LIFE

There are many people who just exist. They don't see each day as an opportunity, each moment as a another chance. They move through life below the surface, not noticing the beauty of the world around them. I have been one of those people. I worked hard, had a few friends, lived a "normal" life. But I was so empty inside. The only thing I ever felt was anger and a deep, deep sadness. When I began to acknowledge that void within, that unbearable loneliness, I decided to jump into life. The life I chose, however, only served to deepen that hole in my soul. I traveled a reckless road for a long time, telling myself that everything I was involved in was ok, because it made me feel better.

The last couple of years I have spent analyzing that gaping void. After I finally came to grips with why it was there, I knew I had to do something about it. But somehow that seemed like an overwhelming task. So after taking one step forward, I took two steps back, regressing into the life that provided an easy emotional fix. Doing something about my life seemed like hard work that I just wasn't up for.

A few months ago there came an event that forced my crazy roller coaster to a screeching halt. Since then, I try to remain aware of the world around me, to try and put myself in it. But unfortunately, the journey to fulfillment can be awfully lonely. The things I once did, the people I once surrounded myself are no longer apart of my life. The process of "finding oneself" isn't one that includes others.

I know in time I'll find new friends. I hope one day the sadness won't creep up on me unexpectedly anymore. It's getting better though, little by little. I find new things to love about life all the time, smiles are more frequent, and the vise that gripped my heart for twenty years has loosened. But I still haven't found my place in the scheme of things, and it's so confusing sometimes. At times I'm afraid I'll never find it.

A LOVE LETTER

Dear Over-Processed Middle-Aged Scarily Tanned Lady,

Stop coming to my restaurant. I can not stand you. The world has mistakenly told you that you and your kind are highly desirable, that looking like a scarecrow with that dried out blond hair and leathery skin is the height of beauty and sophistication. But when you step through the doors of the Restarante y Cantina, you're in a different world.My world. All of your airs and effected mannerisms mean nada. Just to let you know, I've been about a half of a step away from doing something unbelieveably disgusting to your food for some time now. But I thought I should give your middle-aged-shoved-into-teenage-girl's-clothes ass a chance to redeem youself. So below are a list of changes that you will make, effective immediately:

• You will look me in the eye everytime I speak to you or, you speak to me.
• When you do look at me, you will not act as if it pains you to do so.
• You will personally tell me your order, and not relay it through your husband even though I am standing right-the-fuck in front of you.
• You will speak to me pleasantly, not as if it the act of speaking to me is causing you physical discomfort.
• You will never again order diet coke with lemon. Ever.
• You will not ask me to break down the calorie content of anything on the menu. You will not bust out your Weight Watchers guidebook and ask me how many points the Enchiladas Mole would be worth.
• You and your four identically horrifying friends will not come during lunchtime, order one entree split four ways, drink water with lemon and stay for two hours.
• When I approach your table at any time, you and said harpies/friends will cease talking for a few moments while I do my job. You will not allow me to stand there while you continue to talk to each other and then look up in collective annoyance as if I'm bothering you when all I'm trying to do is take your damn order.
• You will tell your sad, sad clone of a teenage daughter to stop text messaging/get off her cell phone long enough for me to take her order. I know you're grooming her to be Bitch II, but you can continue those lessons elsewhere.

There is more, but I will leave you with this short list for now. I doubt you'll ever take any of this to heart, although it is in your best interest to do so. I'm expecting to see a change in your behavior next time you visit my restaurant. If not, I will #$%^@#$ in your low calorie side of salad dressing and I will %@^*$# in your glass of chablis, only after I lick all of your silverware. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Love Always,

Mujer Morena

WHY

You know that saying "just let sleeping dogs lie"? I hate that saying. Not only because I don't know of any reason to wake up a sleeping dog, but because it's...just stupid.

I've always been an answer-seeker. Inquisitive to the point of annoying, I will always try to find out the answer. To anything. This has worked well for me in school, work, and in just being an overall smartypants, but it's also done me a bit of damage. There are certain past events, certain things that have happened that have been very hard for me to move past. Yes, they were painful and traumatic, but it's not for those reasons I remain stuck. No, it's because I don't understand why they happened.

For several years, I refused to attend any family function, including holidays. I couldn't physically be in a room with people who had hurt me so deeply without regard or admittance and pretend like nothing ever happened. Eventually those people who had hurt me so long ago decided to try and make amends. They gave me a general apology for their behavior, and that was that, problem solved, make way for the rainbows and unicorns.

But that wasn't enough for me. I needed more than a blanket "I'm sorry". What about the "why"? Why did you do this to me? That answer never came, and it took me a very long time to accept that it never would.

I was talking to someone at work this evening. This person told me that everything one feels is purely a state of mind. Stress, fatigue, anger, depression - all in the mind, all easily controlled. But what about the things that happen that are beyond our control, I asked. The effects of those things, more importantly, the reasons why they happened; if we can't understand them or if we don't see a reason or they were unjust, what do we do? This person told me what I've heard time and time again: look to the future. Surround yourself with positive things and work toward your dreams, and the "why's" won't matter.

Huh.

Well, I believe there is some truth to that, but it's easier for some. I freak out if I don't finish a crossword puzzle, so it's hard for me to foresee the day when I'm content with no answer. Every day brings me a little closer, but the tunnel, at times, seems unbearably long.

EL PECHUGON, DOS

Somethings are better left alone. They may be crappy, but they've been crappy for a long time and people have grown accustomed to the crappiness. Like the Restarante y Cantina. It's been a local mainstay for many years. It's been a cozy, family place with the best Mexican food in a ten mile radius; it's been a dirty,ramshackle hole in the wall where all the winos in a five mile radius can drown their sorrows for next to nothing. Those two things have kept this place going for the better part of a decade, and now all that's a changin, gracias a El Pechugon.

