Rated R

Happy Halloween!

So my dear bud mentioned to me that he finds my blog: “agonizing to read… without ending contemplating so many things.” That gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I replied that I’ve always gotten a kick from hiding and then startling people from behind. One ex b/f said that I almost caused him a heart attack…aww.

So only for those that really want be scared on this Hollow’s Eve, please read on.

$2.75

Huh? That’s right, costs $2.75 for a bottle of purified water.
Even though I was over an hour weathering the elements, watching for flying balls, I did NOT pay $2.75 for water that is taken from public resources to begin with!

"Pepsi has been forced to admit Aquafina brand bottled water is simply tap water." This water is taken from public water sources. Pressure is mounted to make Coke (Dasani) and Nestle admit this as well. At daily rate of 60 million plastic containers thrown away, and staggering use of barrels of oil to produce these plastic containers, those who are environmentally conscientious should look into the scam of this 100 billion annual global mkt. (source: www.democracynow.org).

Next time I have to watch for the stupid hole-in-one, at the annual golf tournament, I am taking my cooler and offering “my” bottled water to thirsty golfers for say $2.25, savings of .50 cents.

What’s so scary about that? When you pay almost $5.00 for a latte concoction? Well you see, water as well as the very air we breathe is of vital necessity, which are being monopolized, and unscrupulously exploited.

What is scary from my point of view traveling to 3rd world countries where the minimum wage is a few hundred dollars x month, yet the cost for bottled water is close to one US Dollar, how will the poor masses survive in event of chaos, massive droughts brought on by global warming, or the floods due to the confirmed melting of the glaciers?

A year ago, my sister told me she met a Colombian woman at a party who is some type of medium. She has made some predictions which have come to realize. She said in 10 years there will be total chaos, and very short supply of oil. This will break the economy at global scale. Ok, this is only a rumor, perhaps by a crazy lunatic; yet, consider the dire speculations of the effect of a war with Iran. The cost of crude oil barrel could sky rocket to $200 x barrel. Then will these crazy predictions make sense or not?

What happens if chaos ensues? Man’s survival mechanism will kick in over drive.

Per example: I read on “La Opinion” a few years ago of a boat of illegal immigrants originating from Dominican Republic to Florida, the boat was cast adrift due to storm. I don’t recall how long, but it got to the point the men attacked a lactating mother to ravish from her unwilling body, lactating milk! As well as drinking their own urine to survive.

The case of fishermen who were lost at sea for 3 months from the Pacific coast of Mexico, to end near Japan…”hinted” of cannibalism for survival from the original crew of 11 men.

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Or the fabulous story a chartered bus driver who told us during a Las Vegas trade show, how post Katrina, he had been hired to drive bus loads of people from LA. He said he witnessed one guy who asked to get off the bus to smoke a cig. When the driver refused, this man shot the driver at close range. As well as witnessing a large dog clenching the body of a human baby between its jaws.

You find this outrageous and fiction? Well consider that a major automobile manufacturer aware of malfunction on cars built in the 70’s which had caused deaths…figured it would be more cost effective to estimate a certain amount of deaths plus calculating the legal awards due to those claims; then to recall all the cars manufactured with that defect. They knew in a rear collision those compact cars would explode in a ball of fire, and settled for the lesser damage to their profits. Not considering the husbands, kids, mothers probably next in line to die due in part to this malfunction. It's only business.

Need more? How about the Tuskegee Syphilis experiment? The conspiracy rumors surrounding 9/11? The horrific 9/11 itself. Or the allegations by former insider of classified government documents allocating 10 million dollars in late 70's, to create a virus which would attack the immune system? The Holocaust? The genocide in Darfur? Want me to elaborate on the current wave of rapes perpetuated on 8 month old female babies in South Africa by warring tribes, while some of the women are gang raped by 20 men, and so brutally assaulted with knives and poles that they hemorrhage to death? Or the alleged pay off by Shell to the enemy in Vietnam for protection of their assets during the Vietnam War? If so, can you imagine what that money was eventually used for? The latter, from a good source who said to have seen written proof of this while stationed there.

Tonight, please don’t be scared of the midget tots wearing monster masks…or of ghosts for that matter. Be afraid of the avarice and nature of the beast - man.

Shelter V

October is winding down, everything must come to an end, and hopefully renew.

My vacation had come to an end, and I had to fly back to Mexico City to deal with work related stuff; yet, I was leaving - a changed person. I felt nostalgic to leave, as I think some of the people I came in contact with, perhaps did too.

Least I was a change from the monotony of their days spent in limbo.
Even while fed and sheltered, man does not live by bread alone. On the other hand, one of them joked that he was going to write a book someday, on how good they ate that week. Where did I hear that one can catch a man through his stomach?

I think I had gotten along well with most of the guys there, except for one or two. One in particular I caught looking at me once with a strange look in his eyes, I concluded it was a mocking look. I shrugged it without import, except I asked on of the guys there what the deal with that guy was. He gossiped (men do gossip), that he was a former Mara. Oh, that was all. I casually wondered if being injured had made him change. I then recalled the parable of the scorpion who rode on the back of a fox to cross a river. Even though he promised not to attack, he stung the fox. When asked why, he replied that was his nature.

This story is not about me, I am simply recalling the story of one remarkable woman, although slight in stature, is a Goliath of spirit. I think only her faith keeps her strong, and going with so little resources. Olga has risked her life on the road to travel to adjacent countries to take back people in her care back home in her old pick-up truck – by herself. The state run hospital does do emergency intervention, though post care is really not their forte. That is when Olga steps in. She’s seen patients left to die on a gurney, on the hallway of this horrid hospital. If not for her intervention, they would have been goners for sure.
She believes in miracles. Once there was a need for a man to get an operation which cost was about $400. Money she did not have. She went up to a man in the street and begged him to give her the money for this operation. Miraculously this total stranger, agreed to fork up the money.

I will not lie and say I was not glad to get in the taxi taking me to my journey home. Yet, I left humbled. My concept about money changed too, particularly how I perceive the value of $1,000 now. I used to be a Fashionista, now, I’d rather stay clear away from the malls, so as not to relapse into frivolous spending.

When ever I've felt awkward about approaching people for aid for the shelter, the vision of the faces of those men, so trusting and hopeful, flash in my mind, and I do it regardless of my discomfort. When it dawned on me that even people with means, did not care, I realized that at least I had to do something myself, no matter how trivial.

It’s quite amusing really. Though I am almost out of space.

In summary: Besides selling coke cans, chips & candy at work which I buy wholesale, once in a massive pro-immigrant demonstration in downtown L.A; I hand distributed 500 flyers with info of shelter. I also made my mom sell $300 worth of bottled water in front of City Hall that day.

God works in mysterious ways. Summer of 2006, I sold chocolates in a metro train to send money for water, when a violent collision occurred between the train and a compact car. My concern was not spilling my chocolates, and I kind of lost my balance. Eventually, when I get the insurance money ($500), will send this to send to shelter as well. Did I mention about the dipped cigars too?

Well, it has got to start somewhere.

Shelter IV

I had several opportunities to talk with Olga. I asked her after I accompanied her on her morning rounds to change the bandages of the people in her care, several questions – I was full of those! To abbreviate will say that she is self taught in the art of medicine. She prefers to use natural medicine to cure, and only resorts to conventional medicine when absolutely necessary, mainly due to lack of solvency. I asked her if seeing these people come in devastating conditions ever overwhelmed her. She said she took it all in stride, she was used to it. The only case that truly affected her, was the case of one in particular. She tried to save him, but it was impossible. He had been ambushed by the Maras and mutilated to pieces with machetes. Some people brought the boy here to die, basically his torso, severed from the coccyx down, as well as both his arms.

