Category Archives: Oh Mexico…

August and everything after (and other things I love right now)

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[Preliminary Note/Disclaimer:  Here’s the thing — I’ve been sick in bed for a full fucking WEEK with the perfect storm of awfulness, i.e., bladder infection, some kind of cold/sore throat thingie, an apocalyptic peri menopausal period (sorry, you know how I am about compulsive disclosure), a pimple the size of a goiter on my neck (this didn’t send me to bed, per se, but I just want you to have the full picture of how my week has gone) and then, to top it all off, debilitating abdominal cramps (to be distinguished from the debilitating menstrual cramps solely by the location of the UTTER AGONY) from, it turns out, unhappy little creatures living in my intestines.  My point is that I’ve been cooped up and on a lot of drugs, ergo THIS POST MAY NOT MAKE SENSE]

[On the other hand it may make perfect sense.  Because drugs.]

[But what you should really know, is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month – which started on November 1 and which I  never even really  committed to (in my mind)  – partly because of my inner “fuck-you” (I’ve talked about her before, the one that says “Oh, you think I should do “X”, the thing that I already wanted to do?  FUCK YOU, I’m not doing it.”) and partly because of the bad memories from the last time I signed up for NaNoWriMo (to wit: my artistic genius mommy (with great hair) slipped and broke her hip in mid-November (2011) and I stopped writing and then she died a few weeks later and then I never ever wanted to go back and look at what I was writing, or even think about it, really,  because maybe, instead of writing, I should have been spending more time with her in what would turn out to be the last time she was ever happy in her life.  SO THERE’S THAT.  Fuck.  But my point here is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo and it’s Day 9 and I think the part of me that doesn’t want me to write actually sent the perfect storm of FUCKING AWFUL PHYSICAL AILMENTS to prevent any writing  from happening and now I’m starting to feel better physically (Yay medicine!), so instead of doing the NaNoWriMo writing, I’ve suddenly got  the urge to blog?   Right.]

[Just so we are all clear on why I’m suddenly blogging after being a horrible blogger for the past year: I’M WRITING THIS TO AVOID WRITING THAT NOVEL THAT I’VE BEEN MEANING TO WRITE FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE, PRACTICALLY.]

[It just occurred to me that perhaps my next soul retrieval thingy should be to find out who the inner “fuck you” voice is?  Is she the same as the inner avoidance queen?  If so, they are fucking bad ass.  I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to convince them to just fucking COOPERATE and play nicely with everyone else.  It seems they would rather almost kill me (ok, slight exaggeration, but I’m trying to make a point)(it did suck, though) than let me write?]

[And why am I acting like any of this is new?  Isn’t my blog called “avoiding my Brilliant Writing Career”?  Hello.]

[Still.]

I was going to write about how, in my mind, there was August (and it lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r) and then everything else flew by and somehow it’s now November.  And I was going to write something philosophical about how time seems to be changing and/or my perception of time seems to be changing and how I wonder if this is just what happens when you start easing towards the end of life, rather than springing from the beginning – the trajectory changes and the weight of it behind you serves to accelerate life until it’s all a blur and then there’s an end, somehow. But I don’t really have much else to say about that.   Time.  It seems to be changing.  The end.

So I guess I will write a list  instead (act surprised and delighted, “a list! what an unexpected surprise!”) :

1.  Yes.  Yes, I am using the name of a Counting Crows album as my blog post title today.  I might as well just go ahead and confess that I’ve never gotten over “August and Everything After”…. I still love it.  Serious love.  I listen to it at least once a week.  It’s always on in my car.  (Except when The Cure is on) (but that is another blog post)

2.  And if you must know — I am flat out in love with Adam Duritz (lead singer, Counting Crows) based solely on the fact that he writes brilliant lyrics (and sometimes dresses up in a pink and white bunny costume)(and talks openly about struggling with mental health issues)(and is a white Jewish boy rocking dreads like nobody’s business)(and I’m pretty sure we had a moment (well, I know I had a moment) when he was looking right at me during a show at DU a million years ago)(which I’m quite sure he remembered when I saw them again at Red Rocks, like 10 more times…)(all that aside, it’s his words that get me)

3.   I am a total lyrics person.  I don’t even understand people who can say they like a song, but don’t know the lyrics.  What is the point?  Although, to be fair, there are probably a (very) few songs that I can say that I like, but don’t know the lyrics.  Like that Blinded by the Light song, which seems to say “wrapped up like a douchen of a runner in the night” but probably doesn’t…  Don’t get me wrong, I can sound it out and pretend I’m singing those songs, but I have no fucking clue what they are really saying.  But mostly, in life, I know the lyrics.

4.   Like these:

I step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of
white on white
 And in between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference
between wrong and right…

(Round Here)

(The contrast of white on white?  The crumbling difference between wrong and right?  Adam fucking Duritz y’all)

4.  Also:

It’s 4:30 a.m. on a Tuesday
It doesn’t get much worse than this

 In beds in little rooms in buildings in the middle of these lives
Which are completely meaningless…

(Perfect Blue Buildings)

(Fucking Tuesdays, man.  Tuesdays and institutions and wondering what the fuck the exact point of all of it is.  I get that.)

5.  And I might stop after this one:

I’m almost drowning in her sea
She’s nearly crawling on her knees
It’s almost everything I need.

(Sullivan Street)

(It’s almost everything I need.)

