out of gas. I turned the engine off and tried to sit there with the window down, to no avail. It was just so God-damned hot! I could feel sweat, everywhere. I got out of the car. There was a small tree nearby, so I pushed some of the broken pieces of wood out of the way and stood under it. That's when I really started looking at the houses. Some had the windows boarded up... one house looked like it had been shot at recently. A shiver of fear ran down my spine. We needed to leave.
By this point, about a half hour had passed and Tom was really stretching this favor. I figured he got caught up talking to these people. I couldn't text him to tell him to wrap it up, so I approached the front door and knocked. No answer.
I walked around the side of the house. There were some old broken cars obstructing my view, but I could see the back gate was open. I soundlessly made my way up the drive. I could hear some sounds from the back, so I squeaked out a "Hey!"
"Hello? Is my friend Tom back there? We need to go."
That's when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked and loaded.
"Get back in your car, NOW!" said a raspy, yet shrill, disembodied voice.
I ran back to the car and locked the doors. At that moment, I had stopped noticing the heat or the sweat dripping into my eyes. I had attracted attention. There were a couple of what could only be described as derelicts watching me from one of the houses with the boarded windows. It was at that moment that I remembered that my car had recently been tagged. There was some shit spray painted on one side.
I don't know who the idiots were that tagged my car were, and I don't know what all their stupid shitty graffiti meant. All I knew at that moment was that I was clearly in a neighborhood where gangs were real and cohesive, and I had a giant target on the side of my car. Great. I was probably about to die. I was wearing a really cute sundress.I had lost a lot of weight. I had done my hair that day. My sunglasses were from Germany. It all just seemed so wrong. What was I doing here? What would they say on the news when they found my body? Would anyone even care? Would they say I deserved it?
I so clearly did not belong in that world, at that moment.
I was trying to make friends, to find my people, yet I almost got shot for a social faux pas.
"How do we get back to your place?" was all I said.
He managed to lighten the mood on the drive back. We were jamming out to the radio. I was being compared to Miley Cyrus. It was great. He mentioned that he would give me a "free tattoo" voucher in exchange for my help that day. I couldn't argue with that. I could have died, so at least I would get a free tattoo out of the ordeal! We were almost at his apartment when I asked him why he wasn't allowed to drive.
He had been charged with rape and kidnapping.
Yes, you read right. Rape and Kidnapping. What?
I mean, allegedly he didn't actually commit the rape or kidnapping. He wasn't convicted for it. But there were some other felonies as well which resulted in a suspended license. At that point I was hoping to drop him off without getting raped or kidnapped. I was really thirsty though, and when we got to his house he said I had to come in for water, and that free tattoo voucher. I couldn't argue. I had sweat so much waiting for him I would pass out before I reached the gas station at that point. So, I obliged.
I closed the door behind me as we walked into his apartment. As my eyes adjusted the dim lighting I could make out the scene in front of me. One girl appeared to be sleeping, although she was very sweaty.
Lisa, the bubbly woman from earlier, seemed to be working on something. There was a tray in front of her and a syringe in her hand....
She said, "you should join us", right before I watched her stick the syringe in her arm. All signs of the lively woman were extinguished from her gaze in that moment, as the heroin hit her bloodstream.
I turned to Tom and simply said, "So...yeah...I'm going to want some of that stuff you just picked up."
I had lost my innocence that day, and I knew it was never coming back.
Monday, January 13, 2014
I write all the damn time, in a notebook. I was talking to my brother about this. I have a bit of a dilemma. I actually uttered "some of my stories are just too real, even for the internet." ... Hahaha.
Yeah, don't take me too seriously. I don't!
I guess what I meant was that...I want to publish some stuff. It is very personal, but also stuff that happened a long time ago. These aren't problems I am currently facing. A lot of people advise me against putting problems on the internet, but, well, what good are these stories if no one's ever going to hear them?
So, to lighten the mood in preparation for my first "I almost got shot" story, here's this awesome song I found!
