maria

octopus

life's too short

Ileana and Efraín had been planning their kids' birthday party for about a month now. Not like obsessively planning, but, you know, planning. We were invited - which was very nice of them - and it was implicit that we should take the kids. And we were going to. It was on a Saturday, so we were going to.

Knowing that the kids were going to be with us Saturday, and this week from Tuesday to Sunday, we decided to go out last Friday night. I had read on Pajiba about The Strangers, and decided maybe horror films weren't that bad if they were done well, so we went to see it - liked it a lot - and afterwards, we went to buy beer at BevMo.

There is no good reason to go buy beer all the way to BevMo unless you are looking for a specific beer. And that's the thing. Last Thursday - was it Thursday? I don't know, really, I'm just making it up now - at the 91X morning show, they had Beer for breakfast (ah, it was on Thursday) and they had Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA. Which they rated higher than they had ever rated any other beer (Now, this show, the morning show, is relatively new, and the people who took it on have had to struggle a bit against the love that people had for the previous DJ. I have to confess that at the beginning I felt pretty much the same. But they've grown on me, and so we listen to them every morning now - I think I even like it better than the old show now... or maybe not. But then, who remembers? God, I'm terrible), and I thought we should try it. So we went to BevMo in Mission Valley, which just happens to be right across the parking lot from Borders.

About an hour later we are driving back with two four packs of Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA, Thank You For Smoking by Christopher Buckley, The Yiddish Policemen's Union: A Novel by Michael Chabon, I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley, Saturday by Ian McEwan, All The King's Men by Robert Penn Warren - the original version, not the new unedited version, which I heard does the book a disservice by even existing in the same universe -, joy in our hearts, and about 2 dollars. All was well with the world.

We get home to receive a call from the kids - oh, surprise of surprises, since they never, ever call us, it is us calling them, always, and by "us", I mean, of course me -. They were cancelling on us. Yes, you read it right, they had scheduling problems due to another party. A party with so-called relatives - which they are so not, it's one of their cousin's cousin, and they never see this people. I'm sure my ex doesn't even like them, but of course, who is he to decline the possibility to screw me out of a thoroughly planned day with my kids and fuck my entire weekend? No one. He cannot possibly. And to prove how fantastically well he has planned this out, instead of talking to me himself, the coward sends the kids to do his dirty work for him.

Understanding how it is not the kids' fault, I did not chew their heads off, accepted that we would see them on Sunday instead, and thought about how I should have taken the shot back then. Idiot. It's terrible that the one time they call us - as opposed to me calling them -, it is to cancel.

And so. There's us, showing up at this party without children. We sat down and their lawyer friend was nice enough to sit with us and talk football a little bit, which was very nice of him. A couple of conversations were had with them and other people, and that was that. We both felt terrible about the absence of our kids, and a bit weirded out that we were there without them, but we had bought the presents, and these are our friends! What were we supposed to do? Somehow, not showing up just didn't seem like a choice at all. I still feel weird about them, like there's some sort of weird distance thing or something.

They came over Sunday. They will be back tomorrow, and they're staying all week. Will has a long day at school today, and all this week, because of rehearsals. This is going to be a long week.

phonecalls

Some weekends are just a car crash, aren't they? I've no idea what happened this weekend, but I know that it was mother's day. The kids brought presents and the sweetest cards ever. Or maybe not ever, but it just kills me that they still manage to love me even though I'm crazy. Which Danny mentions, sweetly, signing off "I love you, you weirdo", which would only work for us, really.

I had to call my mother and my grandmother, and my mother called back at some point on Sunday, also - mother's day is the 10th in Mexico, no matter what day of the week it falls on -. I now know way too much about every relative I'd ever forgotten I had - thanks to my grandma - and way too much about what's going on with my grandpa and his care - thanks to my mum. On the one hand, I am the only one who's ever been separated/divorced in my family, according to my grandma, who didn't say that because she doesn't know that I am, she just said that now everyone is married and happy. Except for the underage kids in the family, who will undoubtedly marry and stay married forever because that is their destiny.