6.  Sorry.  But did you see the warning/disclaimer above?  I feel like you should’ve known something like this could happen. (Plus I’m barely even scratching the surface of the Counting Crows lyrics that I love.  It feels wrong to stop here.  But I will.)

7.  Everyone should read this book.

hyperbole_and_a_half_book_1

Well.  Everyone who has a sense of humor.  This isn’t any kind of “official” link — I don’t get money or anything if you buy it.  I just really believe most people should buy it and read it.  And laugh.

8.  What else?

9.  All that italicizing wore me out.

10.  I guess I should start thinking about what I’m going to write, you know, for real.  Maybe I should go back and read what I wrote in 2011?  I wonder how hard it is to write a good sex scene?  And by “good” I mean SO MUCH BETTER than that 50 Shades of Grey crap (which I read every word of, in all three books, so …..)  Hmmmmm.  I do have some Captain Kirk fantasies to explore…. 🙂

xoxo

kim

p.s.  Have I mentioned the rain?  It’s been crazy rainy here, pretty much since June.  There were a few weeks in the middle of the summer with no rain, but other than that?  RAIN.  Heat + Rain = Steamroom = Soggy/Grouchy/Kinda depressed Kim.  I’m ready for the amazing weather to come back.  That would be great.

p.s.s. or p.p.s. if you’re an English teacher or whatever… So ya, it seems I have parasites/amoebas/whatever in my gut.  Lovely.  Lucky for me, there’s medicine for that.  I’m starting with an 8 day regimen and hoping that is all I need.  And after this mess, I think I will do the preventative medicine every six months, like the doctor recommended when I first moved here, but which I failed to do, because sometimes I just don’t follow directions very well.  Or at all.

p.s.s.s.  I don’t just love Counting Crows lyrics.  In case you were wondering.  I just have “August and Everything After” on the brain tonight.  And to be honest, I’m not even sure Adam Duritz wrote all the lyrics I quoted, but I’m too lazy to look it up right now.  And it doesn’t matter.  Unconditional love, Adam.  That’s what I’m offering.  Or, you know, just sex.  😉

p.s.s.s.s.  Is it wrong to proposition a rock star via a postscript on your blog?  And then to entertain the fantasy that he has set up a google alert on his name, sees the proposition, proceeds to obsessively read everything you’ve ever written (on the blog), decides you’re fabulous and how interesting that you live in an awesome little town in Mexico (just like the girl in “Holiday in Spain” – avid fans will know what I’m talking about….) and how tired he is of dating fabulous (young) actresses and how you kind of remind him of his one-time lover Mary Louise Parker (in a fluffier, more middle-aged lawyer turned real estate agent/wanna be writer way) and decides it would be cool to reach out and say hello?  Is that wrong?

p.s.s.s.s.s.  I have a vivid fantasy life.  It’s entirely possible that Adam Duritz is a total dick.  Perfect.

p.s.s.s.s.s.s.  Is anyone still reading?  It occurs to me that my post title doesn’t exactly match my post.  I mean, I’m not really talking about all the things I love right now.  But I’m too tired to figure out another title.  Fuck it.

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Dear God, thanks for the preview of the average daily temperature in Hell. And the hormones. Love, Kim.

Hellfire_Wallpaper_auoy3

Saludos from Puerto Morelos, Mexico a/k/a the chosen land for God’s latest demonstration project:

“Here’s what HELL feels like, people.  Straighten up!”

Just kidding.

It’s not even that hot here today. Only like 95 degrees with 10,000 % humidity.  I’m sure it’s more hot and more miserable somewhere else in the world at this very minute. And wherever that is, you can be sure there’s some smug person thinking “95 degrees with 10,000% humidity? Ha! Child’s play. That is the middle of winter for us. We start wearing jackets when it gets below 120 degrees.”

And to that person, I say:

“FUCK OFF”

Because I’m assuming that, even if they do live somewhere with extreme heat (but is it humid?  that is my new question….), they are not also simultaneously suffering from wicked perimenopausal HORMONES. You know, the ones that are totally unpredictable and sometimes decide to heat things up from the inside? Kind of like spontaneous combustion only instead of dying immediately, you get to stay alive and conscious and suffer through the heat.  Also, I’m  assuming that the person in question is a man. And if you’ve been keeping up, you know how I’ve been feeling about THOSE kinds of humans these days.

But seriously.  It’s pretty hot.  And it’s NOT a dry heat.

Which means I have ZERO motivation to do, well, anything.  But also, and more relevant to this discussion, I’ve had no motivation to write.  Yet here I am, apparently.  Let’s do this!

LIST OF THINGS I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT and/or DOING WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY BEING SUBJECTED TO EXTREME HEAT AND HUMIDITY AND HORMONES:

1.  As a preliminary matter: I know you’re not surprised that this is a list.  When was the last time I was able to post anything that wasn’t a list?  Oh wait — I guess we know when that was….  Here.  The very last thing I posted….  What is wrong with me?

2.  Is it just me, or do other people constantly wonder if they are losing their minds?  I’m pretty sure I have early onset Alzheimer’s.  Well, I was pretty sure that’s what I had, then I looked into it (on the internet, naturally) and decided that I might not have that exactly.  I mean, I have a LOT of the symptoms, but not all.  So I only practically have early onset Alzheimer’s.  Anyway.  Something is up.