Here are the lyrics:
I will bathe myself
Then I’ll wear you for the night
Colors fading, frayed at the sides.
You’re changing in the light
Oh why, is your face so pale and white?
There’s a lot of words to call out
Just waiting for the perfect utter
Down when the word start shaking
I’m ready for you to find out.
To find out, to find out, oh, oh!
Now the night has fled
Just like everything I said
When the moon was high instead.
Now the sun goes soft and..
You burn through my mind again and again
And again and again!
There’s a lot of words to call out
Just waiting for the perfect utter
Down when the word start shaking
I’m ready for you to find out.
To find out, to find out, oh, oh!
Saturday, January 11, 2014
I like the metaphor at the end. I saw it as the woman burying herself as a child. The loss of innocence, maybe?
Also, I just really like this song right now.
P.S. The title was just to get your attention, and also to reveal my unhealthy fixation with Presidents.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
I used to sit and reflect on the endless directions that life can pull us, and would get lost in elaborate daydreams of the various different places I could end up, the different types of work I could be doing in 15 years, and wondering about the people who will become crucial to me whom I don't yet know. It always filled me with hope and determination. However, time seems to become a scarce resource as we get older, so I found something that requires much less of it: pulling from my happiness memory bank.
A really popular mental destination of mine is the first Florence and the Machine concert I went to with my friend Kitty.
It was a weekend trip, because did I mention the concert was in Los Angeles?
The drive there was pretty spectacular. We shamelessly jammed out to our favorite ladies to get in the concert mood. After we got a couple of date milkshakes, I passed one of the ultimate friendship tests back then (somehow), because Kitty was actually letting me drive her fancy car.
It was shortly after she let me take over that she discovered one of my most endearing qualities: my intense phobia of semi trucks.
The rest of the ride was just a thrill for her, and a test to how well I could hold my pee in (from the intense laughter...and scares) for me.
We realized as we were entering the Wiltern that night that most of the concert goers were females, in relationships with other females. We thought that was adorable, and I tried to hold Kitty's hand and pretend to be her lover but I don't think she was amused.We got an amazing spot. We were as close to the front as we could be without being in the pit, standing against the dividing wall. We had a better view than those in the pit, anyways.
I'm super impatient and wanted the openers to hurry up so I could see Florence already.
I was not expecting to fall in love that night, but I did. With Grouplove.
They opened for Florence and the Machine. I still don't know if it was the caffeine pills I took before the show, or magic, or what. All I know is that I suddenly felt...alive. I felt like I was waking up from a coma. I felt like how someone must feel when they get told they're going to Hogwarts. Fireworks were going off in my head. The band just seemed so happy, liberated, and connected to one another. It was palpable.
I think they were playing Gold Coast when I noticed the girl. There was a girl in the pit, dancing. She wasn't...dancing with anyone. She wasn't doing conventional dance moves. She was just dancing. It was like she could feel the music in her soul, like she anticipated what the next note would be before it was played.
She was surrounded by people, but she was in her own world. She didn't care what anyone thought. I don't know how to describe this emotion. I watched her and I simultaneously wished I could be as free as she was, but also wished I never had to know what that was like. It was tragically beautiful.
I don't know that girl, I don't know her story, I just know that at that moment I wanted to know everything about her, and I wanted to give her a hug. I didn't say anything to her though because I didn't want her to stop dancing.
I'll never forget what it was like watching Florence and the Machine at the Wiltern, the dress malfunction, the electric energy, or singing myself hoarse. I'll never forget how excited I was about Grouplove, buying their EP, and meeting Andrew afterwards (and telling him he smelled good, what?). I also won't ever forget that girl, dancing in the pit.
Friday, January 3, 2014
This is bound to be a better year than last year for anyone with triskaidekaphobia. For everyone else...well, this year might be shitty, and I'm sorry. My resolution was initially more realistic and...simple...to stay alive. I hate failure so I like to keep my expectations low these days. Everyone was being all inspirational and happy and crap, so I wrote a better one.
My one resolution for 2014 is:
- To find my home.