Right now I'm at a beach. It's serene and quiet, cool and breezy. There seems to be an unspoken rule of silence; the only sounds to be heard are of waves and seagulls; unlittered scenery the only sight. No one is distracted by phones or music or food, nor conversations or work. Unpretentious and unoccupied, we all are just being, either relaxing on blankets in the sand or walking along the shore. It's the epitome of calm. I've been waiting for this moment for quite some time.
I'm not really blogging at the beach; that would defeat the moment. I'm really at work, where the rule of quite is never realized and the symptoms of neuroses abound(including my own). I was mentally escaping while I had a free moment.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Easter weekend rambling
Jesus is risen, Spring is in full swing, and Orlando is already hotter than hell. Despite the heat, I had a lovely, relaxing four day weekend. I got 10 hours of sleep on Thursday night, followed by a two hour Friday afternoon siesta. I love that word; it's fittingly like sleep party. I take my sleep parties seriously: I slip into my most comfortable pair of granny panties and an extra large tshirt, close the blinds as tightly as possible, and unmake the bed. I don't wake up until Eugenio frightens me, at which point I am always confused about who and where I am. I used to have serious insomnia, but now I can sleep like a teenager and I take full advantage whenever I can. On Saturday Neno and I went golfing. I don't golf. I drive the cart, read my book, and complain about the weather. Eugenio plays golfs and hydrates with beer -- his kind of sport. I played golf while drinking cerveza with Neno once. I don't care for beer, and I don't care for golf, but I'll enjoy either put together.
Easter slipped by like any other day, except I was off from work (thank you, Jesus). The jeaster bunny missed our apartment, but that's OK because I'm trying not to eat too many sweets. I have a sweet tooth, and like Jim Gaffigan says, my tooth owes my ass an explanation. Neno and I went to the 5pm mass with the other slackers. Good thing, because I'm sure the morning mass was packed; I hate crowds...especially with children high on sugar. I enjoy a more desolate, solemn celebration of Christ rising. When I was younger, the whole rising from the dead thing creeped me out, which is why,though confusing, I think the Easter bunny, pastels, and candy got lumped into the occasion. Truthfully, forever agnostic, I still find the death and resurrection gruesome and eerie -- if I had to decorate Easter I wouldn't choose pastels -- but I'm intrigued by the faithful and like the Lenten lessons of sacrifice, freedom, and forgiveness (forgive me for my honesty). I asked Eugenio if he wanted me to prepare him a basket for Easter, but he declined as he's hardcore and seriously embraces Easter. He and I are an interesting juxtaposition of comparable opposites. He can teach our hypothetical unborn children about Jesus, and I'll take the bunny and Santa -- bases covered.
Somewhat unrelated, but equally stream of consciousness, I just met a man in his 30s who was only recently released from prison. "I've been in prison since I was 16. This is all overwhelming." Wow, I bet. Talk about rebirth. He signed up for basic computer classes as a start. I pray he adjusts well.
Easter slipped by like any other day, except I was off from work (thank you, Jesus). The jeaster bunny missed our apartment, but that's OK because I'm trying not to eat too many sweets. I have a sweet tooth, and like Jim Gaffigan says, my tooth owes my ass an explanation. Neno and I went to the 5pm mass with the other slackers. Good thing, because I'm sure the morning mass was packed; I hate crowds...especially with children high on sugar. I enjoy a more desolate, solemn celebration of Christ rising. When I was younger, the whole rising from the dead thing creeped me out, which is why,though confusing, I think the Easter bunny, pastels, and candy got lumped into the occasion. Truthfully, forever agnostic, I still find the death and resurrection gruesome and eerie -- if I had to decorate Easter I wouldn't choose pastels -- but I'm intrigued by the faithful and like the Lenten lessons of sacrifice, freedom, and forgiveness (forgive me for my honesty). I asked Eugenio if he wanted me to prepare him a basket for Easter, but he declined as he's hardcore and seriously embraces Easter. He and I are an interesting juxtaposition of comparable opposites. He can teach our hypothetical unborn children about Jesus, and I'll take the bunny and Santa -- bases covered.