3.  And I’m not kidding or minimizing Alzheimer’s disease.  It’s awful.  I really don’t want to have it.  But I do seem to forget things a lot.  Turns out some of that can be attributed to this whole perimenopause thing that I’m apparently caught up in.  Thanks again for the hormones, God.

4.  And then there’s a whole swath of my life which I can barely recall.  I call it the “Lost Decade”, but it might’ve been a bit longer than that…  But Lost Decade sounds dramatic.  I remember some things, but mostly it’s just fuzzy.  That has been really bothering me, so I looked into it and, believe it or not, actually talked to a doctor about it.  Heavy sigh.  It turns out that I can’t remember the Lost Decade very well because I was seriously overmedicating with clonazepam (like Xanax, only longer lasting).

Clonazepam is great.

I liked it, a lot.  But, apparently, you were only supposed to use it short term for acute anxiety and then you were supposed to learn other ways to deal with anxiety….. What?!  I used that drug for years and, consequently, didn’t even try to figure out how to deal with anxiety because the instant I felt even the little tingle of a teensy bit of anxiety (or any other emotion, if I’m honest)  I popped a clonazepam and numbed right back out.  Problem solved!  NOT… Anyway, it took me a full year to get off that medication and I’m still learning how to deal with anxiety/emotion without it (or any substance/person/activity, for that matter).  And the long-term effect of abusing clonazepam is (you guessed it!) MEMORY LOSS.  Apparently it interferes with the mechanism for making memories and with the mechanism for recall of memories.

5.  Heavy sigh.

6.  Once again, I’m writing about stuff that I had no intention of writing about.  At least not today.  But there it is.  I was a SUBSTANCE ABUSER.  It’s been hard to wrap my head around that and actually admit it.  Especially out loud.  And it makes me sad.  My son was growing up during those years and, although I was there physically, I certainly wasn’t all there emotionally/mentally.  Which was hard on him.  And everyone else who loves me or had to deal with me.

7.  Or maybe I’m just losing my mind because I’m getting OLD.  That’s possible, you know.  I’m practically FIFTY.

8.  And my baby will be 21 in just a few weeks…. WTF?  How does that happen?

9.  How am I almost 50 though? (I realize I’m only 48.  And a half.  But time is slippery and 50 will be here soon and then what?  Why is this freaking me out so much?)

10.  Oh.  Well.  In other news related to my early onset Alzheimer’s + HORMONES (and/or me just being a Horrible Person) – THIS will make you laugh/cringe….

Remember when I blamed Mercury for my bitchy behavior towards the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man a few weeks ago?

Well, after I wrote about what happened, I felt pretty bad (duh).  So I apologized.  And for some reason the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man forgave me.  AGAIN. (Surprise, surprise, that little episode was not the first time I had acted irrationally and unexplainably bitchy towards this particularly lucky fellow)  Which totally shocked me.

Anyway.

Almost immediately after the forgiving, the following exchange happened:

[Sitting with some friends, having wine, talking about relationships and how they are difficult under the best of circumstances, and even more difficult with cultural/language/age differences….]

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Sometimes Kim has these reactions that are crazy!  Like, it’s not normal….”

Me:  “What do you mean?” (instantly defensive and truly shocked that this has been said…)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Seriously?” (truly shocked and a bit taken aback at the fact that I appear to be truly shocked…)

Me:  (up in arms) “What do you mean “not normal”?  What does that even MEAN?  Give me an example!” (thinking that obviously there’s some kind of weird cultural difference thing going on here, maybe the women he’s used to just aren’t allowed to have OPINIONS or something like that and he can just kiss my ass if that’s what he’s looking for because I will be DAMNED if I….”

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Kim…?  Really?” (genuinely confused and starting to wonder if I’m kidding…)

Me:  (really getting defensive now) “I’m serious.  Give me an example?  How are my reactions not normal?” (apparently I’m totally triggered by the words “not normal”)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  “Sometimes you get a little bit crazy, Kim.  Like your reactions are way out of proportion to what has happened.”  (note: he’s very calm, and there is a hint of laughter in his voice, which is only pissing me off even more than being called “not normal” — which is , in itself, hilarious because, in general, I would be offended by being described as “normal”, but here we are….)

Me:  (pouting and wracking my brain for any behavior that might justifiably be called “not normal” or “crazy” and finding NO EXAMPLES…) “I have no idea what you are talking about!  (and now I’m on the verge of tears, probably because HORMONES) “And furthermore,  if I’m such a (using air quotes, because I’m an ass) “crazy bitch” why are you even hanging out with me?” (Note:  I’m the only one that said “crazy bitch”, he just said “crazy”)

Nice (well, mostly nice) Man:  (laughing, because what else could he do?) “Maybe I like the crazy bitch…”

Me:  “Hmmmmmmph!”

THIS. ACTUALLY. HAPPENED.

Yes.  In that moment, I was positively MYSTIFIED by his description of my behavior.  “How could he think that my reactions are not normal?”  Granted, wine consumption may have played a role in my failure to appreciate the humor of this situation, but it shouldn’t have been THAT hard for me to remember that I had JUST lost my shit on this poor guy, for pretty much no reason, a few days prior.

Alzheimer’s?  Hormones?  Horrible Person?

