MEXIRICAN DREAMS

Today is Friday and I would be excited but I am teaching tomorrow. This morning my tennis class had a skills test. Everyone was extremely nervous and are now so curious about their tennis skills. The one issue I have is that our one day a week session is not enough. I need to see them more so I can spread the love of the game. Sounds silly, huh? Well, imagine how good people would be if you played more than once a week. The brain and body will start to work together. A big problem is that most of my students do not move much during the week or have never moved in their lifetime. They are not used to sweating, smelling like shiiittt, drinking gallons of water, and wanting more. I have, and since I stopped having organized workouts, I find my own workouts suck. My students complain about everything. I just wish they were athletically inclined or had the determination to learn.

Movement... I mean physically moving is so important to life, soul, and sex. Back in college, I used be known as the "dinner slut" because I would hit the bars and flirt/smooch/take home guys that I had just met. They would later ask me to let them take me out for a good dinner. Of course, I said yes! Who cares that I had no real interest with these boys because what I really cared about was the food. I was a starving college athlete. On those dates, after dinner, we would hit a bar with music and usually they would want to dance. I obliged, of course, and during this mating scene I would watch how they moved. If these boys started grinding my leg like some sick puppy, I knew they were horrible in bed. They would probably do it the same way every time. They would probably be one minute shows and be completely selfish. They probably would never touch you softly, kiss you deeply, or care what you desire. With this said, my theory is not full-proof. I dated this one guy who was an amazing dancer, but he had a short fuze whereupon would be displayed among anyone who knew him well. If I happened to talk to his buddy too long, he presumed I had committed adultery. He was Latino- Enough said. My theory worked though about 90% of the time. It was always true with people who were not Latino. If their movement, the way they carried themselves was too heavy or didn't have enough gumption, I knew right off the bat. This is why I suggest boys should take some dance lessons. Learn how to take care of the lady so we can take care of you. You scratch our backs, we will scratch yours. Learning how to move gracefully allows for a better sex game and a better b-ball game. Try it boys.

Today is Wednesday and my week has been going pretty good so far. I have had the chance to get on the bike and do 30 minute workouts 3 times this week. Besides my scare with the choking incident, it's been good. The next day after the salmon incident, I immediatetly called my dad to tell him what happened. He called California dad a "schmo" and to move out instantly. I agreed and good thing Mr. Cali and I are moving out pretty soon.

Moving out... I can't wait for this to happen. I remember when I first moved out of my dad's apartment into my dorm at college. I packed everything because I feared I might want it later and my dad wouldn't be able to get it to me. I remember the drive and how scared I was. Here I am in the corner of the car for four hours wishing it would take longer so I wouldn't have to be in nowheresville for two years. When we arrived I didn't even want my dad to leave. His car was finally unpacked and we went out to eat at some horrible restaurant where I only at a chicken sandwhich and no fries because I was watching what I ate. After that we went to the Piggly Wiggly to buy me some snacks. We bought mac and cheese but no milk or butter. I hate mac and cheese. I love fancy sandwhiches. I love high maintenance food. French baguettes with brie cheese. Pasta with romano and parmesan drizzled with olive oil. Quesadillas, corn tortillas, with queso fresco. Chicken sandwhich on a bun. Blah!

Eating a wonderful dinner of salmon and salad, I began choking on a bone. I was coughing up a storm and no one helped me. Mr. California's dad didn't even get up from his chair. I kept thinking of the Six Feet Under show where the single older lady chokes and dies because she has no one to save her.

This past day I have been fully wrapped in "family day." However, it's not my family but Mr. California's. How wonderful it is to see a family get together about once a month to go eat at an American Chain and relive the good times of the past. I was so jealous. What I would give to sit with my father while he drinks his espresso, I read the comics,and he discusses who looks like a 'fox' on the TV. We usually fought over who was allowed to read the comics first or who had to make his espresso. Luckily, he got married so I am no longer forced to be the Espresso slave.

It must be so nice to be able to drive one hour to see your family. I miss the days of walking across the street to see my Abuelita watching her "Christina." The days of walking over hungry and getting a burger at Wendy's. Everyone who is Latino knows how to say it. So please go ahead. I remember watching her take her morning walks while I was waiting for the bus. I remember my family gatherings. Pizza on Friday or Saturday. Pizza with sausage and peppers, which took hours to make. Remember that the second pizza is always better than the first one because the crust comes out crunchier. I always ate about 5 slices and had two more for breakfast the next day.

My father, my dad has his faults, he is one man who I can talk to and he will love me no matter what. He was capable of making the best eggplant parmesan or hand-tossed pizza, however, his lunches for school were the worst. The worst one was one day during a Spring Break that I had to spend at the Y in Denver, Colorado. We both woke up late, rushing around like two chickens. The worst bag to bring your lunch in was a plastic bag. Of course, my dad didn't care about my complexes so he threw in a chicken leg from the night before and a crusty elbow of a baguette and 50 cents for a diet coke. I remember this so fondly, so hilarious since we were always having impromptu moments. I remember from that moment that he blindly fed, or tried, because I didn't eat the chicken. I remember he just did what had to be done. Isn't that what dads' are for? At least single dads? They do things because it had to be done and if they didn't who would?

