Woodland Animals vs Pavement

To: the Woodland Animals

them

The joy-rides in the country are lacking joy these days. The city or even suburbs have what I miss and that is a ginormous lack of road-kill. Here in the boonies, it's a whole new world, but not the kind Aladdin and Jasmine were singing about. 

My view? Not so good.

the mirrors are taped down, oh yeah. 

I moved back to Virginia in September, driving across country in my coveted 1990, color rust, Mitsubishi Montero. My drivers and passengers mirror sway in the wind, my shocks are blown out so much that whenever I go over any bumps people literally take cover and scream out, “Oh my (fill in with your preferred name for a higher power)” to the explosion that occurs from  cordial exchange between my wheels, the shocks, and the cement.  Along with the interesting drive across country with my Mom and my puppy beagle, the arrival was nothing less than blissful. I have vowed to never road-trip again. Don’t worry, I know I’m kidding myself, but my resolve is still strong.

 I have loved the scenic view of the Blue-ridge Mountains and greenery transforming into reds, yellows, oranges, and now browns. I have admired the change of seasons as I take my safari rides north and south on route 29, until, the truth behind living in such an animal enriched place slowly started to reveal itself.

Yes, I would answer “yes” to being an avid animal lover. As a five-year-old, rescuing earthworms that got washed out of their holes in the ground out onto the sidewalk was my only ever-expected activity after a rainstorm. Pick-up, squish between fingers, hello grass—the responsibility of a five-year-old; those were the days. However, picking up slimy earthworms after the storm all occurred in the pleasant streets of northern Virginia—you know the city? Out here, in the country, it’s a different ball game.

Earth-worm salvaging is nothin' to 'em country folk. Out here, saving animals isn't exactly on the top of the list for 'em adults as it was mine as a child, and I must admit, I still enjoy saving things. Hunting, shooting, skinning and eating--well, that is expected out here. I am no country girl, even if I tried. My record of being southern occurred 7 years ago when I visited the CMT (Country Music Television) channel during the span of a month where I participated in knowing the top 20 countdown for the year of 2005. I still like 2 songs from that experience: Would you Go with Me, by Josh Turner and The World, by Brad Paisley. That’s as deep as I get with my country side.

for your enjoyment

Maybe I’m overly sensitive. Maybe I heart animals more than I thought. Maybe wanting to save the woodland animals is on everyone’s to-do list. Maybe it’s not. All I know is that I have seen one too many carcasses in the span of really a month, my first month here. If I must be frank, I have cried over it. I embrace the wuss within me. 

As I was driving home one dark and late evening after getting off my shift, my safari car headlights lit up only just enough ahead of me as needed. By the skin of my nose I noticed this dark blob in front of me and I mustered up the coherence to try to move away from this dark an unidentified grounded object. For all the trouble I was putting myself through, it would probably be a t-shirt that escaped from the back of a passing truck. Then, I saw it. The light revealed the sad scene. On his side and facing toward me, and all the oncoming parties behind me, layed a raccoon—living and breathing. Adorning his left arm and shoulder, he was seemingly glued,  facing up and covered in blood, there placed by a collision that occurred only seconds before we had our encounter. He was breathing. He was in one piece. He was unable to move. What a fearful situation.

Always,  my heart breaks over seeing beautiful deer or foxes in frozen poses pulled on the “other side” of the line as I made my way to and fro location x and destination y. Never had I been eye-to-eye with a living animal in such a dire situation as with Mr. Raccoon.  If I had it my way, I would have stopped my car and rescued the chap, lime disease and all. I swerved. My wheels didn't add any damage but all I could think about as I covered my mouth and my eyes filled with tears was that the cars behind me might not swerve, they might not go around, they might not care and then... that would be it. Life over.

I've been pondering this since my road-trip across country. Even bugs that would disappear in an instant from a solid to a liquid due to the collision with my windshield had to serve some purpose as I washed them away, one wipe at a time.  I have been thinking how instantaneous death is and how anticlimactic these animals' and insects' deaths have been. Then, I compared that type of end to a life with people. People fall of buildings and become just like the animals I see daily. Cars hit cars and people and that is a quick exit from this world. That is not my preferred way to die. The ideal way out would be saving someone else, dying and fighting for your country, being on a meaningful and integrity-filled errand…not…trying to cross the road and getting slammed on the way…or…almost making it and just having to lay there thinking of how close you were before it would all be over. 

