Fix me

My friend shattered my heart while trying to fix me.

For the past week I've been living in slow motion: taking steps just a little too slow, taking breaths just a little too short, my eyes open just a little too small, my heart beating just a little too slow. And it's happened before. And I hoped that it would never happen again but it has...this time with a vengeance.

I believed things would fix themselves. I hoped that things would sort themselves out. I trusted that the words were true, that the feelings remained, that the emotion would never fully be gone. Despite my faults, I kept going. Regardless of the way the cookie crumbled I remained there. I was hopeful.

But things changed. They changed and I was so blinded by hope that I didn't notice. And my friend told me. And I fell apart.

At first I hated my friend. I spent days laying on my floor staring at my ceiling. The hours slowly passed while my vision was clouded and I miraculously survived the salty taste of loss. Those tears that streamed down my face, the puffy red eyes that gave away my loss.

What kind of friend would make you hurt like this?
What kind of friend would shatter your heart?

For days I cried because I was sad. Because I wasn't someone who could be trusted. Because I broke HIS heart. Then I was angry. Because for years I trusted him. Because he repeatedly broke my heart....because through all this, I never walked away.

What kind of friend would someone be if they knew this and didn't tell you?
What kind of friend would look at you and lie?

These days I am sorry over what has happened but I am grateful I have a friend who loved me enough to make me cry-even at the risk of losing my friendship. Someone who has called me everyday to ask me how I am pulling through. Someone who forgave me for walking away from him when I didn't want to hear him. Because truths hurt and it's harder to ignore them when they are factually conveyed.

My heart is broken but I trust it'll heal. Because if I was blissfully ignorant a week ago that's no longer the case. And I may cry sometimes as I still do; however, that love I lost, his love, is something I will carry with me when I no longer think of it- when I no longer need it.

He is a lucky man. He really is. He has everything and more. And even if I grow to hate him, and even if I eventually wish him the absolute worse, he will still be lucky because even if it ends, there was someone in the world who loved him more than he will ever possibly know. And even if he never finds this again, if this is something he had and lost, he had someone who loved him with everything she had and more...so over all the material things he has, he really has had EVERYTHING.

Home Economics.

I may not be a stock broker or a super fancy Oppenheimer Wealth Manager. I am, however, the manager of my own personal wealth, the mistress of my checking account, the Buddha of my hard earned money.

When I was growing up, my parents were in the supermarket business. For a good ten years of our lives my brothers and I were stock boys, managers, cashiers, inventory clerks, accountants, etc because not only did we have to learn the value of the dollar by earning our allowance, but we had to learn our family's business because "you never know".

Lately, it seems like I've been spending a lot of time teaching people the importance of protecting their credit, paying their bills on time and when/where possible saving money. I am not a cheap person by any means but it bothers me to no end having to spend money unnecessarily. In supermarket speak this translates to: I buy my food with the credit card that gives me 5% cash back, I buy certain items generic (who needs to pay twice as much for Scotch Brite sponges?), I believe in sales items and I use manufacturer's coupons.

Say what you will but it's bad enough that I live in an area where the fine people of Publix feel the need to make everything twice as expensive just because they can. I find that unnecessary.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping with Vilma (the unofficial roommate). Before we left the house, I finished writing my list (because I ALWAYS make a list) and I grabbed all the coupons we needed for the items we were buying. Vilma laughs at me. She laughs at me a lot actually because she finds a lot of the things I do just a little weird.

"Ana, why do you iron your sheets?"
"Ana, why do you keep your cigarettes in the fridge?"
"Ana, why do you change your towels 3 times a week?"
"Ana, why don't you get all your cold cuts when you go food shopping instead of going to the supermarket every other day?"

The fact of the matter is that the whole way to the supermarket we had a deep discussion as to whether or not food coupons actually save you money or if that's just another tool supplied by society to make you look like an idiot in front of other people.

We did our shopping...caught a few items on sale...used our perfectly cut little coupons during check out...Manufacturer's Coupons: $18.50 Total: $152.86 You saved: $42.36

Not bad.

