$7 for a Fountain

Last weekend ended on a somewhat sour note.

Those events caused this week's events to be interesting...to say the least.

The guy I had been dating for six weeks, Date #8 (see other blog) decided, after having vomited for several days straight, that he was going to take some time off.

The text he sent to me made me think, "He means take time off of work."

I sent him a message back saying, "IF you want to hang out on Sunday and watch movies, let me know."

My message to him did not say, "Let's hang out and watch movies."  My message was asking for a condition...anyways...I'm a language teacher. Communication is key for me.

He shoots back, "You're missing the point. I want to take care of myself. I want to focus on getting better. I'm not sure how long that's going to take."

Where in his message did he say that he wanted to break up?

I really and honestly was flabbergasted. I understand the poor guy is busy and overworked. I thought things were fine between us.

#Rude.

I had to go back to his restaurant and get a container I had let him borrow. His face fell when he saw me. "Don't look so excited," I said to him, half joking.

He mentioned that his roommate had gone to the hospital with a spider bite infection.  All he had eaten was a Burger King breakfast sandwich.

I said to him, "I thought you didn't eat breakfast."

"I told you I went to the hospital this morning! I was hungry and I needed to eat something." Said #8.

Again...where does it say that he took his roommate to the hospital?  Lack of communication....ugh...

As I was leaving, I asked, "So is that it? No more hanging out? No more you and me?"

He nodded and said that he was incredibly busy, but that he wanted me to stop by and say hello from time to time. He wanted to know how my school year was going to go.  His being nice made me want to squish him like a bug.

He then makes matters slightly worse by saying they want to use me as a social media manager for both of the restaurants that he manages. At least I'll be making some money when we finally are able to sit down and do things. I need to catch up from when I was unemployed for these last seven months.

I'm confused. I spent the night at the hospital with this man when he was having an almost heart attack. I think I began to really like him while at the hospital. I felt so sorry for him. A man who had just moved here and is completely alone in the world. No parents. No contact with siblings. A little strange, but he seemed a kind and giving person. Just what I had been needing...whatever...I'll get over it.

This occurred in July 2014.

I'm Going to Take that as a "No"...

After a three year "absence", so to say, I have resumed dating again.

I honestly didn't think I was going to date ever again, much less be with someone long term.  Right now may not be the case, but I know I'll end up with someone...I'm just not sure who.

I just don't have the time nor the willpower to sit through boring dates.  I am the type of person that just knows if I'm going to click with someone or not.  I have such intuitive abilities (or so I have thought) that I can know within five minutes of me meeting this person if things are going to pan out for the best or if they are going to tank like an aquarium.

BACKSTORY

In any case, it's been three years (2011) since I split with my son's father and about eight (2006) since I've really and honestly been on the dating scene. That is, unless, you count a period of one month right after my breakup in 2011.  I went out with five different guys.  All pretty nice, but really boring dudes.  One date for coffee was enough with each of them. One of them pursued me relentlessly for six months. He was a doctor and also a lawyer in Jacksonville.  After our first date, he told me he wanted me for my body and that I could just stay in his house, wear short skirts all day and just have, as he termed it, "an exclusive" partnership with him while he paid for all of my bills.  Essentially, he just wanted a Sugar Baby.  I was not about to spend who knows how many of the following years of my life with some jerk who was not going to let me work, was going to pay off all my student loans and keep house just so I could keep his "appetite" happy.

It was all for naught.  I refused to cave in to his desires or demands. After six months of hard pursuit, he realized that I meant what I said, "No", and that he just wasn't going to gain access to Club Ren.  Thank you, Lord!  I'm a very hard-working, independent woman.  It would have felt strange for him to pay for all of my student loan debt.  He didn't incur that, but he was in earnest when he said he would pay for all my stuff. Sounds nice, but not working?  I'd have felt a slave in his house. No, thank you.

After that mishap with Dr. Lawyer, I just figured that I needed to focus on my schooling, as I was getting my second masters degree, and on my son.  My poor boy was going through a difficult transition of not being with both of his parents.  Not to mention, after having spent the past five years of my life with someone who thinks nothing of cheating on his woman with the "female friends" he has amassed like termites coming out of the woodwork, I wasn't ready to date anyone.

I developed crushes on some of my male friends, but distance is a factor in what could have been in some of those relationships.  Those books are best left on the shelf, and as it is, I value their friendship over broken hearted feelings.

Needless to say...this past month has been a flurry of activities in my life.  Some of you know that I had been unemployed since December.  I had been frantically looking for work to no avail and time and most definitely money was running out quickly.  My son kept getting sick all the time and it turns out that he is going to need a tonsillectomy. The following day after that diagnosis, I bump into a former "friend" of my ex at his school. Our kids are in the same exact classroom.  The only chair available is right next to this woman.  I quickly sent up a prayer and asked Him that I be kind and polite, which I was. I think she was surprised that I was nice to her, being that I knew her past with my ex.

She mentioned to me, "I don't talk to him anymore."

This surprised me because my ex keeps his "friends" around like keys on a keychain, using them when he feels like it and keeping them around "just in case".

She asked if we could exchange numbers, which I agreed to.  She called me right afterwards and asked if we could grab a coffee, but I was on my way to Saint Augustine to help out a friend clean her house. I told her we could meet up probably within the week as I was going to be busy.  When we finally did meet up, she apologized to me for four hours for having meddled in my relationship, for having carried on with my ex while I was still with him and for a number of other things.

Forgiveness is a HUGE thing...I think had she told me this immediately after having split with him, I would have beat the crap out of her.  Time does heal wounds...I told her that after having been hurt by my ex so many times, one becomes numb to it all and no longer begins to care. I told her that I forgave her and I think she and I may be on our way to becoming friends.  Only time will tell. :)  Though it may sound silly, the release her confession gave to me really and honestly set me free.

The day I go to Saint Augustine turned out to be very advantageous for me. I called a friend who has kids that my son loves to play with and we agreed to meet up for a playdate.  During the playdate, she mentions that they need someone at their photo studio to greet customers.  Since I know lots of people, I told her that I would look around. The job description was actually something I could do!  I told her, "I would love the opportunity to work for you both".

She went home, spoke to her husband and they both agreed that I would be perfect for that job!

The following weekend, I started working for my friends at their photo studio.  It was also that same weekend that I joined a free dating website.

A friend of mine, who shall not be named, recently split with her significant other. She joined the website not to actually date, but just to see what was out there. She kept telling me, " You have to join so you can see these guys. Some of their profiles are funny!"

After having the disaster of Match.com, I was not ready to "date" nor even think about it.

However, friends pester and I caved in.

The REAL Story.

I created a profile.

I was honest in my profile. I mentioned that I was not here for booty calls, I am here to find an actual relationship, yada yada yada.

Within the first 48 hours, I received over 200 messages from different guys.

I opened my account on a Saturday at 10 a.m..

Date #1: I went on my first date the following day, Sunday, at 5:15 p.m. in Saint Augustine. Since I now work weekends in Saint Augustine, I'd rather date there.  We went out for coffee.  I managed to freak him out by pulling down my hair and sniffing the strands.  I'm not sure about you other ladies, but when I've had my long hair up in a bun all day, all I want to do is let down my hair, massage the roots and smell my hair.  Is that weird of me?

Well...it's sure freaked him out.  A friend of mine later told me, "Maybe you turned him on."  Maybe, but I'm just going to assume that I freaked him out.