Since my purpose to be there was purely self-serving (spiritual growth), I constantly thought of how I could be of utility here. I felt that besides giving Olga’s mom a brake in the kitchen and elaborating varied and nutritious meals for the brood, I also could be of utility by giving each of them individual attention. I engaged them in conversation by asking about their stories, past, present, and how they perceived their future. It is a necessity after all to feel validated and appreciated, among those mundane needs such as sleep, and eating.
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One young man said he originated from Honduras. The most popular show there was “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” voiced in Spanish. While people there toiled 12 long arduous hours daily for $4 x day, they were dazzled by the opulence of Beverly Hills mansions with butlers and all the adornments of spectacular wealth. I figured they associate this type of wealth as synonymous with The United States. The illusion is potent, given how many people risks their lives to venture north.
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The collective feeling about the future seemed to be gloomy. Many shared the despair of not being able to resume lives back home, fear of how they would be received by their spouses, not to mention lack of opportunities in the work force as is, there being few and far in between for able people to begin with. They did not have much as this shelter, but they were safe, and being there gave them a respite from facing the hard-cold reality of their situation, and its consequences.

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The evenings we spent in conversation in the main patio to escape the overheated rooms, while one of the men there who had been for six years now, serenaded us with his guitar. One day he appeared and asked to be taken in. He was a victim of polio since a child, his legs had not developed and mobilized everywhere in a custom built reclining bike. He did not feel like a freak here. What I found most endearing about him, was his frank and joyous smile.

So I had developed a kind of routine. I alternated with clean-up duties, cooking, shopping, and escaping a few hours a day with the excuse to buy food, to the internet café next to the market. I wrote to everyone but my grandma regarding the dire situation here, and need for aid. As well as cooled off in the controlled climate. Above is a picture of then President Fox. Yeah, I did mail his administration lots of letters, what did I get in reply? Oh, Hacienda (IRS) is investigating me for evading customs duties on all those wheelchairs (SOB’s!). Well that picture is of Olga receiving National Human Rights prize in 2004 with some money given to her which she used to build this shelter. She had originally taken in a few people to her home. That was not sustainable for the avalanche of victims needing shelter.

On the 2ND day, I bought an electric hair cutting kit thinking this was obviously needed judging by the length of the hair of most of the guys. Only one was brave enough to volunteer to let me cut his hair. Actually I thought the uneven length on each side of his head, gave him character. Fortunately, one quiet young man stepped forward and told us he knew how to cut hair, and took over the task.

I realized 1st hand, how important it is for self esteem to feel useful and needed. By the way this kid cut hair with pride; the other played his guitar in the evenings, or the one that worked tirelessly to reupholster the dinning room chairs. We all need to feel validated for our efforts, and to feel appreciated.

Shelter III

There were two women and one young guy imploring for shelter that the night. Olga refused to get involved. The reason she had to have security, was that the Mexican authorities which were actually dressed in army attire, and patrolled in jeeps with shot guns at the ready, were only too eager to deport her patients to where ever they had come from. She did not want to incur more trouble than she already had.

I persuaded Olga to at least allow them get a bite to eat and quench their thirst. She agreed to that at least. They had been on the road from Nicaragua for several days, and looked worn out.

I told the women to follow me to the women’s quarters. In front of this room, there is a wall with a collage of the people that have passed through. Men and women, to whom fate had dealt a losing card. Before we went into the room, I made them stop and take a look at those pictures which covered most of the wall. I told them that there are no coincidences in life. They had come to that shelter to be forewarned of the horrible consequences of riding on "La Bestia" (the beast).

I gave them a change of clothes, new undies I had bought for myself, and toiletries before they showered.

During this time, I begged Olga to let them stay, it was so late already, and dark and dangerous outside. She finally relented, and sternly said only for one night, and they had to leave 1st thing in the morning.

When sharing the dinning hall with them, all the guys came to talk to them and attempted to dissuade them not to continue with that route. Not only did they have Mexican authorities to contend with, as well as the death train - there was a plague of “Maras,” also known as "Salvatruchas."

This is organized crime, gang-lowlifes, who thrive on extorting immigrant’s from what money they carry, or else killing them on the spot if they don’t get any money. “Those Mara are pure evil, It is rumored they have made a pact with Satan himself!" they cautioned.

Before bed, I made time to talk to the younger woman, she was about 24 yrs old. The other, her aunt was in mid 50's, and had lived a good stretch of life. I asked her: " What would you do if you could do anything?" She answered that her dream would be to set up a kiosk of fast food, and bring up her three kids well with that income. I inquired how much this would entail. She figured about 1K. I looked down at my sandaled feet, shocked that for the amount a person spends in a month, to drive a gas-guzzler, new SUV, this young woman could possible leave her three small children orphaned, as she was a single mom. Just $1,000 could have changed her life, and that of her kid's!

This reiterated the surreal image I absorbed of this God forsaken part of the world - that life is not worth a damn here!

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Perhaps destiny is already written, perhaps she had to follow that course. I could only send her off with a note, begging her to reconsider her ride on the death train - for the sake of her kids! I included in the envelope my telephone number, as well as enough for her to take a bus back home. Seems they had been robbed all everything in transit, money and change of clothes. In the note, I reiterated that coming north is not all it's painted to be. It is hard - very hard to cross now, as well as to live here illegally.

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What decision she made, I will not know. Hope she is OK, where ever she is.

Shelter II

The 1st night at the shelter, I slept alone in the women’s sleeping quarters. Since the train had stopped running temporarily those weeks; the flux of people at the shelter was relative small. There were about 26 guys then, although there had been as much as 50 people on occasion.

As tired as I was that day, I could not sleep. It was humid and oppressively hot!

I glimpsed on the metal bed frame, as well as on the bed sheet, what I assumed were old blood stains. These not had not been properly washed out, nor could be erased.

I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep; yet, what came to the forefront of my mind was, being enclosed in a casket and interred alive.

I tend to be very sensitive to vibes. I could well imagine the images of agony, and misery this old bed, and this very room had been witnesses' to. These like photographic negative prints taking vivid form and voice in an alternative plane of existence - this very room exists in. The walls seemed saturated with the wails, laments, and death of cherished dreams suffered post the physical, as well as the psychological trauma received. My own silent tears - adding to this collage.

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Much later, well into the following morning - sleep overtook me. Post heartfelt thanks above, I was lured to sleep by the peace of mind that I had all my limbs, and an American passport securely hidden.

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Although I had been offered the to be a guest at the house of my contact there - or any hotel in town given his connections; I declined. I needed to be there with an open mind and heart, if my objective is spiritual development.

I slept about four hours. I got ready for my day, then I asked the security guard where the nearest supermarket was. He told me that I could hitch a ride on the highway, from a micro ( van ) going into town. I was to ask where Chedraui is, which is the equivalent of a Wal Mart.

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I have a thing for fresh baked bread. Every morning (the week I was there), I woke up early to bring for us breakfast, of fresh baked bread, and other necessities. I took a taxi back the 15 miles or so, back to the shelter, as there was a need for lots, lots of liquids in water and soda form for about 30 + people.

After helping Olga's mom, who was in charge of cooking (and creating miracles from the little resources this place receives) to prepare and serve breakfast, I made a priority to clean up a bit. Mind you, I am a bit lazy, yet this was imperative! I filled a bucket with water and detergent, and scoured the bed, as well as any traces of blood from the door frames and walls of the dinning hall, where blood-saturated bandaged wounds had made contact with said surfaces. I cleaned as if one possessed, as if this would somehow erase the horror.

The humid weather, lack of any form of a/c, as well as the pestilence of medicine combined with raw wounds, made me realize purgatory on earth - does exist.