I didn't look like an idiot, I saved some good money and as if that weren't enough Vilma took me out to dinner because "I saved us 40 bucks".

Awesome Blossom, Extra Awesome

The beautiful Miguel won gold and silver this past week in the International Advertising Festival in Cannes. As the Art Director of a high profile advertising agency in SD, he (along with his team) went up against the best talents in the world and kicked ass.

Best Launch and Best of Show for "The One Campaign".

I am so proud!

A las "Julias" del mundo...

FUCK YOU.

I don't talk shit about you or your family. Don't talk shit about mine.

Am I immature? Maybe.
But you, you are just a MEAN HEARTED BITCH.

...and as far as I am concerned, that's much much MUCH worse.

Instead of criticizing those you don't know, you should take that energy and spend it looking into your own life...who knows what you may find once you start looking in...

Eat the chocolate!

Three.

Three years.
Thirty minutes writing this.
Three hundred ways to look at it.
Three thousand dollars worth of therapy.

...and still, it continues.

I am sick [again]

Apparently I really have grown allergic to HWMNBN!
[don't ask]

Anyway, I have been talking it over with Princess Pandita, and I am now certain that the only thing that would make me feel better right now is this.

Anyone want to get it for me?

Father's day...hmmmm

this even includes my half sister.

The very thought of you makes me want to clean my apt...

For what is worth, welcome home.

The curse of the chubby guy...

Some people say that REALLY hot guys are assholes.

These days, I have to differ.

There seems to be an epidemic of hot chicks falling in love with chubby guys. You know, the "nice" guys, the ones who don't get most of the attention. The ones who have to build their personality A LOT because God didn't exactly bless them with a Brad Pitt like physique and don't have the motivation to work on what they have.

By the same token, there seems to be an epidemic of hot girls being heart broken left and right by the aforementioned guys. These guys, who have girls who would normally be out of their league, have girls crying themselves to sleep every night and drinking themselves to oblivion because they are not ready to be in a relationship/ can't commit to them even though they claim they love them/ don't feel they deserve someone that good/ have the nerve to say that they don't like hottie girl.

But then they lead them on. They play the nice guy act as they steal kisses, share moments, and make plans for things that will never come because of some random mysterious reason nobody ever understands- except for them, of course [that is assuming they do!].

Then comes the hot guy who is usually a more confident guy, perhaps a little cocky but it's okay because the wrapping of the package is superior. He walks into the room and gets your attention. No promises are made, there is no long term. The lifespan of that "relationship" is as long as it is. Hot guy has potential to be an asshole but he is not for the simple fact that he doesn't lead you to believe anything. If you get hurt, you weren't paying attention.

Yet hottie girls aren't digging hot guys these days maybe because they are tired of the game, or maybe because the appeal of the nice guy really can be infinite...so now chubby guys are dilluting themselves into thinking that their behavior is justified because there is a market for them. Maybe after being the ones who have gotten hurt in the past, they are subconsciously trying to be the ones playing the mind-games.

Perhaps this is the karma of the hot girl...perhaps our world is changing and the self esteem issues are shifting. The fact of the matter is that people's hearts are fragile and hot or not nobody should be entitled to mess with anyone's heart or mind. Especially not the chubby guy.

My Secret

Recently, my friend Vilma gave me the book "The Secret" so I could keep myself amused during the rainy weekend. Ever since I saw part of an interview with its author on Oprah some months back, I'd been interested in reading the book though for some reason or another I always forgo to get it each time I walked into Barnes and Noble.

I was really happy when she gave it to me and put it on my kitchen counter so that I'd remember to take it with me when I went to get my legs waxed/hairdresser/manicurist etc. But it stayed there for days. It wasn't until I got sick that I got the chance to read it and I must say that I read the book in one sitting and it changed my life.

On the most part, I like self-help books but mostly because I find them entertaining. I take things for what they are and unless is something obvious like "Plumbing for dummies" I don't really expect much from someone's ideas of how I should live my life- if that makes any sense. Usually, I take the scientific approach to most things and that's the reason why I have so many issues believing in God...