However, he did message me recently and said that I was fun enough to hang out with, but not in the dating sense. So maybe I have a new friend? Second Date: Meh...probably not, but maybe we'll just be friends. Just regular friends.

Date #2:  Also on Sunday. What a pest. He kept emailing and texting me for 48 hours straight. This guy I will refer to as the Italian Rude Dude... He at least paid for my dinner. He kept referring to his ex-wife as a variety of female dog.  NEXT!!!

Date #3: Thursday after opening my account.  Location: Mexican Restaurant in Jax. Food: Chips and guac.  I liked this guy a lot. I think he liked me too because five minutes after parting ways, he said he wanted to meet me again...still waiting on that one!  Second Date: Three weeks and counting for our second date!  I'm just going to assume that I won't be hearing from him any time soon.

Date #4: Also that same Thursday night.  This guy turns out to have been born close to my hometown. He also had studied abroad in Ecuador and spoke Spanish. We could have had a lot in common, but he ran out of the date only 20 minutes in! Location: He made me change the location of our meeting from the Town Center to San Marco.  When I'm poor, broke and fabulous...I can't be driving all over Fruit Cove, Saint Augustine and downtown Jax for some guy that has "mysterious" stomach pains.  Come off it, man!  If you're really sick, say so.  (Come to think of it, maybe he was?) If you don't like me, say so as well.  In any case, I think he really did have a stomach issue because a few weeks after our failed date, he sent me a message at midnight saying he was really horny and I was beautiful. Second Date: Yeah....no.....

Date #5: The Friday after opening up my account. Really, really nice guy.  A wee bit older than me, by about 13 years.  I'm closer in age with his oldest daughter than I am to him.  Could be a deal breaker on the age of his kids...Very polite, fun and laid back. Location: The Conch House on Anastasia Island. Activity: Drink beer, watch me eat, and talked about the most fascinating topics. We had agreed to go a second date, but more on that in a moment.

Date #6: One week after opening my account, following Saturday. The Troubador. Not to say I'm into numerology, but the #6 harbors negativity for me.  This poor man...pobrecito...words cannot express how sorry for him I feel.  He drove over an hour and a half to meet me.  He sang to me. (No, thank you!) He had the romance turned way too high, like a furnace on full blast... Within five minutes of our meeting, I wanted him gone and out of my sight.  I was so turned off by his incessant talking about love, dancing, his career in the Army and him having wanted to be a priest in his childhood that I felt the need to write him a letter the following day outlining why I couldn't be with him.

He was also super machista, which could be a HUGE problem for me later on down the road, as I mentioned that I am independent. He had sensed that I wasn't into him, because about 20 minutes into our date, he asked me what the problem was. I told him I needed a beer to relax. We wander off to get a beer at Isabela's Fine Cigars. I went to pay for it, he pushes my hand aside, forks over a $20 and gives me a look saying, "I will always pay".

It's nice when BOTH of us are drinking and you want to pay, but if I'm the only one drinking, I'll pay for myself.

He even asked me while we were sitting on my friend's front porch, "With whom do I need to speak with about dating you seriously?" WHAT?!!!! This is the 21st Century.  I am an adult. I am a mother. You can ask ME if you want to date me. He also told me that I would fit in perfectly with his mom and sisters.  NOOOOOOOOO.....I shudder even as I type this.  Thank God I avoided THAT one!

The Troubadour actually messaged me last night and asked, "Couldn't I see you again and see if we spend the night together?"  Um....NO?!  If I didn't enjoy the date with you then, what makes you think I'm going to consent for a "daredevil" night, as he put it?  Like, seriously?  Second Date: Delete and block.

Date #7: Friday, 13 days after opening my account.  The Hot Smokin' Nerd.  (sigh...)  This was the date that was absolutely FANTASTIC, or so I thought.  He had messaged me, ironically, while I was on my date with The Troubadour.  I was so put off by The Troubadour, that I was not about to answer anyone else on social media nor anywhere else that day. I also had had a second date planned with #5 that same night that I met #7, but I just knew that my date with #7 was going to go so well, that I made an excuse to #5 and said I had to work early. Which I did, but I knew I was going to have fun with #7.

In any case, after having checked out #7's profile, I felt an immediate attraction.  I could feel the chemistry radiating off the keyboard.  It wasn't anything he had said. It wasn't even how he looked (though he is very handsome).  I cannot describe it...words fail me here. It was a magnetic pull even before I met him.

#7 mentioned that he was a busy guy, working two jobs, but that he enjoyed a few things in life but that he generally kept a low profile on social media and in life. Loves his kid very much, etc.

I found that we had some major similarities when we went on our date. I felt he could have been the male version of myself. I am a woman who has no inhibitions. I don't understand how I don't have a filter, but I struggle in normal day to day activities because I blurt out random stuff that later on, I think to myself, "What was I thinking?!" Our popsicle date went so well within the first five minutes, he invited me to go with him to work for an hour. We went and had some more beers and I allowed him to kiss me.  I don't just let ANYONE kiss me.  Sure, I may be attracted to a lot of men, but that doesn't mean that I am going to be kissing just anyone, much less let anyone pass first base without a huge slap or kick in between the knees. You know what I mean? If I don't like a guy, I will show him the exit. Nuff said!

We ended up going on three dates. Nice ones, at that.  Simple, walking around, having a beer, sitting and people watching...talking about intelligent topics...cuddling...some kissing...it was nice. :D (sigh...)

I made the mistake, when my mother asked me after the third date, of simply telling her his first name. I should have just made up a different name.  She went and found him on social media, commented on a picture of his saying how dumb something was, and then I never heard from him again. To this day, I still haven't heard from him, though it's been about a week and a half. All I want to tell him is that I didn't say anything to my mother. I also want to tell him to change his security and privacy settings on his social media profile to not allow public people to comment on his photos, like my bulldozer mom.

I yelled at my mother. She completely crossed the line.  I barely knew this guy. He barely knows me and to have the mother of some girl you just possibly started dating comment on one of your pictures?!  I asked a few other friends what they thought themselves of the situation, and it was the same, "Your mom is scary".  Many men would run the other way.

Oh dear...Thanks, Mom. Thanks a bunch.

I will no longer tell my mom anything about any of my dates unless they are serious material.

She had a cow because I chose popsicles as a location for a first date. What is so wrong with eating a popsicle?  A second date was going and getting beers else where.  She accused him of being cheap.  Given my current financial situation and me being mindful of other's pocketbooks, what is so wrong with going to those places?  Apparently, a lot!

So she scared him off...nor did she apologize, though she now knows not to go stalking people on social media. Thanks...yet again...

It's a pity because though I knew about some of his skeletons prior to our first date. I didn't care what they were. And I certainly wasn't nor will I be sharing them on here, but if I didn't care about his past, he should realize that. Mystery is alluring to some people.

I am the type of person that cares more about what a person had become than what they were.

1) Are they hard-working?
2) Are they loving?
3) Are they smart?  (and that doesn't mean that they have to have a bazillion degrees like me)
4) Can we carry on a conversation and do we have chemistry?
5) Are their past obstacles ones they have overcome?

I can say that #7 and I checked each other off on all of them.  Perhaps I was just sooo into the attention from him that I went overboard. Hindsight for myself proves that it was probably so.  Sigh....