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After cleaning myself up again, I went into town with one of the guys there. He had only lost half of one leg, and hopped about without need for crutches. He was very upbeat and optimistic, always ready with a bright smile - I liked him immensely!

That afternoon was the 1st time he delved into surfing internet at the mall adjacent to the mega market. We also stopped to get a quick lunch at a restaurant similar to Dennys. He said he had never in his 22 yrs gone into such a fancy restaurant. He had always been on the outside, looking in.

I asked him to choose which material would look nice to reupholster the chairs from dinning hall (these looked from 1970’s), as well as a nice plastic cover for the miss matched tables. He chose a bright yellow design with pink and red flowers.

I gave him the task of reupholstering the chairs for him to make a little money. He was so psyched about the project; he didn’t even want to stop working to eat his dinner.

Sometime after dinner, I sat down with Olga to get to know her better. I asked why she did this. Must be noted, hers is the only shelter with long-term medical care for train victims, in a region strategically critical. This region marks the border of Mexico, with the rest of Latin America.

She said that several years ago, she had been diagnosed as terminally ill. She made a promise to God, that is she was cured, she would dedicate her life to helping those in need. Our conversation was interrupted by urgent pounding on the portals of the shelter.

Discovering North America

It is ironic that I arrived with my two brothers to USA in October.

Even though I was only 9 yrs old, I can still recall the anxiety of my little brothers who were 7, and 8 yrs old at the time. We were stuck for what seemed like eternity, in a cheap Tijuana motel room. Basically, we were at the mercy of the coyotes. The plan, from what I recall, was to cross as part of a family unit via a car late Sunday evening, like any other family.

I adopted a positive attitude by suppressing my own concerns and put on optimistic face to placate my crying little brother. I reassured him, everything would be OK! We just had to wait a little longer, and we would have a lot of fun when we reached Los Angeles. Ignorance is bliss. Who was I kidding? We had traveled just too far, for too long, and the money was almost too exhausted, for this to fall through.

When the car which transported us through immigration check point crossed, the three of us were seated in the back seat of a compact burgundy car. Thankfully, my brothers were both asleep. I wanted to see what the deal was. It was probably 10:00PM or so. The immigration agent on duty simply looked that the adult’s documents were in order - he was blond as I recall. I looked at him innocently, and offered him a little smile (think my talent to BS is innate).

I am so very thankful we were reunited unharmed with my sisters, grandma and Mom (which we had not seen in a year), in Los Angeles. Why we came here a long, long way from South America? My mom says she was told to come here in a dream by St. Francis Assisi, as well as making clean cut from my dad, post their separation.

I’ve never really told anyone why I was compelled to volunteer at an amputee shelter in Tapachula, Chiapas, Mexico during my vacation in April 2006. The above posted is the reason.

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Shelter

I volunteered at the shelter "Albergue Jesus el Buen Pastor del Pobre y el Migrante." on April 10, 2006.

What makes this shelter unique is that it is the only one in the border town of Mexico and Guatemala, which takes in gravely injured people, victims of the freight train going north. Most of the victims originate from Central America or beyond. Their intention is to cross the region of Mexico to the US border via cargo trains to avoid Mexican immigration. Some fall asleep, or simply lose grasp and the trains sucks them, dismembering them in an instant.

I had 1st read of the shelter through a magazine. I contacted the director and creator of this shelter, Mrs. Olga Sanchez Martinez through my local contact in Tapachula, Chiapas. She was recipient of The National Commission for Human Rights in January 2004 given to her by then President Fox. Even so, when it comes to procuring medicine, blood, food, prosthetics, she is basically on her own, and Divine providence, as they have no official funding.

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I requested if I could stay at the shelter for the week I was in vacation, and she agreed. I tried to take with me as much as I could sensibly carry on board. I managed to get 5 wheelchairs donated through retirement homes, and secured waiver from airline to take these without extra charge. Also took three suitcases filled with donated stuff. The happy faces of these guys, was worth the effort and hassle. It was like Christmas for them. Funny how what one does not value, can mean so much to those that have naught – not even limbs. But dreams still intact they do have. I was humbled to witness that even if the body is broken, the spirit can be unbreakable.

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When I arrived on a Monday, I found the situation there dismal to say the least. Lack of purified drinking water, sporadic access to water from well, basic staple of food being coffee, beans, and tortillas, no TV, not enough eating utensils, no a/c in sweltering weather.

Some men where prostrated in diapers, others in limbo, since they were waiting for prosthetics to resume their lives back home.

The 1st day there, I encountered that there was no gas to cook with. I took a taxi with one of the guys and we ventured into the town to get gas for dinner. They did not have a gas tank either that day; it was to be delivered the next day. Our priority was to get gas tank and get it filled for that day. We walked trough various shops, outdoor markets, and could not find one. Eventually we came to a lady who had one, and I tried to bargain with her to lower the price, explaining who it was for etc. She wouldn’t budge, and told me “Best if you go somewhere else, that is the price.” Briefly, I had a moment of déjà vu.

Prior to leaving for my trip, I had read from a book which occasionally I browse through. I opened to a page at random. The paragraph which stood out in my memory was to the effect of: “for He knew what resided in man’s heart.” When I took a good look at that hardened woman, I knew what this meant. I did not want to deal with her. We left and ordered pizzas instead.

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The trip was not a total loss. I did get a bargain price on an old color TV. It was a joyous occasion, and I felt privileged to have been part of that celebration. That evening jokes, laughter, stories, camaraderie, pizza, and the novelty of the used TV, was thoroughly enjoyed.

Joke sent by my sister

"Mr. Wallace, was living the last of his life in a nursing home.
One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed.
Nurse Tracy asked if there was anything wrong,
"Yes, Nurse Tracy ," said Mr. Wallace,
"My Private Part died today, and I am very sad.
"Knowing her patients were forgetful and sometimes a little crazy, she replied, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Wallace, please accept my condolences.
"The following day, Mr. Wallace was walking down the hall with his Private Part hanging out his pajamas.
He met Nurse Tracy. "Mr.Wallace, "she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall like that.
Please put your Private Part back inside your pajamas.
"But, Nurse Tracy," replied Mr. Wallace, "I told you yesterday that my Private Part died.
Yes, you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your pajamas?
"(You gotta love this ....)
Well, he replied, "Today's the viewing."

~unknown author

Penance

This morning I tried to zip up my tube skirt, and it dawned on me, my bunt cake had caught up with me.
Last Sunday, I baked a cake with raisins, cocoa, and spoon full of crunchy peanut butter, to mix it all in a lumpy batter. This was the breakfast, lunch, and dinner of my hibernation day.

Today, to make amends, I parked the car in Metro train station and took the train and bus to work. Immediately I was reminded why I had stopped taking public transportation, for some time now.
Although there were a few empty seats, a man chose to stand right in front of me. Was it necessary I witness up close his stained khaki pants, discolored stripped shirt (extended my his expansive mid section), and his ugly tie which did not match his attire? I was tempted to suggest he stop at the downtown thrift shop for a change of wardrobe. I was tempted to tell him lots more, given that his crotch was in my personal space.

While sitting in the bus I transferred to, I was entranced by a woman who had tattooed the upper portion of her lips upwards; the sharp lines almost touched her nostrils. This tattoo resembled the Joker in Batman, which Jack Nicholson played. (I’m not kidding!).

This is the 1st time I took bus to new location in Commerce. I exited at wrong stop. Inhaling deep breaths of smog expelled by the massive trucks wheezing by, I made the interminable trek to my destination (about a mile).

My throat was arid, the sun pitiless, my lips parched; and my tongue felt like sand paper. There was no where to buy a soda, or bottle of water in this industrial area. To see a lunch truck, would have been like a mirage of a waterfall in the desert.
Eventually I arrived, my tongue hanging out, with a sheen of perspiration covering my lower back, and valley of my cleavage.

