Capitalism=bullshit?!

Since this seems to be the topic of conversation on everyone's minds, I thought I'd put my two cents in, especially since it was thrown in my face this afternoon.

I was waiting for class to start earlier and I was sitting with a classmate discussing current events in class. She commented about my wedding rings and asked me to tell her the story about how Louis proposed, of course the conversation was light and fun. Then, the young man that was sitting just on the other side of a column got up and walked into the stairwell. My classmate stared at him and smiled and laughed. I thought she knew him.

"This guy...," she began. "I was on the phone with my sister and, I don't know about you but, I'm very liberal. We were talking about the new 1070 bill that got signed on Friday and he was just laughing and shaking his head...Are you for it or against it?"

I reluctantly said I'm for it, because I couldn't lie and I wanted to try my hand at logical argument that my husband is so fantastically good at, but I'm not very practiced. She started to state her point about how she used to think that everyone in this country was getting along and how there really wasn't that much racism, until she started taking a class and saw how "horrible our country really is."

I began to defend my position. My family came over to the states legally, and my family became naturalized citizens.

She returned with how classmates were in tears on Friday because their family got scared and members returned to Mexico. "How horrible it is to see families torn apart."

I shot back, "If they were here, legally, in the first place they wouldn't have a problem. It's just reiterating legislation that the federal government put in place at the beginning of the 20th century.

I began to talk about my husband's situation. I believe he's a great example of capitalism and the American Dream. He grew up in ghetto Tucson, avoided gang activity, worked hard to get his college degree. Now he owns a house, a truck, and makes a comfortable living all before the age of 28.

As we were walking to class and I finished my story, she says, "Well...he's an exception. The American Dream is bullshit."


If someone said that to you, point blank, what would you do? I was furious. How could she sit there and just say that my husband was one in a billion? Give me proof the American Dream is bullshit!

I'm not asking for a handout. I'm proud that I come from Mexican heritage. But I'm an American and I refuse to be a victim, as does my husband.

When I came home to continue my discussion with him, he told me he didn't see himself as the American Dream as much as he viewed his grandfather. Louis's grandfather came to the states, provided for a family of 5 children and he did without a handout. His grandfather didn't ask anyone to take care of him. He came here for a better life and did it the legal way. Worked hard, retired and now he's "marinating with my nana," as Louis likes to put it, . He's the sweetest man just taking it easy and waves at people from a big la-z-boy chair from his front porch at the base of 'A' Mountain.

I don't want a hand out. I want to work my ass off and be able to tell my children and grandchildren that we worked for everything we had and made a life for ourselves. I don't want to be a victim: "O woe is me who came to this country illegally and almost lost my life for nothing..." You, my friend, have human rights. But you do not have the legal rights as an American citizen, except now it seems backwards. I recall a conversation with some family friends about a year ago, who are also Americans of Mexican decent.

He was camped out one night with some friends on a hunting trip. They were sitting around the fire and some illegal immigrants came across them with semi-automatic weapons. If things turned ugly and our friends fired at the immigrants in self defense, our friends would have gone to jail and not the illegal immigrant. Now where's the justice in that?

I'm not against immigration. I'm against illegal immigration. And to see how people are up in arms because the state of Arizona is taking a stand against illegal activity is kind of hypocritical.

I commend people for wanting to immigrate to this country in search of a better life. And I agree that something needs to be done between both the United States government and Mexican government so that the process doesn't take almost 10 years. But to come over illegally, one's already a federal criminal. I know they're probably all fantastic people, besides the drug cartel. And please keep in mind, it's not just  Mexican illegal immigrants. It's Chinese illegal immigrants, Indian illegal immigrants, Canadian illegal immigrants and a number of other countries can be represented.

I just ask for people to understand that others may not think as he/she does and to think logically and see the other side of the coin. I understand that people are upset that families are being torn apart, but that's the consequences for doing something that's not right. It's like the fed catching a drug dealer. They have to do their time, I agree it's horrible and shouldn't have happened in the first place, but isn't that the fault of the individuals who are in this country illegally and not the people enforcing the law?