I sent him a message saying, "It was really nice to meet you. I'd like to see you again," but nothing...

I can say that maybe after a week of not hearing from #7, I moved on to #8.

Date #8 is a nice guy. I met him as he was the bartender of one of the places I went to.  His co-worker, who happens to also work at a sandwich shop in the same building I work in. She mentioned to me the following day, "My boss is smitten with you".  Well, thank you! That's pretty nice to hear! Nice choice of words, there, I might add.

This past Sunday afternoon, she invited me out for drinks at the bar she works at. Her boss was there.  He blushed each time he saw me.  When I was about to leave, he thrust a pad of paper and a pen at me.  I looked coyly at him, "Is there something you wish to have from me?"

"yeah...your number"

So I gave him my number, we went out on a date that same night. Went to the beach...held hands...it was nice. :)

Similar qualities to #7, though not as handsome, but is equally adorable.

Kind of busy as well...I'm not going to hold my breath any longer.

The text messages:

There were a few guys that I gave my number out to.  I wish that I hadn't.  One in particular was incredibly persistent. Thankfully, it's just a Google Voice Number, so it's not like they have my real digits.  I can block whomever, which I've already done to the Troubadour. Bwah hah hah.

One guy found out that I was a fellow South American.  He would not leave me alone.  One of the last messages he sent to me before I blocked him was, "We can kiss...with tongue".  Um, ew...excuse me, but who says that to someone they don't even know?

Maybe to someone they've been dating for a while? or have had chemistry with ?  I have no idea....


Screw dating. I'm turning back into a female hermit.

Adventures in Job Searching

A very close friend of mine once said, "Mom, talk to Ren about getting a job. She can leave one job one minute, have no prospects, and find another one in two seconds."

How true that was for such a long time!

I felt my running streak came to almost a demise in this past year. But maybe my streak of bad luck has come to an end?  I don't know, but I can't wait to find out.

Within the past two weeks, my life has been an interesting mix of...well, I just don't know what to describe it as...but for lack of a better word, an interesting mix.

I haven't publicly blogged about it, except in my other blog, "Pineapple Pirate School for Language Snobs", but a year ago, I was let go from one job I absolutely came to despise. You can see the post here.

I worked for an online school based out of Orlando. At the time I got hired, it was an absolute God-send. I was in a terrible relationship. I had no money as my own paycheck was being sucked dry by bills and, "other" people.  The school, as I am a teacher, hired me and paid me $8K more a year!  I could finally leave my oppressive situation and finally start over! Yes! You can also read about that here.

Things at that job were more than great for a year! Then came a huge change that made everything spiral down.  At one point in the final year of my time at that place, I had over 253 students. Anyone who works in a regular brick and mortar understands that your sanity will be close to nil and you'll actually want to strangle yourself for lack of peace.  Not to mention, my own kid had no schedule and was practically raising himself. I'd often hand him my tablet and he'd whine, "Mommy? I'm hungry!".  I'd tell him to wait "just a second" and a few hours later, it would be 11 o'clock, and he's fallen asleep.  I remember thinking to myself, "Just waiting for summer!"  As I mentioned above, you can read the whole incident above.

Then came the summer. With the online teaching job I had, you don't get summers off.  I reveled in my newfound status of an unemployed Spanish teacher about to go back to Argentina for a month during the North American summer. A week before I left, I got a phone call from a middle school down the street from where I am currently living. I went to the interview, got the job a few hours later and proceeded to get really excited about what I was going to be doing for middle schoolers.

It takes a special person to be a middle school teacher.

I was to teach six 90-minute classes of "Intro to Spanish".  On my roster, I noticed that I had more students in a tiny classroom than I had ever had before.  Total, I had about 241 for first semester and about 246 on the roster for 2nd semester. Broken up into each class equaled around 40-42 students in my classroom.  The first couple of days of school, I had a few kids even sitting on the floor.  Not classy for a county school district that is supposed to be #1 in all of the state of Florida.

For the remainder of the semester, I tried my best. I even had people come in to give me pointers on what they would do in my classroom if they were the teacher. People that came in were not all consistent in their feedback with me. It was so confusing.  The majority said they understood what my dilemma was in terms of a small classroom and too many students, and gave me credit for that.  However, the principal gave me bad marks on everything.

I am the type of person that doesn't like to beat around the bush. I am a resilient soul. I'd rather someone be completely honest and up front with me and tell me, "This is how terrible you are doing." or "We don't like you." etc. If someone doesn't like me, fine!  I don't care if you don't like me. I'll kindly remove myself from your presence and get the hell out of Dodge. Then we can both exist in our own ecosystems without each other's negative Baloney Sandwich.. But don't sit there and be wishy-washy with me and pretend that you're my friend and that we are going to eat ice cream together, and then go and tell people that I'm a horrible person, teacher, friend, mom, sister, daughter, etc.. Karma is not a kind thing. I'd hate to see what it does to people such as bad souls as some of the people in the school district I was in.  A friend (a REAL friend) warned me, "Don't be too friendly with these people, Ren!  They don't understand people like us and will back stab you at any moment!"  I took her advice, but man! She wasn't joking. I ran into a former co-worker and was very warm and friendly with her. What a cold shoulder...  Just because I've been terminated doesn't mean that I'm radioactive or toxic. Puh-LEASE!  People can just be snarky...just saying.

Anyways...back to what I was saying...All the great ideas that I had with my students flew out the window because of the small size of my classroom. I mean really small. My classroom was 13'x25', I believe. I know the 13' to be true because I measured the tiles for the width of the room for a project my kids and I were doing together.  I wanted to do language and culture center tables with them. I wanted to be able to play games for them to learn. All the kids were shoved into that tiny classroom and were practically on top of one another. As a result, I also had some kids that were mean, and evil and downright rude.  I realize I am the adult here, but if you haven't taught, and have never taught middle school, you don't know what Hell on Earth is like. Middle schoolers are exactly what I described up above.

However, I did have about 3 classes that were lovely, well behaved little children. Some of them would give me Oreos, or blue little staples to put in my stapler. Some gave me chocolates and flowers.  Some even gave me hugs and told me that I was their best and most favorite teacher.  If that's not love and if that's not success, I don't know what is. One student even said that she wanted to be a Spanish teacher because of me. Granted, she's only in the 7th grade. She may end up changing her mind, but that was still nice.

I was let go the day before Christmas break. I had just finished a messy project with my students where they made Three Kings Day crowns. Glitter was everywhere. I had paper plates strewn about. Glue was stuck to the desk.  I was busy cleaning up when the principal popped his head in the door and asked to speak with me. Everything after that was a blur. He'd mentioned that my progress had not improved with my classroom management.  I knew what he was referring to.

About a week before my firing, I had been really sick and out for three days. The reports I had received about my students were HORRENDOUS. My kids were the epitome of evil children on speed.  My classroom neighbor, who could hear everything through the walls and the vents said things had gone really badly while I had been out.  That the principals had been called down several times to my classroom.  It was not a pretty sight.

I will pause here and interject myself and say that had I had the necessary resources and maybe transitioned back into classroom teaching, maybe I would not have gotten fired from that job too.  But I like to believe that God has a plan for everyone and maybe it was just His will for me to get fired. I'm still a little sore about it all, though.

In any case, I was let go right before Christmas. The principal had the nerve to say, "Well, it's the holiday season. You'll get a part time job somewhere." I wanted to slap that bastard across the face. 