This book though is amazing! I had a much better time internalizing the concept of God as energy than I would have had the concept remained that of God. There was a scientific explanation I could relate to and an impressively logical explanation as to how we create our own lives and how our thoughts become things.

My friend Michelle has this blog where she is always talking about creating our own lives and if before I thought she was a little nutty (and still do because some of the stuff she says is just too weird for me), I now understand better what she is trying to say because on the most part, what she says is based on this (if you take out the God aspect of it).

Since I read the book I've been trying to practice living differently. Instead of finding things to bitch about I praise things. I am imagining a different life for myself...one that involves children and laughter. I am not obsessing about things, but taking them in stride. These days, I am the epitome of positivity!

...and I think that it has worked and each day I see it more and more. Things are happening that I have no other way of explaining other than by saying that I envisioned them happening.

Maybe it's a strange coincidence. Maybe this was meant to happen. Maybe I am creating a new life for myself. Hard to say what it is. But I like myself like this. And just in case, I'll continue to try it...

If you've ever met my dogs, you'll understand...

The PH Files...Part deux

My faith in the system has been restored and now everyone from my youngest brother to Ann Coulter have come out in Paris's defense. Apparently the cries of a grown woman calling for mommy should serve as enough of a penance.

I gotta say this...yesterday I spent the better part of my afternoon watching the drama unfold. I wrote what I wrote and I meant what I said. Hell, I was happy when they sent her back to jail! But now I feel just a little bit bad for her. Not significantly much, but just a little bit. I feel bad that they have made a circus out of her, and I feel bad that the media continues to retell the story of what I am pretty sure has been the lowest point in her life, and I am sure the most humbling.

The fact that she has to go to jail is to me a tale of cause and effect. You made your bed, now you sleep in it. But everyone is entitled to preserve their dignity. You should be able to shed a tear or two in private in a trying moment. You should be able to call for mommy without everyone and their mother saying something about it- this includes me.

I never thought that I would say this, but poor Paris!

I'll admit that I can't stand her and that the world would probably be a better place without her in it; but in her vulnerability she appears to be a real person. I think to myself that when she cries she could be anyone and after seeing all those pictures I think that she has had a hard lesson to learn. But if she learns it and is enough of a woman to grow from it, and I mean grow in every sense, that will make her hot in my book.

We are all equal under the law...except for Paris Hilton, of course!

I have lost my faith in the system.

Until recently (recently being yesterday) I believed that the American judicial system was fair. All that stuff that I grew up hearing about all citizens being equal under the law, stuff that I vehemently believed, has been proven nothing more than a load of crap.

Yesterday I learned that when you are rich, young and slutty you are above the law. You are above judicial sentences. You are above the rest of us mere mortals. Hell, you are even above those like you.

Some years back, Martha Stewart was convicted of insider trading. Martha Stewart is an old lady who was sentenced to jail because she made some money. Her crime didn't hurt anybody, and yet in her old age she was sent to jail and lived among the inmates until she served her time.

Fast forward a few years and Paris Hilton gets a DUI. She was driving intoxicated posing a risk to herself and others all for the sake of getting a burger. Okay. She gets probation, alcohol education, fines and a suspended license.

Does she go to alcohol education class? No. Does she stop driving? No. She got caught once and she signed a document acknowledging that her license was suspended. She was given a break. She gets caught AGAIN. Still hasn't gone to alcohol education class, her license is still suspended. She gets a court date and gets sentenced to 40 days in jail. Everyone says that she will only do 23. But it's okay because justice is being served.

Comes jail time and she gets her own cell for her safety. I mean, Martha Stewart's safety was never questioned, neither was Michelle Rodriguez's, neither has Joe Francis'... But this is Paris Hilton and she is special so she gets her own space. Fine. At least she is doing her time. Three days later her lawyer and psychiatrist managed to somehow convince the Sheriff that there is something so wrong with Paris that she can't stay in prison, so in a most benevolent act he sends her home with a monitoring device to finish her sentence. According to him " punishing celebrities more than the average American is not justice."

The irony of that statement flabbergasts me!

Anyway, everyone gets pissed off including the judge who sentenced her so she has to go back to court today at 9:00am PST but, you know, her hair and make-up people came over and she can't leave her house a mess so she didn't leave her house until 10:25PST.

