"You can't love too much one part of it"

Who the hell ever really knows what time it is the first day after daylight savings time kicks in?
I was on my way out to church today and I was so confused bc some of the clocks in the house don't change automatically. So, for the greater good of the blogspot readers, I'll report that it is indeed 4:21 p.m. on Sunday evening. I think.

I was told this weekend that I seem to have developed a pattern in my behavior. I have a wall of defense up when it comes to new people, but I am quick to bring it down. I was told that I am quick to bring it down because I fall for the good in people. Maybe this is all about that chicken heart that Christina from the OG once told me I had.

I was also told by someone else that I will be gravely disappointed by love if I keep up believing in its perfection. My mom always says that to me too. And yes, I finally admit that I idealize it. I just always thought that it should only be fair for that to exist. If there can be so many atrocities in the world, why can't it be balanced by perfect love? I think I realized last night that I am probably the only tool, yes, I said tool in the world to have that much hope in something that has such a minute possibility of ever occuring.

The only defense I have for myself is that in my world, perfection is not so hard. Let's not forget about subjectivity. I'm so easy to handle. For example, perfect love from my mother is when she makes me hot chocolate and tacos every morning. Perfect love from a friend is when Lilly stays at the library with me just so I wouldn't stay alone. From Edgar, bringing me tissue and hugging me this summer while I cried for about 45 minutes straight in his room, or bringing me a cappuccino blast 'cause I was sad. In those ways, love from the people around me has almost always been perfect, if you ask me. But- people slip. We all slip.

I used to think that one should never place any expectations on anyone, that way, you're never disappointed when something happens...or when something doesn't happen. Lately, I notice I've started to change my mind. There are certain people that deserve your expectations. To expect nothing from those you love is almost like saying its a free for all. I think that if my parents hadn't had such high expectations of me, I would not have had so much faith in myself- I would not care if I had a future ahead of me. I expect so much out of many of the people that read this very blog, just because I know you are upstanding people

What I learned this weekend is that it's ok to have expectations of people, so long as you're fully aware of their human nature. Humans can be ugly people sometimes. All of us are humans, all of us can behave like monsters sometimes, and not mean it. It just takes our ability to love a little stronger when those we love are not themselves. It's so easy to turn and run sometimes. But running never really makes you anything but insecure. Many times it will take forgiveness and fearlessness to avoid the flight. I think of one of my brothers, and his wife. Their story could have had a depressing ending had they not chosen to forgive. And now, they are so easy to admire as a couple. But I could not help but wonder....what the hell drove them to put their marriage at stake in the first place. Wasn't love enough? I think about my mother being estranged from one of her siblings. Where is love there? Why has it been blocked? Is their relationship not worth saving? I have to think about that more because I'm not clear on where to go with that concept.

A song called "Split Screen Sadness" says: "All you need is love is a lie 'cause we had love but we still said goodbye. Now, we're tired, battered fighters." I wonder if that's how my brother and his wife felt. I wonder if she had dreams of a beautiful wedding, a house, children, and a pet as a young girl. I wonder if when their problems arose, she dismissed the notion as a silly one, and thought to herself that it was safer then to not believe in anything at all. I wonder if my mother agrees with this verse, and feels like a "tired, battered fighter."

All I can say for sure at this point is that I am loved in so many ways by so many good people. Not sure where I'll go with these ideas, but as long as I know for certain that there is always one of the aforementioned good people just a phone call away, I can rest easy. I love you guys right back. So, remember, enough is never enough because we love each other. There are no limits to what I will do for those I keep so close to my heart.

QOTD
"Mom, you suck balls."
-Jodi-

"Ya gotta know your titties!"
-Random guy at yesterday's Halloween party-

Tuesday Sky

I had a meeting this morning with Fr. Costigan. He gave me cookies and we talked about everything from library expansion to Father Bosco, a colleague of his. We talked for almost 30 minutes about everything but the course! Heehee. Costi rocks.