His secretary, whom I will say is a lovely angel, stayed with me to help me pack. She told me several times that she was amazed at how well I was taking it. I told her, "I'm trying really hard to be strong here and not cry."

That happened December 19, 2013.  

A friend of mine goes to a church close by where some of the kids I had attend Sunday School. One of them somehow connected my friend and I together. I found out that there had been a substitute keeping watch over the new round of kids that I would have had.  Each semester brings in new kids. I had been excited that I was going to start fresh with new kids. I even had new policies in place for the 2nd semester. Alas, it was not to be.

It's only been after months of fruitless job searching online that I was able to find a part time job through people I know.  

In order to get unemployment in Florida, you have to search for 5 jobs or more a week.  Only one person called me in for an interview and that was the county where I live. They needed a graphic designer, but still haven't called me back. That's okay, though. Because, through networking, I got a job!

In fact, the same day that I started working for the photo and video studio I am working for right now, I went to visit an old employer just to see how she was doing. She needs someone desperately and said she would love to have me work for her!

So now I have two jobs. I am super excited!!!

Let's see what life has in store for me now! I'm hoping my negative streak is over. 

Maybe teaching is not for me anymore. 

Right up my alley!

Trolling Facebook tonight, as I always do each and every night, I found the link below on a friend's wall.

Velociraptor Statue

Not only do I have the opportunity to make my own legacy by having a life sized, realistic Velociraptor in my garden, I can purchase him for only $2250.

That's what I call a real bargain!

So, I am now a Speedy Thief and a muscular menace!  I do eat meat, but mostly only in Argentina. I have terrifying bicuspids! RAWR!

I have not frequented the nail salon, so I can say that my feet are looking a little beastly right now.

I remember my dad calling me "The Shark" when I was a kid since I would wander about the house with items appropriated from hapless family members at inopportune moments of their lives.

I want to slap that sucker in my garden. I can't wait to see the reaction on some people's faces when they walk up to my front door.

It's like he's saying, "Hey, yo! What's happenin'? Fancy a skip in my garden?  Don't go eatin' my birds now, yo."

Paradise of Alligators, Beaches and Bugs vs. Land of Oz.

Kansas experiences hot summers. 

Kansas also has some cold winters. 

An exciting thing is that I don't have to deal with snowy winters anymore as I am now a Floridian Transplant.  I do have to deal with hot, humid summers from about mid-March to mid-October, though.  Winter here in Florida is cold.  That being said, even though Florida is part of North America. We typically have two seasons: hot and cold.  There is no in between. 

You're probably shaking your head and wondering..."What does she mean that it's cold in Florida?"

I shall explain.  

Florida, being humid year round, experiences a few months of chilly to cold weather in the wintertime.  When it is 60 degrees here in Florida, it's cold.  It's a wet kind of cold.  

As a kid growing up in Kansas, anytime the forecasters said, "Well, folks, It's going to be 60 degrees tomorrow" in December or January, that meant you could run around like Superman without a jacket and wear shorts and a tank top.  My dad used that term whenever he noticed I ran around without a jacket or sweater. "You are not Superman!" he would shout at me with his Ecuadorean accent. "You are going to get sick!"  "Sick" always sounded more like "seek". 

Another thing about living in the Land of Four Seasons is that you have to wake up extra early to warm up your car when it's cold.  You have to scrape ice or snow off of your windshield. You run the risk of your boogers freezing while prepping yourself for your daily bump and grind, like if the weather is below 20 degree Fahrenheit.  Do I want to do that all time?  No, thanks.  Although, living in Kansas does have its benefits. 

This summer, I will hopefully be going home for a few weeks to enjoy the summer heat of Kansas.  Kansas summers to me are incredibly hot, but at least they won't be as humid as they are here in Florida.  It seems to only get humid before it's going to rain in Kansas.  One thing I really like is when you first walk outside in the summer. It's like a blast of nice, hot air in your face.  I like getting nice and tan. :D

If I were to move back now, after having a ten year absence with exception of family vacations, I might have a better tolerance for the nasty weather. In Kansas, you can experience the four seasons in merely one day.   Once, I wore shorts in the morning as it was 80 degrees outside.  By nightfall, it was snowing.  I don't know many places in the world that can do that in one day. 

All of this nostalgia for my home state reminds me of the last winter I spent at home before moving out to Florida ten years ago.  I lived for 21 years in the Land of Oz 

before moving out to the Paradise of Alligators, Beaches and Bugs. 

I worked at a place called the "Nazarene Publishing House" back in 2003-04.  As the name implies, it was a place where books were published. I didn't spend my time working with books, though. I worked in their cafeteria.  The former manager is one of my mom's best friends, Nancy. She is an amazing cook. :D This place was located on Troost Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri, in a pretty crappy area of town.  When it was first founded in 1912, the area in which the NPH is located was a nice place. Not so much now.  Even the Hostess head bakery was located next door. I could actually touch the Twinkie Building!  Now, there's nothing but resident hookers and crackheads on every corner. But apparently, there are plans to revitalize the area.  Good luck with that, City Commissioners!

Run away!!!

One day, in February '04, I was hard at work in the kitchen, cleaning and cooking. A blizzard was forecast for the day. I didn't think anything of it, as I was used to snowstorms. I wasn't expecting it to come until late afternoon.  My car at the time was a 1994 Mitsubishi Mirage, 5 Speed, Periwinkle Blue, with "Hello, Kitty!" car seat covers. 

Mine had Black Spray paint on the hubcaps. Thanks, Dad!

 The Ren-Mobile, a great little car for driving in the snow. It would only take me about 30 minutes to drive to work or home.  Work was 8 miles from my house. No biggie, right?

Well, this particular day the president of our company sent us home early because the forecasters kept saying "It's a doozy out there folks!" It turns out that February was one of the snowiest on record, which has been surpassed by now, I believe. 

Everyone else in the House was able to leave right then and there, but we kitchen workers still had food to pack up, dishes to wash, tables to clean, food to restock, etc. 

When I got out to the parking lot and my car, five inches of snow had since fallen since that morning. I started my car to warm it up. Grabbing my ice scraper from the back seat, I began to brush snow off my car since it's against the law in Missouri and Kansas to have snow all over your car while driving.  Snow has the potential to fly off your roof and hit someone's windshield, thus causing a visual barrier. It's some sort of liability issue. It's ridiculous.

Twenty minutes later, I'm still brushing snow off of my car. Meanwhile, the snow is falling fast and accumulating quickly. I hop in the car, put my car in reverse and all I can hear is my tires spinning. So... I get out AGAIN!  I figured if my tires were spinning, what I needed to do was scoop snow from underneath my car in order to back out of my car space. I'm laying there on my stomach, scooping snow from underneath my wheels, on the corner of 29th and Troost Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri, which, mind you, is a VERY BAD area of town. Anyone from KC on both sides of the state line know not to go in that area after 5 pm. All I'm doing is shoveling snow from underneath my car and my tires. I am laying there on my stomach and thinking, "I could get shot at or mugged and have my car stolen".

After spending 10 minutes backing my car out, success! Kansas City lies on some pretty large hills and river bluffs. Everyone hears that Kansas is flat. Well, not eastern Kansas. 