At this time, I apologize for my rambling. After my classmate made that comment to me without letting me say something in return, I just felt so sad. I wanted to ask her, "Why are you in college, then?"

Soundtrack of our lives

My mom and I have bonded many a couple days where we devoted 14 hours of amazingness to a Mexican telenovela called Alborada. One of the most beautiful men you've ever seen, Fernando Colunga, wins the heart of a woman, Lucero, in a story full of the epitome of telenovela stereotypes: amnesia, someone's pregnant with someone else's baby, someone else is having an affair, and evil mother who switched babies at birth, and a guy who's got so many issues it's ridiculous - but we love it!

Well, we did it again. My mom and I have been sharing our Mexican bond over the last few months since school started watching another telenovela called "Zorro: La Espada y La Rosa" or "Zorro: the Sword and the Rose." 

It, of course, has the same rubric for the typical Mexican soap opera: amnesia, a psycho power-hungry villian, two women are pregnant with someone other than their husband's baby, everyone thinks the female lead is dead except for the one guard who's helping her and the token little man with a hump, the male lead's father is in love and married to one woman, but he's also in love with his dead wife's twin sister, and the female lead's mother is the next heir to the Spanish throne, but she's been in prison and locked up with a mask because her husband, the governor of California, wants to marry the male lead's aunt who happens to be the mother superior of the local convent. Hahaha, and I haven't even begun to tip the iceberg!

Since this particular telenovela is on at noon I've discovered the beautiful piece of technology known as DVR. This weekend I was catching up on the 20 episodes I haven't been able to watch since school has been so busy. Luis has rediscovered his Play Station 2 and God of War II. One break, he came into the kitchen and started laughing. 

"This soundtrack is on replay, isn't it?" he commented, referring to how the end of each scene boasted pounding drums and sounds that tried to perpetuate the suspense of the scene. "That's hilarious! Babe, we're out of eggs. Dun dun dun dun-dun-dun, dun dun dun dun-dun-dun," he said as he smacked his stomach in a drumming manner. 

Last night his shenanigans lead to a pillow fight and then when we went walking this morning, both of us perpetuated the antics. 

I love that my husband can make me laugh so much, so I just had to share.

All Over Again Again

But this time there was a better outcome!!  In honor of Louis and I trying to lose weight, I've been looking through recipes in a South Beach Diet Cookbook that Louis borrowed from his mom's house a while ago.
I found one titled " Grilled Raspberry Chicken" but instantly felt uneasy about it.

If you've read the first blog of my cooking experience you understand that I can't pull stuff out of nowhere. Especially since my cooking involved a marinade of wine and garlic powder - more specifically lambrusco red wine and it's a sweet wine which in turn = some nasty, tough steak bites. (I shudder to force my taste buds to remember the flavor)

Even with my fear I moved on and decided I'd try again since this was an actual recipe and not me pretending to be a genius. So I pulled my hair back, since this meant business, and began working culinary magic (not really, but I feel that way when stuff actually turns out-be it off the grill or coming out of a box!).

The recipe asked for a wine vinegar, but since I didn't have any I used some apple cider vinegar I had and hadn't had a chance to use it yet. Then I put in a different red wine, Shyraz that my parents passed off to us from the left overs they had at their after-party the night of the wedding, some Worcestershire sauce, pepper, minced cloves of garlic, and some other ingredients. It smelled scrumptious so I hoped it tasted just as good. Luis started the grill and I oiled it with some extra virgin olive oil (looooooooove that stuff!) so the chicken wouldn't stick so bad.

Next up I loaded a pot with some brown rice and water and put it to boil.

After half an hour, my meal didn't look so bad! I had my parents on Skype just before the food was done and told them about what I was trying to make. Dad joked, "We'll be there in an hour."