I find that people pass by these dead or dying woodland animals and brush them off as a shame or…that there are too many of them so good riddance to bad rubbish and it’s to “decrease the surplus population,” you know, something Scrooge would say…but, I just can’t do that. It seems so demeaning and to me gives those creatures absolutely zero worth. How are they less than I in their chance to live? Bambi had a Mom (and Dad), and don’t we know what happened to her. There has to be some type of honor from their departure.

I have to say, I have utmost respect for the “road kill” I see. I don’t see it as I used to. I would think, “Oh, how sad!” and in my mind wonder why on God’s beautiful green earth, why and how loud noises and trucks or cars couldn't scare them off from taking on the task of crossing the road. It makes them sound stupid, and yes, their brains are small, but their instincts are incredible. They are not stupid, they are brave and here is why.

They are smarter than most of us, the human population. Sound contradictory? It isn't. 

How many people stay in the conformity of their own comfort zone? How many people dare not even attempt to follow their dreams ? How many opportunities are lost from not trying? The chances of “getting to the other side” or actually having it come to light are sometimes too threatening or too scary to handle. How is that smart? Here is the question I take away from “them”—am I not even daring to take a step toward that greener pasture because I may get hit? It could be an experience to change all experiences. Maybe there was something that animal was trying to reach…food, babies, a better life…use your imagination here. I think they may have way more courage and guts ( and I’ve seen it) than the rest of the forest and the rest of us. So, instead of feeling sad for them like I did, and forget the whole “it’s inevitable” attitude, I say, see it from a different angle. Nature is full of lessons.  I would rather die young trying to reach a dream than grow old wishing I had taken that potentially deathly leap onto the road to get to the other side. perhaps, to theirs and our own Promised Land. 

HOW?! The other side. 

 To the woodland animals. 

Identity Crisis?

For most people, this is a natural thing. Some people, of both genders, have issues with this, so maybe they might be excluded now or at some future point in time. Most,  if not all babies, may be born bald but eventually their hair catches up with them, and that continues to grow, no matter how much Mommy cuts it off or gum calls for a trim (or sometimes a massive chop).

Cut your hair and it grows back. It’s not like a limb, you know--enjoy it now because once it’s gone welcome to  a world of…a prosthetic arm, a wooden leg, or a silver hook…

But…

no make-up pic back in July (before)

Doesn’t it feel that way?!

Once you cut it all off, you find yourself in the same stance in from of the mirror, fiddling with your hair, combing it,  analyzing it, all over a consecutive period of time with that lingering thought: did this nonsense grow???

I've been struggling with the reality that yes, it will grow back. Part of the reason why I chopped my, in retrospect—gorgeous locks—was because I wanted to get away from the self-absorbing funk we can all be guilty of. HOWEVER, it’s a total b-word letting go of something as ridiculous as HAIR.

As a lady, there are so many expectations (not necessarily fact),  from all sides of the argument that a lady should have long hair for: wedding pictures (not getting married anytime soon here FYI, in case you are wondering), to be considered attractive to the opposite sex,  to have sex appeal,  to be considered modern, to have something to flip when dancing (which I miss MUCHO)…however, this is something that most women use as reasons to not cut off their hair, even when they want to.  What a bunch of crap, right? It’s just shizz that grows on the top of your head, how did this become so symbolic and important to most people, men and women? I saw that Jennifer Aniston cut her hair and her reaction was that she already regretted it after just doing it. WTFudge? Really? Confession: I’m totally like her. 

I felt that way 5 days after the encounter with scissors. 

As of late, I am having a severe identity crisis. I hate to admit it. It literally makes me gag…oh wait..I just  threw up a little in my mouth. Aren't you glad you can’t see me?

My sudden decision to cut my hair…and now my hair gone…has taken a toll on my confidence and on my style. It’s hard to dress the same and feel trendy like I once did.  My reflection is someone else because I have no clue who is looking me back, but what the "h", she totally copied my glasses.

"After": *a baby is the new accessory* (today)

So, instead of continuing on the pathetic rant of how I feel “ugly” and “ew” and struggle with my current do of the hair…I am focusing on being what Shakespeare said, “to thine self be true”. As much as I want my outsides to match my insides, if I have good insides in general,

 then,

I can sleep at night.

If that is my new focus from a little hair-chopping, then so be it.

I find it most beneficial.

To stopping vanity. 

Good night--zzZZ

Between the Eyes

This has been what seems like the laziest day of my life and hopefully will be the last for a while. Thanks a lot stressful flying for catching up with me and making me feel like poop. However, this gives me a chance to put on virtual paper what has been on my mind for the last few weeks.

Besides stress creating the world's most vicious zit between my eye brows, during the last few weeks lessons have metaphorically hit me hard between the eyes, and I don't know if I really have a conclusion regarding all the thoughts that have come and gone from my Dori-mind.

