That time I almost drowned at the pool

That time I almost drowned at the pool

pool

So here I was a long, long time ago, in a land called Worcester.  I decided one day to try my hand at swimming.  I did not know how to swim, but I figured being from an island, I would fall into the water and naturally swim like a mermaid.  In my defense, I was fourteen and into Harlequin Romance.

I walk into the magical kingdom on Y.M.C.A and follow the signs leading me to the pool.  I enter the ladies facilities and immediately change out of my Bermuda shorts and neon shirt.  I put my one piece on, and I did a quick check in the mirror.  Long and behold my scrawny body, with frizzy hair sticking out from my temple, my tad-bit-bigger than normal nose for my tiny face with my brown almost black eyes stared back at me.

Yup, it’s me! I thought, and with no shame in my game, I strolled out through the glass door towards the abnormally blue pool water.  Immediately the hot, muggy air hits my lungs and alarms me a bit, but I quickly ease into my new environment and thought of mermaids swimming.

As soon as I walk in I spot these navy blue flippers, and I got the brightest of ideas!  ‘I’m going to put them on and truly be like a mermaid all I have to do is keep my legs together’  I thought.  I hurriedly put the flippers and jump into the chlorine water.

The time when my dreams crashed with reality felt like a mirror falling and breaking on top of me, thus causing seven years of bad luck.  At that moment, my mind worked on overdrive trying to decipher my master plan had gone wrong, and I panicked.  I was not graceful jumping into the water, and it filled my nose and throat, threatening my life.  I realized, I was not a mermaid, and I certainly could not swim like one.

I quickly tried to save my life, salvage my ego and pride by leaving the pool but then my flippers will not budge from their horizontal position.  I couldn’t push them down to the floor so that I could walk.  My scrawny legs were too weak to push them against the buoyancy of the water.  Instead, they stayed floating much like the fucking mermaid that I didn’t want to be any more or at least not right that second.

Since I couldn’t get my lower body down, my upper body was also in the same horizontal position with my face facing down on the water.  Again I did not know what to do with my arms to keep my head afloat.  So I smacked the water time and time again trying to fight with it, to reason with it, so that it can give me back my human legs.

In the confusion of those few seconds, I spun in a circle, and I spotted the red shorts that are supposed to be of the one guy that can get me out of this situation.  “Life Guard” was imprinted on his shirt and I needed my life guarded against the water and the fucking flippers that very second.

On that same torturous second, a blond walks in through the glass door.  Immediately the hot air from the inside, combined with the cold air from the outside mixes to flush her skin and push her hair in the most intimate of ways.  Her eyes were blue as oppose to my brown.  Her body had curves and was not boyish like mine.  Her hair was straight as oppose to my curly and frizzy mess.  The lifeguard was enthralled; he was captivated.

My slaps of the water could not get his attention.  A minute had gone by, and it felt like an eternity.  I spun one more time to face the wall, and I make a quick decision to stop fighting with the water and instead become part of it.  I didn’t fight with my flippers. Instead, I let them be.  I pushed my face into the water, brought out my arms and began stroking them so as to make my way through the water and bring my body closer to the wall.

One stroke, then another one, my flippers followed suit and moved with my upper body.  I opened one eye and noticed that I was almost there!

I reach the wall, and I touch it with my fingertips.  Exhilarated to have found the wall I completely forget my newfound swimming skills and let my fingers slip thus slapping the water before I could get a good hold on the wall.  I do one last stroke, and finally, I’m at full reach and able to grasp it fully without slipping.  My panic is gone; I have reached the wall.

I pull my face out, place my palms on the ledge and push with all my might, my lean body out of the pool.  I look back at the ‘lifeguard’ with so much disdain and disbelieve! That I spit some of the water that had gotten stuck in my throat in full view so he could see me, then I throw the flippers angrily onto the wet floor and left.  If the door were not pressure resistant, I would think of slamming that too.

That day I realized that I was not a mermaid and would never be one.  That my scrawny body was not so flimsy after all and that I didn’t need a ‘lifeguard’ to save me because that same girl with the brown almost black eyes, frizzy hair and a big nose who was drenched, shaking and breathing hard had just saved my life.

I’m tha latina version of Taylor Swift, I just can’t sing

I’m tha latina version of Taylor Swift, I just can’t sing

breakup songs
Not that we look alike!  We are two very different looking people, but we do share something in common, the inability to keep ONE guy.  
I often use my self-deprecating humor to joke about it, but when I start playing a Taylor Swift song at work everyone knows what’s up.  Once again, a relationship has ended, and it have left me deflated and disappointed in love.  So I turn to her songs that so perfectly describe my heartache at the moment for solace and understanding.  As I listen, I start thinking that maybe I’m the Latina version of Taylor Swift.  I just can’t sing, or write songs about it, but I can write it on my blog.
  Again and again, I find myself in relationships feeling so happy and so sure with that Special Guy just to have it all crashing down unexpectedly.  I am left with mascara running down my face, looking around and wondering ‘what the fuck just happened?’.
I ask myself constantly, ‘Why are men from Mars and I have to be from Venus?’  ‘Why can’t we talk the same language?’  
I often wish that men would come with a technical manual.  The same way my VW Golf came with one.  Whenever a symbol appears on the dashboard, I open up the manual and read about it.  After reading it, I feel confident that I know somewhat what is wrong with my ‘hooptie-doo’ and can move forward with solving the problem. 
Ahhh, if only there were a guy technical manual where when you hear something weird, or he starts acting funny you could flip through the glossary pages and look for ‘weird tone of voice’ or ‘odd behavior’ and check for the troubleshooting steps.    



Just kidding! Just kidding!  I stopped doing that in my 20’s! I’ve turned a new leaf.




After all these breakups, tryouts and experiences I don’t blame myself for not being able to keep a guy.  I only see it as just a waiting game.  I feel that one day the right man would find my weirdness cute and endearing and would not see himself with anyone else but me.  
I figure I will just wait for Mr. Weird Dude to come around.  Till that time comes, I will continue to go on dates and like Cinderella try on other Dudes to see which one will fit my weird.
Till then I will keep listening to Taylor Swift songs, dance, sing and drink red wine.

Testicles in my Paella

Testicles in my Paella

I went on another successful date sponsored by match.com.  This one was an impromptu, last minute, sure let’s meet at the bar down the street type of date.  It all started with a message on my match app and then it evolved into a text.  He was funny and light on text and had a cute profile picture that made him the perfect ingredient for a down to earth date and the perfect remedy for my boring Saturday evening.  Out of the blue he asks, “Hey I’m hungry you want to get a bite to eat?”  I looked at myself in the mirror, gage the time left on my last errand of the day and said “yeah sure, as long as is by 7:40 PM.”  

The agreed time gave me two hours to run my errand and come back to get ready.  I looked at my closet and found the perfect outfit that says cute, sexy but not trying too hard.  I Did my makeup in neutral hues with bright pop on my cheeks.  I thought to myself perfect!  Little did I know that this would be the date where I put my foot in my mouth and tell this guy how I don’t like testicles in my Paella.  Yeah, you read that right, that’s what I said.

Throughout the date, I was funny, sexy and kept pushing my girls up to keep it interesting. Soon, the conversation veered to traveling.  He asked me if I liked to travel and boy do I ever! I thought to myself I was going to blow this date out of the water!  Traveling is a subject where I can impress and shine!  So I started to tell him about Barcelona, which is a place that we had in common in our traveling experiences.  In the middle of my fantastic story telling, he interrupts to tell me that he did not like the food there.  This fact made me frown a bit since I thought the food was amazing in Barcelona.  
Seeing my expression change (my emotions are very apparent), he adds, “I did not find the Paella to be that good…”  Again I disagree and frown once again as I’m trying to listen.  
I loved the Paella there! I thought.  So I preceded to tell him about my experience tasting Paella in Barcelona, “The restaurant in front of the Hard Rock Cafe in Barcelona has the best Paella I ever tasted.  The only problem that I had been that, I asked for the one with everything in it.”  

I take a gulp of my wine to wet my throat while I’m getting into my story telling mode.  I  look at him to make eye contact and change my tone to one that is light as I’m about to make a satirical funny (or so I thought)  “I mean I’m adventurous, but not brave enough to eat testicles with my Paella.”  
First a blank stare, then a bit of alarm crossed his eyes.  I then try to explain the joke, and I know by now it’s not going to be funny anymore because I have to explain it.  I say, “You know the arms and legs of an octopus, I had those in my Paella.”  I had meant to say tentacles in my Paella and instead I had said testicles. 

One second, then two, then three and before I take a swig of my wine, I put two and two together, and it dawns on me “I said testicles did I not?!”  The whole bar turned to look at me since I had said it loud enough for all to hear.  

With a look of mortification and horror on my face because not only had, I said testicles to my date but had repeated the word again loud enough for the whole bar to hear, he burst out laughing and said: “Well I can tell, you are not THAT adventurous!”


The laughing was contagious, and I automatically joined his laughter to mine.  It’s ok to laugh at myself I thought and made light that I had made a super big faux pas on my first date.  After the laughter simmer down, I was warned that he will not let this go, and he will remind me later of my non-adventurous side.  Which could only mean….. the second date!  I guess I didn’t blow it that bad!
Mr. Alexbachicha1 Trolled Me on Match…Several Times

Mr. Alexbachicha1 Trolled Me on Match…Several Times

online dating troll

Maybe he was getting desperate.  His profile did say that he had one last week on his subscription on Match and was trying to see if he could find that one special girl.  

I’m all about finding that one special someone, I’m doing the same thing too!  Just trolling isn’t the way to do it. 
I was amused for a few seconds, and my fingers were itching to type something witty, dry, sarcastic and bitchy back, but then what?  I would have given him the OK to continue with such behavior, and I am NOT OK. 
 It is not cool to be mean or rude to get some one’s attention.  Are we back in elementary?!  Where the boy who likes the girl pulls her hair to get her attention.  Shit! I didn’t like it then; I certainly don’t like it now.
If he honestly did not like my profile, then he could have kept it moving to the next and concentrate on those profiles he likes.  

If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
 There are so many fishes in the sea, or one could say, so many profiles in the digital-online-dating-pool of Match that Mr. Alexbachicha1 did not have to do all that.
Maybe he was drunk browsing, which is also a big faux pas.  Much like drunk texting, drunk calling, and the obvious drunk driving it equates to a failure of significant proportions!
I chose to put Mr. Alexbachicha1’s messages in a new home; my trash can with the rest of the rejects.  I did not reply nor engage in any conversation as it would have been a waste of my precious subscription time.
Hopefully, he found someone on his last week.  I also hope he brushed up on his social skills, which could be the reason as to why he’s still searching.  
It’s hard to be an asshole and find long-term relationships; many will not put up with it unless they are into assholes that are.  Which could happen….I mean there’s someone for everyone, right?  But not this gal!  
Hope you found your Match Mr. Alexbachicha1 and stay out of my profile, which I’m sure you will since I blocked you.

Things John hates

Things John hates

This is John.  He is named after an ex.  Why? Because….yes!
John- the dog has issues…I rescued him in Korea from this Dick that was trying to kick him.  When I saw him getting kicked, I enticed him with a Mcdonalds burger (Yes they have McDonalds in Korea only it tastes different) to get him away from the horrible man.  As I grabbed John by the collar that had become part of his matted mane, I gave the animal abuser an evil look.  He said something in Korean, I said “fuck you” in English, put John in the car and sped away.

John came with issues, though.  I noticed that the males he encountered he would get aggressive.  On the contrary, with the ladies is not so bad, he becomes bit aggressive at first but calms down after a while.

Then he has this thing where he must follow me everywhere and be by my side.  Even while I sleep, he’s by my side.  I have tried to break him out of the habit of being my shadow, to no avail.
I don’t mind our sleeping arrangements.  I love it that he cuddles next to me.  What I do mind is his growling when I move, and I happen to touch his tail or his butt.  He goes berserk and growls at me forgetting who I am and tries to snap at my legs, hands or whatever body part that touched him.  As soon as I yell “it’s me John!” he calms down.

I wonder if doggies get rape?  Are they traumatized by it?  Or is this just a sensitive area for every animal?  I have had other dogs, and they have not reacted this way when someone touches their tail or their butt, only John.  The only thing I could equate it to is someone who has been raped or violated and is traumatized by it, so they react aggressively or in fear when someone gets too close.

I have thought about his reaction for quite some time and even did a search on Google to see what is going on with my crazy mutt and nothing popped up.  I resorted to using do my handy dandy water bottle when things get out of hand.  I keep that thing by my bed, and I use it as a behavior adjustment gadget.  Whenever he gets aggressive or growls, I spray him.

Other than that, he also hates shadows, cars, strangers, other dogs, men, lights flickering, ceiling fans…you know the usual.  I still love my paranoid dog!  In my house, we have adjusted to his quirks.  I mean everyone is a little crazy inside, so John can be a little crazy too.