At the end of the day, the chicken was AMAZING!! I was so proud of myself! I may be a culinary genius after all! Or just a really good follower of directions...I'm thinking that's probably it.

HEADLINE: Husband demands wife see sleep doctor

Well, he really didn't demand it, but I felt ashamed he had to say it.

Last night was another of the numerous occasions that I talked about in Paranormal Activity (well not really) where I thoroughly attacked my husband in my sleep...on a KING SIZED BED for goodness sakes. I woke up at least two times last night with Louis tapping my hand and I turned over, tapping my leg and I turned over, and maybe one more time with my hand.

To my credit, I blame it on not being exhausted. When I've been exhausted I go into a super deep sleep and Louis says that I don't attack him. On the other hand, I also blame it on him, haha. When we went to bed last night, I could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

He's had some problems at work lately and all eyes are on him today as far as a program he's been working on where hardware hasn't worked. That equals no bueno. Since this is his first mixup since he started working there in '06 he's on pins and needles about it.

Since I was so on edge because he was on edge, my dreams were out of control.

But then again I can blame no one but my own physical being not staying put. So yes, it is my fault.

However, I've never felt so helpless than this morning when we woke up for the first time to go walking together before work/school. These weren't his exact words, but here goes:

"I was so surly with you last night. You need to go see a sleep doctor."

I do want to add, I wasn't mad at him for anything. It was more upset at myself that I felt so helpless that I didn't know how to help the situation. I also add that we've both been under some stress lately, coupled with that blessing I get every month (Mom says, "I'm sorry." and I say "Don't be; it's not your fault...It's dad's fault") that causes my amazing mood swings. I don't know what's going on. Just another thing I have to adjust to, I guess.

Not an easy task

Here lately, I'm sorry and somewhat ashamed to say, I feel like I've been taking advantage of my husband. He's there and willing to do things for me even though he's been stressed out at work and most likely tired. The other day, I was outside sunning while reading an assignment from school. It was a definite homework assignment, don't get me wrong, but I kind of wanted to make it fun and enjoyed the perfect weather. Louis came out to start shoveling the decorative gravel and moved the lining bricks where he'd planned to plant some grass. He was working up a sweat, pulling out weeds, and I just sat there watching him feeling everything but useful.

"Can I help?"

"No babe, it's fine. I've got it. Plus you're doing homework."

Yes I'm doing homework, but I felt like a shmoe not helping out. It continued later in the day when I started doing laundry to offset my not helping earlier, even though homework wasn't done.

He took over because he knew the homework wasn't done. So instead, I started doing dishes. He got mad.

"Why don't you let me do anything around here?" he says more perturbed than the usual playful banter that usually crosses between us. "I live here, too."

"The truth is I feel bad asking you to do something. At the same time, you can see it there. We haven't done dishes since Easter and it's been sitting there, not done, for days," I answer. "I feel bad asking you because I know you've probably had just as hard a day as I have and I don't want to make you frustrated or something," I responded, remembering the day I came home from classes and he gave me an inadvertent tongue lashing when water splashed on his shirt from a pan I'd filled to let the melted-on insides soften to come out easier in the dishwasher (if anything in that sentence made sense).

So, I've left things alone, or I finish them completely.

Greener on the Other Side

I've been told that I am beautiful because of the way I carry myself. I have my head held high and somewhat proper posture (I flatter myself lol). When I look in the mirror I see a beautiful woman who is strong in who she is and enjoys her body. When that certain song come on my ipod, you know the one, I can't help but walk with a little bit of a runway strut (which probably looks like I've got something stuck up you know where to the people outside my mind).

However, I've always had problems. I've been a thicker girl since I can remember. I don't even remember when people told me that I looked great after my last swim season since I'd slimmed down so much my clothes didn't fit anymore. Because of that thickness I've always had a horrible self esteem behind that proud, self-valued image I portray. And just now, I saw an image of myself that just took the cake. I didn't realize what I've been doing to myself by not trying harder to lose weight.