 Trying to drive either up or down these bluffs and hills with snow and ice on the road is just a tad difficult. I decided I was going to take the "Long Way" home, which is more or less flat, but takes me about ten to fifteen minutes more time.  It's more or less the same distance, but there's more stop and go traffic.  The publishing house is only 8 miles from my parents house, if you take the Interstate and go the way of the hilly side roads, but it takes awhile to get to and from going the backroads because of stop and go traffic. 

Route A in Grey; Route B "The Long Way" in Blue

I'm driving south on Troost Ave., all the while praying to God that I don't get stopped by somebody demanding my car or worse, pointing a gun at me. I'm the only one on the road, except for the homeless people and neighborhood crack heads sitting on the benches, waiting for buses. 

Driving in the snow takes great care. I'm not sure what your expertise is driving in the snow, but my motto is "Safety First".  I don't care if you are an expert at driving in the snow. I will be a slow driver until I feel I can drive safely at a fast speed. Any of you can drive as fast as you want and flip me the bird...I still don't care. Safety First.

As I am heading south on Troost towards 43rd Street, I see that I have a green light!  "Green light, go!  Heck, yeah!" I thought to myself. I'm finally emerging from the bad area of Troost and Gang...  Accelerating carefully, I am near the intersection, when all of a sudden...out of NOWHERE, there's a guy crossing the intersection, crossing Troost.  All I can think of is, "WTH?!  I'm the only person out here on the road. Can't you merely wait until I cross through the intersection? Don't you know that I have the right of way since I am the one with a green light?! ARGH!!!"

Of course, I slow down because I don't want to get a ticket, just in case there are cops hanging out and about, you know. As I stop at the intersection, with a green light pour moi, mind you, I notice that this man is wearing shorts. SHORTS!  IN WINTER!! DURING A SNOWSTORM!  Picking his way carefully across the walk, I also notice his legs are VERY white. I thought to myself, "This poor black man is so cold, and wearing shorts, that his skin has turned white!  Aw, poor guy!"  If I had had a blanket or a jacket, I would have gotten out of the car and given him one. 

Upon further observation, I noticed why his legs were white. They were prosthetics. 

With my mouth agape, all I could think of was how absurd this all was to me. As he finished walking across, I put my car in first gear, skidded, slipped and slid some more. I was prevented from leaving my new perch because, guess what? My green light had turned red.  Boo. I sat there some more thinking, "Lord, why do I encounter the most random stuff?! Answer this for me." 

With the light finally turning green, I slowly made my way to the next intersection where a Metro Bus was stopped and surrounded by, guess what this time?! Cop cars, paramedics and fire engines. I couldn't see this down the road six blocks because in a snow storm, you can't see squat more than 10 feet in front of you. It's impossible.

Yet again, I had a green light, but yet again, I was prevented from going through the intersection by a police officer. He motioned for me to roll my window down. He asked me where I was going. 

"I'm going home from work, Officer."  I said. 

"Where's home?" he asked, eyeing my little blue car with suspicion. 

"Merriam, in Johnson County, where I live with my parents." Saying that you're from Johnson County while you're in KC is your ticket anywhere. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just your car looked suspicious with those spray-painted hubcaps of yours." I rolled my eyes, and said "Thank my dad for that one. He didn't like silver color that they were and thinks they look better spray painted black. But, since you've stopped me, can you tell me what's going on?"

Turns out that an attempted purse snatching had occurred on the bus. The intended victim was a little old lady who had a heart attack that had to be carried out on a stretcher. The assailant was arrested by one of the cops and they were waiting for backup. The cop moved me along and I was on my merry way.

It took me TWO HOURS to drive 8 miles. Luckily, I didn't have any more strange encounters. When I got home, I wasn't able to park my car in the driveway because a foot of snow had fallen. That's how fast it snowed in the two to three hours I had left since work. I had to park my car across the street. As soon as I got inside, my mother impatiently asked me for the meal that I had brought home from work. 

"Are you going to give me any of Nancy's food?" she asked, pursing her lips.

I was in such a bad mood that I said, "No. I'm going to eat this myself." 

I told her about my day. Mom had absolutely no sympathy for me. 

As absurd as that whole story was, I certainly did not bat an eye.  I seem to be destined for interesting things and events. 

Even if it includes weather. 

No Escape from THE FOGHORN

Recollection sometimes is a wonderful thing.

Sometimes, it can be used to remember a loved one that has gone the Way of Yonder, a.k.a. Death. Other times, it can be used to remember a painful memory.  Lastly, it can be used to remember something so memorable, that it's worth laughing about.

Today, I was doing some of the latter.

I was at a friend's house today, regaling her with stories. I honestly don't remember how I got on the subject of awkward people, but I remembered this story of a girl from my time at Flagler College.  Reason being...this girl was really weird.

Here, I shall pause and say, I'm kind of weird, too. I'm weird in a fascinating and funny way. I am unique! You won't find anyone else like me.  None of this creepy crap with me.  No way, José! I am blunt and realistic.

For the last four semesters of my undergrad, I attended Flagler College. Flagler College is a nice little college in Saint Augustine, Florida, that caught my eye for many reasons.

Not only is it a beautiful college campus, but they have reputable academics and small classes, which appealed to me. In 2004, it had a stained glass minor. I had never heard of a college with that kind of a program, so naturally, I wanted to minor in stained glass!  As the Vallazza-Luck would have it, the year I arrived was the last year that anyone could enter that particular minor program. So, I switched to Spanish as my major and Creative Writing as my minor.

My first class on the very first day of my "career" at Flagler was "Theatre History".  I sat down on the risers with my notebook, pen and paper.  The room began to fill up with other students. I didn't know a single soul since I had just moved from Kansas.  At last, class began and our teacher, Andrea, went over the syllabus. Just as she was finishing, in walks a mulatto-skinned girl with long hair wearing brogue shoes, a long skirt, a white t-shirt, and a unibrow meant to be the envy of Frida Kahlo.  She dragged a suitcase on wheels wrapped in silver duct tape.  She found a seat and abruptly sat down.

Her suitcase was one that rolls with an extendable handle.

Andrea, the professor, greeted her. "Hello, Renee."

Renee looks at Andrea. Without a smile of acknowledgement in return, she opens her mouth and releases the most basso profundo voice I have ever heard on a woman.  "HULLO!"

Her voice, manly and coming from what seemed like an endless abyss, sounded just like a foghorn.

This was the first of four semesters that I was to have experience with the girl I shall refer henceforth as "The Foghorn", except in case when it has to do with my name or hers, which are both very similar. I had many classes with this girl. In fact, not a single semester at Flagler was spent without having her in at least ONE of my classes. One semester, she was in TWO.  That was a nightmare.

The Foghorn was, what I will delicately say here, socially awkward and inept. The poor thing had very limited social skills and really needed friends to help her.  She was pretty polite, but as I mentioned before, her social skills were severely lacking. Surprising for a theatre major.

One of many experiences I had with The Foghorn was when I somehow got roped into being the "Inter Club Council" member.  A friend of mine got sick and could no longer attend the meetings as the ICC rep so she elected me to be the ICC member. That meant that I had to pal around with The Foghorn.  As I've mentioned before, this girl's name is Renee.  My nickname is "Ren" or "Renny".  People were always confusing us because our names are so similar.

However, does that mean I think it's funny or okay to confuse us both?

NO!

I don't even resemble this girl in any way shape or form, so I felt slightly insulted each time the mistake was made. She had long hair, bushy eyebrows, café au lait skin, and dressed in potato sacks. My hair was short, sculpted eyebrows, Beaner skin and I wore shorts and a tank top with flip flops.