Somewhat unrelated, but equally stream of consciousness, I just met a man in his 30s who was only recently released from prison. "I've been in prison since I was 16. This is all overwhelming." Wow, I bet. Talk about rebirth. He signed up for basic computer classes as a start. I pray he adjusts well.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
aging
I'm getting old and I can feel it. My elbows are creaky, my muscles achy, and my fingers bony. I take "my pills" every morning. My breath is coffee laced. (When I was four or five I not so subtly told my mom I didn't want to kiss or hug her "because your breath stinks.") I say "pardon?" more often because I can't hear, though I'm extremely sensitive to loud music. I don't understand the appeal to the crap on television these days -- a la Jersey Shore. And I no longer believe elderly are being drama kings and queens when I hear them groan while bending over or standing up, as I now do the same -- unintentionally. If I had a garage, it would start to smell funny.
Lady, please. Your 26. I know, I know, but in all seriousness I can actually feel that my body has aged. I'm not whining, merely observing and slightly lamenting. I'd much rather be almost 30 than an insecure teenager, although back then I could do the splits every way without flinching in pain, and I could touch my nose to my knees while resting hands behind my ankles. In my youth I found yoga an easy excuse for exercise: what's so hard about bending your body? And I didn't appreciate the concept of "warming up" before running because I didn't need to. Now it takes me a solid 20 minutes of jogging before I feel like I can run harder without breaking a leg.
Today I stretched for the first time in weeks, which made me realize how inflexible I'm becoming and reminded me to stretch more often. I've decided, in self improvement efforts, I'm going to take up yoga. I always wanted to be a calm soul peacefully meditating while crossing my legs every which way, but the truth is that I found yoga all too boring because I was far too skittish. In past attempts, I spent the majority of class looking around the room at everyone else when I should have focused on breathing with my eyes closed. My breathing is involuntary; I don't need to focus. That said, now that I'm older, hopefully I can sit still, because I'm craving to start something new and beneficial...in my old age. ; D
Lady, please. Your 26. I know, I know, but in all seriousness I can actually feel that my body has aged. I'm not whining, merely observing and slightly lamenting. I'd much rather be almost 30 than an insecure teenager, although back then I could do the splits every way without flinching in pain, and I could touch my nose to my knees while resting hands behind my ankles. In my youth I found yoga an easy excuse for exercise: what's so hard about bending your body? And I didn't appreciate the concept of "warming up" before running because I didn't need to. Now it takes me a solid 20 minutes of jogging before I feel like I can run harder without breaking a leg.
Today I stretched for the first time in weeks, which made me realize how inflexible I'm becoming and reminded me to stretch more often. I've decided, in self improvement efforts, I'm going to take up yoga. I always wanted to be a calm soul peacefully meditating while crossing my legs every which way, but the truth is that I found yoga all too boring because I was far too skittish. In past attempts, I spent the majority of class looking around the room at everyone else when I should have focused on breathing with my eyes closed. My breathing is involuntary; I don't need to focus. That said, now that I'm older, hopefully I can sit still, because I'm craving to start something new and beneficial...in my old age. ; D
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Correction
One night after an embarrassing moment, Eugenio advised, "Keep that to yourself; don't blog about it." No worries, I mostly blog compromising information about you, not myself, though I appreciate the concern.
Let it be known that I have Neno's permission to talk about (some) of the things that take place behind our apartment door. I texted him one morning before clicking Publish, "Do you mind if I talk about your farting on my blog?" He responded, "Which one? From last night?" (I found that response hilarious).
But then he read my blog and took issue with the honeymoon post. "The stuff about the lingerie, yadi, yadi, yadi and saying '10 minutes later' was a bit TMI...And it was more than 1o minutes, more like 20." Duly noted.