As much as I want people to be judged for who they are, and as much as I want to be judged by who I am, other factors always out-do the ones that I find truly matter most. All the girlfriends I talk to about get on my case about this, however, I still remain unconvinced that I am wrong.

The last thing I want to sound like would be associated with a bitter old lady or what Tony Horton says, a broken record, however, I am still waiting to be proved wrong, and my seemingly bitter old lady record might just play until then.

Here it is: I find that I live in a shallow place...

And I'm not referring to shade here. 

That is a generalization, and not everyone is like that, however, I find that the majority of people I meet, maybe even I, fall under this category: lacking depth; superficial.



As much as I know this it is not true, I find that here beauty is all too often and constantly defined to women subconsciously and evidently by example after example by a certain size rather than how someone makes you feel and the character that they have, at least in this culture. It's exhausting. I say that because of the absolutely beautiful friends that I have that go unnoticed and also by my personal experience of "not measuring up" (there's a pun for you). 

What a contrast from the two other Americas: Central and South.

From serving a mission in Peru, to traveling to Colombia, and now from going to and coming from Guatemala, what I've learned is that people do not identify themselves they way we do here in the good 'ol U.S. of A.  Here, everything seems to be identified by how close we emulate this generation's idea of "perfection",  to the brands we buy, labels, music, hairstyles you name it, we associate what is "cool" by the exterior more than the interior. I don't speak for everyone, but from my experience living in the small town of Provo, I have continuously witnessed value being based on a first glance than long-lasting good character in the dating world. 

I'm not exactly sure how to explain it. Maybe it's my age. When I was younger how I identified a man as handsome was if he measured up to being a "hottie bo bottie". Of course, with time and a change of perspective, physical attraction has become the cream cheese icing on the vanilla cake--a pretty face won't win this corazon, nor does it give enough of a reason to date someone, there has to be more. 

 By my observations, I see guys taking out girls who fit their trophy wife model instead of a deeper beauty, or, maybe I'm wrong and need to get new glasses? Maybe.

 After being in Guatemala helping in doctor visits, I came across women who had a list of problems and issues but who were rich in love and family. They had stretch marks along their bellies and perhaps were not as well kept as others, yet, this did not prevent their beauty from being seen or from their progression.

Why do we complicate life and love here? 

I would invite all men everywhere, like my extremely amazingly funny friend Jenny, to ask girls out and be men, but not only that, but not to categorize beauty by what standards that the media gives or even our friends would give. There are beautiful girls that have so much to offer, but it takes a special kind of a man to truly recognize it and value it. Sometimes I wonder if that kind of man exists. 

On a personal note, I have put on about 50 pounds since my first semester at BYU, and I can guarantee that when I lose the weight, people will treat me differently, and I do not look forward to that day because I will be the same person then that I am now and recognizing the difference in treatment will only shine the light on them than on me. True quality people will be able to recognize true beauty as the people of Guatemala are able to do, seeing past the exterior and looking into the interior. 

 So, conclusion? 

I would like the definition of beautiful:

beau·ty  

/ˈbyo͞otē/

Noun A combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, esp. the sight. A combination of qualities that pleases the intellect or moral sense,

 to put into practice--apply it in real life, the world would be a more peaceful place.

What hit me between the eyes? 

There are different types of beauty. To me, the best beauty is hidden.  As much as I complain of not being credited for being beautiful in an obvious way, when the stars align, the right guy will remind me of Melvin Uvall from the Oscar Winning move, As Good As It Gets, in what he says to the woman he loves with this:





[to Carol Connelly] 

"I might be the only person on the face of the Earth that knows you're the greatest woman on Earth. I might be the only one who appreciates how amazing you are in every single thing that you do, and how you are with Spencer, Spence (her son). And in every single thought that you have, and how you say what you mean, and how you almost always mean something that's all about being straight and good. I think most people miss that about you, and I watch them, wondering how they can watch you bring their food and clear their tables, and never get that they just met the greatest woman alive. And the fact that I get it makes me feel good about me."

Here's to choosing to see beauty in more than a one-dimensional prism, not only romantically, but prospectively. 

Relax Yo Mind

It's been the world's longest and most stressing day. I resolve to watch my favorite comedian until I feel better and like it's time to be productive. You're invited to join me:

http://www.comedycentral.com/video-clips/5opp89/stand-up-gabriel-iglesias--roller-coasters

(that link is 5 stars...i can't upload it...sad face)

Paz fuera. 

The Miracle on 5th Avenue

Miracles, do they really exist?

When we try to emulate the Savior, Yes--yes they do.