Costa Rica, 2006.

Anyways...back to my story. 

For Christmas 2004, we had to come up with an ornament to put on the Christmas tree in the rotunda in the Ponce De Leon hall at Flagler.  Me, being creative with wannabe flair, wanted to come up with something snazzy.  The Foghorn took it upon herself to decorate an ornamental ball she found at Michael's with red puff paint that simply said 'ARIEL' Spanish Club.  We were supposed to place the ornament on a tree during a special ceremony. The club with the best ornament was to have won something pretty awesome, which must not have been that awesome because I can't remember what it was. 

The Foghorn told me to meet her at her dorm room at 5:45 p.m..  I had just recently moved off campus, about three blocks away.  As I was getting ready, I realized what time it was, 5:30 p.m., and ran three blocks in heels.

 I sweat the entire way there.  Running up two flights of stairs to her room, I see the door ajar. I knock, wait a moment, hear no answer and very gently pushed the door open.

Lo and behold...The Foghorn is hanging around in her undergarments and she's typing away on her computer.  Not even remotely getting ready. 

"Uh...you told me to meet you here at 5:45.  You're not even ready! I just ran three blocks and two flights of stairs. In heels, I might add. " I said, exasperated. 

With her booming, manly voice, The Foghorn says, "YEAH. I KNOW."

"Aren't you going to start getting ready?" I asked.

"YEAH," she boomed.

"Well, I'll just wait for you downstairs," I said, rolling my eyes.

"YEAH. YOU CAN DO THAT," honked The Foghorn. And she went back to her computer.

Annoyed, I walked down the stairs and headed straight for the cafeteria. I had some remaining meals on my plan and decided to get an ice cream. In fact, I went and got TWO. Yeah!

In the time it took for The Foghorn to get ready and come down, I had eaten one cone.  By this time, it was 6:05 and the ceremony had begun.  The choir was screeching Christmas carols and I was well on my way licking down my second cone. The Foghorn carried our drab looking, golden ornament in her hands. 

The clubs were called alphabetically.  ARIEL was the second club called up to the front for the night.  After the first club went, hung their ornament, they handed The Foghorn the microphone. I am almost finished with my cone. All that remains is the actual cone itself, so I shove it into my mouth so that people aren't looking at me eating ice cream in front of the whole school.  

She blasts into it, "My name...UM.... is Renee <Insert Last Name Here>. UH....UM....UH...I'm the president of...UM...UH...ARIEL, the Spanish club.  And this is...UH....UM..."

She thrusts the microphone in front of my mouth. 

CRUNCH!!! CRUNCH!!! CRUNCH!!! 

All you can hear through the microphone is me munching on the rest of my ice cream cone. 

"THAT'S REN. SHE HAS AN ICE CREAM CONE IN HER MOUTH. SHE IS THE ICC REP FOR ARIEL," announces The Foghorn.

Mortified, I manage a goofy smile with bits of cone in my mouth. I wave at everyone like a dolt. 

I hand the microphone to someone else and we hang the ornament together onto the tree.  As soon as that was over, I left.  LOL.

Another case in point was class. 

The Foghorn had this special knack for asking questions. Lots of them. Which is fine, mind you. There's nothing wrong in asking questions, especially if the meanings or context elude you. The Foghorn would ask questions when the answer was obvious, or if it were in the textbook, or in the discussion.

Here is an example from a blog I wrote back in 2005. I was taking a "Literatura Española" class (Spanish Literature Class) and The Foghorn was in that class.  As I mentioned before, The Foghorn was the PRESIDENT of the Spanish club, ARIEL, at Flagler. How she got that position, I have NO IDEA because the poor girl was not fluent verbally in Spanish.  All you could get out of her were deep vocalizations of "UH's" and "UM's" in between incoherent Spanish words and phrases.

Read the excerpt below from November 3rd, 2005.

I think I've mentioned that I have a particular classmate that is really loud, but also just doesn't get it. 

Today in class was another classic event.

This girl is in my Spanish Literature class. The class is conducted entirely in Spanish, so what ever questions or discussions that we students have must also be spoken in Spanish.

We've been studying a piece called "La Celestina". If you really care, it's set in the late 1500s in Spain and is about a prostitute by the name of Celestina who is a money monger as well as a matchmaker. She sets two people up by the name of Calisto and Melibea. Well, anyhow, think of this story as another Romeo and Juliet, but set in Spain. 

Any movie with Jordi Mollá is worth watching...

Calisto, the guy, dies by falling out of a tower and Melibea, distraught over having lost her true love, wants to kill herself. But of course, before she does so, she has a long monologue over how she lost her virginity and how she cannot live in society as a "loose" woman. Then she pitches herself over the same tower and dies.

Now, The Foghorn has no social skills.  She shoots her hand up right away and asks in Spanish, "Cómo sabe...UH...la gente que...UMMMMM... sí no estoy....UH...virgen?" 

Meaning: How do people know that I'm not a virgin? 

First off, she misconjugated the verb "to be" incorrectly. She should have used "SER" instead of "ESTAR." Secondly, she should have said, "soy" for "I am". "Estoy" mean "to be feeling" or "to be located". Let me localize your virginity before I take it!

This girl is a VERY conservative Christian. For her to say something like this is way out of the ordinary, as if Hell froze over! 

For those of us that are bilingual or just really good at Spanish, we tried really hard not to laugh straight in her face. I snorted and a few people turned their heads away from her so that she wouldn't notice them laughing either at her or her question. 

She then blushed, corrected herself and said with her booming voice, in English, "Wait! UM....No, I don't mean me!  UH, I mean her. I'm still a virgin, guys!" 

EVERYONE laugh more than they were.  A few people were crying from laughing so hard.

But she was in earnest and wanted to know. The teacher didn't know how to respond to her question.  I was fed up, since by this time, she had already asked several questions that annoyed the class. 

So I told her, in English, "Honey, they didn't use certain feminine products back in that day and age. They're going to know whether or not she's a virgin when she gets poked." 

Everyone started howling with laughter! 

This girl is so naïve. I feel so sorry for her. She is so out of place because she has absolutely no people skills.

Everyone tries so hard to not laugh openly at her because the questions she asks are absurd. 

But, I guess I have to sit back and realize that there really are people who just don't know about things."

Later on that day, after I wrote that post above, I felt badly. I went and actually wrote The Foghorn an apology for laughing at her.  The nice thing she did was tell me that she hadn't noticed.  That made me feel a little bit better about the whole situation. Nobody wants to get laughed at. I would feel poorly if I laughed at someone, knowing that I caused them some sort of hurt for doing that. 

Another time in class, the last semester that I was to share a class with her, she walks into the the second installment of Literatura Española, with her duct taped suitcase.  She stalks in with her long skirts and heavy brogue shoes.  She stops directly in front of a new student, who turned out to be a roommate of mine later on, and says to him, "I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE IN MY LIFE."

Well, no shit, Sherlock! Of course you haven't. 

He looked at her strangely, then looked back at me, while I smiled at him a knowing smile of  "Be careful with her," and he simply smiled at her. 

Later on in the semester, he invited her to a "Study Party" we ended up having at our house. I remember him saying, "Dude...we are going to get her messed up!!! I'm going to give her lots of beer!  She'll loosen up that way."