12.  And he’s still speaking to me, so I guess I have to change his name from “Nice (well, mostly nice) Man”.  To, at the very least, “Nice Man”.  Until further notice, of course.

xoxo,

kim

p.s.  OMG I GOT A CAR!!!! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you guys (fucking Mercury….) – yes, after a year of living without a car (remember that pendejo who stole it?  he’s still around and totally NOT incarcerated) I was finally able to buy one.  You’re going to laugh – I am ridiculously happy about this car, but it’s even older than the one that was stolen — it’s a 1999 Blazer — and it has a zillion miles on it and I say a little prayer every time I start the car asking her to hold together for me one more day and so far she has been perfect!  Her name is Blanquita.  And she’s mine 🙂

p.p.s.  I don’t really want to talk/write too much about the man formerly known as the Nice (well, mostly nice) Man because I might jinx it (hello) and also because there’s like a zillion reasons that it will probably never work out (whatever “work out” even means…) and I’m fully aware of all of them and still I’m kind of drawn to the fact that he hasn’t run away screaming and he doesn’t let me get away with much.  At all.  Which scares the shit out of me, but also is pretty good for me.  I think.  But seriously…. who wants to get involved with a woman on the verge of menopause?  I AM CRAZY.  He’s right!  Regardless of whether or not I was crazy before my hormones started flipping the fuck out (ummm, I probably was) I am nuts now.  My emotions are everywhere.  My body is weird.  I never know if I’m going to bleed/not bleed/ cramp/nightsweat/etc.  And I’m enormous.  Also – (WHEN DOES THE DEGRADATION OF WOMEN END, GOD??) – I’m hairy.  What could he possibly see that is at all attractive about me at this point?  I don’t get it.  And so I have a hard time trusting it.  Which is probably the exact wrong thing.

p.p.p.s.  OMG is my blog now about menopause?  How do I not have a post called “Because Hormones”?

p.p.p.p.s.  you learn something new every day — I always thought it was “racking my brain” – but the internet says it’s “wracking my brain” – huh.

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., The Great Anti-Antidepressant Experiment of 2011, Uncategorized

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know you haven’t posted on your blog for 5 months and then it’s National Margarita Day and you read something heartbreaking and raw and then you decide to write something yourself.

Margarita step threeOh hellooooooooo.

Hello blog.  Hello blog people.  Hello world.  Hello to the part of me who has always been a writer but who doesn’t always get to write.  Today is your lucky day, sweet pea.  We are writing.

Why now?

Honestly, it has a lot to do with this http://therumpus.net/2013/02/it-doesnt-mean-very-much-at-all/ — not the feminist part, but the part about how she writes and I flinch and my brain tries to cover my eyes but I can’t stop reading because it’s so so so so goood.

And also because it’s about feminism and sexuality and how women are supposed to hide their sexuality, apologize for it, repent, speak in hushed tones, play a game.  What would it be like if we were allowed to revel in it like the boys?

Anyway.

I mean, I have all these thoughts about it (sexuality, specifically mine), but I can’t even write them down and say them out loud because (eek!) I’m a woman! and (gasp!) I have a son! and (the horror!) I live in a small town! and (egads!) what would people think?!

So.

Mostly I just love how that woman writes and she inspired me.  I didn’t really plan on exploring sexuality or feminism or anything.

Actually.

On the other hand, I do have some, ummm, situations that I want need to explore in writing, but can’t/won’t/ok might because of the aforementioned fucked-upness about women and sex (but probably mostly because of the small town)(which I should probably get over, right?)(or move…)

So don’t try to make me.

Other than to say that my entire life might be a cliche right now.

In other news – hello!

I’m still in Mexico, y’all…!

And, in keeping with tradition, here’s a list of shit I’m doing/have done/am thinking about, etc.:

  1. It’s National Margarita Day (in the U.S., but we’re celebrating it here too)(I haven’t started drinking yet, FYI…)(I don’t love tequila, but I do love lime and all things lime-related, so, I guess I’ll have a margarita today…)
  2. Did I tell you guys about how I went back to Colorado for Thanksgiving and my one week trip turned into almost 5 weeks because I was also applying for my visa that allows me to work in Mexico and Mexico just changed their entire Immigration system but forgot to tell their employees how to do it and I just happened to be one of the first people to apply under the new system and no one in Mexico or  Colorado knew what to do?  Limbo.  It sucked.  But was also awesome because Colorado and amazing son and family and friends.
  3. It was weird though because Colorado was warm.  I only saw like 10 snowflakes one morning out of the entire 5 weeks.  I love it here,  but I long for a quiet snow morning with hot tea and snowflake contemplation and warmies.
  4. Anyway.
  5. Then I came back and my first renter arrived (from Norway!) and she turned out to be batshit, certifiably, fresh out of a mental institution and obsessed with the end of the Mayan calendar crazy….  For. Fucking. Real.  She had a lot of names, but one of my favorites was Mooki.  Luckily I’ve had some experience dealing with people who are actually nuts, but Mooki was kinda scary.
  6. And now I play “Words with Friends” (a/k/a Scrabble…) on FB with Mooki’s ex-husband…. ? (Who appears to be terribly good looking but also “in a relationship”… just my luck.)(He’s also pretty good at Scrabble…)(Which makes him even more attractive….. HEAVY FUCKING SIGH.)
  7. I like smart men.
  8. Ha. Oh God.  I can just imagine what you’re thinking.
  9. So.  What else.  My son is IN LOVE for, I think, the first time and it’s very cute.  I’ve stalked the girl on FB (naturally….) and she seems cool/smart/pretty.  He’s funny.  He says she’s stubborn and dramatic.  I tell him that she is perfect for him because he has so much experience with me as his mommy.  He laughs and agrees.  God help me I adore that kid.
  10. It’s hard because she’s probably going to break his heart.  It’s nothing personal!  I just mean,  statistically speaking, she’s probably not going to be “The One”, so I probably should just skip the getting to know and like her part because of the whole “bitch broke my sweet pea’s heart” part, right?
  11. Is being a mother ever going to be less fraught with emotion?
  12. Is that even a proper sentence?
  13.  I LOVE MY JOB.  Remember how much I hated practicing law?  That’s how much I love this job.  I’m making ZERO money so far, but the people I work with are amazing and the clients are interesting/annoying/hilarious.
  14. Ohhhhh, wanna see the Studio apartment at my house?  It’s very cool and people who have visited seem to love it!  I have it listed on FlipKey and Airbnb – here’s a link:   https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/686258?preview=true
  15. Come visit!
  16. My sister and niece came to visit and it was awesome and they left with a DOG that they adopted from foster care here in PoMo… I’m not kidding.  It was a fun visit, but way too short and also, the dog thing??  It took up a LOT of our limited time.  Still.  Everyone is happy now.
  17. My 30th (THIRTIETH) High School Reunion is coming up.  WTF????  Don’t know if I can go yet.  Must diet.
  18. I listen to KBCO out of Boulder, CO every morning via the miracle of the internet — I love it because I love the music and I love hearing the weather report and the traffic report and going “HA HA!” and sometimes they make my whole day by playing one song.  Today it was this one:

How did I get here? Once in a lifetime… 🙂

xoxoxoxo

kim

p.s.  are you happy now irene?

p.s.s.  yes, natalie, i know there is no such thing as a “p.s.s.” but i like it, so i’m gonna use it.  get your rules off my writing!!  xoxoxo

p.s.s.s.  i’m a little giddy because I WROTE SOMETHING!  FINALLY! it’s been awhile and this isn’t even a real post, but still…

p.s.s.s.s.  you were nervous when it looked like i was gonna talk about sex and stuff, weren’t you?  admit it.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Dear Mexico, I love you. Also, I’ve been cheating on you.

So, I know I haven’t written in, like, FOREVER.

And I really don’t have much to say now, except that I’ve had a monstrous case of writer’s block (i can’t write, it’s too hot, my keyboard isn’t working right, why did i ever think i could write, fucking Republicans, i used to be funny and now i’m not, i’m too old to write, i’m too young to write, i’m fat, i should be at the beach, i haven’t been reading and if i’m not reading, stephen king says i shouldn’t be writing…) and my keyboard has been acting up, seriously.

BUT.

As we’ve established, I suffer from Compulsive Disclosure Disorder/Obsessive Honesty/Can’t Keep Mouth Shut Disease.  It’s a burden, y’all. And it is forcing me to write today.

Here is what I need to say out loud:

I have been cheating on my beloved Mexico. With Pace Picante Sauce. And I’m never, ever going to stop.  I know it’s practically sacrilegious to live in Mexico and admit to liking, much less LOVING, Pace Picante Sauce, but I cannot deny my love any longer….

There.

It’s done.

I don’t have a car here in Mexico and I don’t have a lot of money (thanks pendejo who stole my car and other stuff) but I have located one (1) store in Cancun that carries Pace Picante Sauce at a ridiculously high price (actually it’s not that high, I’m just trying to add drama to my story) (and the store is Chedraui at Las Americas Mall) and I can guaran-damn-tee you that I will get myself to that store and stock up on that shit on a regular basis.  Even if I have to ride the scary bus.  Alone.

Also, Mexico shouldn’t be too upset with me, because even though I do totally love Pace Picante Sauce, I’ve had to switch from the Mild mix — which I used to think was almost too hot for me but now tastes too sweet for me — to the Medium mix.  Bravo Mexico!  My taste buds are toughening up!

And another thing Mexico should be happy about is that having Pace Picante Sauce in the house is actually encouraging me to cook more.  Yes.  ME.  COOK.  Why?  Because now I’m all “hmmmm, I’m out of chips… how am I going to get that Pace Picante Sauce into my mouth without eating it directly out of the jar like some kind of heathen?  I know, I’ll cook [INSERT FOOD ITEM MADE MORE YUMMY BY ADDING PACE].”

Win/win.

🙂

xoxo

kim

p.s.  The scary bus to Cancun is not scary at all, according to everyone who has ridden it.  It’s just scary to me because I’m a scaredy-cat about public transportation in general (I have no idea why) and new experiences that subject me to feeling lost in a hostile world…… and that, my friends, is a personal issue because Cancun is annoying and crowded, but not hostile.  Probably.

p.p.s.  OMG I STARTED MY NEW JOB AND I FREAKIN’ LOVE IT!  So I guess I could write about that.  And I probably will, just not today.  www.MayanRivieraProperties.com

p.p.p.s.  I am a little stressed because I have to write an introduction of myself for the Mayan Riviera Properties blog and I don’t know what to say and I can’t use the “f” word, supposedly.

p.p.p.p.s.  So, I haven’t been reading or writing, but I have been obsessively watching LOST.  I didn’t watch it when it first aired but I am loving it now.  Mostly because I’m all “WTF?” after nearly every episode.  I’m at the end of Season 6 now.  Yes, I have a problem.

