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.

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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?

Part One of Bogota

PART ONE: Bogota, Colombia *June 2012*

motto

 Three weeks of traveling in foreign lands, lands that have a percentage less than me being born yesterday of returning to, caused me to choose my "tude" and do all that I could to take in and absorb the lands that hundreds and hundreds of years ago was the sanctuary to thousands of Inca people. Stone-based structures adorned in gold occupied the poised and passionate civilization practicing their faith and rituals. Colombia to Chile was once ruled by the greatest and curious world leaders in all time. One day I hope to cover a few more countries but this post will include what I could capture on camera of the current status of this conquered land.        ** I am still enter-button-less, which means, if I could, this would be beautifully formatted. I am taking donations to replace my almost 4-year old ghetto laptop with a new one, for my blog's sake, of course. **                                          

What the streets of Bogota, Colombia look like. Many a people ride motorcycles and drive cars. What caught my eye was the graffiti and the blue sky. 

I like this :)

in case i forget what my feet look like. 

This piece spoke to me, a scene of life, a flower on her shoulder and one in her arm. ( I feel so latin after writing that.)

the garden where you walk to see the art pieces.

Evidence that we were indeed, it's true--there. 

guess who took that...

diggin' on Botelo's art--a famous Colombian artist who has his pieces in several art museums in the United States (NY) , Colombia, and DC. What do you notice about his interpretation of the human form?

she's a chubby-wubby. I feel her pain, but not as much as her animal clothes. :S

I, indeed, asked myself why this was special as well. 

I couldn't figure it out, so I asked the guard.

I asked him if he, as a guard protecting all these paintings from our fingerprints, knew the history behind the art of each piece and the story behind the artist. He very kindly began explaining. I had seen these pieces before in my history book. The proportions are out of whack and he inflates all the objects he draws, even the fruit, making them more powerful than what we would suspect the knife to be, yet it is inferior to the grapefruit's greatness in stature and size. Good form, Botelo, good form. I prefer this Mona Lisa, to be honest. 

Gee-buzz 

Our first taste of Colombian meal. That is one ginormous tamali...and for some reason they put cheese in their hot chocolate. Not the biggest fan but gave it a whirl. 

my gift from the drunk man selling jewelry. Nope, not awkward at all.  A free bracelet for me!!

Rico-suave. I forget the flavors, I think one is Gua..something...Guanava? Foreign flavors, that works.

I truthfully thought that was a statue.  I wanted a pic to be a legit tourist and when I got close, he moved!  Peopel dress in all sorts of costumes and appear as statues and you pay to take a pic. Way to make a livin', wouldn't you say? I paid my dues or the money and we got a pic together. It's like we've known each other for years. Shoot, i paid for that shot so it best be lookin' that way. jeje

My first Colombian chocolate, <>.

Some Colombian (not Cambodian) helado...to my left Hna. Lucy with her brownie sundae and  me on the right, some fruit with ice cream...they adorned it with mozzarella cheese....I'm not sure why cheese relocated away from bread into sweet things. Not the biggest fan but, let me reiterate, gave it a whirl. 

About to check out the rocks carved on over 500 years before when all that you will see was under water.  "Let's go, hurry". 

Heaven and earth.

We just decided to climb that bad boy, who is actually taller that what it seems to be. 

purdy

Diana and Sascha

Milton y la familia Guzman Duran. 

their God

testing it out, it still works great. Come in, stay a while. 

Pride Rock-ish...latin style. It's actually called "el sapo" o "la rana"...meaning the toad or frog.

I look preggers...i'm NOT, thanks( kinda have to be married for that),  but I dig the view. 

The Spanish arrived and apparently they and the Colombian tribes (if you will) got along well enough to paint them on their walls. 

I wish I remembered what these were called but they are like giant wafers filled with "manjar blanco" or a sweet  caramel-like/nutella-ish sweet.

Pablo was so excited showing us what Colombia is known for. Can't you tell? The flowers :) They are exported to the United States, Canada, and Europe. 

I fell in love with this pole with the Colombian flag painted on it as I walked with Pablo in the town called Madrid.  The yellow represents the gold and riches of the country. the blue represents the main bodies of water that enrich it, and the red represents...the blood that was spilled to defend it. 

a neighborhood as we drove south to Cali, Colombia.

Diggin' the haircuts! We passed by a man with is team of horses--old schoolin' -it.

The entire drive was filled with rolling hills with their crops on top. Everything is done very old school and I wonder how difficult it must be to till and work that ground with it being anything but flat. 

ZOO TIME!

I really liked the view I saw as I looked toward the entrance.

What's a zoo without a waterfall, phh, please. :)

Gotta hold on to the rod. I be wantin' me some fruity goodness. Want some?

Gotta make a wish, especially with a peso!

About to throw it in! What did I wish for again? :)

Do you see this? I watched them for about 10 minutes and missed my guinea pigs. They are NOT guinea pigs. I forgot their name...I just see them as mutated and Americanized guinea pigs...bigger. And cute :)

TO BE CONTINUED

This Week--Enrique Iglesias

Oh, Enrique. I remember in high school I had a friend named Brittany (name changed, never know!), and she was absolutely in heart throb love with Enrique Iglesias...I just remember my inner self scratching my inner-self-head and wondering why on earth why? haha I was not in touch with my inner Latina--I don't think I ever mentioned that when I got angry that the Peruvian blood in me would boil. My last name always brought out the Italian roots to the plate, and I'd just go with the flow and stay on the European track. But yes, she adored ENRIQUE and wanted to date someone like him. I stuck with my Jack Johnson and whatever it was I would listen to, perhaps I was still on my musical quest.

Growing up, I was my Mom's passenger driver and everywhere we went the windows were down in our ghetto sea-blue colored car because air conditioning was a luxury our family did not experience. To accompany our sweaty drive would be sappy love songs belted by Julio Iglesias, the world famous Spanish singer. It's funny I noticed his interesting accent but never noticed my own Mothers'. But yes, back to these English-Spanish love songs, there sat eight-year-old Diana, singing along...I became extremely familiar with the tunes, "To all the girls I loved before, who traveled in and our our door..."... I have to say, I have been listening to one of his songs as my study music...yes, the same song on repeat...it's the acoustic version, it's BEAUTIFUL but his version with lyrics is amazing. Why can't more men be more romantic like him? No pressure. :) Here's the song in case your on the edge of your seat:

Now, that was Enrique's Pops...nowadays, Enrique is the modern Julio--the modern big Latino superstar singer...although he has a lot more competition...but I just am noticing him... basically 15 years since he put his first album out to the public, I'm finally paying attention and I can now see why my friend was SO into good 'ol Enrique. I, mind you, am not into him in the physical aspect, but this week I've been getting acquainted with him and his songs. I have to say, I've been singing a few of them in my head and even out loud during this entire day. I'd like to cross paths with SOMEONE who is whistling the same tune. Would that not be beyond coordinated, but accidentally? Gosh, remarkable-ness. I'm still waiting for that.     

This week I'm into Enrique's songs...not so sure about next week yet, but feel free to jam away :) I prefer the Spanish version to the English one. Paz fuera.