It's always hard to speak to my grandmother and hear her speak lovingly of my ex (or soon to be ex-husband, anyway). On the one hand, I can see why she likes him and support my mother's decision not to tell her because, seriously, what is the point? She's only going to worry. On the other hand, Will is wonderful and I wish she knew that. I wish she knew how much better I am doing now that I don't want to kill myself.

But if she didn't know how badly we were doing - no one did - then there is no point. Or at least my mother doesn't think there is. As my whole family lives very far away, I can see how she would think so. I still don't like to have to listen to how lucky I am to have married a man who very nearly ruined my life. I can say he didn't because my life is great now, but I'd rather not have people telling me how fucking wonderful he is, thankyouverymuch.

Meh.

Will called his mother, which always makes me very happy. They spoke about this. I love, love, love her because of how happy her voice sounds on the phone when she realises who it is on the phone. Love her. It fills me with tenderness. I don't know what it is. I like that he calls her - and I know he didn't particularly used to, which makes me ache for her, I swear, so I am happier still that he does it now. Mums are important, even if one hates them. I know I am lying to my mother now - about the whole inheritance thing - and, even just lying by omission, I feel bad about it. Yes, she's a nutter, a druggie, and an alcoholic, but god dammit, she is still my mother. I can say horrible things about her, but you can't. Just like I can talk trash about Mexico but will gladly defend him from "masiosares*". Same thing with my mum. She's mine. I don't like her most of the time, some days I wish she was dead, but, god dammit, I love her. I can only hope that my kids love me even though I am a weirdo.

*In the Mexican national anthem, there is a phrase that reads "Mas si osare un extraño enemigo profanar con sus plantas tu suelo..." which translates roughly to "If a strange enemy dared to desecrate your soil with the soles of his feet..." and then it goes on to speak of the fact that the country has a soldier in every son - albeit a poorly trained one. Anyway, a cousin of mine - tiny devil of a thing -, asks me one day who Masiosare is. You know, the strange enemy. Because "Masiosare, un extraño enemigo". So. Who is he?
Obviously, we started insulting each other with that word. Masiosare. "Eres un masiosare." You know, to substitute for any other word you could think. Pendejo, mostly. But there you go.

linking

After a lot of fretting, and a couple of conversations Will had with a certain parent - it's funny now! - things have sort of evolved. It turns out that this man is very cool and has decided - after having given it a lot of thought way before this started, it seems - to start a blog. Except he started two. One in Spanish - which I am sure at the very least Gabo will appreciate, I thought it was very funny, and he offers some curious insights and a surprising amount of candidness that is terribly endearing -: Con aspecto Sinaloense, and one in English, which, even though his intentions were to write simple translations to the posts he thought he would originally write in Spanish, has taken on a life of its own and - as he's only just started - I am sure will offer a view of a man's life in Mexico which is devoid of the violence and drug dealing that is perceived to go on around these parts. Or it might just be to late for that: Being from Sinaloa in TJ (Mexico). Please go say hello!

the birthday

We went to San Diego yesterday - I believe we mentioned on the twitter - to celebrate Efraín's birthday. We had bought him a couple of t-shirts as presents - I tried to find the other shirt but it is just not there. Sorry. - and we went to this Japanese buffet thing for dinner. We stuffed our faces. It was so bad I thought I'd fall asleep during the drive back. And I was driving!

So but after the thing we went to their home for a few beers - I don't drink when outside of my home, so it was just them having the beers, but I always have fun. Later on in the evening, more people showed up. Things were strange for a bit, there. One couple we had met during the Christmas eve post dinner party and they were... pretty much the same. She appears bitter and he is very sociable. Last night we learnt he is a lawyer. The other couple we had never met before.

I was worried for a bit about Will. Sometimes it happens that the conversations in Spanish go too fast and he can't really even begin to consider catching up, and he gets really bored and annoyed - and who wouldn't? - but then, suddenly, he is out in the back patio and all of the men in the party are around him, listening. And understanding him. And laughing.

And I'm not surprised. He shines. He is a beautiful man.