I remember thinking and I even told him, "Oh, please...don't do that. Invite her, but don't try to get her drunk. That's not funny."

She came to the party, but politely declined all offers to ply her with alcohol.

"I'M A BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIAN. I WAS RAISED A ROMAN CATHOLIC. IT'S AGAINST MY RELIGION. JUST LIKE HAVING FEELINGS FOR WOMEN IS AGAINST MY RELIGION."  She boomed.

Well...that explains why she speaks with a deep voice, then.

As I have grown older and become a teacher myself, I realize now that I was pretty harsh in my view of her back then.  I have had students in her situation that suffer from anxiety disorders related to interacting with others.  She could very well had Aspergers Syndrome, which disables people from being able to socially interact with others on a high level. 

She was pretty smart, from what I understood, but just really lacked the skill necessary to interact with people on a whole different level. 

I wish I could go back and tell myself from 10 years ago that perhaps what she needed was someone to help her.

Knowing that now, I think that's what I'll do in the future to help out a person like...The Foghorn.

Old Adventures in Babysitting

When I was in middle school and high school, and even some in college, I babysat a lot.

I was going through an old diary of mine when MySpace used to be popular and found the funniest post I wrote about nine years ago about an experience I had had with some kids as a children's photographer, as well as babysitting.

Please feel free to enjoy this "adventure" from the past. :D

Originally posted Thursday, September 29, 2005. (With edits.)
"First Days"

Today, I am going to write yet another babysitting/child experience story.

Friday, I began my job as a children's photographer and assistant for local daycare centers. I get to either pose the kids on the props, "style" their hair and try to calm them down if they happen to freak out. 

The kids at the particular center that I was at on Friday had some very well behaved children. They also had some REALLY interesting names. Like Niquel (pronounced Nyquil), K-Shonda, and Jai Kumar, who was from India. 

Some kids were also very photogenic, like 4 year old Samir. He came up to me and asked if he could have a comb. I told him that I would give him one after he took his picture and if he gave us a HUGE smile. He got up there on the prop and gave the biggest smile I have ever seen a child his age give. After getting his comb, he began to comb what little hair he did NOT have. You see, his head was shaved. His teacher told him afterwards, "Boy, you ain't got no hair! Whut you need a comb for?!" It was so funny. 

Today, I babysat two toddler boys. Their parents hired me to give some relief to the kid's grandmother, who normally takes care of them.  These kids are heavy. I'm not saying they're fat. They're just muscular little boys that seem to weigh a ton. The older one, Nick, is almost 3. All he talks about is elephants. Elephants this, elephants that, elephants happened... We watched Dumbo at least THREE times. I hate that movie now. The younger one, Alex, wouldn't stop crying whenever his grandmother left the room. It's not like I couldn't ask her what helped calm him down. She spoke only Polish. 

The family had two dogs. A chocolate lab named, guess what? Mocha! How unique!! The other was a German Shepherd called Hilda or Bimbo or something along those lines. Guess what with this dog responded to? German words. Nien or Nein (however it's spelled) means "no" in German. The mother told me that this dog came direct from Germany on a plane and was trained over there. It cannot follow English. 

GREAAAAAATTTTT....

All I could do was sit and think--Why, God? You've blessed me with an ear for languages and I have yet to pick these other languages up?

The older boy, Nick, understands his grandmother when she speaks to him. But all he can say in English is "Elephants", "Happened" , and "Hugs" and a bunch of other incoherent words. The mom called me from work and asked how my first day went. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't want to babysit again, but first days are always a bit difficult in any kind of job.

The American Dream...

Today, I was trolling through and stalking people Facebook as I normally do and came across a very interesting article/slide show from NPR about life along and immigration via the U.S./Mexico border.  The entire presentation may be found here.  Borderland

Clicking on it, I was taken by the photos, video and most importantly, the stories of these people that go through what they have to go through just to get to the U.S..

As a daughter and granddaughter and the ex-wife of immigrants to the United States, many people whose families have been here for generations have NO IDEA what it is like for people to come here.  My father came for new opportunities and adventure.  My grandfather came because it's where his family lived across the river from Mexico.  My ex-husband came because he knew he didn't want to be in his country anymore where it was more difficult for opportunity in his field.

Coming to America - It's not just only for Mexicans, or Central Americans. It also is a dream for people from other continents...such as Europe, Africa and Asians.

Most often times, it is for a dream of better living, education, and work. Simply because they cannot achieve those dreams and goals in their own country.

BORDERLAND

We Took A 2,428-Mile Road Trip Along The Mexico Border: Here's What We Saw

Broken up in to a series of 12 photojournalistic stories, each one tells a compelling piece.

Story 1: Just Getting There, by Steve Inskeep, tells the stories of several people crossing the U.S./Mexico border. One young woman, in particular, is from Ethiopia, named Saraa.

Yes, you read that correctly. She is from Ethiopia.

You're probably thinking, "But she's from an African country...how the H*ll did she end up crossing the Mexico/U.S. border?"

Americans, especially those who do not travel internationally, are unaware that most foreigners need a visa to simply enter the United States, even if it's simply for a visit.

Saraa was unable to obtain a visa from Ethiopia, but somehow, someway, she was able to come up with $15,000 to have someone escort her from Ethiopia, Sudan, Brasil, Venezuela, Colombia, Panamá, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico and finally the United States.  That's 12 countries. TWELVE!  To top it off, she came with her husband, a younger sister who unfortunately perished along the way, and she is pregnant.  She is currently in a safe house in Texas, called "La Posada" and has asked for asylum, since she is afraid of returning to her country.

Other people that are waiting there are from: Albania, Bangladesh, Belize, Brasil, China, Congo, Cuba, Ecuador, El Salvador, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Honduras, India, Ivory Coast, Mexico, Nepal, Nicaragua, Romania, Rwanda, Somalia and Sri Lanka, just to name a few twenty-two countries.

Story 2: Why The Border Is Where It Is  was pretty compelling. It provides you, the reader, a view through historical maps and interactions that show how the current U.S./Mexico border has changed since Spanish colonial times.

I find it ironic of ignorant people that live in the US complain about the presence of "Mexicans" in the United States.  It is ironic to see that firstly, Spain owned a lot of the American West. When Mexico gained their independence from Spain, it became part of Mexico.  Throughout wars and purchases and annexations, a lot of the land "Out West" became part of the US.  People who have been there for generations are American, but culturally they are Mexican, Spanish, Native American, etc.  So...who are the invaders (other than the white folks, no matter their back ground)

Fascinating, at least for history buffs like myself.

Story 3: Fence Facts

Did you know that the current U.S./Mexico Border is 1,969 miles long?  Nope, I didn't know that either until today.  I knew it was pretty long though. Anyone who has common sense and knows how to read a map can tell.

Parts of the border are walled or fenced, which is mostly in highly populated areas.  What's even funnier to me is that part of these walls are erected between 1-5 miles north of the border to keep people out of America.  Another thing that I find funny is that parts of the fence have gaps so as to let animals migrate seasonally, to let farmers onto their land to cultivate crops, and to allow their livestock to graze.

Sometimes, the fence is designed to stop transportation. In other cases, people.  What even baffles me this fence runs past children's play grounds, through the desert and even into the Pacific Ocean, near Tijuana, Mex./San Diego, Cal..

The first fence was erected in 1909.  It was designed to keep out certain types of cattle that had bug infestations...bugs...not people.