With this first picture, I don't look bad at all in my mind. My arms have always been a problem spot but I've always thought I'd rather have big arms than a huge stomach. But I've been lying to myself. My proof is below.

This looks like a pot-belly stove around my middle! No wonder Louis's mother's been hoping I was with-child! Not that she thinks I'm fat, but that I'm probably teasing her by this weight around my middle that looks like it could be a baby girl with how high my stomach's resting.

This was a real eye-opener. I've been feeling horrible about myself anyway since I thought I looked good and Louis has been more and more frequently poking fun at himself for this belly. I think he's the most handsome man in the world, granted I have a bias, but why do we think so low of ourselves?

I'm determined now. I will make myself better, healthier and more socially acceptable. I'll do it for me. For my own truth instead of telling myself something that obviously isn't. 

Wish me luck!

Understanding the right of passage

This past Sunday I hosted Easter at our house. It was a perfect day and I couldn't have asked for anything more.

We found out that family friends from Indianapolis would be in town for their spring break. The Becketts have been friends of ours for the last roughly ten years. When my mom was talking about having Easter dinner, a light bulb went off in my head: Why not have Easter dinner at our house?

I remember time after time when we'd have company come over at any point in time, my mom would run around the house like a madwoman until she snapped getting overwhelmed with cleaning the house and cooking. To save her from having to work so hard instead of visiting, I thought it'd be a great idea for me to take over where my mom left off so she can take it easy and worry about catching up with the Becketts.

That Sunday, I felt like a wanna-be Martha Stewart. I was running around the house cleaning and making sure veggies were chopped up and chips and salsa was out and making sure that the towels were hanging properly and anything else you can think of in a whirlwind. I finally understood what my mother goes through every time someone comes over. I was stressed out of my mind and exhausted at the end of the night. I really don't know how she's kept up doing it the last 25+ years. I commend her and hope I can be just like her.

Oh, the wonders when women start living with their husbands

My mom knows me well. Yesterday I went home to pick up some things and hang out for a bit with my fru fru fitzy and my mom, and I had to tell my mom this mortifying story:

I woke up and did my usual routine of a shower and straightening my hair, ran around the house getting breakfast and laundry, and finally decided to get dressed. Since I had an interview for my Reporting Public Affairs class I threw on one of my million pairs of black slacks and a nice, satin blue print tank top. Franticly, I searched the house for my make-up bag and watched the clock. Since I couldn't find it I assumed I'd left in the car over the weekend and proceeded to clean up after myself.

On the kitchen breakfast table has sat my deep red nail polish for the past 2 months. I eyed it and thought, "I should probably put that away before my husband disowns me."In my haste, as I walked into the master bedroom my arm caught the corner of a chest of drawers. Slipping out of my hand and flying toward the tile of the bathroom floor, the vile of red liquid shattered and color splattered everywhere like coagulated blood.

I froze, in shock of the situation in front of me. The tile was streaked and some landed on the grout between the tiles. Worse, like the scene out of the twilight zone, I stared at the carpet that met the master bedroom with the bathroom. I poured nail polish remover everywhere trying to keep everything from drying. I took care of the tile, but still freaked over the carpet. I did as much as I could with the fleeting time I had and called my husband on my way out of the house.

"I just had to tell you that you're wife is crazy." I relayed the whole story to the voice mail machine and started to cry. "I'm going to pick up some nail polish remover to take care of the rest of the tile, but the carpet is probably ruined. I'll see you later, babe, and hope you're day is going better than mine!"

I went through the day, performing my journalistic duties and visiting my mother - relaying my embarrassment. After classes, I texted my husband that I would pick up the nail polish remover but he said he'd already purchased some. Apparently he started to clean up where I left off once he got home because, as I struggled to stay on the road while laughing, my husband texted me saying:

"Nail polish remover is AWESOME!!!"