*Unrelated pictures of him in the kitchen, cooking dinner. How sexy is it that he cooks dinner for me? Very.
Very, very sexy.

letter writing

We spent all day yesterday at Starbucks. We had dropped the truck off at the service garage and we didn't want to come back home only to have to get to the garage again later. This gave me the opportunity to write to Miguel. He has written me 4 or 5 letters and I have yet to send one. OK, I did send one last year, but technically I should have written loads more. I just can't find the time.

He asked me a few questions in his last letter and one of them was actually for Will. He asked me how Will felt about my parents. I don't think I had ever spoken to Will about that. I mean, yes, of course we had spoken about it, but not with the precise interest of finding out how he feels, but more like we will both rant about the latest stupidity coming to us all the way from Torreon. Like the whole "suing my father's estate" thing, which just sounds like my father had an estate, which is a preposterous notion. Or the "travelling around the country with the both of you for two weeks", which my mother wants to do. As if. I mean, of course I said yes, because I don't want to have this argument over the phone, but there is just no way it is going to happen. What would I do, stuck with my mother for two weeks? What would Will do, stuck with this woman he doesn't know, and hates for being unsupportive, for two weeks? Insanity. I know what she wants, and what she wants would have been ideal when I was 20. Not now.

In any case, that was a long conversation. Essentially, he hates them for not being supportive, for deeming my opinion on all matters "Will" unimportant and having to "check for themselves" whether he is an internet axe murderer or not. Which, my thinking is, if he was, he would have gotten round to it already, wouldn't he? But, OK, so that's what they do. He also fears the consequences of being around them on our relationship. Like if we argued whenever we saw them. Which is possible, but not likely. I don't know, he would disagree with that statement.

There was a moment when I realised how impossible everything that was happening was. I was sat in Tijuana, at a Starbucks, with a man whose voice I had heard for the first time nearly 3 years ago. A man who lived thousands of miles away and that I would have never met if not now, if not because of all the incredible coincidences. It is absolutely mindboggling. I get to listen to his stories and watch the way he moves. I am still surprised.

business as usual

I should start with the fact that I've added a few links. This is because my source of reading comes mostly from the aforementioned reader, but I thought maybe you wanted to know.

And if you want a free copy of American Gods, for the next month or so, it will be here. The first book Will ever sent me was his autographed copy of American Gods, and not having read anything by Neil Gaiman before, I completely loved it and was was later surprised by the fact that he wrote comics. It's an excellent book and you should go read it if you never have before.

We went out yesterday. I mentioned the fact that the kitchen sink was out of commission, and Will had had one of those days where everything seems to go wrong or just not flow properly, so I thought it was the perfect excuse to go out. After a bit of back and forth, Will suggested that we grab a few beers at the Tijuana brewery - him, I was driving - and then go to the Merlot Bistro so he could try the sandwiches. We had been there last week and he had a lovely Salmon dish, but when he mentioned to his co-workers that he'd been, everyone asked him about the sandwiches. Apparently they are the big thing there.

Anyway, with the food he also had a couple of margaritas - so this threat wasn't kept; he has accused me of plying him with drink this morning just so he couldn't keep it. Ha! Please! - which were, according to him, very nice.

The afternoon was spent talking about racism and how much of a shock it has been for me to become aware of it. It's not so much that I was not aware, but that I thought it was just my mother and my friends' mothers. Now that the blindness is gone, I am shocked about it. The perniciousness of it, how embedded it is in everybody, and how I didn't see it.

I know I've been going on and on about it, and for that I apologise, but it is just so wrong!

We also talked about the way we argue, and how we've gotten better at it - better in the sense that we get problems resolved -. This makes me very happy. We know now why we have the arguing styles that we have and we are trying to find ways to be more rational about our behaviours. I know we don't argue very often by most standards, but I think every argument brings about the possibility of growth and betterment, so why not take advantage of it?