How does this happen?

Had it been you or me or anybody else our ass would still be in jail! I love how people keep saying that she was imprisoned for a traffic violation...Did everyone forget that her license was suspended because of drunk driving?!?!?! Has everyone lost sight of the fact that she is not the first person to be sentenced to time in prison for that very thing???

But we must all feel sorry for poor little Paris Hilton...just like we must all feel sorry for poor little Lindsay Lohan who crashed her car while driving under the influence (and she is underaged mind you!) and she'll probably get away with it because she went to rehab!

The media circus is responsible for creating a breed of people who are seemingly superior thereby paving the way for a two tier legal system. The one thing that we had that was fair, at least to an extent, no longer exists. We now live in a place where special people get special treatment beyond the extents of the velvet ropes.

And what's more, tax payers money are subsidizing this royal waste of time...

this haircut is gonna get me in trouble....

When I'm good, I'm VERY good.
But when I am bad,
I am even better.

My Great Real Life Story

The other day, a friend of mine who works for Conde Naste suggested that I entered an essay contest being run by one of its magazines. I don't like contests. As a matter of fact, I hate contests. Life is enough of a competition without the added pressure of competing for the sake of competing. I smiled and nodded at the proposition, but these days I have enough on my plate so I brushed the idea aside and gracefully rejected the offer. I didn't even know what exactly the assignment was. To be completely honest, I didn't even finish reading the email.

Yesterday afternoon, in an effort to amuse myself during these days of flu induced boredom, I bought a number of magazines. Bear in mind that I don't actually read magazines. I glance over them while I wait in line at the supermarket. There is no need to waste money on that as it is my belief that I have read enough magazines in my time to know just about everything they could possibly teach me.

This time though, I bought them and felt like reading and as luck would have it I stumbled across the ad for the essay contest my friend was talking about. Then 100 pages later I stumbled across the rules.

"My Great Real Life Story"- 2,500-4,000 words. Typed. Double Spaced. "A story that defines you, that tells the world how you became the person you are today"

Instinctively I reverted back to that email. I read through the list of reasons why I should take the time to write. "You've had a cool life", "you've gone through a lot", "you have always done things on your terms"...

And I started writing.

Incidentally though, my unfinished stream of consciousness prose has shown me that the story that defines me, is not one of coolness and empowerment but one of weakness. My Great Real Life story is a story of someone who keeps jumping ship without any idea of how she is going to stay afloat and has only love to propel her treading.

This is great in the sense that I am still here and have built a pretty good life for myself, but I wonder if mere survival is a great story or if what would make my story great is that one day this love will help me to really swim. Or that I will one day turn into a lotus...

i really need to get started...

Party like a rockstar...

...and then get sick.

I knew it was only a matter of time until my body stopped trying to keep up with me, and here I am: sick as a dog.

Officially, I've been sick for 48 hours. Unofficially, I've been sick for like 4 days. The difference between "officially" and "unofficially" is the presence of fever: I've had a 102 fever for almost 2 days now. It was because of this fever that I walked out of Nobu on Wednesday and missed Nelly Furtado at Mansion. Damn it! And I still would have gone had it not been for Kari and Vincent yelling at me to go to bed so I could party yesterday [which I didn't do because I was so sick I was puking my life out].

I really should have paced myself last week. At my age, the whole not sleeping for days and partying every night thing will get to you...I partied for a week straight...on the upside though (or downside if you are one of those people who think I look better with a few extra pounds) I have lost 3 pounds this week...And to think that technically I still have 3 more days of potential partying...

This week has been a week of old friends...some have come, some I saw on my trip last weekend, some I have simply found the time to see. This is nice. It's a bit of a relief actually as well as a welcome distraction. I have missed these people, even though I am always saying "lo que no esta, no hace falta".

I've made some new friends here, but I appreciate the old. I find comfort in what I already know well and what knows me. Right now I feel terrible and wish I could just die; however, if I had to get sick like this again just to feel for one more week the way I felt this past week, I'd do it again...It may sound like a cliche but some things in life are just priceless...