I'm sorry, but am I missing something here? Aren't our principles founded on immigration? Aren't we a country of immigrants?

In any case...the fence/wall has been erected in some places.  There are resident Picassos and Van Gogh's in the area on either side since art has been placed on these walls. It has only been in recent years that presidential administrations have been hell bent on keeping illegal immigrants out.

Do I agree with the wall/fence? NO. Does that mean I believe in illegal immigration? Of course not. My family came here the right way, including my ex-husband.  You file the paper work and try it that way.  However, I see where families become desperate to come to the U.S. and cannot wait for the paperwork that is necessary to live and work in the U.S..  But I believe in patience and perseverance and prayer.

Story 4: What's is Like? Portraits of Life on the Border. 

People who are not familiar with the Frontera/Border Lands of our compadres to the South think that it's nothing but a showdown with Mexicans in a huge truck and guns.  I mean, it's all that is heard in the news, so most people assume that people are still living in the times of the Wild Wild West.

WRONG...

People along the border live normal, happy lives.  They do normal things as other people in other states and cities do, taking their kids to practice, running around and going shopping, etc.  My favorite slide of this story is of a Gringo wearing a full fledged Mexican outfit.  He is the port commissioner for Brownsville Port Authority.

There are stories of people and families living on both sides of the border.  A woman in Juarez, Chihuahua, Mex. wants her daughters to find an education in the United States and make something of themselves.

A border patrol agent also states that Border Patrol Agents are not all mean people, that they are empathetic to illegal aliens' causes.

An American born woman to Mexican parents in San Diego says that she enjoys the fact that she can switch living back and forth between the two countries.  She says it's a privilege. I see how that works for her. I would love to say, "I'm going to Mexico for the day. I'll be back for dinner!" Other people truly enjoy the proximity of living close to the border because it is good for business.

Some Mexican/American couples learn each other's language in order to communicate.  After looking at that picture, all I could think of was "Papers!".  However, I could be totally wrong. They could have genuinely fallen in love with one another...but she's MUCH younger than her American husband, so it still makes me think she married him for the papers.

Other people lament, though, the problem of living so close to the border.  One man says that a middle schooler brought a bunch of pot to school with him because it was smuggled from over the border into the U.S..  Another family complained about the fact that the drug cartels were fighting with each other in Juarez.  An American man has part of the border running through his property, but dislikes that the Border Patrol has essentially taken over his land.  Pursuits of illegal aliens on his property have enabled Border Patrol to erect watch towers on his land.

Story 5: Empty Houses

Vacant houses in Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico, that sit pockmarked from bullets fired at other drug cartels.   Many of them are identical, but are painted differently.  These are the empty shells of family life that once thrived in these neighborhoods. That is, until the drug cartels began their wars of controlling the drug trade out of Mexico.

Juarez is the most dangerous city in Mexico, and one of the most dangerous in the world. It's a pity because I would go over there border from El Paso, on visits to my mom's parents, and wander around with them.

El Paso, over the border and Rio Grande from Juarez, was voted one of the most safest cities in the U.S..  Ironic since it sits merely over the river from the most dangerous city in Mexico...

Story 6: Junior

Junior is a Mexican-born student who attends high school in Anthony, Texas.  Junior is an interesting case because he lives with his older sister since his dad was deported only a few months or years before his video was shot.   Since his mom was pregnant, she decided to go along with her husband, thus leaving Junior to fend for himself with his older sister.

It was hard watching that video.  You could tell that Junior really missed his parents and wanted to be with them.  His parents encouraged him to stay and get a better education.  He knows this and also wants to file paperwork in order to become legal so that he can stay and bring his parents back.

Story 7: Snack Time

For about $3 and nine ingredients, you can be the proud recipient of a snack called, "Tostilocos", a snack that has migrated north of the Border from Tijuana, Mexico.

Recipe is as follows: 

• 1 bag of Salsa Verde Tostitos, cut lengthwise. (These can be found in Tijuana, Mexico)
• Cucumbers & Jicama
• Pickled Pork Rinds
• Fried Peanuts
• Chaca-Chaca (Tamarind Candy)
• Salsa de Chile
• Chamoy (Pickled Fruit) Sauce
• Squeeze of Lime

You are then supposed to enjoy this interesting mess of flavors and textures. I don't do anything spicy, so that won't work for me. I'd be willing to try it without the spicy stuff. 

Story 8: Toothbrushes

Or things left behind in the desert, would be a better title for this story.  Toys, belts, shoelaces, toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant, combs, brushes and carpet shoes.

Carpet shoes, you ask?

Avoiding detection is key when crossing the border illegally. To prevent detection, many people have made slipper like shoes with carpet on the bottom.  This enables one to cross the desert virtually undetected.  The illegals carry their own regular shoes with them in a bag and once they coast is clear, they abandon their carpet shoes for regular ones and go on their (hopefully) merry way.

Also, the story talks about the majority of the smugglers are men.  Women that are smuggled by the men are often raped.  Some of them know the risks and carry contraceptives and prophylactics with them to prevent pregnancies and STD's.

Story 9: Apprehension, by Steve Inskeep.

Getting your hand caught in a cookie jar is a story that most people can confess to.  Getting caught by Border Patrol is reserved for the ultra persistent. From home-made ladders to scale the walls to

children as young as toddlers escaping into the U.S.

After months of walking from their respective countries to the border and stepping foot onto American soil, some are captured and deported. Yet, some of those same people are determined to weasel their way into the American dream and continue to persevere.

Story 10: Wanna Buy a Hammock?

Waiting to either get into or leave Mexico via Tijuana is an interesting business, no pun intended.  Many people waiting in their cars to get back into the United States are sold a variety of items.  From hammocks, to wicker baskets, to pottery, to crucifixes to Aztec wall hangings, wood carvings and cold drinks, you can be sure you'll find it at the border in Tijuana.

I remember my days as a young girl visiting my relatives in El Paso, Texas. We would hop in the car for a day of sightseeing in Juarez, Mexico.  Always on our way back into the U.S., we would spend HOURS waiting in line to be processed and all that crap that Border Patrol has to do.  Meanwhile, during our hot and arid wait in the car, vendors would come up to us shouting in Spanish, "Quieres un helado?" 'Quieres una botella de agua?!" etc.  We often would cross the border and realize, we didn't have anything to eat, drink, cool ourselves off.

Once, my aunt bought a blanket from a vendor. Why she did that, I have no idea. It was hot as Hades that day.  Maybe it was meant for a nice Christmas holiday.  It does get chilly in the winter in El Paso.

Story 11: Palabras | Words.

A photojournalistic view on English and Spanish vocabulary that may or may not need translation.  Tacos, of course, need no translation.

Story 12: By the Numbers

Throughout the time that you go through the whole presentation, it shows you what has happened since beginning the story.

At my time of reading the story, Saturday, April 5th, 2014, this is what was found:

When I started reading the story, only 5 ounces of cocaine had been seized. I'm not sure if that's for the day or just when I started reading the story.

It's amazing to see what comes through our borders everyday.


Conclusion:

Though I am only a 1/4 Mexican, I am proud to say that I am still a small part Mexican. I have lots of family that have lived on both sides of the border...and from other countries as well.

So many people come here for the opportunity.  I'm happy to see those that are hardworking and persevere so for the things that they want.

High five to you all...