In quality training they tell you that positive feedback is good for worker motivation, but not for much else. Negative feedback is what makes companies improve their products or services. If someone is dissatisfied but doesn't tell you about it, you've lost someone's business and an opportunity to improve and make this person or business happy. That's one of the things I find true about life in general. If you're not happy with someone and you don't tell them, you're not giving them the opportunity to find out what it was that upset you. Granted, they might not change, they might not improve, they might not care, even, but you've given them the chance. And everyone deserves a chance to better themselves. Will avoids doing this by any means possible. If he's unhappy about something that I did or didn't do, he will fix it himself rather than tell me he expected me to do/not do this. We're trying to change that.

I was afraid to be angry at him because it worried me that at some point - because god only knows how many things he just swallows to avoid confrontation - it would be too much. He'd be unhappy and, worse, he would not tell me. I can now show anger at him and it is fine. We are fine with it.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to figure out the relationships between three people at the next table. I don't think we got them right.

and suddenly everything changes

And everything stays the same. My mother likes us - imagine that! -, Danny's a teenager - famine and war to follow, obviously -, and Will is almost all better.

Except for the flu, which we both have managed to get.

My birthday went by with Will being able to walk without crutches or the rehabilitation boot - while in the house, anyway, he has to wear the boot outside, but the crutches are pretty much gone. Armenui and Monica dropped by, and later on Paola and Mark. Armenui and Paola are both former students of mine, Monica and Mark being their significant others. We had a fantastic time - or so I am told. I was completely pissed by the end of the night and have little recollection of the event. But everyone says I had a great time. I want to believe them.

And so I'm 34. I feel as old as I did before, which is considerably older.

The foot

Will mentioned that he kicked the ground Friday. Efraín and Ileana came over last Saturday - yes, they are being totally cool these days, V - and Efraín told all about the time when he twisted his knee and they recommended that he kept his foot up and whatnot.

This clearly made an impression on Will - who had been walking around the flat in hopes that the walking would make it better. Apparently the wrong thing to do -, because the next day he wanted to go to hospital, get the foot checked. Good thing he wanted to because I would never have offered to take him otherwise. I don't have a problem with hospitals or doctors, but Will does and so. I'm not his mum!

The doctor rolled his eyes when he found out that the accident had happened Friday. I think this must happen all the time, you know, when you think it's nothing but then it doesn't go away quickly enough for it to really be nothing so then you go to the doctor and then it turns out you are doing exactly the wrong thing for this nothing thing that you had? Well.

They got x-rays, during which they asked him "lifestyle" questions, smoking, drinking, etcetera. All this time  it just feels like this will be sorted out immediately, like this is maybe even funny now - as opposed to funny later. Then, of course, the x-rays were done and when they looked at the things it became apparent that it wouldn't. Be sorted out immediately. So it's not. Funny now, I mean. Maybe later, though. Maybe.

He has an incomplete fracture of the fibula. The fibula is the outside ankle bone, the one that sort of protrudes. This bone keeps your foot from twisting to the side, and the very tip of it is sort of cracked. It is not a big deal - although it is a bigger deal than we hoped for - and it will have no complications if he manages to keep his foot up and keep his weight off it. It's been hard on his left, uninjured, leg, because he has to keep his weight on it, aided by crutches.

Good times.

notes

* We're selling the car. We thought we could keep it, after the accident, but the same failure that was showing up before the accident has started to show up again. It is our theory that the car just doesn't like us. Or maybe we just haven't found Jesus - more on that later.

* I'm getting a divorce. Or so Raúl assures me. Yesterday over the phone, on a completely unrelated call - discussing the children's weekend - he announced he was going to the lawyer today. We discussed some of the details and while I am not entirely happy with the whole of it, the most important details - the kids - are totally dealt with.

* I want to start tutoring - of course, later it will turn out this was not the word I should have gone with at all, but meh. We'll see what happens.

* I saw my friend C, to see about pamphlets. She's found Jesus and apparently nothing breaks down ever, once you start following Jesus' rules. Or the gentle suggestions. And stuff. I wish I could do that. Believe like that. But not often.

* I'm reading "Infinite Jest". I love it for many reasons, one of them being that it is fuck-off long. Will doesn't like the author's style, so half my life is spent wanting to know more people I can read bits aloud to.

* We're looking at new cars. Having to replace the car I mentioned we are selling. It's stressing the fuck out of me. But I do that. Stress.