Tag Archives: 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

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

Somehow I never imagined my first flight on a private jet would involve a stretcher and armed border guards. Thanks, imagination.

Jet I.C.U. ~ This is a real thing, ya'll.

So.

Remember when I was blogging from the beach in Mexico?

That was soooooooooo, three days ago.

Today I’m blogging from an uncomfortable vinyl recliner in a sterile green hospital room. 

In Tampa.  Florida.  U.S. of A.

How did I get here?

(letting the days go by, let the water hold me down…)

On Monday afternoon, my artistic genius Mom (with extra great hair in MX) tripped on the hem of her long gauze dress as she was trying to climb off her bed and ended up on the tile floor.  After a trip in the Cruz Roja (Red Cross) ambulance to Galenia Hospital in Cancun and several hours in the Emergency Room, we learned that she had a complex compression fracture in her hip requiring surgery.

Worst.  Case.  Scenario.

If you know me, you know that I have historically been a worst case scenario person.  Give me a situation and I can leap to a worst case scenario conclusion like that

And, to be honest, when considering whether this trip to Mexico with Mom at this time was feasible, I had imagined several worst case-type scenarios.

I imagined all sorts of things that involved a decline in Mom’s health requiring us to return to Denver for medical treatment/hospice care.  I also imagined that her health could decline so rapidly that we would not be able to make it back to Denver and she would pass in Mexico. 

I did not imagine that (a week after we got to Mexico) she would be injured in such a way that she would (a) need surgery and (b) not be able to fly on a commercial flight.

In hindsight, some kind of travel insurance that included even partial coverage for medical expenses incurred in, and transportation out of, a foreign country would have been a brilliant idea.  As it was, Mom is covered only by Medicare and a supplement to Medicare – neither of which pay for those expenses.

While we didn’t receive an official “estimate” of what the hip surgery would have cost at the hospital in Cancun, the initial amount presented to me was $20,000 (U.S.).  They were proposing a hip repair surgery and said that Mom would have to stay in the hospital for 3-4 days after the surgery.  I know that many people in the U.S. actually come to that hospital to have surgery, as it has a good reputation and costs so much less than the U.S.   Consequently our biggest concern wasn’t quality of care (and by that I mean that we didn’t automatically jump to the conclusion that there was no way she could get good care at this private hospital in Mexico and therefore had  to get back to the U.S. for treatment), it was the potential for unlimited financial exposure.  I mean, $20,000 for the surgery and related care for 3-4 days sounds relatively inexpensive, but if there’s one thing we know about my artistic genius Mom (with great hair) it is that she doesn’t get out of the hospital easily.  And she’s prone to hospital-borne “superbugs” (c.diff., for example).  And there’s the whole “compromised immune system” caused by the drugs used to try to kill the cancer.   So, a 3-4 day stay could easily bloom into a 6 week stay at several thousand dollars a day.  I feel like I’m talking in circles here though, because I’m trying not to diss the medical care at the Galenia Hospital and also trying to not sound like our only concern was financial.  We wanted the best care for our Mom and, realistically, none of us have unlimited funds and she has great medical coverage in the U.S.

Anyway.

We decided not to have the surgery in Mexico.  And we couldn’t get the Doctors to give Mom medical clearance to fly.  And we couldn’t find an airline that would allow her to fly without such clearance and without being able to sit upright for take-off and landing and nearly upright for the rest of the flight.  And, although we had undertaken Operation Airlift Marguerite (a/k/a my artistic genius Mom (with great hair)) circa 2007(6?) during which we drugged Mom up and basically smuggled her onto a Frontier Airlines flight to Denver when she had what turned out to be a herniated disk in her neck, that didn’t seem feasible at this time. For a couple of reasons — during the first Operation Airlift Marguerite Mom could actually walk (ok, shuffle) herself onto the plane and maintain some semblance of non-near-drug-overdose until such time as the plane was off the ground, but that was not the case this time.  This time Mom couldn’t walk or even sit upright in a wheelchair.  Also, when Operation Airlift Marguerite landed in Denver and we arrived at the Emergency Room, Mom was only breathing, ummm, like 8 times per minute.  Turns out that isn’t nearly enough and my sister and I probably could’ve been arrested for almost accidentally killing our mother while trying to skirt FAA rules about air travel for sick/injured people.