Let it be known that I have Neno's permission to talk about (some) of the things that take place behind our apartment door. I texted him one morning before clicking Publish, "Do you mind if I talk about your farting on my blog?" He responded, "Which one? From last night?" (I found that response hilarious).
But then he read my blog and took issue with the honeymoon post. "The stuff about the lingerie, yadi, yadi, yadi and saying '10 minutes later' was a bit TMI...And it was more than 1o minutes, more like 20." Duly noted.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Call of B/Duty
Was that a booty call?! I screamed, coming out of the restroom, realizing Eugenio was already back on the couch, clothed and playing Call of Duty. Not long before, I told him I was going to bed early, and he sweetly joined me....then returned to his game after he got what he came for. Did you just hit-it-and-quit-it?! I said laughing at his gall. "I'm sorry, bebita. No, I hit-it-and-married-it!" he replied giving me a guilty hug before adding, "Wham-bam-you-married-me-ma'am!"
I like giving Neno a hard time for playing Call of Duty, although I'm not actually bothered by his vice. Knowing and seeing on a daily basis how much of a dorky manchild my Rico Suave Latin Lover truly is, is more charming than bothersome. Check out my avatar. Do you like it? Plus I get to sleep in our teeny bed all alone for hours each night. I hate body heat.
Back in our early days, he brought me to his apartment to watch a movie on our third date. I was incredibly nervous about going to his apartment; I didn't want him to think he was going to get lucky. I'm actually shy and a prude, believe it or not. After watching Gran Torino followed by sitting in awkward silence, Neno asked if I wanted to watch the beginning of Transformers 1, since Transformers 2 was coming out soon and he wanted us to go see it. On a side note, I've seen a lot of bad movies these past two years in the name of love; I'm sure Neno says the same for himself. I had no desire to see Transformers anything. My roommate and I joked that the popularity of Transformers was like grown women flocking to watch a My Little Pony blockbuster. So naturally I said, "Sure! Sounds great!" Halfway through the movie (I kept wondering when "the beginning" was supposed to end), Neno turned to me and asked, "So Hanna, which transformer is your favorite?" Um, I don't have a favorite. Uh, which one is yours? "Optimus Prime!" he cheered making a fist...OK. And then we sat in more awkward silence.
I think we made out for the first time after that. He wooed me with his charming dorkiness.
I like to remind Neno of his smooth transformers line from time to time. We haven't progressed much.
I like giving Neno a hard time for playing Call of Duty, although I'm not actually bothered by his vice. Knowing and seeing on a daily basis how much of a dorky manchild my Rico Suave Latin Lover truly is, is more charming than bothersome. Check out my avatar. Do you like it? Plus I get to sleep in our teeny bed all alone for hours each night. I hate body heat.
Back in our early days, he brought me to his apartment to watch a movie on our third date. I was incredibly nervous about going to his apartment; I didn't want him to think he was going to get lucky. I'm actually shy and a prude, believe it or not. After watching Gran Torino followed by sitting in awkward silence, Neno asked if I wanted to watch the beginning of Transformers 1, since Transformers 2 was coming out soon and he wanted us to go see it. On a side note, I've seen a lot of bad movies these past two years in the name of love; I'm sure Neno says the same for himself. I had no desire to see Transformers anything. My roommate and I joked that the popularity of Transformers was like grown women flocking to watch a My Little Pony blockbuster. So naturally I said, "Sure! Sounds great!" Halfway through the movie (I kept wondering when "the beginning" was supposed to end), Neno turned to me and asked, "So Hanna, which transformer is your favorite?" Um, I don't have a favorite. Uh, which one is yours? "Optimus Prime!" he cheered making a fist...OK. And then we sat in more awkward silence.
I think we made out for the first time after that. He wooed me with his charming dorkiness.
I like to remind Neno of his smooth transformers line from time to time. We haven't progressed much.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
humility
I strive for kindness at all times, but some days I'm in want. My job is an exercise in patience.
When my mind shouts something like, READ THE DIRECTIONS, DAMNIT, in retrospect I always hope my face didn't display my thoughts, even if I feel my rattling nerves are warranted. I hold firmly to the notion that adults should at least try for self sufficiency.
Sundays are busy -- lots of people, lots of questions, and lots of helping lots of people. Thus, today, twenty minutes into my shift, I stopped for a moment to ask for patience...or for the day to go by quickly.
Not long after my appeal for divine intervention, I helped an older gentleman fill out a food stamp account online. I must admit, my patience was wearing thin as I had to help him navigate through the seemingly simple, user-friendly website step by step, repeating and re-explaining things like "zip code," "security question," and "username." Not your 'name', but what you want to use as your log-in name when you use this website....OK fine, you can use your name but you need some numbers in there too. Thirty minutes and three failed attempts at creating a usable username and password later, we finally succeeded. I urged him to write down the website and his account information so that he wouldn't forget...then I thought better and wrote it down for him, explaining the process of getting to the website and logging in once more. He was a kind man, obviously trying to teach himself. I've seen him practice typing during his sessions in the past. He thanked me profusely for my time adding shyly, "I'm so dumb." That made my heart sink. I told him, "No, your not. You're fine. You're learning!" There's patience punched in my face.
When my mind shouts something like, READ THE DIRECTIONS, DAMNIT, in retrospect I always hope my face didn't display my thoughts, even if I feel my rattling nerves are warranted. I hold firmly to the notion that adults should at least try for self sufficiency.
Sundays are busy -- lots of people, lots of questions, and lots of helping lots of people. Thus, today, twenty minutes into my shift, I stopped for a moment to ask for patience...or for the day to go by quickly.
Not long after my appeal for divine intervention, I helped an older gentleman fill out a food stamp account online. I must admit, my patience was wearing thin as I had to help him navigate through the seemingly simple, user-friendly website step by step, repeating and re-explaining things like "zip code," "security question," and "username." Not your 'name', but what you want to use as your log-in name when you use this website....OK fine, you can use your name but you need some numbers in there too. Thirty minutes and three failed attempts at creating a usable username and password later, we finally succeeded. I urged him to write down the website and his account information so that he wouldn't forget...then I thought better and wrote it down for him, explaining the process of getting to the website and logging in once more. He was a kind man, obviously trying to teach himself. I've seen him practice typing during his sessions in the past. He thanked me profusely for my time adding shyly, "I'm so dumb." That made my heart sink. I told him, "No, your not. You're fine. You're learning!" There's patience punched in my face.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
my funny, flatulating husband
I unleashed a spell when I put the ring on his finger. Now that we're married, Eugenio is funny -- his comebacks are quick-witted and hilarious. I told him this revelation one morning.
"What do you mean? I've always been funny." No, usually your jokes fell flat. "But you always laughed." I was being nice, but now I laugh because you're actually funny. "No, through time you're sense of humor has become more sophisticated" he quipped back.
Other than his new found hilarity, not much has changed now that we are legally bound. I haven't changed my name and Eugenio still flatulates in his sleep. However, one night -- this is so sweet -- he almost got up to go to the restroom, then lied back down in defeat, pulling the covers tightly around his body. "I'm sorry. I was going to try to make it to the restroom, but it escaped," he said referring to the stench. That is love. He is so genuine and kind.
I love my funny, flatuating husband.
"What do you mean? I've always been funny." No, usually your jokes fell flat. "But you always laughed." I was being nice, but now I laugh because you're actually funny. "No, through time you're sense of humor has become more sophisticated" he quipped back.
Other than his new found hilarity, not much has changed now that we are legally bound. I haven't changed my name and Eugenio still flatulates in his sleep. However, one night -- this is so sweet -- he almost got up to go to the restroom, then lied back down in defeat, pulling the covers tightly around his body. "I'm sorry. I was going to try to make it to the restroom, but it escaped," he said referring to the stench. That is love. He is so genuine and kind.
I love my funny, flatuating husband.
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