It’s Monday

Went to see my uncle today. Found him sitting up right in his wheelchair with a big grin on his face. He spoke proudly of how much he’d accomplished today—talking about how many hours of therapy he’d done and how many different places they made him walk. I asked him if the rehab nurses were cute and he said, “oh yes, they certainly are!”

See? I think the stuffed bear helped.

Texas is too fucking hot

to do anything in, like ever. My brothers and I are sitting around watching episodes of The Big Bang Theory waiting for the sun to go down so they can start grilling for father’s day.

They are enjoying The Big Bang Theory unlike last nights showing of Open Water. Despite the fact that I told them the entire premise of the movie, which if you’ve seen you know consists of nothing more than 2 people floating around aimlessly in the middle of the ocean for two hours, and the ending—they still wanted to watch it only to rate it 1 out of 10 stars at the end because it was, “boring and predictable.”

My grandma was taking a nap in the guestroom and I had stopped in to visit with her for a bit. I sat on the corner of the bed and it collapsed. My grandma’s eyes widened and she was quick to yell out, “Esthela made the bed fall, it wasn’t me!” to anyone who may have heard the ruckus from the next room. Thanks a lot, grandma—you fucking tattletale.

We went to Mexico today

Again, totally bemoaning the fact that I forgot my mini SD card for my camera. Not that anything out of the ordinary is happening, oh wait—yes—the neighbors across the street are setting fire to their entire lawn! My grandma’s husband’s brother’s wife passed away and now her house is going to be occupied by one of her granddaughters, her husband, and their children. It’s been sitting unoccupied since she died years ago and now that the lawn has grown to be considered a small forest—it seems the smart thing to do is to set it afire to make the yard habitable again. In already 100 degrees weather, mind you, surrounded by other lawns that while not forest-like are also very very dry. They are standing around with buckets in their hands—presumably to put out the fire. Now if only they thought of this in California, why many an uncontrollable wildfire may have been prevented.

I shoot one picture with my camera’s internal memory and just spectate the rest of the event. The smell is intoxicatingly wonderful, but the smoke becomes too much to bear and I go back inside. They actually managed to successfully put the fire out later with the few buckets of water too.

Bonus fun fact: I am related to someone who lives in every single house you can see in this picture.

Later we walk the streets of downtown Miguel Aleman and go shopping while being accosted by street beggars. I don’t have any change on me anyway, but if I did—I’d give it to the man and the kid, who I assume is his son, playing the trumpet while the kid beats away on the drums effortlessly and without missing one beat. They don’t make eye contact with us as we walk by—they just keep playing.

Back at my parent’s house on this side of the Rio Grande, my dad, mom, and grandma all lose their glasses seemingly at the same time. They’re all wearing a pair, just not their own—so nobody can see enough to find the pair that belongs to them. My brother suggests that they all trade glasses and after a few swaps—every pair of glasses is returned to their rightful owner and all is right in a world—that everyone can once again see in.

My uncle Elias is in the hospital.

He had open heart surgery to replace some veins (or arteries?) near his heart that were taken from his legs. The surgery went well, but now he’s in rehab for physical therapy. He’s 81 years old. We found him totally distraught lying in his bed and since he couldn’t fight the tears—he just let it all out. There is nothing more heart breaking than seeing a man who thinks he’s on the verge of death crying his heart out. I don’t really know if he was crying because of how scared he was or because of how alone he was. My mom said no one had gone to see him in days.

I felt guilt over being 46 years younger than him as if parading it around the room while he laid in bed near the end of his life.

But he’s not at the end of his life, he’s just in therapy. Still, though, his spirit was hard to lift, because he kept going back and forth between how he’s never going to walk again or how the inside of the hospital room will be the last thing he sees. I gave him a pep talk and bought him a teddy bear from the gift shop that he was hugging tightly when we left.

This journal entry is all over the place. I’m scared for my uncle.

I had lunch with

my friends Misha and Angelia today. I hadn’t seen them since I moved away from Austin 9 years ago and its AMAZING how good friendships work in such a way that leave you feeling as though not a single day has gone by since you last saw each other.