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., Writing and Not-Writing

Yes, this is a new blog theme. And yes, I’m a little cranky. Surprise.

(Note:  This post has nothing to do with Frida Kahlo (as far as I can tell…) but she looks cranky (I think it’s the eyebrows?) and I’m cranky, so the picture resonated with me and voila! here it is, on my blog, without permission from anyone.  I’m sorry.)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this except that I just spent HOURS trying to find a new blog theme that worked better than the old blog theme and I finally found one I kind-of-sort-of like and I installed it and I feel like I should write a post acknowledging that yes, the blog looks different.

So.

Yes, the blog looks different.  I kinda like it.  I wanted to make it easier to navigate and easier to see the comments and also to leave comments.  Let me know your thoughts, por favor.

In other news:

UGH

There is no other news.

I’m a wee bit cranky, y’all.

For one thing, I think my body and brain are very confused about the fact that we don’t live where there are seasons anymore.  Colorado = 4 seasons.  Mexico (as far as I can tell) = 1 season + some rain sometimes… Last year was the first year I pretty much totally missed winter (except for a few weeks) and now I’ve also missed Spring and am missing Fall.

I hate missing Fall in Colorado.

The days are warm and the nights are cool.  There is excitement in the air.  The quality of the sunlight is different from any other time of year.  It’s completion, harvest, preparing for winter-time.  Fall has always been my favorite time of year.

So I’ve been a bit down about THAT and also just in general.  I mentioned to a friend that I was down and that I was not sure why and she was all “ummm, you’ve had a few losses recently…?”

Oh yes, loss.  Now my mood makes a little more sense.

In the “totally obvious” category is the loss of my artistic genius mommy (who had great hair!)(and who I miss every single damn day, damn damn damn damn) and then there are the other losses — my home, my career (yes, I hated it most of the time, but still, a career of 20 years is over and that is hard in it’s own way), my son (not dead THANK GOD but away at school and, because of the douchebag who stole all my shit, I got to spend virtually NO time with him before I had to come back to Mexico), my home was violated by a person who masqueraded as a friend, double-whammy, and then another friendship that meant a lot to me seems to be over for reasons unknown to me.

LOSS.

It hurts.

And I hate the conversations that go on in my head about this shit:

*****

Me:  “Mom died and I’m so sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “Everyone dies.  You knew she was sick, you had plenty of time to prepare for her death. She’s in a better place. Move on.”

******

Me:  “I miss my baby boy!  It’s like an ache that never goes away and I just want to see him.”

Asshole in my head:  “He’s 20.  He’s in college.  He’s fine.  Why are you living in Mexico if you’re dying to see him?  Kids grow up.  Get over it.”

******

Me:  “I can’t believe that pendejo pretended to be my friend and then systematically stole all my stuff and tried to rent my house to other people and still lied when I conronted him!  That hurts!  I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.  I feel violated.”

Asshole in my head:  “It’s your own fault, you idiot.  You should never have trusted the pendejo.  Everyone else knew he was a bad seed.  You deserve what you got.”

*****

Me:  “I miss my friend.  I’m sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “You have other friends.  If she were really your friend, she would tell you what is wrong.  You don’t need this drama. Move on.”

*****

You get the picture….

 

Here’s what I want to say to the asshole in my head (and anyone else who thinks like he/she does):

“What you say may be true, and it still hurts. It’s not the end of the world, my life isn’t over, I’m not spending every day lying in bed just waiting to fucking DIE, but it still hurts. So here’s what we’re going to do, you are going to shut up and I’m going to acknowledge the pain, wrap my arms around myself and tell myself everything will be ok, it’s just a little pain, and then I’m going to go the fuck on with my life and try to keep remembering that you are just an asshole voice in my head who clearly wasn’t loved enough as a child.”

🙂

And yes, I realize that I’m talking to no one but myself.

Is that weird?

xoxo

kim

p.s.  so, the pendejo is still “at large” but i finally received the electric bill that he racked up while living here (electricity is very expensive here) — $500 — so that sucks, but i’m glad to get it because once i pay that bill (ouch) the last of HIS damage will be accounted for and over.  expensive lesson.

p.p.s.  i haven’t been to the beach in AGES which makes no sense since that is why i wanted to live here.  i’ve got lots of reasons but none really make much sense.  not sure what is going on there….

p.p.p.s.  partially i haven’t been getting out much because it’s HOTTER THAN FUCK here.  but if i went to the beach it would be breezy and cooler, so that is dumb.

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Filed under grief, My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Writing and Not-Writing

Angels in the architecture. Also, Sons of Anarchy. Related topics? Probably not.

I’ve been thinking about angels lately.

Not necessarily in a religious way.

Or maybe that isn’t true, I mean is there any other way to think of angels?  But for religion, would there be angels?  I think not.

But it’s not something I want to analyze and argue about.

What does it matter what I believe to be true anyway?  Isn’t it only important to me?  Does it hurt anyone else if I do or do not believe in angels?

In any event, I think I do believe in them.

I believe in them in a woo-woo way and also in a flesh and blood way.

Or maybe I’m confusing things.

What I’m trying to say is that I can see that throughout my life I have often asked someone out there (God? Angels? The Universe?) for help and it almost always shows up in the form of a person.  Did God/Angels/the Universe send the person, or is the person God/An Angel/The Universe.

The answer is probably YES….

Anyway.

I see angels in the architecture of my life.