I know it, but sometimes I have to remind myself to believe it.

My memory taught me a lesson, a lesson of how miracles can happen everyday, one that I was part of, and one that meant so much to me. I am going to recount my Saturday walking down 5th Avenue this past February.

Exploring. Alone. Risk.

I like that. I went exploring a snowy Saturday morning and walked back toward my hotel that same afternoon, and it just so happened that my hotel was on 5th Avenue, infamous for its' high end names of clothes and window shopping. I was having a fun time as I Bee Gee strutted down the street and did my best to not seem like a total foreigner to the NY fancy pants scene.

that's me, walking down the street. If only I looked that good.

As my eyes and mind were distracted by the contents behind glass and the song ringing in my ears, I finally noticed someone on the street corner, someone who I have seen in different parts of this large world we live in, someone I always empathize with: the poor and lowly of heart. A home-less lady sat on the street corner extending her cup out to the what seemed to me, uninterested tourists or accustomed travelers of Fifth Avenue.

I stopped, glad to know that I had 3 dollars in my pocket, the only cash I had. Handing it to her I asked this middle-aged, wrinkly, dirty, and desperate woman, "Why are you crying?" She swallowed and her tears fell. Her voice cracked,

"I'm hu--un-gry." She caught her breath amongst her whimpers

My immediate reacion:

"Here you go, best to you."

I dropped my paper greens into her hands and walked away...and as I pivoted, my mind counted up the contents of the coins and money I saw in her cup and told myself: she doesn't have enough money for lunch.

My next quest: Find her some.

I don't think much of myself for going to buy someone lunch. Please know, that I have made enough mistakes in my life while living in Peru of not dropping a few coins when I felt prompted that I promised myself that when I felt an impression to give, that I would give full-heartedly. If I can, I give. If I can't, I do what I can, and that's pray for them or someone to be that help. Karma; it's real.

The man on the corner looked like he knew where to "rustle up some grub". Going toward him a man handed me a flyer. Thank you. Continuing. The man behind him,  on the corner,  pointed me in the right and literal direction,  and then asked me to compensate him for his help. I let him in on a secret:  the Big Man (upstairs) pays much better than I do. I looked upward. He laughed. My cue to walk away was given.

A: bowl of fruit, banana, chocolate chip cookie, mineral water...purchase made. Subway next door? Perfect. A foot long, why not? When I went back to find her and hopefully ease her burden...she was gone. -_- My prayers went unanswered. Praying to find her and spot her...I moved forward. I moved forward and told myself...well, I didn't buy this for me, so I'm not going to eat it. There has to be a reason why I have all this food....(and honestly, it was a crazy quantity. What was I thinking. Easy, i wasn't. I was trying to, as corny as it sounds: follow my heart, follow the Spirit.)

What you tell yourself, I recognize in hind sight, really does matter. On repeat the words in my mind were: there has to be a reason for this. Maybe it's for someone else, however, my heart was set on finding HER and giving this feast to HER. I wanted to find HER.

So stubborn.

On my way down the street the man who handed me a flier tried giving me another one. I remembered his name, "Thanks Joe, you already gave me one." He stopped me. He proceeded to invite me to dinner. -_- He looked older than my Dad. Flattered, however, I declined. Then I saw the man on the corner, you know, the one wanting some compensation for "pointing me in the right direction" toward a food source. Here is what went down, and here is where the miracles began:

Me: "Hey, well, you know how you wanted me to pay you for the directions? Well, how about I pay you? Do you want a subway sandwich?"

He looked bewildered as I took the foot-long out of the bag and handed it to him.

Him: "Really? Why do you have a subway sandwich?"

Me: "Oh, well, someone was hungry but I can't find them. So, do you want it?"

Him: "Well yeah! You got it for someone who is hungry?"

Me: "It's true, here take the sandwich."

Him: "Can i take you to dinner sometime to pick your brain?"

I smiled. I laughed. He asked me if I was seeing someone. The answer: yes. True? Not entirely.

Him: "Have you ever dated a black man before?

can you tell he is black yet?

Me: "Well, I've been out with a black man, but have I actually dated one exclusively? No."

Him: "Are you against it?"

Me: "You know what? I learned to never say never."

He proceeded to ask me out several times and tell me how it's not normal for me to do what I'm doing...I took this great opportunity to tell him why I might seem so different, and that I am a Mormon. Not all Mormons are the same, but, we try to serve as we go. I invited him to receive missionaries in his home to listen to our message, he had mentioned that he'd been to visit us at church on a Sunday there in NYC. I got his information and I passed the information on. I hope he has gotten his visits from the missionaries.