When asked by men that we should shop at certain stores (Victoria Secret) or fix our hair or look more feminine. Why do we get upset? Do we try to change them? Nope. We accept the way they are but if we don't look cute all the time, they get to speak up.

Am I jealous of the models or just insecure?

I have time to blog since Mr. California is driving back from Corona. From week 1 of school until now I have been busy and lazy at the same time to bother blogging my thoughts. I have recently been encouraged to blog more from Mr. Cali and the fact that I got two comments. woo hoo! I really haven't told anyone about my blog- I guess from embarrasment. You see when I was in grade school I hated when people would read my stories. I remember in the 5th grade my teacher would read our compositions, as she read we would try to figure out who wrote what, and then we would vote on what the writer deserved as a grade. 1 being the worst, 5 being the best. Most of my grades ranged between a 3 and 4, but one time I got a 1. My teacher went on to just shred my composition to pieces. It was horrible. I cried in class instantly. She felt so bad. Good! Thinking about it now, I still get teary eyed.

My two comments were first from an online dating website. Sorry I only smooch Mr. Cali... Hurry up I'm starving. The second was from a woman in chi-town. The Chi is the best but only in the summer. Home Run Inn Pizza and Cafe Iberico. yum!


To explain my whereabouts:
Week 1 of school went pretty smoothly. The Kinesiology program at CSUF appears to be very organized and exciting. Now that I am in week 5 it appears I have to force my way into the program to get noticed. I am not an aggressor.

Week 2 of school. Saltillo, Mexico: My dad met Mr. California that weekend. We went to Saltillo for the wedding of my cousin, Leo. I will call him that since that is what he likes to be called but his name is NAYITO. It was a blast. The people were so hospitable, the food amazing, the tennis was great. The only thing that didn't happen was sleep. If one thinks that the West Coast is slow, move to Saltillo and learn how to move like a snail. The plan was to get a hamburger - we needed a break from mexican food- so we asked my cousin, Leo, to tell us where to go. I spent many summers in Saltillo but I haven't returned since my aubelita passed away seven years ago. I can't believe it's been that long. Leo and Jessica, bride to be, invited us to go with them and everyone else to a bar because they had good burgers and while we were supposed to be eating they would go off to look for mariachis for the wedding. It took us about 3 hours just to gather everyone and get a burger. Who knows whether the bride and groom chose the mariachis since Mr. Cali and I left early to get some rest before we played tennis 5 hours later.

The wedding was beautiful and so mexican. I love it! The wedding started at 8 pm with the church ceremony. The church was in downtown Saltillo so it was really old with awesome architecture. We were picked up by Jessica's cousin who looks like Mark Philloupousis. My tia Lilia was with us in the car. The funny part of the whole trip was how long it took for Andrea and Veronica to get ready. I felt like an evil mexican prima for leaving Veronica at the hotel but there was no way I was going to miss the ceremony and a free cab ride.

The reception was held in the Musuem of the Desert. Really strange, but it's new to saltillo. If you have never gone to Saltillo, don't bother as it is not touristy and very middle class. It's so calming there, I really thought about my grandmother that trip. Back to the wedding... The reception was beautiful but really annoying/maddening event: There were no seats by my parents and the other family. The Durons were supposed to sit together at one table while Los Gonzalez at another table. What happened was the american cousins were put at another table all by ourselves. Remind you that there are three of us plus one Mr. Cali. I don't understand why my dad couldn't move over and sit next to us. Water under the bridge.

My dad finally met Mr. California and seemed pleased. Dad calls him el viejito since he's 10 years older than I am. Good thing he doesn't act like an old fart so I don't have to.

Week 3 Officially started work at Whittier Narrows, started to worry about my life plans

Week 4 Drove a hundred billion miles around southern California. OH yeah! Experienced food poisoning for the first time. The feeling of throwing up and having a sinus issue is the worst ever. The noggin was stuffed with mocos and boiling while the body was weak. I slept 13 hours on Friday, 10 on Saturday and 10 on Sunday. Felt like a new person on Monday. Did I mention that I threw up in my car and the toilet all night on Friday. Who does that unless coming home from the bars?

Week 5 Have been entertaining the thought of changing my focus in Kinesiology. Have decided to keep it the same for now. I learned about goal -setting from Ken Ravizza. I take his class on Wednesday from 7-10pm. Be there or be a loser. Goal-setting is a hard process that cannot be taken lightly. Outcome goals are not important, the process is. Remember that. One leaves his class believing that we can do anything but really know that one cannot achieve everything. That thought reminds me of that New York Times article on ivy league female students who plan to stay at home even though they graduated from an Ivy and could have a prosperous career. I understand their points of view but I believe you have to plan for the case that you can't be in the position to leave work for good. I always think of this college student from UPENN who would only marry a Republican.... I hope your plans come true but you have to look outside of your box to perhaps be happy. I believe goals in life are important but sometimes your wishes don't come true exactly how you planned. That's what makes life interesting and everyone always has an interesting story to tell. What's your story?