And I’m so very grateful for that.

(moment of silence…. thank you)

And this is coming up for me now because, if you’ve been following along, I’ve recently had a little trouble (read: total fucking nightmare situation triggering huge fear, shame, anger, vulnerability, panic…it’s bad) which comes on the heels of losing my artistic genius mommy (who had great hair) to stupid fucking cancer, like, just yesterday. (ok, she passed in December, but usually it feels like yesterday) and other related horribleness.

So, in the middle of some pretty intense darkness, some completely unexpected help arrived and blew my mind.

An angel.

I have no other way to describe it.

And this Angel came to me through my blog.

Which blows my mind on so many levels (I have a blog?  I write?  I write about intensely personal  and oftentimes super-uncomfortable shit and other people actually read it?  And they laugh at the same shit I laugh at? And they take time out of their day to actually write me back? And they aren’t offended by how often I use the term “fuck”?  And now they offer to help me without having ever met me in person???!!)

I’m humbled.

I’m grateful for all the angels who have appeared in the architecture of my life (but I’m afraid to start naming them out loud because what if I forget one and hurt their angelic feelings?)(and then what if they get super pissed and start using their powers for evil?)(I would be fucked.) and today I’m especially grateful for the sweet angel who is helping me out based solely on the fact that we found one another on the worldwide interweb and we share some awful experiences and she isn’t offended by my vulgar language, presumably.

Thank you.  Hand-on-heart thank you.

On a lighter note:

Is anyone else around here obsessed with Sons of Anarchy?

My sassy Virgo seester turned me onto the show and I CAN’T STOP WATCHING.

I’m on Season 4 now and I’m trying to pace my viewing so I can enjoy it for a little bit longer.

Ha.

Top Ten Things I Wanna Say About Sons of Anarchy:

1.  Jackson “Jax” Teller.  If you don’t know why that statement is number 1 on this list, do yourself a favor and take a peek at this dude.  (ok, if you’re a guy, you might not be as excited about this, depending on your sexual orientation)  He’s ridiculously good looking.  Not just that, he’s dead sexy.  Also, the actor who plays Jax is British (or something like that) trying to play a California biker dude — it’s interesting listening.  He mostly nails it, but some stuff is… off.

 

2.  I don’t even really like giant back tattoos, or blondes, or stringy hair or guys who wear lots of big rings (so they can cause more damage when they hit people….) and I would totally do Jax Teller.  In a heartbeat.  No questions asked.

3.  Did you know that if you ever get kicked out of a motorcycle club (read:  violent gang) they peel off your huge gang tattoo?  Or they just kill you.  Honestly it’s best to just not get kicked out.

4.  According to Sons of Anarchy, motorcycle gang dudes hug each other a lot.  Like, they are very loving to one another.  Sometimes they even kiss.

5.  It turns out you can’t just join a motorcycle gang — you’ve got to be, like, an apprentice for a seriously long time and then they might let you join, assuming you survived the apprenticeship.

6.  Motorcycle gang guys take their leather “cuts” very seriously.  Do not fuck with a biker guy’s leather jacket.  FYI.

7.  You should probably not ever touch one of their motorcycles either.

8.  Horrific violence is less horrific if there’s a great soundtrack going on while the violence is happening.  It’s weird.  It becomes more dreamlike and less patently offensive.  Bravo, Sons of Anarchy?

9.  Women who love motorcyle gang dudes are basically fucked.  These guys are constantly up to outlaw stuff, never call home and are surrounded by skanky chicks who wanna have sex with them all the time.  And you’re not really allowed to question anything they do….  Oh, and if they are in jail, you are totally allowed/expected to fuck one of the other motorcycle gang dudes.  I would suck at being an “old lady” to a biker dude.  At least I know that now…..

10.  If you’re gonna be a woman who loves a motorcycle gang dude, fall in love with the head honcho cuz then the other bitches have to show you respect…. Ha!

 

xoxo

kim

p.s.  yes i’m still in puerto morelos and NO, they haven’t arrested the asshole who stole all my shit…. the good news is that i haven’t seen him around town or heard from him so maybe he is really gone.

p.p.s.  my baby boy turned 20 this week.  WTF?

p.p.p.s.  oohhhhhhh, i experienced my first almost-hurricane (Ernesto) — yikes!  i was scared but everything was fine – lots of rain and wind but very manageable.  i am stocked up and ready for the next one though…..

 

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing and Not-Writing

So. I’m back in Mexico. Seriously. (And now I can write a bestseller, probably…)

I don’t even know where to start this blog post.

So.

I’m back in Puerto Morelos…. (yay?)

If you’ve been following along, you know that I just left Puerto Morelos in late June and that I was planning to spend a few months in Colorado and then return here to start my NEW JOB (!!!) in the fall.

And you also know that I left my house in the care of someone because everyone knows that you can’t leave a house empty in Mexico.

And you might know, or have guessed, that the someone that I left in the house was a person who I had previously (and erroneously, it turns out) referred to as “a nice man”….

CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING ANOTHER SPECTACULARLY BAD DECISION REGARDING A MAN, KIM.

Turns out this man is not a nice man.

(which I knew or should have known before the leaving-him-in-my-house decision)

He is, in fact a con man.  A drug addict.  A thief.  A pathological liar.  A sociopath.