I gave him his cookie. He asked to be my Facebook friend. We agreed. We parted paths.

Miracle One:

He saith to him the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He said unto him, Yeah, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. - John 21:16

Change things up; bring a little subway into someone's life. There is more than one way to feed a man, and the other is to feed his soul.

(Interesting evaluation: When I leave Utah, I get asked out withing one minute--TWICE--on the same block. Mind-boggling. In Utah... not so much.)

this is what Fifth Avenue looks like

As I continued on my path still with a bag full of food I hoped to find this corner-lady. I saw another home-less man. Why I hadn't noticed them earlier was beyond me. He looked a little too refined to be what his cardboard sign said...and I almost ignored him. Then the thought came into my mind:

"How do you know if he's really homeless?"

He accepted my banana. I kept going. Miracle 2: Feed my sheep;

 "Judge Not According to the Appearance"

http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1979/04/judge-not-according-to-the-appearance?lang=eng

Another card board sign read, Out of Work. Anything would help. He was smoking a cigarette and looking down. How must it feel to be sitting on the street for the whole world to know that you need a hand out? What if someone recognized you? He accepted a mineral water. Miracle 3: Feed my Sheep;

For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: i was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a starnger, and ye took me in."

Matthew 25:35

I needed a souvenir. I had been on the infamous Fifth Avenue and still had bought nothing from any of the stores. Next stop: H&M. The clothes= cheap and cute. I had 10 minutes. The $10 dollar wrack caught my attention. Blue. Sweater. Done. Check out, please.

I had one item left in my bag. There were no homeless people in sight and my hotel room was just a few strides away.My cashier seemed nice, slightly cute, slightly not into my gender, and he started ringing up my item. We exchanged hello's.

Me: "So, have you eaten lunch today?

Him: "Well, actually, last night I made a great dinner and had packed my lunch with left overs but I forgot it at home."

Me: "Well, today is your lucky day." I put the fruit bowl in front of him and told him to grub out, now he's taken car of.

Stunned, he said, "There are good people in the world". Grabbing my bag I walked away,  half-smile and all.

Miracle 4: Feed my sheep; 

" As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love."

John 15:9

Perhaps, these people needed to feel:

Love and loved.
Noticed? 
Cared for? The Lord had a child with a need to meet. 
"Continue in my love."


I never found the lady. Maybe she's the Fifth Avenue Ghost. Maybe she was the miracle. But, the lesson learned that day, and the lesson I am re-visiting today is:

  We sometimes get promptings to do one thing, and we focus on that goal because 1) we think it's what we need to do to be fulfilled, 2)We felt that inspiration for it and can't image it could change 3) We get so caught up on achieving something we've worked so hard to do, however, sometimes, it's out of our hands.

In this case, I wanted to find this crying lady. You would have done the same. It's nothing totally unheard of. Something that occurred was that perhaps, she was the inspiration and spark of the miracle that led to the other 3 people who's lives of which I knew nothing about, who were then and now accountable to God and God alone, and who's lives were blessed by it.

Mine, I believe was changed. Never had I been in the right place at the right time with such consecutive experiences within such a small radius, not even serving a mission in Peru. I learned that sometimes we receive a prompting with one goal in mind but the Lord shifts it. He just needed to get us moving and then he turns us to the right people and shifts us in the right direction.

How does that apply to everyday situations?

You tell me.


For myself, I sometimes get frustrated when I don't see the why behind having to go through certain experiences. I, at times, feel I have wasted my precious time. I'm trying to realize how the Lord is working to re-position my path. I am too focused on it going in the direction I thought he meant it to instead of embracing his purposes. A plethora of miracles await me. I just need to let him change my course. I am working on my faith which proceed miracles.

"For if there be no faith among the children of men God can do no miracle among them; wherefore, he showed not himself until after their faith."

-Ether 12:12

Now, you tell me, can you recognize the hand of the Lord in your life? Can you tell when He is preparing a needed opportunity?

Don't forget the faith to take it. Be part of a miracle.

-__-

I feel squishy. Don't call me your squishy, I just feel it. Winter is taking it's final bow and now Spring and Summer will be making their grand entrance into my life. Bring on the nice weather but...being body conscious is starting.

I don't know why it's so easy for my genetics to embrace the squishy life.

I am once again resolving to do P90X but I reallllly need to dedicate myself to it amongst the busy life of work, school, and an occassional social life....this means...

wake up early
workout before work=the hardest thing ever
go to bed EARLY
eat more healthily

those are my goals.

How deep am I.

Before and After?

If I must.

TBC

Prince Eric + Mr T = I Heart Old People

Hi. 