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Need to post something which I found disturbing. While paying for my dinner at a fast food place, a young girl with elaborate make-up, could not give me the accurate change. I told her the amount she needed to give me, her manager corroborated the amount as well. Seems, I had thrown her off, when I gave her coins as well as the $10 bill. If these are our future care givers, and leaders - God help us.

Now why would I ever repeat this public transport experience? Well, just so happens if things are challenging, they tend to peak my interest. I also read somewhere that the destination is not so much the objective as the journey itself.

I plan to get a monthly bus pass, and take it 3 x per week

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"We deem those happy

who from the experience of life

have learned to bear its ills

without being overcome by them."

~ Carl Jung

Blow Me

The only thing worst than having my short, A-cut dress lifted by the non-subtle wind, while standing at a major intersection, is: having one of the guys at work thank me for flashing my butt – in front of my boss. Somehow I was not compelled to say “you’re welcome.” What came to mind is the common British expression: “Blow me!”

It’s ironic this morning I got this e-mail from my bud Paolo Coelho (kidding):

“Dance to the point of exhaustion, like mountain-climbers scaling some sacred peak. Dance until, out of breath, our organism can receive oxygen in a way that it is not used to, and this ends up making us lose our identity, our relation with space and time………When we become adults, and when we grow old, we need to go on dancing. The rhythm changes, but music is part of life, and dancing is the consequence of letting this rhythm come inside us.” ~ "Warrior of the Light, a http://www.paulocoelho.com.br/ publication." www.warriorofthelight.com

Just so happens that Tuesday, I felt very awkward when I went into a new aerobic class. This was a merengue dance class, its super fast rhythm makes one shake the booty at 50MPH.
I just felt self-conscious, as it's not my style to be so…uninhibited in public (without a drink first). Turns out it was so much fun and the music so contagious, that I decided to get a merengue CD to work out at home with.

I know I have it in me (really deep inside) to be uninhibited, just depends with whom.

Signs

I seldom have the time to devour the books I check out from the library.
There are not enough hours crammed into a day - without being conscious of its passage - the days blur into weeks, those into months - these seeming to evaporate.

Before you know it, Macys is bombarding in rapid succession, obnoxious ads conditioning the audience to the need to shop there this weekend (and every weekend as well).

The time to read a book I needed to read was created for me today.
I don’t know why I didn’t see the rock which blew a tire out - which almost caused an accident. Likewise when I paid no attention to entering the men’s restroom in a restaurant (clued by the urinals).

After I made the call to roadside assistance, and being told I had to wait 45 minutes, I sat on the curb and read from: “The Essence of Zen.” The contents of this book, coupled with the warm caress of the sun on my bare arms and back, did not take long to lure my spirit from the pits of despair. I was transported to a space of soothing calm - much like when a frightened babe is soothed, when gathered by loving arms.

My moment of quite contemplation was interrupted by a white truck which parked behind my car; its driver descended and inquired if I need help with the flat (Duh!). Actually, the spare tire and all its accessories were out in display. I had attempted to do it myself, yet could not budge the wheel lugs. Doing his Samaritan deed for the day, he mentioned something about karma. I just kept quiet, thankful to be on the receiving end this day.

I felt compelled this afternoon to go to Olvera Street. There seemed lots of activity for upcoming day of the dead. Yet I was restless, and I paid no heed to the tourists and activities to make my way to the little chapel, which was almost deserted.

I just sat there for a while. Suddenly - with heartfelt earnest - I prayed (actually asked), to please be cured from this addiction to someone, which caused me so much heartache. I also prayed for protection from my worst enemy and critic (myself). Then I asked that He please send His angels to guide and protect me as well. When finished with all my requests…I felt a formidable wave of emotion rise within me. So intense was this emotion, that it caused bodily tremors, as my face contoured into a grimace from which a flood of tears expelled. These tears bathed my cheeks, my neck, and ran in rivulets to converge in the cleft of my cleavage.

These were not tears of pain and sorrow - no way! These were purging tears! I left that chapel with an immense sense of well-being, and gratitude. Much like that of coming home after a long and arduous journey, to be welcomed with loving arms by my Father.

There were contradicting signs today. The dejected faces of vendors in downtown shops... the glaring headline of The Daily Herald, which read: “HELL ON EARTH.” ...The young man I almost bumped into when I left the gym. He was hunched over, his crippled legs much shorter than the rest of his body, who hobbled like a chimpanzee.... The gigantic banner outside the gym promoting loft space: “IMAGINE A NEW LIFESTYLE…A NEW LIFE”.... The waxing gibbous moon as yellow and delectable, as a chunk of cheddar cheese.

All signs insinuate, I have lots to be grateful for.

==============================================

Quote of the day:
“When man sits,
then the coarse passions subside and
The luminous mind arises in awareness:
Thus consciousness is illuminated.”

~ Meister Eckhart

What Makes a Winner

I was witness to this last Saturday.

For a fund raiser chili cook off contest, I was in charge of generating traffic to our chili booth, and to motivate the attendants to vote for our chili as the best.

Honestly, I didn’t taste the chili or the competing ones, as I don’t eat ground beef (yuck!), yet I was willing to exploit the herd mentality of the masses - for a good cause.
I amped the charm and worked the crowd, energetically assuring them with a sweet smile, that ours was: “The Very Best” chili! While I was diverging traffic to our booth, the competing booth across from us was looking at me with eyes like daggers (if looks could kill), as the crowd, as expected congregated at our booth – eager to taste the best chili in town.

The man in charge of cooking the chili and competing is really a cool guy. He has never won 1st place in the cook off, yet he always cooks every year gallons of chili, while maintaining that he doesn’t mind if he wins or not. He has a hard working and supporting wife, and a great teen; both girls served the chili to hundreds of people. He also volunteers every year, to construct housing in a village in northen Mexico, as well as made it possible through his neighbor to present the need to build water wells in rural villages in Asia, both projects were sponsored through our club.

He may not be the sexy guy he was 20 years ago, he may be just an average Joe, yet to me - he is already a winner!

As for me, I had the satisfaction of contributing my efforts, of being recipient of hugs galore from my peeps, and of being told: “Rose, you are a real trouper!” Before I left one also said to me: “You are a true ******** ” (not wise to mix my good girl, with my bad girl persona).
I smiled with the satisfaction of knowing, that to put “Service above Self” is something I genuinely enjoy doing, and is much bigger than just my own personal woes.

===================================================

"Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips. "~Khalil Gibran

Think About It

"People we don't care about are incapable of wounding us as deeply as those we love."


I think feeling is over rated.

Correction

The title of the movie I checked out from library is: “A Year Without Love.”

Well what can I say, I was not wearing my reading glasses. Actually, they had covered part of title with an adhesive label.

Eyes can play tricks on one, more so if encouraged by the subconscious. For instance, I make out two lovers tenderly embraced of the cloud behind the mermaid’s left elbow, also the head of a penis on her right, next to her fallen dress strap. Someone very nice sent me this picture, after learning I am a Pisces. The mermaid is very pretty, although I do feel kindred to a little fish which is pulled in opposite directions.

The ocean seems so vast and frigid. Sometimes, I feel so miniscule when I swim near the big sharks. These, for their formidable size, really are less then grandiose when one glimpses particles of flesh dangling from their teeth. Even if I’m dwarfed by these sharks - I am not impressed; their eyes are dull and soulless. I intuitively know I don’t have the killer instinct these creatures possess to survive by any means possible.
I may be diminutive in size, yet I am not insignificant – I have a big heart! I swam past a glass bottle someone dropped carelessly into the ocean, from which I could see a reflection of myself. I have a unique color pattern, therefore I must be special!

One day little fish, you will also achieve your dreams, but you will do it just like the song that played from the boat anchored the other day: “I did it my way…!”

For all the sea creatures in the sea, I swim alone. How I wish I could stop obsessing about one fish in particular. Yet his indifference should not turn you off from fish kind. There are plenty of other nice fish in the sea. Remember it’s almost the end of the year. Wouldn’t it be nice to greet the New Year locking lips with a nice fish? To anxiously seek the umbrella of a big coral reef for a secluded spot where we can show our mutual appreciation?

Yes the ocean is vast, and can be tempestuous, yet it is also amazing - as life itself!

Don’t give up little fish.

What to Choose?

So I am at the library now returning DVD's, and what do I find? An Argentinian film titled: " A Year Without Sex," The one with deleted scenes mind you. Story about : "A young writer in the process of writing his personal diary....in the search for the love of his life. He places personal ads in magazines.....and falls in love with some people who introduce him to sadomasochistic sexual practices....by exploring the relationship between pain and desire, he finds a way to eroticize his pain and tame the monster lurking within him."

Appalling and shocking I tell you! This is easily accesible for kids to see? I mean at least the contents of DVD cover is visible!

Now which to choose? "On Golden Pond," or this one?

Just Let Me Be

For lunch, I ate a portion of left-over spaghetti and veggies I cooked on Sunday. My stomach is not feeling good. Oh my.

I hope I don’t get a ticket in the mail anytime soon. I think I partially passed a red light in one of the intersections with those cams; those traffic cameras, which seem to have sprout everywhere now.

Yesterday, I took detour on Pico Blvd. to get to LACMA. I stopped at a Salvadorian bakery to get fresh bread to eat with my avocado. There was simply too much good stuff there. The sights and aroma drifting from the streaming trays assaulted my senses. My eyes were as big as saucers, as they surveyed the feast before me. The tamales wrapped in banana tree leaves, the flan which looked simply decadent, bathed in a coat of syrup. I decided to get one of everything – what the heck.
The line took quite a while, as the gentleman before me ordered multiple bags of goodies. His medium frame valiantly supported close to 400 lbs., I had ample time to reflect on my previous choice and settled for one plain, and one cheese filled bread – and a diet coke.

While I listened to the transactions taking place, I was momentarily taken back to my travels to Honduras, El Salvador, Costa Rica, the accent of the people there, as well as the food and aromas took me there. My reverie was rudely interrupted by a huge glaring banner offering home sales, buy, or refinancing, smack in the middle of the bakery.

This ticked me off, though not as much as when I went to buy my avocado. I drove into the market ramp, and I saw a woman embracing a note pad at the entrance. As expected, she met me with a big smile as I approached the market entry with a cheerful good morning. I said hello and walked past her. On my way out there she was again, right in front of me asking me if I was interested in purchasing burial space. I must have looked at her kind of peculiar, because she hurriedly backed away. Perhaps it was due to my frog eyes? I almost laughed out loud and refrained from saying:”Lady, do you think I could care less about burial real estate? I only came here for one avocado, and my focus now is the destination of my soul, not of my cadaver."

I know she just needs to pay her rent, yet there must be a line as to what is appropriate. This episode reminded me of the time we were at my dad’s funeral, (basically numb), and a man in a dark suit approached us. He politely introduced himself, then proceeded to inquire if we were interested in purchasing burial plots from him.

Oil on Canvas

Today while visiting the Dali exhibit at LACMA, I was inspired by one of his miniature pieces titled: “Brothel” to do something similar in concept, though bit more elaborate titled: “Craig Hotel.” I would need a large canvas to meticulously detail voyeuristic look inside this particular hotel where singles meet for what one would expect the outcome is: ‘happily ever after.’

The lobby would lead to a full bar serving shots of confidence, and sex appeal. These intended to dissipate the self-doubts of not measuring up. The lighting would be dim, coupled with the liquor and sexy rhythms, to foster an ambiance of fantasy and hedonism.
Couples in pose of laughter are seated at the bar, their eyes reflecting curiosity blended with a silent internal plead: “please like me - I crave to feel human touch!”
Obviously, a giant clock would be conspicuous, omen of the biological time clock ticking away. There is also an ATM machine in case your date is in need of roses, as well as a roulette table, where one can play high stake games.

The adjacent women’s restroom would feature a powder room where some women reapply face powder in vain effort to camouflage the inexorable passage of time, or any glaring flaws.
For other women, an extra dash of fancy perfume is sprayed in an effort to adorn themselves and downplay the despairing loneliness, bitterness, or perhaps avarice reverberating just beneath the surface.
Others, check their impeccable white teeth reflected in the mirror, the veneers perfectly covering the sharp fangs, those used to suck blood, life, and money.
One woman inserts a hand in her bra to readjust an errant nipple pointing south, encased in her industrial type full body girdle, the one that promised to make her look 2 sizes slimmer. Another woman admires her figure on the mirror, loving the way the Victoria’s Secret padded bra fills her sweater, postponing the awkward moment when her date will try to feel her up and encounter the gel-filled cutlets padding the brassiere (perhaps he will be too drunk to care).

Before we join the lovers upstairs, let’s proceed to the exterior of this hotel. There is a man inside his parked car removing a ring from his left hand. The lake which this hotel faces, is covered with a thin sheet of ice, too precarious to walk on; just one false move and one could fall into the deep clutches of torment and misery. On a corner of this canvas, one can make out two female dogs fighting over a bone (prize).

As to the windows looking into the lovers enjoying their tryst?
Well, just use your imagination! There is no more space on this page to depict the various sexual games, positions, and depravities two people can play - in the relentless pursuit of love.

Mr. Goodbar

It feels very cozy to be wrapped around my comfort blanket right now, sort of like burrito style. This arrangement also gives support to my boobies as well. I’m debating whether to shower or not…as I am playing hooky today. For me, calling in sick is a way to show I own my time; I delude myself that I don’t work for a living. I live, and work as it happens to be an occasional necessity to pay for bills, and stuff. Besides, I deal with some of my work duties through e-mails and Nextel radio, so technically I work where ever I am (have had critical conversations while sitting on a toilet.).

This weather fits my mood; I am gloomy. Actually, I had a crying fest last night, and now I resemble a frog. Wait! I got an idea just now! I will take long hot shower, eat at a nice bakery (Portos in Glendale), all the carbs I should sensible consume, or least all that people won’t hawk at in shock. Then I will see the Dali exhibition at LACMA. Why not on a weekend? I dislike big crowds.