So.

You would be surprised at how easy it is to find an Air Ambulance/”Medevac” team from a hospital room in Cancun in the middle of a Monday night.  (Props to my iPhone)  It’s very easy.  Probably on account of how they charge Eleventy-seven million dollars for everything.  When you can charge that kind of money, you can afford to have someone answer the damn phone in the middle of the night.

I kept trying to get the docs to give Mom a medical release to fly and kept exploring transportation options that cost less than eleventy-seven million dollars until about noon on Tuesday, at which time it became clear that (a) the doctors weren’t budging and (b) my idea of renting a van, throwing a mattress in the back and driving Mom to the Texas border was probably not going to fly and no cruise ships were going to agree to give Mom a ride to Miami (which I think they should reconsider, because HELLO, there’s a market for that kind of service, obviously.)

After one final conference call with my siblings (my brother in Denver and sister in Tampa)  around noon we decided to pull the trigger on the Air Medevac plan and get the fuck out of Dodge, as it were…. 🙂

(We chose to fly Mom out to Tampa instead of Denver because Eleventy-seven million dollars wasn’t enough to get her to Denver and my brother’s AMEX card could only take so much, allegedly.)

Eight and a half hours later, an ambulance arrived at the Galenia Hospital to take Mom to the airport in Cancun.

I think it must’ve been a slow night at the Cancun airport, because as soon as the ambulance was allowed through the huge security barrier gates (after two armed Mexican military guys walked around the ambulance, peeked through the windows and, I don’t know, kicked the tires?) we were flanked by a golf cart with a driver and an armed military guy and two jeeps with at least two armed military guys in each one.  And by “armed” I’m not talking about little side holster guns, oh no, these boys were packing huge machine guns.  So it’s pitch black outside except for the flashing ambulance lights and jeep headlights and there we were in a heavily armed convoy driving slowly across the tarmac towards, I guess, the private jet parking lot.  It felt very X-Files/Secret Government Operation-ish.

The Jet I.C.U. people were awesome — the pilot, co-pilot, R.N. and an EMT were all very attentive to Mom and making sure that she was comfortable and safe on the flight. (Me, on the other hand, they shoved onto a back shelf/seat right under the vent blowing arctic air into the plane…)

An hour and a half later we were on the ground in Tampa and after clearing Immigration and Customs (I had to go into a small terminal to be cleared, but the Agent went out to the plane to clear Mom), they loaded Mom into a waiting ambulance and we went directly to the Brandon Regional Hospital Emergency Room.

Where we were promptly ignored for HOURS.

It was SUCH a letdown!!!

I was so relieved (I would say “we” were so relieved, but Mom was totally out of it….) to be back on U.S. soil and in the hands of “expert” medical care, thinking maybe I could relax for a minute and trust that Mom was in good hands.

WRONG.

After the Dr. stopped ignoring us and finally got around to ordering Mom some pain medication, he ordered Morphine.

Thank God I was awake (I didn’t want to be) and paying attention and therefore able to stop the nurse from injecting Mom with a drug she is severely allergic to.  A fact that I had told the U.S. ambulance people, the nurse who checked us into the ER and, HELLO,  the Doctor himself.

What.  The.  Fuck.?????

Anyway.  I’m running on very little sleep and I’m running out of steam.

Mom’s surgery was Wednesday afternoon and it went fine.  She had a really difficult time yesterday due to severe confusion/hallucinations/disorientation/etc. from the anesthesia + very little sleep.  She slept much better last night and woke up with some worrisome confusion, but overall seems much better than yesterday (mentally) — physically they are concerned about her hemoglobin levels and some weird cardiac enzymes.