The sky today looked as if it was gonna crack open at any minute and release the wrath of God. It was bad ass, even if He did release some wrath....through my mother. Even still, I'm grateful for a stellar sky, beautiful wind, and a killer sunset.

Got an orientation meeting with Chicago Cares tomorrow evening. Once this is out of the way, I'll be able to schedule myself in for anything I'm free to volunteer for. You had to know that.

Good luck to my sister Randy, who has a job interview tomorrow. I hope you get the job if you belong there, Rand. Speaking of jobs, I need one. NOW. DESPERATELY. I need prayers that I am able to find a flexible job with decent pay that I can start immediately. Dude, school is over in about a month and a half and I can't freekin wait. A whole year is going to be dedicated to work so I can pay off my idiot-debt. Yes, I've somehow managed to probably ruin my credit for a hot minute. Well enough of that depression, let's move on to some QOTD, shall we?

QOTD
"Shut up! You don't own slurping!"
-Lilly-

"I want international mourners at my funeral!"
-Medgar-

"There's no such thing as a nap for you. I know full well that we're going to sleep when I say 'let's take a nap, baby!' Then I've got you for hours. Hey! Why am I telling you my secrets? Damn it! I need more secrets now!"
-Medgar-

"Mmmmm Stats! I mean...Mmmm stats!"
-Lilly-

RAUL & ABDUL

Lilly and I will be referring to each other as team Raul and Abdul now, for your general information.

We saw A Day Without a Mexican at Finnegan auditorium and we were the only ones laughing out loud because the white people at loyola are afraid to be racial in public. Lilly and I, well, just I am pretty racial everywhere I go, no matter who is around. She's usually the one darting her eyes across the parameters to make sure those that I am offending are not around to hear the trash that comes out of my mouth. My defense? Hey, I hate on everyone JUST the same. (disclaimer: all loyola white people references exclude my beloved nick and anna.)

Waiting for Lil to show up, I saw Father Costigan (or Costi as I like to call him) taking an evening stroll. He did not notice me, but that gave me time to agree with myself even more about how darn cute he is. He is everything that a cute lil ol man should be. He verrrry slowly walked his way ALL around the length of Halas Field and then back towards Jes Res.

All signs around me keep pointing toward an alternative break immersion. The signs really are everywhere and very in my face. I also picked up a Peace Corps brochure today. I'd be 100% for it if it weren't 27 months that I'd be gone. That would take some convincing. I don't know how I would fare without all of the beautiful faces that grace my days. Well, all except my evil sister.

buona notte!!!

self-analysis in retrospect

Thanks to those of you who read my stuff last post, and thanks for the nice feedback. :)
The poem about my grandfather was meant to display an element of childlike comraderie between a child and a grandparent. Pretty much everything in the poem is true.
He did pass away on his 82nd birthday; I found this to be the most remarkable.
This poem was meant to capture the essence of the relationship I had with my Mexican grandfather, who was very much a product of the machismo stereotype. Line 6, the one about him being carried around like a king symbolizes his patriarchy still very much vibrant even after death. The following line, about him sneakily dying on the day of his birth was written because my grandfather was one of the first persons with whom I ever had any sort of theological conversations with. We'd sit on the front steps of my house on Kildare, and he'd read excerpts from the Bible to me and my cousins, and then he'd explain them. There was always something special about sitting in the middle of a gang-infested neighborhood talking about God. He was so close to God, and he didn't care who knew it. I wouldn't doubt it if he bartered with God to have this one final wish. Towards the end of the poem was a commentary about me not being on the ground being dramatic about his death. Many of my cousins were busy displaying this sort of drama while he was being buried. The rest of us...well- I can only speak for myself. But, as I watched his coffin being carried toward the burial site, it was honor that I felt. It was a sense of "I know I'll see you soon enough" that washed over me. I bent down on one knee to touch the ground and feel what it was that would cover the small box that contained the corporal remains of someone I loved. Nothing, however, could cover what was really left behind. In my life, I got to experience this man head on. I got to experience his laughter, I got to experience his temper, I got to experience his sense of humor (the baby oil joke was soooo very true,) his theology- I got to piece together why he was the way he was, and he was always so open to sharing his past with me. In retrospect, I was always asking him questions. I wonder if he ever got sick of that. Anyway, they buried him in a white suit. Granted, that was only his body, and not his essence, but still, it wasn't very Rodolfo. (that was his name.) I really did wish hard that they had buried him not only wearing his jacket, but also in his favorite chair! If only that was possible.
The 3 lines that close the poem are very dear to me. "Crying's for girls, right papa?" is me wishing that I wish I had perhaps been touched by that stoic machismo. Not in a receptive sense, but more as an observer, 'cause man...I can be such an emotional wreck sometimes. In the 2nd to last line, I remind myself that I have learned a bit about that machismo, I remind myself that I was not crying. I remembered that I'd run into him again, 'cause the story doesn't end here. Being so confident of that, I made a commitment to bring him his favorite earthly possession.
With that said, here's poem number 2, titled Nikko (and I'll explain why in tomorrow's post) written last October. But, if any of you who read this come up with a good title for it, please leave ideas in the comment section.

NIKKO
October creeps in- slips past the pregnant month and waits to show his face.
He even makes the trees weep in true October style-
inviting the cold to stay until May returns.

No one sees him, but I notice him one Saturday night.
Yes, at the end of day two, we congregate and sit amidst loud, tasteless music, drunken banter about whose Benz is faster, and a neglected soccer game on the t.v. screen.
There his face is at the bottom of my glass-
And I feel him breathing down my neck.
And the bottom of my glass becomes a familiar sight.

He makes me aware- never lets me forget, that the last month makes me older.
He makes me aware, and always makes it explicit-

I am older all by myself.

With no one's eyes to look into at my front door when my nose is red and the moon is sharp and God sprinkles the substance of clouds

They don't see you, October-
Not the way I do.
Your enigmatic punishment follows me- even here.
They don't see it-
The way you pierce right through my already ailing hope with intents as deadly as cyanide.
They just see me, October-
Smiling through the freezing pain in true jaded lover's style.

Oh My God, I'm Sheryl Crow.

I found some poems from last year (sad times.) I found that those works have a lot of heart, and they were so easy to write. What is it about sadness that makes it so easy to spill things out on paper? Well, here's one I wrote last March about my grandfather.

I ditched class to come here, you know.
And whose idea was it to send you off in that white suit?
You should have worn your favorite leather jacket.
Your new place is small.
I've seen your neighbors- they only come out when it rains-
those slimy little weirdoes.
How typical of you to be carried around like that-
like some sort of king.
And I know you did this on purpose, you sneaky old crab.
You and G-O-D were watching the calendar...
March 8th you come, March 8th you go...
with about 82 years in between, of course.
My inheritance?
Tons of awesome inside jokes-
Like the one about baby oil being made from real babies...
Wish I would have thought of a less funny one- that one always makes me laugh out loud.
Aunt Maria slaps my wrist, probably because I'm not on the ground yelling:
"WHY GOD? WHY?"
Well, I'm not yelling- and I'm certainly not crying...
'Cause crying's for girls, right Papa?
And I know I'll see you soon enough.
I'll make sure to bring your favorite leather jacket.

Check tomorrow's post for an analysis of this poem and perhaps another one from last year.

Birthday, Yacht, and Ingrates

Ungrateful sons of the devil really piss me off. You know what pisses me off more? Ungrateful sons of the devil that upset my mother. I will tear that hooker's face off. This blog is to forewarn my readers that you may have to visit me in the big house.

Ok, ok, so I'm not going to do anything that will land me in jail. But you better believe that there will be some Nen-wrath released on this parasitic illegal ingrate! No one messes with Mama Mendez and gets away with it.

On a totally unrelated, sweeter note, my niece Lexi turned 9 on Saturday. She and her sister are some of the best-mannered children I've ever known. Without being told, she thanked (is that spelled right? is that even a word? Thanked....it just looks weird) and hugged those that brought her gifts. Happy 9th Birthday sweet Lexi :)

Also- if anyone knows where I can buy a yacht for cheap, send me a message. I owe Lilly BIG, and she chose a yacht.

QOTD
"Love gets angry too."
-Edgar-

probability and existentialism

I read up a little more on Existentialism this afternoon. The one concept that stuck out like a sore thumb was that it did not acknowledge the existence of God, which is why any judgement that would ever befall us (from what I gather about Sartrean Existentialism) is completely dependent upon the kinds of choices we make/actions we perform. I like that it gives us a sense of responsibility for our own actions. However, as far as I go, God plays a huge role in what I've become.

My Davey and I speak about, what it is to be human, what it is to have choices, and what it is to establish oneself in the world. I always like when we get into these topics. He always brings it back to the basics, and never lets anything cloud his argument.

I ask him if I aggravate him when I ask him all these questions. He assures me that I don't. I hope you enjoy reading our conversation. It's quite humorous at times- well at least to me it is.

One of the most important topics we discussed:
"I'm just concerned that who we are is just a product of what many would call the 'brain-wash' that is a private school education."

Davey reminds me that we are built Ford tough: ;p
"WE came from Epiphany, not the whole world- and a lot of times it clashes with what we became there....and we're outnumbered by nimrods."

However, he maintains:
"We always have a choice. Look at Javi and Baldo...they grew up with us and they're on some b.s. They made the choice."

I inquire:
"Do you think that our spirit as individuals plays into those choices?"

He went on to ask me if I had done something wrong because apparently, it sounded like I had done something wrong and was looking for a scapegoat in the way were were brought up. On the contrary, I told him that this discussion was only making me more sure of my place in this world because I was being reminded of where I came from.
He says:
"We're not better than anyone else. We're just us, and we happen to be decent people" answering my question in a roundabout fashion...not very David of him to do. This makes me think of probability and existentialism simultaneously....hahaha. What are the chances of a class of 8 kids in the graduating class of 1997 all turning out alright based on their own choices? I decide that yes, our spirit (which we hope is rooted in truth and goodness) plays into my choices. Yes, Epiphany did heavily influence my identity, but I'm gonna be gutsy enough to speculate that if not identical, I would have been damn near close to what I am now had I attended, say...Corkery, the public school down the street from Epiphany. I see my thoughts are changing. This is because I am coming into my own.

We both agree:
"I'm just tired of bad things"

He admits:
"I've been broken, Nen. Trust has lost some of it's meaning. I honestly have trouble with it...Nen- you know everything about me- I've got nothing to hide."

We talk about how not to let bad things get to us. We talk about discernment and choice.
He says:
"Cookies and milk and cartoons over sex and coccaine on marble desks anyday. Twice on Sunday."

I ask him if he thinks were were really given a choice to form our own beliefs....
His answer is soaked with Catholic school-boy-ness, but I know that its source is genuine. I know he has thought about this carefully because his life has challenged him in ways that FORCED him to think about this.
He responds:
"I'm the only me in the history of the world...the only me the world will ever know. I will be me for other people...people I love...total strangers included. I'm ready to sacrifice myself for other good people in this world."

It pleases me to see that he appreciates his own life, that he is aware of what he has been given. I do not tell him this. It pleases me that out of the 8 kids that graduated from Epiphany in 1997, I can safely say that 2 of us turned out alright all because we've been busy establishing ourselves all along.

Happy 25th Anniversary

She says I can't ever really know where I will end up until I get there. She says "be ready for anything." I slowly begin to see that my mother is right. Bet she'd love to hear me say that. When I think about my life and the lives of those who closely surround me, it's clear that there are times when you surprise yourself, and times when others surprise you. There are dramatic moments that wake you up, but there are softer moments that are equally stimulating. However, time rolls by us and there's nothing we can do to hinder it. With that said, Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary to two very special people, Ferna and Joe. You probably won't ever read this, but I wish you all things good. I wish for you comfort, peace, and of course, love of the purest kind.

I wonder what that feels like....to wake up next to someone one day and think to yourself "wow- I've been faithfully married to you for 25 years of my life." I wonder what goes through your body, what goes through your mind. What does it take to get there safely? Take a look around, and it's depressing to see how many broken marriages and lives you'll find. People like Ferna and Joe....I wonder if they know they're a rarity as a couple. From what I know about them, they know what it's like to fight for one another. Their answer to "when is enough enough?" (from the flick The Mexican) will probably always be "never." What, besides love, is the source of that endurance?

Even though John Mayer pissed me off, I'll close with a few lines from one of my favorite of his songs, Home Life
"See, I refuse to believe that my life's gonna be just some string of incompletes...never to lead me to anything remotely close to a home life- Been holding out for the home life my whole life. And I will tell you this much, I will marry just once. And if it doesn't work out, give her half of my stuff. It's fine with me...we said eternity..."

YAY! FUCK YOU!

mum is adorable :)

lol...freekin mexicans

Edgar takes me to see my boyfriend's new movie.

We went on a date tonight, Edgar and I. We went to go see A History of Violence and then went for a romantic dinner at Wendy's drive-thru. :0
I have a blast with that man. We're always laughing, always kissing- we give each other spirit. I'm glad the past events of my life have led me to him. Sometimes when we go through pain, and we ask God "why?" and we feel like he doesn't give us an answer....He does- you just have to be patient enough to see it, or feel it.

All in all, this year has been WAY better for me than last year. Most importantly, I learned a whole shit-load about myself. That won't ever stop, but I needed to go through some changes before I was ready for my life to move forward. And now, I welcome change....(a big move for a creature of habit such as myself.)

Fall break...finally....a little rest. :)
To close, I'll leave you with some words from Sarah McLachlan:
"I believe this is heaven to no one else but me. And I'll defend 'long as I can be left here to linger in silence if I choose to- would you try to understand?"

QOTD
"There's a DVD player that matches too but I just stole Sham's because he has a ps2 and because I do what I want."
-Mairead-

"I try to be politically correct here. It gets old."
-Meghan-

"Are we gonna spend the rest of our lives together?"
-Edgar- (he makes me melt...)

JUAN'S VIP QOTD:
"Good ol' Pilsen, is there anything you can't do? OH YEAH, keep the innocent ones alive."

"How long have you two winged monkeys been together now?" (abt me and edgar.)

"I don't know what my problem is. OH YEAH, impotence."

"I'm curious, how many profile views do you have? I have 3,000 and I wanna know if that's a good number for someone that doesn't have breasts."

"You misspelled hate. It's L-O-V-E." (this, after I told him I hated him!!)

little ways

I looked around today and saw all the little ways my parents love me. The kitchen, for example is chock-full of all the things I love to eat- they could just as easily buy things that satisfy them, but they don't. They never do. My mother once told me she'd rather go without than have any of her children wanting. I believe her because I see her try. This morning my mother told me I was all grown up. The look in her eyes and the tone in her voice suggested resistance, but, it was a melancholy resistance that I knew she knew wouldn't win.

To love someone in little ways is sometimes the best way to make them see it. Today, I will think of all the little ways I know that I am loved.


QOTD
"I've got a mullet now, I can do whatever the hell I want."
-Edgar-

"Oh that sucks...I would miss me too."
-Erika-

"It has come to our attention that since New Orleans smells very badly, we should all pitch in and send you there, so that people that are subjected to your smell should not have to suffer anymore. We figure that in New Orleans, you would fit right in. Not only that, but since you rarely bathe down, there you could do it in the funk waters and not lose your distinct odor. So, if you are interested in relocating, let us know."
-Luis- (my brother is a catastrophe, but I adore him.)