 "He spoke too soon."
I remember my older brother saying that as we watched The Little Mermaid when I was small child and every time that scene would come up I parroted it..."He spoke too soon!", as if I really knew what it meant. Chea-no.

He actually scares me :(

You know that scene...when Eric exclaimed that he would down-right know the right girl to marry his pretty little prince-self to when he saw her, and then said it would, "hit me, like lighting!"A bolt flashed and the seas threw him over-board.

Let's knock on wood I don't speak too soon and get thrown into the waves and violent sea of life with instability...unless there is a metaphorical merman out there waiting to rescue me?
Maybe? -.- Fine.

What I am knocking on wood for is the plethora of amazing opportunities coming my way and me not sure which one to go with...nor sure exactly what I should do. Can you imagine a big question mark over my head? Well, you should try...it will work.

Today I was contemplating my summer/fall plans...if I want to be around after August when my contract is up or if I want to move back to Virginia OR if I want to travel and see what opportunities are out there abroad for me (DING DING DING--that's what I want to do).

I still don't know exactly what I will do, my fate lies in the Lord's hands, as it always does--hence why they say things happen for a reason--but, I want to relate an experience I had today with a nice older man named Don. 

I need a shirt that says that. 

Yes, Don is old. 

He asked me about my earrings--(a great way to start a convo not so old guys out there who lack social skills...seriously...just pick something to talk about)--and I mentioned PERU and how I go back often and we both hit it off about Machu Picchu. (Side note** Apparantly, Don is coming with my Mom and I when she turns 60, he invited himself and I could not turn the man down, did you not notice how smooth and charming this fellow is? ;) Eventually he turned the tables and got personal (he would) and asked me about my life. Now, let me give you an insight, what I ADORE about older people is their incredible ability to be answer to my personal questions, doubts, concerns. They bring such a love and experience to the table when it comes to advise and conversations that my ears always perk up, I am put in my place (not Miss Know-It-All) and I shut up and listen. It's fabulous. The world needs to visit old-folks homes if they want some advise. Shoot. I was snapping when I said that. Ghetto-fierce.

What is on my mind??

Alright, back on track, pardon the detour. Don asked me about something that has been on my mind for a while now...and I have had some ideas and back-up plans regarding the rest of my year and Don swooped in and encouraged me in just the best way he possibly could have. He found out one of my desires which is to work in hospitals and translate, not because I think I can speak spanish well (ask anyone who actually speaks perfectly and they'll level with you), but because of the joy of helping others. Don did not do much but clear the fog out of the house of my mind, and showed me the possibilities that are out there and that they are ENDLESS. He shared his personal experience in his younger years as an accountant and how his ability to say, "I am AWESOME at what I do" and how if I can have that type of attitude, I can make my goals happen. I felt an incredible peace and felt the invisible/metaphorical doors open up in my life. Perhaps they are doors that I put there and almost closed.

He recommended that I make a few phone calls and get my faith out of limbo and put it into action, (by me actually doing something about the ideas I have) and seeing how things go. I feel so incredibly motivated. Freed? I'd say so.

My favorite part has been that I feel like Don was sent from God to talk to me about things that matter to me and help me see that I am cabale and if I'm not yet, I can say I am until I become it and to never give up or let an opportunity pass by just because I think I am not. So many people less qualified than me say they are good at something and guess what? Yup, you got it. How can I put this nicely--they suck. Head nod.

So, lesson learned? Let's re-cap: 

1. Talk to old people--he even invited me over...how cute is that?
2. Talk to everyone--you never know how they can give you a hand, a push, reference, etc.
3. The Lord knows our minds and our hearts 
4. The Lord answers our prayers through others and is there to kindly push us along the right path
5. Trying new things is a good thing

6. Prince Eric can be used in a blog

On a personal note...let's see where this year takes me and YOU!

 There are a few plates on the table regarding choices and possibilities but the more plates the merrier!

Don't give up...and don't deny yourself of wonderful opportunities! 

Just try!!!!! >:(

Don't make me get Mr. T-ish on you. Fool. ;P

Tell Me What You Really Think

Two things never fail. 

Not a week goes by when the most unsought for things are constantly brought to my attention. LUCKY ME (that's a sarcastic statement in case you can't hear my voice ringing in your mind)!

Usually people notice my features and think I'm either Italian (which is right) or Latina (which is also correct). They never guess I'm both. I'm a rare breed--it's understandable. But this is the norm of my life as of late.

I've never solely identified myself by my race, the way I talk, or if there is a ring on my finger. 

I work as a receptionist (basically--let's just call it that for now) in a laundry mat--in the big times, people. Look out.  Older people and students come in to get help and I have to talk to them and help them with what they are looking for usually by asking them their last names and take it from there.  Personally, I enjoy making small talk. If I'm going to be standing in front of someone for between 30 seconds to 5 minutes, I want to make those seconds worthwhile for both of us. Life is boring enough as it is. Let's spice this bad boy up! Let's have some fun convo! Usually they loosen up after I break the ice. (It's so enjoyable to see someone smile and laugh. That is my personal philosophy  that there is so much happiness that comes from making someone else smile or laugh or anything. It just makes me feel good because they feel good. Okay, tender moment is passing now.)

So, today--

Me and this older gentleman small talked while I got his items that he left for us. We started making small talk and then he finally looked at me enlightened, jumpy and said: 

     "Hey! Where are you from? You look like you're not from here"

Me: (I have seriously heard this 30 times within the last few weeks) Uh haha no sir, I'm not      

         from here, you're good!

              usually here is when people ask me if I'm from New York but he didn't guess.

Him: Well, where are you from?

Me: Haha I'm from Virginia.

That's when he told me that he could tell, as an easterner himself,  that I wasn't from these parts.He would know, he's from Pennsylvania...he KNOWS an easterner when he sees one. 

I won't lie.

I giggled inside.

I've heard this before, "Are you from New York?", "You look and sound like you're from New York", "Are you hispanic", "You look exotic", "You can dance you're hispanic", "You aren't from around here, I can tell by the way you talk". The list goes on and on. I really don't mind it. In fact, I like that people can tell I'm not from here, I just never realized that I'm ...wait for it...different. o.O

The OTHER thing I always hear? And I shall show you by example:

The same man that I was helping in the previous dialogue---during his epiphany of my origin he asks while he looks over the counter to my hands typing on the keyboard he says, 

"Are you...(he sees my ringless ring finger on my left hand) you're not married!? I just can't believe that! I'm so surprised that you aren't married. You know I have a son..." and then we had that interesting conversation of people trying to set me up, and keep in mind, I had JUST met this man. I explained that it's not like it used to be back in the good 'ol days.

This is the story of my life, currently. Let's be clear. I'm not mad i'm not married. I'm not  going to go marry the first guy that asks me out.  It's flattering that people are kind to me and don't make me feel this, "Oh, I can see why you're not married" or perhaps think to themselves, "Ahh, yeaaaah....poor girl", so not preferable, but it's not a race or a club to join!

But, this is the funny, weird, odd, interesting things of my life. All-in-all, a great episode for a Friday.

---------------------------------------------------

Answers to the posed questions by random people I meet: 

1) I say I'm from Virginia. I was born in Georgia on an army base. We grew up in Virginia because my Mom's family came from Peru there and stayed. My Dad is from New York and has a strong accent so I grew up listening to his NY way of speaking. When I say the word, "Brooklyn" I sound like I'm from there. I can't explain it. My Mom has an accent too, so we (as in my brothers and I), sounds like we are a mix of NY and accent-free speech. 

Perhaps I have the "I don't take no nonsense" attitude, which helps bring the east coast vibe to the plate. We don't tip-toe around feelings too much, yet are tactful. :) You know it be true!

2) No, I am not married. It's true! I wish I could tell you exactly why. One of the reasons? I don't feel like I need to be married to be whole or a complete person. Do I want to be married? Of course! I want a successful marriage and to have a family and I want a baby!! I lost control there for a second. Ahem, better now. It's an important choice to make and I want to go about it in a mature way. I don't care how old I am, just that I marry the right person in the right place at the right time. 

I think once I find it, i'll know. :)

What I Love to Hate

I don't have time for this and I know I shouldn't. It's like choosing between a carrot and french fries. No one really craves carrots (unless you eat too many french fries--you know you've been there, don't lie, this is a safe place). All I'm saying is that I don't have time to be blogging and need to finish some home work but, alas, it's happening. Can you see the words?

Since I was a kid my Dad always told me that I should be a critic. I think he meant a movie critic, but maybe just about life. I wish i could get paid for my amazing opinion. If you are looking for someone to analyze your life, I am currently available and can send you my resume. Or, just hire me. I'm a good worker, you shall see. :)

So, I see things that I just don't like. I am not TRYING to judge. It just comes naturally. Call it a gift. It's not so much me judging but perhaps more of me wanting curtosy from those with whom I co-habitate this lovely sphere of a world in which we live. I am constantly out of my home and am always finding myself in situations that cause these opinions below:





In no specific order:

1. FLUSH THE TOILET when you drop a bomb in a public bathroom

Going into a public bathroom and the person in the stall directly next to mine (or just being in the bathroom counts but somehow I find myself NEXT the person) wants count to the number 2 and leave that number in the stall and doesn't bother to FLUSH until my nose hairs are burnt off and I want to throw up. Please, for the sake of all mankind or me, a woman of the species, just flush right when it hits the water. I don't know how many times I have had to hold my tongue from saying, "If you're going to poop can you at least flush?" It's okay to flush before you are finished. Just get the smell out of here. I don't want to inhale YOUR deathly odors. 

*sorry for those of you who don't talk about these things...someone's gotta do it*

2. If you hit me by accident I forgive you but would like you more if you said the magic word--"I'm SORRY" .

I get it--places to go, people to see. Trust me, I know. But, let's not forget, it's okay to excuse yourself from your imperfect ways. It's just proper to apologize for hitting someone with your backpack or your arm or you didn't see where you were going. Just acknowledge it and be done with it. You'll feel so much better after. Yay. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

"You look Freakin' Porta Rican"

December 12, 2012

Characters involved:

myself= the "porta rican"
my Father= the New Yorker
my Mom= the innocent Peruvian


Jennifer Lopez, Ricky Martin, Luis Fonse, Marc Anthony...I'd like to think that all of these beautiful Puerto Rican people are attractive. I mean, I should know. Before Ricky Martin came out of the metaphorical closet I seriously wanted to marry the man (the irony of my life). So, when my Dad and I had this conversation, you can imagine my confusion. You see, if you THINK my Dad is giving you a compliment...you might want to re-evaluate the sentence structure of the statement. Nothing comes that easy with a guy from New York.

To give you a taste of my youth, this is a compliment from my Father from when I was probably 19.

     "Diana, you're a pretty girl,"   LONG PAUSE...You would want to take that as a compliment, wouldn't you? Well, here comes the rest...

     "...don't talk." -_____-

He thought pretty highly of himself, but, in case you didn't get it he basically told me I'm pretty but stupid.

HAHA o.o

So, it's not true---OBVIOIUSLY, excpet the positive part ;) but, you see, you can't trust what the seems like a compliment! EVER (take that as a lesson for future reference).


This was the run down of our conversation on this lovely twelvth of December. I had just bought a new shade of RED lipstick and was wearing my favorite red pants....(to any Puerto Rican readers...please understand the history behind it)

red lips

Me: "Hi, Pops."

Dad: "What's that you got on"

Me: "I got it today, do you like it?"

Dad: "You look Porta' Rican."

Me: "What? But I'm more Peruvian than Puerto Rican."

Dad:" You look freakin' Porta Rican, take it off!"

Me: (confused if looking "Porta Rican" was a good or bad thing...I personally always thought Puerto Ricans were good looking.)
         But Dad, it's a trend now, it's not out of the ordinary."

Dad: (looking at my Mom) You would let her out of the house like that?

Mom: I think she looks nice

Dad: I cannot believe you would let her out of the house like that, (looking back at me and his voice getting louder--)You know what, you're not allowed to wear dat lipstick in da house, go take it awf!!

Me: Seriously, Dad? Okay, I just won't look at you while I wear it...and I got up and went to the bathroom...where I heard him whisper to my Mom that I look like...

what my Dad saw in Brooklyn growing up:

all the Puerto Rican girls who wore that red lipstick that us gals love so much is what all the Prostitutues wore. So, the one day my Dad speaks up against anything I wear is because I remind him of a prostitue. I will full-heartedly take that as love. The color of crimson RED. Haha. Thanks for lookin' out for me Pops. I still wear it but he doesn't know about it. Thank goodness not everyone associates red lipstick with that, only if you're from New York, I guess!

Mind vs Matter=Literally

This dates from October 10th, 2012--An epiphany while running....

(I've been trying to make-up for my lack of blogging the year of 2012....)

 

Running. Living; both Progressive Verbs.

Oil. Water; both nouns.

Running from pain and trials and then having to live in them --both possible realities we choose.

I just spent 10 minutes running on the treadmill at 7.0 speed. It's a short time but after 5 minutes of running I just wanted to turn off the machine and go back to the Lazy Boy watching As Good As It Gets. Then, I thought about oil and water...



The oil and water cannot mix. They don't like each other? Maybe sometimes they like to pretend one or the other is not there (yes, personification!). We do that, don't we? That problematic oil is not there...Trials and Running away from them..... or ...having trials and living life in amidst of them.

If I gave up before my goal was reached (10 minutes of torture)...something so simple...then what else would I forfeit to?

What about you? What would you forfeit to?