So, that is the nuts and bolts of what has happened, but the bigger issues remain:  what’s next?  What does this mean for the remainder of Mom’s life?  Where do we go from here?  I know she is going to want to go back to Mexico (depending on how she is feeling) and I know that, having rescued her from Mexico twice now, at a cost of thousands and thousands of dollars and tremendous emotional cost/loss of sleep/interference with our regular lives, etc. etc. — my family is NOT going to be supportive of any plan involving Mom going back to Mexico. 

It’s all so sad.  I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

xoxo

kim

p.s. and I ran out of steam before I could add in the part about how my sister-in-law showed up at our house in MX about half an hour after Mom fell and about how her mom, Barbara, then “surprised” us about an hour later — right when we were leaving in the ambulance for Cancun.  Sooooooooooooooooooooooo, they were amazingly helpful to me with emotional support and helping me at the Hospital in Cancun and helping get stuff packed up to take on the Air Ambulance and for taking care of all the things that were left undone at the house.  They are staying through next Monday.  They are awesome and I love them.  I just didn’t write the story very conherently.

p.s.s.  NaNoWriMo?  Heavy sigh.  I was getting really excited about my story, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to complete 50,000 words by November 30.  Seems unlikely.  And, or course, this all plays into my theory that whenever I commit to do something for myself, something dramatic and awful happens with Mom that requires me to drop everything.  Oh look!  A wisp of resentment floating by.

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Filed under Cancer sucks., Uncategorized

I haven’t slept in four days, have no fluids left in my body and still hate my NaNoWriMo novel, thanks *Mexico*. Also, I love Mexico.

We made it to Mexico!

It was quite a production, but somehow me, Mom, our four HUGE bags and two small bags + laptop case all made it through two flights and a layover in Ft. Lauderdale and through Mexican immigration and into a cab and then into our casa in Puerto Morelos.

Huge.  Relief.

I’m having a love/hate relationship with Mexico right now.

First, the love.

LOVE!

The green, green, green of it.  The flowers everywhere.  The bright colored buildings and faded pastel houses and the weather-worn gray shacks against the white sand beaches and the (at least) ten different colors of  Caribbean blue seas that I can see from my current vantage point.  The Dr. Seuss house being built on our street just makes me smile, as do the nice people who seem to have opened up a brand new restaurant on the sidewalk next to our front gate overnight?  The ten million white taxis and the chicken lady at the end of the block.  And so much more.  It’s not all of Mexico, obviously, that I’m in love with.  Mostly just this place nestled between Cancun and Playa del Carmen — away from the bustle of the cities and still grasping onto it’s fishing village roots that holds magic for me and makes my heart sing.  It’s the place itself and the many amazing people who make up the community.  So many people who have welcomed my Mom and I into their homes and families over the past ten plus years.

The part that I love less about Mexico is the NOISE.

Aye, Dios Mio.  (I think that is pirate speak + spanish, but I’m not sure….)

I haven’t been able to sleep a wink since we arrived.  Ok, that was an exagerration, but it feels like I haven’t slept a wink. 

Here’s the truth about Puerto Morelos, Mexico:  IT’S NEVER QUIET.

And it isn’t even high season yet.  Which means the bars aren’t blaring out music until 3 a.m. and there’s no music festival going on in the park at the center of town.

No, this is just the background noise of regular life here.

And probably regular life anywhere that people live with all their windows open all the time (which isn’t, FYI, Denver, Colorado).

First it’s the dogs – turns out our neighbors (who used to have a fucking ROOSTER….) now have no less than five dogs.  FIVE.  And they aren’t allowed to roam the streets, so they spend all their time being jealous of the other dogs who are allowed to roam the street and, consequently, bark out their frustration ALL THE TIME.  Either the house next to us is full of deaf Mexicans or they are just immune to the sound of their FIVE dogs barking all the time, because it doesn’t apear to bother them.  I never thought I would say this, but I miss the rooster….