The highlight was of course remembering the year we stole Angelia’s Mickey Mouse statue off her desk as a silly April Fool’s joke that made Angelia SO FUCKING MAD that I was like, “ohh—you know we can’t just return it to her now—no, we have to draaaaag it out.” Dragging it out consisted of creating the email account complyormickeywilldie@hotmail.com and spamming her with various ransom notes throughout the day. Ransom notes that she insisted on replying too, which only fueled our desire for continuing to fuck with her. Ransom notes that contained lists of impossible demands like three strands of hair off the back of an afghan mule—to which she’d reply with, “how in the world do you expect me to get that—you assholes! Return Mickey unharmed at once or you will suffer the consequences!!”

We had a three and a half hour lunch and if I hadn’t had to get on the road to head to my parent’s house, we’d probably still be talking. They promised to go visit me in DC next year and I can’t wait to see them again. I forgot my mini sd card for my camera, curses, but I snapped two pictures of the three of us on it’s internal memory.

Later on, during my trip, my GPS got me extremely lost in the middle of Nowhere, Texas and I had a minor, or major depending on if you ask Ken, panic attack. I just really dislike being lost.

Also, I added an entire fucking hour to my travel time.

It sucked, big time.

I had this

sinking feeling recently that because I hadn’t been able to enjoy my favorite Vietnamese dish, Tofu Vermicelli, in such a long time from so many different restaurants that maybe gone were the days when I found Tofu Vermicelli to be the preferred meal 7 days a week.

Today Ana and I ate at Kim Phung, home of the original Tofu Vermicelli, and my taste buds had an orgasm that was a good 4 years in the making.

Thank you menu item #43 Bun!

See you again in 4 years!

I’m in Austin

On Saturday night we went to The Scoot Inn to a 60′s themed beach party night and the only thing that was really 60′s about it was the band’s sound and one girl walking around in a beehive hairdo.  Everything else about it was a regular night at the bar getting drunk.  Well, minus the huge blow up water slide that one naked guy jumped off of and OK I guess some beach balls were being thrown around.  But OK OTHER THAN THAT, it was just your regular drunken night at the bar.

I wasn’t drunk because I really hate spending money on alcohol.

That’s why I was the designated driver when someone in our party got their car broken into and their car had to be driven back to their place.

Originally they were going to leave it parked and take a cab home, but since the car was broken into in the first hour–leaving it over night, with a broken window no less, was no longer a good idea.  Except the girl in question was totally inebriated that convincing her that someone besides her should drive the car home was incredibly difficult.  She was really concerned with the fact that who ever would be driving would get glass in their ass and that nobody should get glass in their ass except her.

This is what she stood in the middle of the street crying about in a drunken stupor while our less drunk friend assured her that it didn’t matter if anyone else got glass in their ass–the important thing was that she couldn’t drive in her state.  Since it was my ass on the line for possible glass insertion I was like, “hello–it does matter if glass gets in my ass thankyouverymuch, but come on — it’s very unlikely to happen.”  Besides, it was the passenger side window that was shattered so as long as no one was riding shot gun–everything would be OK.  Oh except for the fact that I somehow decided it was OK to drive a stranger’s car home with a shattered window amid heavy police activity on a Saturday night.

Maybe I was drunk.

The first thing I said to the girl who I’d be following back to the apartment was, “don’t lose me–I have no idea where I’m going.”  The first thing she did was speed down the block, almost losing me before we even got off the street.  I don’t think someone was a sober as she thought either–especially since she ran a yellow light thus causing me to run a red to keep up.

Then she pulled into the wrong street–a street with a cul-de-sac that before I knew wasn’t the right street, I hadn’t bothered to make a far enough turn around the cul-de-sac thinking I’d be pulling into a driveway somewhere.  When they looped around and started speeding out of the street, I had barely given myself any room to make a U turn so the car hopped the curb and sparks flew out from underneath as I dragged her bumper along the concrete probably messing up her paint job.

I didn’t worry about it, because I knew the owner of the car was too drunk to notice anyway and I’m sure she’ll never read this blog–so who cares!

But just in case, I’m sorry Rosemary!

You’ll be relieved to hear that I didn’t get glass in my ass, of course.