Change of Routine

“Come on, let’s do something different this week!” I pleaded.
"Pick a day of this week, I will get a daily bus pass, and take the metro and MTA bus. After work, we can meet for dinner at Clifton’s Cafeteria on 7Th and Broadway; I love this place! They have not redecorated it since its opening in 1931. Reason for this is, I want to go into a lounge bar I saw on 5th and Spring last week, when I went on the “art-walk.” This lounge is situated on the ground floor of the Alexandria Hotel, which used to be my place of residence one time.”
- “You lived in a hotel near skid row?”
- “Was only for the couple of months I left home when I was sixteen."
- “What prompted you to leave home, how did you make it?"
- "It was the very last day of school for summer break. My best friend then, mentioned she was leaving home, and invited me to join her. She complained her parents mistreated her. I think I simply went along for the experience, as well as to protect her. I got a job tending a Latin bar on San Fernando Rd., She got a short term job, but landed a boyfriend who took care of her.
- “You were 16 and working in a bar? Bull shit!”
- "No, really! They did not ask me for ID, or anything. Had they, I could have easily procured those from Mc Arthur Park . It was easy money, I just served beer behind the counter, and the cash pay was good. Anyway, getting back to the lounge, this part of town is totally renovated, was used to be a seedy bar, is now a lounge with live, eclectic music. "
- “So, was living near skid row all you dreamed of, and more? Why the sentimental attachment for this bum hotel anyway?”
- "You don’t understand. My very 1st kiss was outside when a couple of guys gave us a ride. It was a very sweet kiss. "
- “Never been kissed by 16? Although working at a bar? Kind of hard to believe.”
- “I had just turned 16 a few months earlier, and going to all girls Catholic school, as well a as living a sheltered life is not conductive to embracing “La Vida loca.”
- “So where’s your so called best friend now?”
- "I lost track of her a long time ago. We drifted apart after she shacked up with her boyfriend, who was a drug dealer. Not the dime bag type either. The type with connections to Sinaloa, and Colombia. I stayed away from her then. It was her choice, besides before we left home, she had already confessed she wasn’t a virgin anyway. I decided to stay until mid August. I loved my independence, and self-reliance."
- “So the topic is virginity, did you lose it then? During your escapade, in a bar?”
- "Nope. I always have a method to my madness. When I did, I was 20. I decided I was too old not to find out what the deal was. During that time I was working evenings as a hostess in a restaurant. I chose my candidate based on a sense of altruism in fact. He was a very shy cook; he has a glass eye, and wore thick coke-rim eyeglasses, which only highlighted his flaw. His grew his mustache long, so that he resembled Pancho Villa."
- “I think you make these things up. Anyway, was it everything you expected it to be?”
- “I’ve told you, life is stranger than fiction! As to my 1st experience, let’s just say that if the blind asks directions from a deaf-mute, the nuance of communication may go astray."

Heightened Senses

I find it peculiar that the longer I am submerged in my hermit zone; the lines between the imaginary and reality become pronouncedly blurred. I accept I have a ghostly visitor who occasionally bestows a kiss on my lips.
I am developing a dialogue with my Self; although this has created a compulsive behavior disorder. I am compelled on occasion to jot down the torrent of ideas that pop up. I bought several mini note pads to carry with me.

I consciously walk expecting to see signs; I do this by heightening my senses. I use my peripheral vision as well as meticulously study of things, objects, people, color and shadows.
I thoroughly enjoy the food I eat, I close my eyes to better savor the sweet juice, taste, and scent of a fresh, succulent orange.
I have moved the dial station from pop, to classical as well as eclectic music. I find stations like 89.9 FM is best suited to my liking in this moment of introspection.

As to sense of touch? This, I do crave – more than chocolate. Just how much, I was aware of yesterday. While I pulled my wallet out of my jeans, several quarters fell out onto the tiled floor of the library. While I was attempting to retrieve these, I saw one of the fire fighters, who were there for some lady who was feeling ill, walk up to me. He courteously picked up a coin and for a moment I wondered if he was going to drop the quarter on my hand, or perhaps make contact with my hand. I hoped that he would - I craved that he would. He did, and it was electrifying. This brief contact soothed my senses for the rest of the day, causing me to smile when I left.

This Saturday, the various signs I had seen convoluted. On a paper place mat from a restaurant, I was compelled to draw the rough draft for my next project. It’s going to kick ass, at the very least, may persuade people to observe and perhaps be jolted out of their complacent stupor.

I think I will change the description of my occupation, to that of a gadfly.

Women on the Edge of Hysteria

“I think I was possessed” she said.

I thought this was hilarious actually. My cousin detailed a major fight she had with her husband. For once, she lost control and retaliated to the insidious, yet constant little put downs, her husband bestowed on her all these years. She described the scene as that of a woman possessed by another entity. She pulled his hair, almost picking him up bodily from the roots, then proceeded to throw his two suitcases down the stairs for these to gather momentum, and beat his arrival to the ground floor of their condo.
I laughed so hard, simply because this is so out of character for her. She is a relic from the past. She was raised by her straight-laced grandmother, a lady who wore pearls all the time, and was related to Lima’s high society. Unfortunately for her, on the poor side - impeccable manners are simply the norm.

"Don’t berate yourself," I counseled. After all, this is mild compared to the time I chased my brother in law outside while I wielded a frying pan. The soothing tone of my voice had been enough to make him run. I was careful to dent the frying pan only on the tires of his car; this, as he was trying to make his escape by hastily getting into the haven of his vehicle. This was simply an elaborate show; I was not going to get in debt for denting his junky car.

See there is a method to my madness. Like those times I meet inconsiderate drivers on the road? I automatically scan the mirrors for any black and white cars. Or those times when the line to pay is too long or slow? I ask politely, yet with an authoritative tone as to whereabouts of management. I am simply trying to give them tips on how to give better service to (me), their customers.

I love freedom of expression.

Have and Have Nots

It is pouring outside now. Although I must say I love the rain when it is in a humid, tropical climate. The warm torrential rain leaves a pungent smell of rich soil which permeates the air; and a bright rainbow appears reminding me life can be magical at times.

I imagine there is no sense of magic in the air when it rains in the pavement jungle of Los Angeles. At least, not for the homeless people which habitat in makeshift card box shelters. These are incongruously set up, just a few blocks away from lofty lofts, of the artist community in Downtown Los Angeles.

This Thursday, was the 1st time I visited the monthly Art-Walk, which takes place every 2ND Thursday. This open house event showcases the art galleries clustered between 4Th and 5Th on Main Street.

Allow me to summarize: “what the….?”

I have a nagging thought which re-appeared when I meticulously observed a collage of vaginas (not painted) rather cut and pasted from a magazine onto a painting of a flower bush.
My nagging suspicion is that there is an epidemic of: “The Emperor’s New Clothes” syndrome. After all, the most populated gallery is on the corner of 5th and Main, which displayed huge canvases going for say $15K, of simply black oil on canvas. Abstract art at it’s minimal.

Coincidentally, I read on last Sunday's issue of The L.A Times, an article on how LAPD is using strong arm tactics to clear this zone from the undesirables. The article alleged one homeless woman was so seriously beaten, she died.
In Friday's issue of "Hoy," I read that European importers will launch an investigation on allegations of labor abuse of cane field laborers in Brazil. The demand for ethanol, exceeds the supply. Due to the increase demand, these laborers must meet increased quota daily, or be terminated. They work like animals six days a week, for a pittance, while a few people in Brazil "are making gold of sugar canes." This is not only back-breaking labor, it is dangerous as well. They work through fields which have been burnt to control rats, and make the work easier, while this affects their breathing. One laborer was quoted: “We end the long days in acute physical pain.”

If one observes scrupulously, one may see the cracks in the ceiling.

If the art does not move me somehow, I can’t justify its inherent value. If it does touch my psyche, or my soul, I will sit before it and contemplated it for a long time, lost in reverie.
In the case of a certain bronze sculpture, I forfeited eating three decent meals a day, took the Mexico City Metro, and moved from a decent hotel, to a cheap one. No sacrifice was too small to acquire this 1/10 piece by an artist, who I think is brilliant - yet very dark.

The sculpture simply spoke to me.

There's No Remedy

Free access to culture is super cool.

Yesterday, since I was already at the public library, I browsed through their DVD collection.
There I found a gem of a movie titled: “Camila.” The synopsis of this Argentine production evolves around the illicit love affair between a high society young woman, and the local priest set in 1847 Buenos Aires.
They valiantly tried to fight their profound love, while their eyes devoured each other. The scene of their 1st kiss evokes such longing - veritably tangible - making the surrender to the forbidden kiss – absolutely exquisite - and ultimately, so much sweeter.
This is a beautiful movie, even if the final outcome is heartbreaking. The score of this film still haunts me; this melody plays on the strings of the heart. Just listening to it, will bring tears to my eyes, evoking the all-consuming passion, a love so strong as to be emblematized in these words: “I die of love.”

When one is denied the object of his or her affection, can that be cause to develop dormant, stalker-type tendencies? Does “absence make the heart grow fonder?” That maybe a cliche, yet I have to agree with it somewhat.
I imagine that if I worked at the counter of the dry cleaner where the object of my affection dropped his clothes to be cleaned, I’d sniff his scent imbued on his shirts, passionately embracing these to my breasts.
If I was a waitress, and he came to drink coffee and smoke a cigarette on the outside tables, I’d save the cigarette butt and wrap my lips around it, as well as drink off his coffee cup, the leftover coffee. Softly putting my lips where his had been.
If I was a hairdresser, and he came to get a hair cut, I’d wear a push-up bra, and a low cut top (in your face cleavage). I’d also sneak a soft caress to his cheek - almost imperceptible. Just being near him, would make me dizzy with desire, all the while I’d drink him in with my eyes.
Think next time, I will check out an educational DVD….sigh.

Memories

It is perfectly OK - really! It’s only happened two times in my life that way. You see, for me it’s different, as well as for lots of women - if not the majority of us.
I think, this is rooted way back to when I was about six or seven years old. I mean, I came here when I was nine, lapsed one year without seeing my sisters, so yeah. I must have been six to seven years old.

-“What happened exactly?” he asked.

- The only vivid memory I have, is of the sunlight filtering through the sun roof, it was late afternoon, perhaps 3:00 PM. My sisters were out still. Hmm...maybe I was younger then six, not yet in school. Hmmm... Anyway, I played a little game with the handyman.

-“What sort of game, and what did he look like, do you remember?”

- As I was saying before you interrupted my reverie, it was afternoon; the air was filled with dust particles, these reflected through the sunlight. Think they were remodeling the house. Anyway, he picked me up, and sat me on the dinning room table. Oh…wait! What did he look like? He was ugly, probably resembled the innkeeper of hell. His saliva was profuse, it gathered around the corners of his mouth, creating a cluster of bubbles, which resembled foam. In retrospect, his beady eyes had a certain lewdness about them. He was about forty-eight years old.

You know, this reminds me of a line in the movie “Romance.” This not very good-looking man seduces this pretty girl into the realm of S&M, he tells her: “Beauty is drawn like a magnet to ugliness.”

- “Get to the point! What exactly did this handyman do to you that deters you from achieving vaginal orgasms?”

- I’m getting there! Sheesh. Anyway, this particular afternoon, he told me we were going to play a game, and not to tell anyone. See my freaking curiosity always does me in. Like when I was about five yrs old and burnt my left hand when it overturned a pot of boiling water. I was scourging the kitchen for something to eat. Or when I was about six and decided to explore the world on my own. That was exhilarating until it became dark, and I was hungry and I started crying …

- “OMG! Get to the point already!”

- Well, let me! I was curious as to what game it was. He started by sliding his hand over my legs, under my cute sundress, then…then he insinuated his hand between my legs. Not like all the way in. I must say that I let him do that for a little while, because I rather liked the sensations generated from “down there.”
-

“Didn’t you tell your mom or someone?”

- No, I never told anyone until a few years ago.

- “Did it go beyond him touching your…that time?”

- Well, he never varied beyond doing that, yet I let him a few more times. I thought it was ‘our’ special game. What an asso.

- “Oh, I’m sorry this happened to you. Yet, how can this deter you from vaginal orgasms, look how many women play with vibrators, means they do enjoy the penetration.”

- Look, 1st of all, I never said I don’t enjoy penetration. All I am saying is, be it from associating manual touching of my clitoris with pleasure, and surely this generates orgasms (multiple times even), I don’t need the penetration to have a good time – really. Did you know the clitoris has eight million nerve endings? Twice those of the head of the penis; it's logical I would derive the most pleasure from this diamond shaped bud. Besides, I never play with those “toys.” I harbor the theory that those “toys” really desensitize, as well as stretch women, enough so as to diminish enjoyment of a real man.

- “Bull shit, then how come the adult toy industry generates billions annually in revenues?”

- Oh I’m sure you might enjoy a mechanical vagina, vs. your gym sock; I just don’t mess with those. My only claim to ever going into an adult store is…when I went with a friend to a shop on Van Nuys Blvd. She bought a vibrator, and I bought a pair on Ben Wah balls.

- “Why did you get balls?” He asked while frowning.

- Well, these little golden balls tone the vagina muscles. You see one must clench those muscles tightly, and continuously in order for these to stay in, they even stimulate a little. Although I must warm you, there may be a look of perplexity on witnesses’ faces, if one of these balls slip out, making a loud thud while they bounce on the concrete.

Please don’t feel bad....see, it’s ok.

I'm Still Smiling ; )

That felt sooo darn good! It had been quite a while since you’ve done me…Mmmmm... I feel free of stress as well, loose limbed and sensual - although, I am a bit exhausted too. I think I will sleep like a baby tonight. Thank you so much!

I was just reminiscing about our time together this evening, when my body shook like an eight point seismic quake on the Richter scale. My body undulated like a snake, molding itself to your form and hanging on for dear life. My body is aching too, (in the good way ).
You were kind of rough with me ( secretly, I love it). It was worth repeating it all over again. (stretching).

Although I’d love to take you home with me, I just can’t justify paying 3K for you. See you next time I visit The Sharper Image.

My Confession

- “How long has it been since your last confession?” Asked the anonymous priest shielded from my view by the mesh partition.
- I have not been to confession in about two years father.
- “When was the last time you attended Mass?” he asked.
- Not since last Easter Sunday, and I thought it was interminable, sort of like penance – I didn’t stay for the whole mass.
- “Why didn’t you stay for the whole Mass? If you don’t stay until the final blessing, than it is not valid.” He said.
- I know father, just my heart is not in it, as it was when I was a child. My faith is as strong as ever. With every fiber of my being and soul, I have unbreakable faith in God, Jesus, The Virgin of Guadalupe, and a cluster of Saints. Particularly St. Martin de Porras. I walk anywhere in the world with the calmness and assurance I am protected by Him. However, I just feel the Church’s inflexible Dogma, is not congruent with today’s world. How can the Church ban condom use and birth control, when the world is running out of resources, and cannot contain explosive population growth? When there is world-wide epidemic of aids, and unwanted kids are exploited as slave workers in 3rd world countries; these forced at very young age, to hustle for money, as if to justify their very existence! Also, if the soul does not have gender, how come women are not allowed to be Priests? The head of the Episcopal Church is a woman. She is very wise – that cannot be denied. If studies reflect that women owned businesses’ flourish due to the personal touch, and effort of these women, why can’t the Catholic Church offer equal opportunity employment to women? The refusal to amend the vow of celibacy is perplexing. Especially in light of the sex abuse acts perpetuated by priests on children, the most vulnerable members of our society - and in the hands of whom we trust the most! By the way, I do not contribute money to the Church anymore, knowing this might be used to fund those court settlements!

Pause

- I’m sorry, as I was saying I am here to confess my sins.
- “Which are?" he asked.
- I have stolen. I took $5 to pay the lunch truck, this from funds I raise at the office selling soft drinks from my bar fridge. Funds are destined to have drinking water delivered to a shelter in Chiapas. See the lunch truck does not accept Visa.
- “You should repay that $5. Though it is very nice that you help the shelter.” He said.
- Yes, though I feel kind of bad, that to raise funds for the shelter, I also tempted an ex…hmm...friend - to buy personally soaked cigars from me. It was for a good cause after all. He paid $30 each.
- “Personally soaked cigars? I don’t understand, is there anything else you want to confess?” he inquired.
- Yes father. I have sinned of pride. I inquired about a job, and did not pursue it due to arrogance. I would not accept training as a Sub as a pre-requisite for the Dominatrix position.
- “What does this job entail? What is a sub training?” he asked.
- Well, basically it entails forfeiting all control to another, and the job I was applying for entailed inflicting physical, as well as verbal punishment to the male clientele.
- “Why would you want to do that? Don’t you have gainful employment?” he asked.
- Oh, yes I do! This was simply meant as an experimental observation on human nature. It would have been just for a few months, I assure you.
- (sigh) “Anything else you want to confess my child?” he asked wearily.
- Yes father, I have sinned of envy. Last weekend I browsed through a history book. Hmm… of nude photography, and I was envious of a girl with a really hot ass…OMG! - Oops!... sorry again, I mean, this model was blessed with exemplary physical attributes, and I was envious of her.
- (cough) “Please refrain from using profanity. Anything else you want to confess?” he asked.
- Yes father, I have an awful temper. When an idiotic driver, cut me off without signaling - I mean just two feet from me, when he could have caused a high impact collision on the fwy., I was livid! I increased my speed, caught up to par, to manually signal my discontent.
- “You must control that temper my dear. Anything else? He inquired seemingly impatient as the line outside the confessional seemed to get impatient as well.
- Yes father. I will make this brief. I am a glutton for chocolate, I do my laundry only when I have nothing else to wear, and I lay on hot bed of coals, consumed by lust, which leads me to masturbate…a lot.
- “Are you having pre-marital sex?” he inquired.
- Like… lately? Oh no…no! I mean…I only allowed one guy I really - really like to…to…well let’s just say, we did not have sexual intercourse. I simply gave him a blow job.
- “That does not constitute celibacy! You should have respect for yourself, as well as your body. Go pray for fifteen minutes. I absolve you of your sins.” He concluded exasperated.

Homemade Remedies

I’m sorry we can’t play on the web cam tonight; you see I am not presentable right now. My face is covered with mashed garbanzos. Oh, I know it probably won’t matter to you, as you'd rather like it when I focus the cam on my nude breasts. Teasing you is so much fun…OK stop it Rose. Your deja vu flashbacks are really outdated. Besides, one does those stupid things, only when lust opaques reasoning.

Those garbanzo beans are powerful; being vegetarian, I can vouch to that.

I came upon this mask recipe during an infomercial at 4:00 am Saturday, which also suggests that to cure insomnia, one needs to inhale a raw onion which has been sealed inside a glass jar. I will try the onion cure tonight to regulate my sleep pattern for the week ahead.

Wonder if saving sweaty gym socks in sealed glass jar will not have a more potent effect?

This evening while waiting for a movie to start, I browsed through an old book store on Hollywood Blvd. I perused a book on the history of erotic photography. I love the era of the 1940’s, particularly the garter belt and stocking combination; I think those look classy.

The book is sort of motivational, as I do intend to pose for nude painting. I think I found just the right pose, that will not be vulgar, and rather flattering.

These photographs are captivating, without being lascivious. Various photographers displayed nudes of women and men, ages 18 to 80, of all shapes as well.

There must be something to being photographed or sketched nude which is raw and brutally honest. One can't really adopt a foreign attitude when one is totally vulnerable and exposed.

Note to self:

-Wed. pick up from public library the "New York City Ballet Workout" DVD, gotta work on your butt, as that will be the focus of the portrait.

-Nix pantyhose this fall. Next Sat., purchase several pairs of black and nude stockings, as well as matching garter belts.

What the........?

Today was indeed a radiant day to stroll the NoHo art district. Tents were set up, as well as a stage where part of Lankershim Blvd. was closed for this art festival. Art galleries, local businesses, and artists displayed their wares for sale.

At the 1st gallery I went into, I found it clever how one artist created greeting card-size canvases with simply written: “You left me” and what looked like drops of blood sprinkled on it. I asked one of the people there if this was real blood. He did not know, but called the artist who said it was stage blood. Hmmm - intriguing.

At the second gallery I encountered work by John Mottiff which was impressive - and pricey. I also conversed with an established artist who when parting said to me: “Just remember, it all comes from here” as she pointed to her heart. I softly smiled, knowing intuitively that to be true.

Then I ambled to the tents to see the local art on display. I must say some was OK, some decent, while others merited asking: “what the….?” The stage area announced next event was a Middle Eastern dance. I was a bit tired, so I sat down under the canopy to enjoy the dance show. How does one justify the robot-mechanical and endless twirling in circles accompanying the sensual rhythm of Middle Eastern dance music? Where was the total surrender and abandon to the rhythm, in compass to the beat? Is it too much to ask that they review a Shakira video? I’m sorry, I could not muster the energy to applaud.
Am I too hard to please? Seems so, for next I walked to a corner Indian Restaurant, where I was served a bland vegetable curry, which resembled Gerber's baby food.

This simply reiterates what the artist who motioned to her heart, said. Whether it be in dance, cooking, or creation of art, if the heart is not really in it, it will probably be relegated to the WTF archives.

Inspired by the mini canvases with fabricated red blots, I wondered if not only utilizing the heart, but also blood and tears on the canvas, would not somehow impregnate it with some spirit. No - I would not slash my wrists to make a statement. If it were a piece which the theme is passion, love, or heartbreak, I think droplets of menstrual blood would be appropriate - why? Simply because those are tears shed from the womb - those mourning a loss. These remnants of what could have been; a cocoon for one of the most beautiful and sacred things - life.

Enviable Weather

Another gorgeous day in Southern California; where else can one wear a sky-blue tank top during October? Bad news seems egregiously out of place in the glare of the splendid southern California sunshine - particularly in the midst of adjacent tables displaying Happy Meal bags.

As usual, I get together with my cousin every Saturday for our late breakfast and talk fest. I enjoy shocking her of her placid nature when I detailed stories of my dating ventures. She is such an innocent; she married a virgin, and has only slept with one man in her entire life – her husband. However, today the conversation focused on her two daughters.

I had in mind to ask her about her possible decision of letting someone adopt her eldest kid. Sometimes a woman must make a difficult choice for the sake of her offspring. In the long run, she hopes this sacrifice will result in best possible outcome.

An elderly lady friend of hers, who is somewhat financially well-off, offered to adopt her eldest daughter, this in order to give her the legal shelter she needs to be able to study higher education. Both of my cousin’s daughters are extremely bright, the oldest faces her imminent HS graduation next year, very possibly with honors. It is a decision which may affect her academic development – as well as her daughter’s future.

We did not conclude on how she plans to deal with this quandary. Rather the conversation steered towards her youngest daughter. She was born with spinal bifida. This condition is caused by lack of folic acid in diet during pregnancy.

We were making comparisons how the two girls differ in character; the youngest is a total smart ass, while the eldest is shy and introverted. My cousin then told me something I was not aware of. It seems that those who suffer from spinal bifida do not live past the four decade mark.

I asked my cousin if her daughter knew this. She said: “probably, she is internet savvy, and once when we passed by a street fair, she insisted on getting on the rides. I told her not today, yet she was adamant- insisting she wanted to be happy now.”

For a moment my mind suspended motion. I found it inconceivable that this girl who is a total joy - so cute (she has a striking resemblance to a petite-brunette Britney Spears), and smart, would perish possibly before her prime.

I made the effort not to show how affected I was by this. We made small talk on how last week her daughter came home and told her: “Look mom, I got five A’s, and a football-player boyfriend." She then detailed how she actually scouted the football team at the school where she is a freshman, and investigated which boy was not taken. Once she found her target, she orchestrated meeting this boy and approached him with math questions.

We laughed about her daughter’s ingenuity, all the while tears streamed down our cheeks - much like a leaky faucet which won’t shut off; while a bittersweet smile decorated our lips.

While driving, I mused how different my life would have been conducted, had I been aware as a pre-teen of my estimated expiration date.