So, we’ve got the dogs barking 24/7 and then we’ve got the children.  Everybody knows I looooooove children.  But.  The children around here have to scream to be heard over the dogs, the traffic, the televisions and whatever else.  So they are pretty much always screaming.  Unless they are crying, and then they are scream-crying.  At the top of their lungs.  For hours.  Which triggers my PTSD from having my own child who scream-cried for hours at a time.  Which makes me want to drink.  And also kill the children… 🙂

(kidding)

And then there are the trucks that roll through town with crackly loudspeakers blaring out some nonsense (it’s spanish, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t even make sense in Spanish because, for one thing, the sound quality is so bad) or honking their horns in some kind of secret code which means either “Hey, I’m the propane truck, if you need propane you better run as fast as you can out to the street and flag me down and even then I might not stop so HA HA, motherfuckers!” or “Hey, I’m the water truck and I’m probably out of water, but I like to watch people run as fast as they can out to the street to see if they can catch me!”

And then there are THE BIRDS.  You know how, in tropical displays, like at the Zoo, the birds call out and you’re all “how cool!  that is definitely a tropical bird!”  Yeah.  Multiply that by about 1,000 and that is what it is like on our BLOCK in Puerto Morelos.  Those motherfucking birds are loud as fuck.  And they only sleep for about 6 hours, maximum.  They are relatively quiet from like 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. and then the “singing” begins.  You might think that would be quite a shock to hear the tropical birds shrieking at 4 a.m., but it isn’t, on account of the fact that the ROOSTER has been up since 3 a.m….

I’m just saying that there is a LOT of auditory input here and I’m not managing it well, apparently.

(And no, I don’t need your advice about wearing earplugs, doesn’t work for me.)

Anyhoo…..

I’m a bit cranky.  (OMG – maybe crankylicious is my new “brand”???)  DIBS!  COPYWRITE!  MAGICAL LEGAL WORDS!

(Mom doesn’t seem as excited about “crankylicious” as I am.  Must be the brain tumor interfering with her capacity to understand my awesome humor…?)

And even though I tell everyone that I NEVER get a bad tummy when I’m in Mexico, this time I got a bad tummy right away and it was really screwed with my plans to drink myself into oblivion, or into even a slight level of relaxation.  And my Aunt Karen (codename:  Tia Karina Maria Sofia Garcia Patron) arrived on Monday to visit and help us settle in and probably not to watch my Mom nap and me alternate between laying on the couch and the floor in the bathroom….  BUT we’ve had some fun in between those bad times and she has been a huge help.  Maybe tonight we can all be party girls.  Ha.   It’s more of an “aim” than an actual “goal”…

The writing is no muy bien.  (Does that even make sense?)(It’s not happening, much….)

Mostly because I still can’t figure out what story I’m telling.  Which means that I’ve done what everyone says NOT to do, which is overthink your NaNoWriMo novel.  The point is to just write.  Keep writing until a story uncovers itself (or not) and characters appear (or not) and at some point you’ll have a shitty first draft of something (or not).  So I should be writing like a motherfucker regardless of how I feel about the story that I may or may not even be writing.  AAAAGGGGHHHHH!  I wish my Inner Editor had an “off” switch.  Probably alcohol could help with that too?

So.

All is well.  We’re here.  Mom seems to be happy and has a bit more energy than she has had in the recent past.  She loves being in her casa with her art all around her and loves having Tia Karina Sofia Garcia Patron to pal-around with.  And all of the things that were broken when we showed up (the car, the propane tank, the electricity, the water, etc.) are being fixed.  No internet or cable TV at the house until after November 22, so until then I’ve GOT to drag my ass over to the internet cafe on the square or here, ON THE BEACH (don’t hate me cuz I can only get internet on the beautiful shores of the Caribbean 🙂   hate me cuz I’m a bitch!)

xoxoxoxo

adios!

kim

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