(and those are the nice words for him)

(motherfucker is one of the bad words for him)

(also pendejo and cabron)

And in the four weeks that I was away from my house, he (a) hot-wired my car and was stopped while driving it and now it is impounded by the Federales and I will probably never see it again and (b) cleaned out the house — stole all the appliances, TVs, electronics, the AIR CONDITIONER, pretty much anything that could be relatively easily removed from the house and sold, including my hot pink yoga-fucking-mat.

(the yoga mat?  that is just mean.)

AND

(c) the dude rented my house to another family.

Yep.

Miraculously (in my opinion) the other family just happened to ask a friend of mine to help them move into my house.  And my friend was all “what the fuck?” and “let’s call Kim!” and “dude, where are all the appliances?”

And that is how I found out.

(and, oh my god, i couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap my head around it, kicked in the stomach feeling, intense shame and humiliation and what-have-i-done? and oh mommy, i’m so sorry, so so sorry and the motherfucker was STILL calling/texting and telling me everything was great and, in fact, he had been working on the house and preparing it for when my family was going to visit in a few days…)

And I fell apart for lots of reasons but mostly because I didn’t know what to do because I had less than $200 to my name, which is not enough to buy a plane ticket to Cancun and especially not enough to stay in Mexico and not enough to replace anything stolen.  And then I realized that once I deposited a check I would have a little bit more — enough for a plane ticket one way — but still not enough to stay/replace anything.

(And if I go to Mexico now how will I get everything taken care of in Colorado and I can’t afford to make two trips and I haven’t spent any time with Austin and his birthday is coming up and all my shit is still in storage and I need to sell some stuff to survive until the job starts and I need to go to the doctor and get prescriptions and I can’t live in the house with no refrigerator and FUCK and I have so much to do in Colorado, how can I go to Mexico now?)

Anyway.

So I bought a one-way ticket to Cancun.

And my amazing friend Mary picked me up and let me stay with her and she came with me to kick him out of the house when no one else wanted to get involved because the dude may or may not be a drug dealer (or worse), etc. etc.

(The point is that I couldn’t find anyone willing to just go talk to the police with me (as I do not speak spanish) so I had to get him out of the house without the help of the police.  I was terrified and Mary was all “fuck it, I’ll back you up, let’s roll” (she’s, ummm, in her 60’s) and so we did.)

So we just walked right in and I was totally going to keep my cool and not escalate the situation (just in case he was psycho) and then he smiled and said “Kim!  What a nice surprise.  What are you doing here?” and tried to hug me.  And that is when things, ummm, escalated on my part.

GET. OUT. OF. MY. HOUSE.

(SCREAMING at the top of my lungs and shaking like a leaf)

“What are you talking about?”

GET THE FUCK OUT!  WHERE ARE THE REFRIGERATORS?  WHERE IS THE AIR CONDITIONER?  GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!

“No no no, just calm down and I tell you what happen.  Someone broke in and robbed the house.”

LIAR!

“Listen to me, can I talk to you right now?”

NO. GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

“Can I call you later?  Can I come over later when you’re calm down?”

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

You get the picture…..

And then he left.

Of course there is more to the story. There always is. 

I’m leaving out the best parts that serve to illustrate WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT I AM to have trusted him in the first place (because they are super embarrassing and I’m ashamed and also because they will probably be the parts that make my book a fucking NYT best seller…)(but mostly because they are embarrassing and just go to show that I am in serious need of continuous therapy to deal with issues like:  Exactly how little do you value yourself if this kind of behavior is acceptable, Kim?”)(Although I could write a better book than 50 Shades of Grey with my eyes closed, so maybe I could turn my extreme shame into a bestseller and thereby finance my lifetime of therapy.)

I’ve filed a police report (thanks to the nice lady at the laundromat next door who speaks pretty good english and agreed to get involved and translate for me) and the nice detective (Sweet Jesus, there is a whole other chapter for the book — in a Hollywood story all of this bad shit would have happened to me to teach me a lesson and so that I could meet and fall in love with the handsome police officer assigned to my case — in real life, the officer/detective is kind of short (but cute…), barely speaks English, is probably married and thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever met…. WHAT. THE. FUCK.???) tells me to be patient (aarrrgghh!) and that they have leads on where this guy is and that he will be arrested soon.

Anyway.

Lots of stuff to think about/write about.

I’m penniless in Puerto Morelos but I have amazing friends here (super special thanks to Mary and Linda for opening their homes to me and having my back!) and I am so lucky that people saw what was happening and got in touch with me.  I’ve learned a lot.  I’m not dead.  My house is standing.  All my mom’s beautiful artwork is intact and exactly where I left it.  It could have been much worse.

But still, it was pretty fucking bad.

I will feel better when the bad guy is behind bars.

(fun fact:  in Mexico you are GUILTY until proven innocent — they jail you first and ask questions later….yikes)

xoxoxo

kim

p.s.  it’s hotter than the sun here.  i’m not exaggerating.

p.p.s.  he took my yoga mat.  what kind of scary drug addict/dealer steals a pink yoga mat?

p.p.p.s.  i don’t blame people for not wanting to get involved/translate with the police, this is a small community and things can get weird when the police are involved and there were all sorts of rumors flying around about how big and bad and horrible the guy was and people were worried he would see them as “enemies” and come after them, i guess.

p.p.p.p.s.  the nice detective called me “voluptuous”  (he knows that word in english… suspicious, right?) so it’s good that i can’t really afford food right now.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized