Kintala

 

My list of things to accomplish this month..........

 

1) I am going vegan! But if the cheese is too much of a temptation for me, than I shall turn vegetarian.  Let's see how

   that goes. Goodbye Chick-fil-a and pepperoni pizza. I will sorely miss you.

2) I am teaching myself to play the piano! I bought a beginner's piano book, and shall learn from that. I have already

   learned what c major is and what chords are!

3) I am applying to film school! I was torn between that and getting my Masters in International Policy, but I have made

   my decision, and film school it is. No more vacillating!

4) I am going to donate my hair to Locks of Love! Unfortunately, my hair is not the required 10 inches yet, so I will

   wait till it grows another 4-5 inches.

5) I am going to finish reading every book I started this past year and never got around to finishing. This includes    

   Tess D'Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy, Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather, and like 3 other ones I can't

   think of at the moment.

6) I am going to finish that stupid math class that I failed so I can get my degree finally!

7) I am going to sign up for the f*cking GRE. F*ck you standardized testing. Oh, and f*ck you, in case I forgot.

8) I am going to finish writing my script!

9) Unfortunately, I will get a job. Boo. And I won't complain about it.  

10) And last but not least, I am giving up harmful substances. No more coke, no more smoking, no more taking

     sleeping pills, no more taking vicodin, no more being depressed all the damn time, and gulp, no more drinking. 

     Ha, let's see how far that one goes. But seriously, at least the pills and the smoking. Drinking, I don't

     know. I'll really try with that one.

 

So by the end of July, I will have read at least 4 more books, I will have healthier lungs,  I will have lost some weight hopefully, I will know how to play a few songs on the piano, I will have my degree completed, I will have a complete script, I will have signed up for the GRE, and will have some kind of paying job. On August 1st, I will post a blog and see how much I actually completed.  And if I am somewhat successful, I will begin to do a list every month until I feel I have become the best person that I can be. We will see.

OH! And I will buy the new Sigur Ros cd.

On thursday morning, my grandma becomes a US citizen!!!  Yeah for her! She may be 72, but hey, at least she's finally a citizen.  I'm sure this 4th of July will mean more to her. Go Grandma!

 

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door." 

 

So, I'm planning my trip to Cali today, and it dawned on me, hey, maybe I should just not come back home. I need to get out of here. I feel so trapped here. I don't mean to sound so dramatic, but I feel as if El Paso is sucking the life out of me.

My friend Alex, Jessica, and I are planning a trip along the California Coast Line. We're flying to and starting in LA, and heading up north, stopping in Big Sur (If it's not completely burned down by all the wildfires yet), then on to San Francisco (which my mother swears I'm only going for the gays and lesbians), which then leads to the Wine Country or Napa Valley, then up north to a hostel in the Redwood Forest, and then all the way to Coos Bay in Oregon.  Then we're flying back home.  So, that's the plan. Don't ask me how we're going to afford the gas money. We're probably not going to eat that whole week. Or maybe I'll sell a kidney and Alex will prostitute herself. Kidney's are overrated anyways.

But then it hit me, maybe I just shouldn't buy a plane ticket home.  Instead, I'll just find a job and an apartment along the way, and just live there.  I have no reason to come back home.  What for? A empty hell hole awaits me. And who wants to come home to that after they've been emersed in the beauty of the California Coast and the mystic magic of the Forest of Giant trees?

 

God, look at that coast. I can't wait to drive along the Pacific Coast Highway.  They say it's the most beautiful scenic highway in America.  I'll apply for jobs everywhere we stop during the trip.  In LA, San Fran, Oregon, Napa Valley, where ever I find a place to apply.  Someone has go to hire me, right? God please! There has to be some jobs for theatre majors in california!   I don't want to come back.  I've never felt this empty before. I mean, we all get into a funk or two, but this is too much. 

The flicker of the blue and red lights are lighting up the house as I type this. There is a cop car with it's bright light piercing the darkness of the house.  My brother is in some sort of trouble out there, and quite frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn. Seriously, I'm just tired of caring.

Is it possible to just live on the beach?  I sure hope so.

Have I mentioned how much I love ginger ale? mmmm. 

Why can't I sleep? My dad found out I've been stealing his Ambiens, so he hid them from me. Maybe that's why.

Will I find what I'm looking for in Cali?

Should I just come back home?

Ugh. I don't know. What I do know is that what I'm looking for is out there, and I not going to find it if I stay here. Mark Twain said that one can't learn if they stay in the same corner their whole life.  He also said that if "I owned both Hell and Texas, I'd live in Hell and rent out Texas."  Ha, he was probably in El Paso when he wrote that.  Hell Paso, Hell on Earth. Where the weather is dry and 101 degrees everyday! I'm serious. I'm not coming back. 

I will miss the salsa though, that's for sure. And the way the desert smells after a thunderstorm. And the canyon.  

There is this canyon, nestled in the franklin mountains, and it's so beautiful.  It's a stage where I used to perform during summers. After perfomances, when there was not a soul in the audience, I would sneak back on stage, lie down with my back pressed against the warm cement of the stage, and just stare up towards the heavens, wondering. The stars have never shown so brightly. I've never felt more at home then at the canyon. And I swear to God, the canyon speaks back to me.  The night of my last performance, I snuck back on stage one last time. I walked to down center stage, and just stared into the empty seats. The lights were all off. I told the canyon thank you, and took my last, final bow.  As I stood back up from my bow, this big gust of wind came howling at me, and it sounded like applause. And then it stopped, just like that. I honestly believe it was the canyon responding back. The earth is a living thing, and I need to remember that.

You know what, maybe I just need a massage to get me out of this funk. A massage sounds good right now. 

I'm actually getting tired. goodnight.  

  

 

 

 

Love's a funny thing, isn't it?  I'd never thought I ever write about this love sick tramp, but here I am, writing.  And here he is.  The tramp, the "shaggy dog", or as the neighborhood as deemed him, the "cow". 

    Let's start from the beginning.  My daschund Riley had just died, and my mother gave me this white fur ball named Snowball to replace her.  I hated Snowball. She was too hyper to be a lap dog and too stupid to learn any tricks. We even thought she was blind for awhile because she kept running into walls.  And okay, I know this is going to sound horrible, but it's the truth: I would leave the gate open during the night, hoping Snowball would run away.  She wouldn't though!  She would go out at night, but she would come back by morning.  No matter what I tried, she just wouldn't leave. So I gave up on Snowball.  And I know, it wasn't her fault that Riley died, but I just kept taking it out on her.   

    Well, after awhile, Snowball began to form a "posse", or a gang more like it.  It consisted of a chihuaua, a dalmation, a mutt, and this shaggy dog named "cow".  Sometimes there was this maltese from down the street, but he wasn't a regular.  I had a picture of them, but my brother erased from the camera.  Snowball always had friends, for example, the neighbor's dog would always come over and hang out in our yard, but it was very sporadic.  But this posse of hers became an everyday thing.  Anyways, they would terrorize the neighborhood at night, getting into trashcans, taking shits on everyone's lawn, and trying to harm the neighborhood cats.  After some time, neighbors began to complain, so we had to keep Snowball on a tight watch so she wouldn't get out at night.  We even microchiped her.  Well, Snowball had grown into a full grown dog by then, and her jumping legs grew stronger as well, so she would jump the fence at night to hang out with her posse. 

   Sad to say, one by one, the posse began to diminish.  Some asshole down the street complained to the dog pound, so the dog catcher would roam our street at least twice a week.  The owner's of the chihuahua, the dalmation, and the mutt began to keep their dogs on a tight watch as well, so we began to see less of them.  Then I noticed, the "cow" would never go home.  He would still come every night to our gate, and wait for Snowball to come out and play. He didn't have a collar, so I assumed he didn't have an owner.  Also, he was always dirty and never had a haircut. The dog catcher tried to get him, but he would manage to escape them every time he came around. 

   Well, since it was just them two now, Snowball and the Cow would take thier midnight strolls around the block. They wouldn't cause trouble anymore though.  I didn't worry about her.  She always came home by morning, and when the cow would try to hump her, she would always growl and bite him.  Anyways, she was a lesbian.  Her and the neighbor's female dog would get it on in our yard sometimes. I accepted the fact that she just swung the other way. Well, I thought wrong. Snowball was 2 years old by now, so I guess she grew out of her "teenage years" and was becoming a young woman.  And I noticed some of her maternal instincts were growing with her as well.  Like instead of tearing apart the guts of her dolls, she would cradle them and sleep with them.  It was cute, but whatever, I didn't care.

   One night, the two were going at it pretty bad.  They were fighting and barking and growling at each other really ugly.  I yelled at the cow and told him to go home.  And he never came back.  We just thought they got in a fight, and that it was over. Snowball stopped jumping the fence, which was a good thing, so we thought things were fine.

   So one day at an afternoon rehearsal, I get a call from my brother saying that something came out of Snowball, and it was all bloody. They called the vet, and it turns out that Snowball was pregnant!  What the hell?  She wasn't fat at all.  No one knew she was pregnant.  We were all suprised. At least she only had one puppy, so that was a good thing. It was tan, so I figure that the chihuahua was the dad.  It had been months since the cow was around, and the chihuahua had been over recently, so it just seemed logical.  Well  I rushed home after rehearsal.  When I got home, there was 3!  They were tan as well. After two hours, no other ones came out, so I thought that was it.  Well, one more came out during dinner.  She was white.  Finally after dinner, one more came out.  And guess what? This one had spots!  What? A mini cow?  So was the cow the dad?  Had we found the culprit?

 

Here is a picture of Snowball, a couple days after they were born.  See the little black ears feeding on her?  That's mini cow.   So now we had six dogs instead of one! What are we going to do with all of them?  (I'm going to pull a Bob Barker on you guys - That is why you spay/nueter your pets people!)  So a few weeks passed by, and I found homes for all of the dogs.  The problem was, which one do we keep?  I wanted this little tan one I named Ginger, and my brothers wanted the mini cow.  Well we ended up keeping both.  

   It was so much fun raising the puppies. It helped that Snowball is a wonderful mother.  I'm so proud of her.  She matured into a beautiful young mother.  She was so nurturing and gentle with her babies.   After we gave away the puppies, she seemed to be depressed.  She now only had two left, and the love of her life had vanished months ago, and never came back. 

 

So we decided to find the cow or his owner, and see if the owner wanted a puppy as well.  We finally found the cow, but no owner.  He was living with some people a couple blocks away.  He wanted nothing to do with us.  So we left him.

Two weeks later, guess who came around? Yup, the cow.  Snowball was so happy.  I know it sounds crazy that dogs can get depressed, but they can!  We didn't let him see the puppies though because they were still too young and had not been vaccinated yet.  Little by little, they began to rekindle their relationship.  Of course, Snowball is now spayed.  No more love children for her!  Anyways, the neigborhood found out about the puppies, and instead of trying the get the cow into the pound, they began to welcome him and treat him well.  Well, that one asshole keeps calling the dog catcher, but we don't let the dog catcher get him. For example,  the couple at the end of the block let him chill on thier lawn, and when the dog catcher comes, they tell him that the cow is thiers.  By the way, we live right next to a middle school, and the kids love the cow.  Every day after school, they bring him snacks and feed him as the begin thier daily walk home.  And this lady, who is a mom of a kid at the school, even takes him every so often to get a haircut and groomed.  This other neighbor and another parent bring dog food a leave it for him so he has something to eat. It's amazing to see the street along with stangers come together and help this little tramp feel like he belongs.  He is one lucky tramp.  We have tried to get him to live with us, but he won't.  He's a lone ranger.

These are pictures of the two puppies we kept when they were six weeks old.  We finally named the mini cow "Oreo".  And of course, I kept Ginger.  I love these dogs.  I know I hated Snowball at the beginning, but if it weren't for her and her crazy, rebellious ways, I would not have Oreo and Ginger.  And in no way am I advocating not getting your pets spayed/neutured, but I'm am glad Snowball wasn't.

Here are some pictures of Oreo and Ginger recently.  They are now 5 months!

 

 

 

 

 

 

We let the two go with the dad once in awhile.  He plays with them, and it's so adorable seeing him with his babies. They chew on his ears, and pull his tail.  And even though they are 5 months already, Snowball still treats them as if they were still 6 weeks.  She cleans them and grooms them, licks thier ears to clean them, sleeps with them, and even gives them her bones.  One time, we gave her a milkbone, and she broke into pieces and gave it to the puppies to eat.  It was so adorable. 

I love these dogs.  And I love the cow.  And although he's a stray, he has about 10 owners, and we all love him dearly.  And to this day, Snowball and the Cow still take thier midnight love strolls. Snowball and the Tramp, a true story. 

And so, I end my tale with this: love comes in all shapes and sizes, and in all kinds of animals it seems.  A love story is a love story, whether it be ants, giraffes, or humans involved.

 

 

I leave you with a picture of The Cow.  Although, I must admit, I think Oreo, my puppy, is way cuter. That's just me though.

My friend Susie blurted out the other night with a magarita in one hand and a cell phone in the other, "Love never lasts forever. Never. It has to die sometime. Everything dies Vannessa. Everything". Granted she had been drinking for awhile, but she had a point.

As long as I can remember, my parents hated each other.  

My father never popped the question to my mother (maybe that's why she's so bitter), so they never married. Technically, I'm a bastard then, right?  Anyways, I remember, I must have been like 7 or 8, and I was watching tv with my parents in their super comfy bed with the bluest comforter I've ever seen in my life.  A soap opera was on the tv. There was a couple getting married, and they exchanged rings.  So I looked at my mother's hands and my father's and noticed that neither had rings.  Being the curious child I was, I asked "where are your wedding rings?" My mother slapped me, and ordered me never to ask that question again.  So I never did. I never asked her anything regarding love or my father.

If I had a dollar for every friend who had parents that didn't love each other, I'd have like $22 dollars.  Point being, it's not that uncommon, especially nowadays.

So why did they get together in the first place?  Did our parents even love each other to begin with? Is it like that with every couple?  Is Susie right?

We're remodeling the house, so there's boxes lying around everywhere. Playing guitar hero (I seriously need a job by the way), I bumped my toe into a old, dusty, plastic container on the floor and managed to kick off the cover. As I looked down, I saw a clutter of picture albums. I stopped rocking out for a bit, and bent down to look at them. As I took them out, there was a cloth with something underneath, so I picked it up, and found a picture.  A wedding picture. My mother's wedding picture no less.  I knew she had been with someone before my father, but I never knew she had gotten married to him.  I've never seen this other man, but I can see my sister in him a bit. (He's my sister's father).  I was suprised. She actually had been married before.  She looked young. She must have been 19 or 20. But under the wedding picture was something more interesting: letters. Letters from my father.  And they're actally love letters. I'm not shitting you.

"My love, how I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you. I hope you think of me and miss me the same as I do you.  We shall soon be together.  I'm leaving to El Paso in a couple of weeks.  I can't wait.  Kiss little Pete for me!  Love you always, Pete."

"Who's little pete?" I thought. Wait, I'm little pete! The letter is dated a few months before I was born, so it must be me.  (He always wished that I would be a boy.  Even growing up, he treated me as a boy. Instead of playing barbies, he'd force me to go batting with him, or he'd throw balls at my face and expect me to catch them as if I could play).  I found more of these letters.  As I read more, I found out that before I was born, my parents lived in different cities, so they would write to each other to "ease the pain of being apart." They can't even email each other now, but back then they could write love letters to each other!  So what happened? My father was romantic at one point? What the hell.  I knew there had to be some love at one point. But when did that love expire? What happened to her first husband as well?

I found another love letter that same night.  Although it was for my older sister this time, and not my mother.  And it wasn't from her husband.  It was from her lover. It was a list of "10 Promises" he will keep til the day he dies. God, it was romantic. This man does love her.  See, my sister has been married 10 years, and is currently having an affair with another married man who has a daughter. She claims that she never loved her husband.  The love died after 2 years of dating him. She also claims that this other man is "the one". This other man just recently left his wife to prove to my sister that he wants to be with her.  But my sister hasn't left her husband.  What's keeping her?  If she never loved him to begin with, then why is it so hard to leave him?  She claims that it's because of the kids.  Bullshit.  She's doing them more harm by staying together.  They always fight, and the kids see it.  They've come to expect it.  I told her that those kids are going to be just as fucked up as I came out.  Growing up, your parents are the prime example of a what a relationship should be.  If one grows up without a good example, how are they to learn?  I'd rather those kids grow up seeing thier mother as happy as she's ever been, instead of miserable and trapped.  Will she listen to me? Will she listen to her heart? I don't know. I can only hope. We'll see what happens.

My last story, I promise: My best friend Laura.  She got engaged two weeks ago to a man she's known a little less than a year.  She texted me this past friday morning that she's going to get married, which is obvious.  Then she told me that she was getting married in a few hours. What the hell?  Sure enough, she got married a few hours later downtown at the court.  I attended, even though I told her that she's just a stupid fool in love for rushing into it.  During the ceremony, I couldn't help but think that this marriage will only last a few years before they both realize they made a mistake.  And I shouldn't think that.  I should be happy for her.  She found someone she wants to spend the rest of her life with, and here I am imagining the divorce even before the "I do's".  Before the ceremony, the judge asked the few of us in the room if we approve of this marriage.  My other friend yelled out "no!".  The judge, along with Laura and her fiance all looked at my friend. Of course, Laura had a look that could kill.  After a long awkward silence, my friend jokingly stated "I was just kidding." She quickly looked down at her feet, and the judge started again.  She wasn't joking.  We all don't approve, but Laura won't listen to us. She looked happy though.  So did he. She teared up a bit during the ceremony.  As we walked out, I whispered to her "Til death, don't forget"  Later that night, we had a little dinner.  She was all smiles.  Newlyweds should be.  As she talked about her plans for the church wedding, her excitement was so contagious that even I started getting all giggly like her. Then I couldn't help but wonder about my mother.  Was she this excited for her wedding? Will Laura end up like my mother? Obviously the loved died at least once for my mother, because she's not with that man anymore. What about my father? What happened there?  Will my sister's love for this new man die as well? All these fucking questions kept plaguing me as the night wore on. 

All those questions led up to the same one though: When does the love die?  See, it became a question of when rather than if.  Am I that naive to believe that love can last forever?  I hate that I'm so bitter when it comes to lasting love. I asked Laura for a favor that night.  I asked her to stay with her husband til she dies.  I want to believe that love can last.  I want her kids to grow up with the best example of love.  I want her kids to believe in love.  I want my sister's kids to believe in love as well.  My sister still has a chance to make that happen.  

 

Does it die? I don't know.  I still haven't found someone to answer that. ugh. I'm sorry for all this rambling.

According to the weather man, it hasn't rained in 87 days.  87 days! That's around 3 months. No wonder our grass looks like shit. This wind is driving me nuts as well! Gusts up to 45 mph everyday is something that needs to stop.  Override a big gust comes, there is a symphony from all the car alarms down the street that go off and one more shingle flies off my neighbor's roof. There is a collection of shingles on my lawn. I could build a doghouse, for each one of my three dogs. God, it's such a battle just to walk around this city with all these gusts. All this dust is pissing me off. I need to get out of this desert. See that man down there? He's crying because of the wind. That's how I look sometimes as I try to curse the wind. The more I curse it, the stronger the gust.

 

 

You know, come to think of it, I've never owned an umbrella. If you want to sell umbrellas, don't set up shop here in El Paso. My grandma carries a compact umbrella in her purse at all times, but not for rain.  She carries it to thwart off attackers.  She doesn't own a car, so she has to walk everywhere. She says you never know. She's right. There is just some wierd people walking the streets. The streets with no rain!  Ugh. She tells me that she's going to die, and since no one visits her, her body will be there for days, and the only reason we find out she died is because her neighbor smelt the horrific stench of her body decomposing.  I love you too Grandma. You're probably the only person I know that has an umbrella. No, I lied. My friend has one in her living room. Which is full of dust may I add.

 

I've been meaning to replace my windshield wipers since summer 2006.  I still haven't.  What's the point? I never use them. I googled "rain dance" the other day.  I even found a spell for rain in this gypsy book of spells.  I haven't tried them. Maybe I should.

 

How I long for rain. The wondeful smell of rain. The aroma of dust being washed away. The amazing feeling of refreshment as I stand outside with my face looking up trying to catch every drop. The relaxing sound of the rain falling upon my winow. The way the color green stands out more noticeably when it's wet. Why does everything look nicer when it's wet? Except for dogs that is.

 

Somebody take me away. Take me where the greyish-blue clouds cover the sun and engulf the sky. Take me where water surrounds us completely. Creeks, rivers, ponds, whatever. Take me where I'll never have to eat sand again from all this blowing dust. Where I'll never have to rub my eyes again from all the dust that gets into my contacts. Please, somebody. Before I go crazy. Take me somewhere like that picture down there.

 

But won't you miss home you say? El Paso isn't completely a barren wasteland. Yeah, we have mountains. Yeah, we have beautiful sunsets. Yeah, we have amazing Mexican food. And yes, we have sunshine 355 days out of the year. But I just don't care.

 

I need to get out of here. 

 

Hopefully I can find a job in another city. I have a bachelor's degree now. Don't ask how I earned it, but they gave me one on Saturday. I should use it. 

 

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