Thursday, May 07, 2009

For My Own True Love... Lost at Sea...

The heart makes its own decisions.

Whether it lasts or not, I believe that we know what is right, who we love and what is real. Just because. Whether things are chemistry or inevitable love, we know a kindred spirit when we first say hello. We may doubt and wait for proof, but in the end, we knew.

I knew you and I would adore each other from the moment I saw you...

(I remember so may of those moments -- my "first friend date" with Vanessa, when we went to lunch, dressed nicely because we felt like it mattered that this went well... Kathy at Governor's School, the coolest girl there, in my eyes, who thought the same about me... Riding the bus reading Euripides with Michael... The look in my eyes in that photograph of when I was 2, holding freshly-born Julie in my arms like I had the biggest prize in the whole world. And yes. I did. "Look what I got!" Yes indeed.)

A certain fellow has been on my mind a lot lately, and I confess, I feel like he's the one that got away, even if he was a vanishing jerk... Whatever was there was overwhelming, although it was brief... It should have been of little consequence, and yet... Yet I find he has re-emerged in my mind and the wild beating of my heart in his presence is the standard against which I judge all others...

I had woken up and his forehead was pressed against mine and we were sleeping touching noses... THAT's what I want. Just with someone who stays...

I've been a little bit obsessive with music lately -- listening to the same handful of Decemberists songs over and over and over for like 2 weeks...

One, called "A Record Year for Rainfall" has lines in the chorus: What’s the use of all of this? It’s to remember you in the entire/ Cause I’m watching it slip away...

And it reminds me of my last night with him... when I lied to myself, but I knew.

I knew I wouldn't see him again, even though we'd make love twice again before we had to get up. I lay there, memorizing his face. I wanted to remember it. Every line. Every curve. No one has ever hit me that hard just by existing...

I have no idea how or why these things happen.

So I lay there, on my stomach, wrapped in his arms as he slept, and I learned his face so that I would remember when he was gone, because I knew he wouldn't be back... And later when he left, he kissed me hard. And as he went down the stairs, his eyes never leaving mine, he blew me a kiss... and it just felt like goodbye. I died inside a little. And I pretended I hadn't felt that... seen what I had seen flash in that action... I didn't trust my instincts. Maybe, maybe he didn't mean that.

But twice I knew. Twice I tried to lie to myself in one night... and it came to pass that he did slip into wherever it is he went... Funny. In the day to day, maybe I wouldn't even like that man. But in those hours at night in my bed, the intensity of it blew me away.

I have had awkward nights. I have faked enthusiasm for a kiss. But when that bolt of lightening hits you, you can't pretend it was something else... Too bad it sometimes strikes at the very wrongest, least useful time.

Maybe it's a flaw, but I get attached very quickly to people who touch my soul, and I do not let go easily. Some get through slowly. Some hit like a wrecking ball and I am powerless to resist them -- but would never have wanted to. And unfortunately for me, I still think the best of people even when they've long since turned from honey into poison... Even as I saw. I knew.

I fought a million goodbyes from men not worth the time it took to hear them say it... Because I couldn't believe they were leaving. Thinking the problem was me. Not beautiful or captivating or worth keeping. I let my fear and insecurity cloud that voice that knew right from wrong, yes from no. That fought to cling to things that were oh so bad that I tried to make good, and saw the good in things that should have turned badly.

I knew he would go before he went. And when he did, I tried to deceive myself. Because in those moments, with his eyes closed and his mind deep in sleep, a small smile lingered on his face, cradling me close, and my heart was lost to him. Somewhere in that night though, I lost him.

I'm trying to follow my heart, so to speak, these days. Do what feels right... And I've found the signs look better than when I was emotionally fighting my lot in life. I find myself in a state of watchful waiting, and I wonder what will come to be.

Hopefully, I will learn to trust myself more as it passes.

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

My Own Stuff White People Like: Cinco de Mayo

Every year on May 5, white people flock to Mexican restaurants and Irish pubs to celebrate what they assume to be Mexico's Independence Day: Cinco de Mayo.

White people love Cinco de Mayo because it combines several of their favorite things: multiculturalism, diversity, nachos, being an expert on other cultures and binge drinking. However, Cinco de Mayo is a potential minefield when it comes to offending white people, which they love. But when they're drinking, it can get messy.

For example, telling a white person that Cinco de Mayo actually celebrates Mexico's victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla in 1862 will most likely result in blank, slightly hostile stares, because white people hate to be corrected.

Therefore, when hanging out with a white person on Cinco de Mayo, it's best to ignore this fact and simply buy them a Corona, a shot of tequila or a frozen Margarita, the official white-person drinks of Cinco de Mayo. White people will appreciate both the free drink and the fact that you're celebrating Mexico's freedom from Spain with them.

If you do bring it up and upset a white person, you can correct the situation by telling them you only learned that fact because of your foreign study program in Mexico. This then gives them an opportunity to tell you about their foreign study program, thus alleviating any further tension because they will have forgotten all about you as they reminisce about the price of beer in Prague.

At no point should you draw attention to the actual Mexicans bringing the white person the nachos and clearing away the empty Corona bottles. White people become uncomfortable when they think about poor immigrants doing menial labor for them. However, take heart. The more tequila a white person drinks on Cinco de Mayo the more likely they are to begin over-tipping, which will help alleviate the guilt they feel over NAFTA.