Mom's House

So I have done the weirdest things on my vacation

I have chickened out of selling some paintings… I met this dude at a party (John maybe?)and he saw some of my stuff and was like hey you should bring some stuff down to my gallery and I’ll see if I can hook you up. I totally chickened out. I don’t know why, possibly it was the lack of martinis the day I was supposed to take them, as opposed to the day I showed him my sketchbook when I had too many, who knows. I have this dream of creating a community art space but I cant even sell a couple of lousy paintings… ok, so it is much easier for me to sell something that isn’t mine than something that I know is a part of my soul… ok I sound a little melodramatic (a little?) but I don’t paint what I see, lord knows I’m not nearly talented enough for that, I paint what I feel, and I just couldn’t sell my emotions… does that make me crazy, probably… but I’m ok with that.

I’m baking again… people have been telling me all weekend I look like I’m miserable, I am and I cant say why… that and I’m at my mothers house. So I have to bake… I am trying to compile some of her best dishes into a sort of family recipe book Como Agua Para Chocolate style, problem is that my favorite things she make don’t have a recipie, it’s a pinch of this a handful of that (or a hand and a half for me) a can of this a dash… you get the picture, so far the only things I have been able to translate are the cookies, and that’s because I have been in charge of the sweets for years, I have a few typed up and I think that I will post them on here for the sake of well just cause its mine and I can. I hate coming over to my mother’s house… I don’t mean that to sound like it does and I don’t actually hate it, it’s just that every time I come over here I can’t stop eating… I think I have finally realized how I became the fat kid. The second I walk in that door I’m like a magnet, its either hey I saved you some lunch ( and its never like a salad or a sandwich, I have a Hispanic mother lunch is LUNCH, a meal that in any other place would tide me over for the whole day) or mi’ija I don’t have anything made, but there’s leftovers (which fall into the same category as lunch) and then its our weekly ritual that she comes up with some excuse for me to make her something sweet. Pies, cookies, brownies, cake, whatever. And then she tells me there’s ice cream or popsicles in the fridge and if I say no thank you she asks me if I’m sick. And then she offers me something else that’s delicious and irresistible and then we make dinner which is usually a million calories in a serving and then there’s dessert and then there’s something to take home. I think that this kind of mentality, growing up like this is why I think that DIEting is equivalent to death. I love food, and I love my mother, but I would like to be able to wear a bikini before I am too old to buy one without the sales lady cringing, but I’m starting to think that it is impossible, I have been working my ass of lately and I’m finally seeing a difference, but I’m starting to fear my mothers house, and worse I catch myself doing the same thing when someone comes over to my house, I keep feeding them, its this strange sort of compulsion, I think ‘Zo has gained at least 20 pounds since we got married, and that’s not such a good thing, its only been a few months… I think I’m gonna stop cooking… but I cant the betty crocker gene in me makes me do it. Fast food is disgusting and I prefer homemade to take out, and if its gonna be homemade its gonna be good homemade. HELP ME!!!!!

Ok enough with my rant about being fat…

I have been organizing. Organizing everything… I have made lists and lists and lists of dvd’s of cd’s putting everything in neat little piles of his and mine… ok so the stuff isn’t in piles its in cases in alphabetical order, except for sequels which are alphabetical by the first and then sequential. I cleaned out my closet, I realized that having a tee shirt and tennies job and then wearing tee shirts and tennies on the weekend has greatly hindered my closet, I only have a few things that are appropriate for an office setting and most of those are black… I think I am going to try and get rid of a lot of the black in my wardrobe, I am growing up and I think its time for color… of course I’m not about to run around in like a lime green skirt, but a blouse of that color on top of a pair of slacks with a pair of heels… that could be great. Punch up my semi-goth wardrobe a bit, not that I have ever been or ever will be considered goth, I just like the color black and someone called me a poser because of it the other day… speaking of posers, don’t you love the way that all the people who consider themselves goth think all the other people who consider themselves goth are posers I cant count how many times I have heard oh well she’s just a hot topic goth, or he’s not really emo or… you get the pic… damnit if you want to classify yourself, and lord knows why you would want to anyway, don’t deny others the same ability, ok? I will be the first to say it on my behalf, I am not goth and if you think I’m a poser I’m sorry, I am no one but myself, and that’s good enough for me… then again maybe that’s the problem.

So I have been thinking about Lindsey a lot lately… I don’t know why. I feel kinda bad cause the last time I spoke with her I ended things on a sort of bad note. I got mad at her for being rude, she says she wasn’t really being rude to me, just rude to people in general… and that’s what upset me. She’s always blaming her sister for being mean and picking fights but she was attacking her for no reason, I felt embarrassed for her, and sorry for her sister who, may have a temper, but is a pretty cool person. I don’t want to be her friend anymore, don’t get me wrong, there’s a time when I would have given my left leg for that, and she hasn’t really done anything to me, but I feel sorry for her, she is turning into this really bitter person, she makes Cheryl look like sunshine and daisies the last few times I’ve seen her. She seems to want to use people for her amusement and I have never really been good at being a puppet on a string. The thought of this makes me kind of sad, its like the end of an era the end of my childhood or something… I still feel bad for what I did, but it was nothing personal, it was love. Which I guess IS personal but not toward her, I would have done it to anyone else, I’m sorry it had to be her, but looking back we had a pretty twisted semi abusive relationship to begin with, I think that even if Domenick hadn’t come into the picture things would have ended. I miss having a friend that I considered that close but really I don’t want the drama that seems to follow her like stink on shit, and thinking of some of the things that happened she wasn’t really that great of a friend, and as close as I tried to be to her, she wouldn’t let me in. The real sad part is I miss her family more than I miss her.

That was kind of harsh… and I’m contemplating erasing it but I don’t think I will.

I fucked up my knee at the lake this weekend, don’t know how but swimming with it for a few hours afterward, was not the best thing to do. But I was bored and didn’t want to just stand around the water, that and some of the scubadivers kept making inappropriate comments about my tits and how cold the water was. I got kinda moody the last day or two, and I feel bad about it cause it had nothing to do with anyone who was there. I’m just glum, and everyone knows, and I’m contemplating telling everyone why… but then I will just make them all desolate too. I should find an apartment before I spread this melancholy to the whole world, or move out of the city or right now I’m getting ready to leave the whole damn country behind.