He seemed cool at first. A bit of a spaz, but cool. He's been making upgrades, bringing in new furniture, tearing up the nasty-ass carpet, etc. People seem to like him. He's chilled out a bit on the hardcore craziness he wanted us to do initially, like shaking people's hands as they leave (Ms. Morena doesn't do handshakes) or singing and wearing sombreros on a customer's birthday. We didn't get out of the new uniform, though. We now have to wear Hawaiian shirts. I don't know...I mean, Ive never actually been to the Yucatan peninsula, but I assume Hawaiian attire isn't all the rage there. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

We've lost a few of our Cantina regulars, and some of the new decor smacks of a Red Robin a la Carnaval, but overall it hasn't been too bad. I was starting to think maybe the Restarante y Cantina would be worth staying at a while longer until...El Pechugon started hitting on me. (Any woman of any age who's ever worked in any restaurant for longer than 3.5 minutes knows about this all too well). At first it was all sort of vague; I thought maybe he was just trying to get to know me, like he was with everyone else. None of his comments or questions were too obvious, although they bordered on questionable. Then I found out he was married with children, and I pushed the creepy flags back down. There could be no way this man was hitting on me - I had just met his family! (After 27 years and endless weird men stories, you'd think I'd stop being so damn naive.)

Pero, I was wrong. So wrong.

JUST A JOB

I had recently decided to leave the Restarante Y Cantina, and move on to "bigger and better things." I scaled my work schedule way down, eliminating myself from the bar entirely and only serving in the dining room two to three shifts a week. I thought that the lack of work and income would motivate me to find a "real job." But it hasn't.

I've been on a few job interviews. One for a job I really wanted(but I got lost on the way and was subsequently 45 minutes late to the interview- yikes!), a couple for jobs that seemed tolerable, and one for a job that would, if I were to be hired, make my brain decompose from lack of use. I spent the duration of that particular interview trying to think of a articulate, professional way to tell the interviewers that I had made a horrible mistake in applying for that job and the thought of working there made me want to die.

I have churned out scores of resumes and cover letters to almost any ad that fits the criteria of a "real job":

• Office-like setting where I sit at a desk, answering phones while creating important spreadsheets on the computer using Excel
• Professional attire or business casual; nothing remotely resembling a uniform
• INSURANCE COVERAGE!!!
• Regular hours
• Something that I wouldn't be ashamed to admit to as a profession.

I've been thinking about a quote from Maya Angelou: "Don't make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and do them so well that people can't take their eyes off you."

For the past few months, I've taken that to mean that I should keep my focus on jobs that I would enjoy. But honestly? I don't know of one. I have a few ideas, but those positions require me to have a college degree, which I am still in the everlasting process of obtaining. I've been reevaluating the reasons I why I had chosen to find another job, and realized that they haven't been legitimate. Even though I know better, I still haven't completely shaken the idea that I should be " in a different place" at my age, that compared to any other 27 year old, I am stunted. My family's disappointment in what they consider to be my lack of progress doesn't help much either. I thought that if I got a different job, I'd become a different person, perhaps a more respectable individual. But I've had similar jobs in the past, and I hated all of them, so I always ended up waiting tables again.

I've been rethinking Maya Angelou's quote. Maybe pursuing what I love doing has nothing to do with the job I have,but with the life I have. I don't want to be one of those people who's identity is created solely by what they do for a living. One of the great things about restaurant work is the flexibilty of schedule, not to mention the money. Both of those things enable me to enjoy the activities that I love most as well as continue my education.

I'm not sure if I'll stay at the Restarante. El Pechugon's only just getting started. Perhaps I'll head to another restaurant. But I'm no longer in a frenzy to "find a good job." I'll continue to look, and in time it will come together. After all, it's just a job, not my life.

YOU

Every time I think I finally understand our relationship, you do something to send me back to square one. I know you don't do it intentionally. It doesn't take much: a phone call, a memory, seeing a mutual friend, and I'm confused all over again.

You were my first love. When we met we were both nineteen, scattered and immature. Our attraction was instantaneous, our relationship brief and tumultuous with an explosive conclusion. Somehow we managed to maintain a friendship that has lasted almost a decade. Over that time my love for you has never died; if anything it seems to have grown stronger. It confuses me sometimes, because I can't understand how I can love you so deeply, but still have relationships with other men. I finally decided that maybe my love for you is just the love of one friend for another, that we don't need to be a couple for me to love you.

Sometimes we go long periods without talking, often for months. We haven't actually seen each other in over a year, even though we live just 30 minutes from one another. But when I hear your voice ,my world goes off it's axis. And it's as if you have this radar, like you know when to appear. Whenever I start dating or have a boyfriend, suddenly you resurface. Even when I think I'm secure with the relationship I'm in, the sight of you, the sound of your voice makes me question myself and my feelings.

There are moments when I think you feel the same. Comments you make, insinuations. Why can't you just say it, say that you want me? Why do you keep me wondering? I don't want to believe that you know the depth of my feelings for you and that you're just toying with my emotions to stroke your own ego.

Why am I doing this? Why does this hurt so much? I wish I could just make a decision and stay with it: friends or more than friends. I wish my love for you would just settle down, and not permeate my life. Perhaps I can't shake this because I haven't really met anyone that I could truly have a serious relationship with. Or maybe I just have too many relationship issues and the idea of being with you is easier than actually having to work at a relationship with someone else. Or maybe I'm just a sadomasochist; this roller coaster has kept me in painful disorientation, but I keep coming back.

The bottom line is that if you really wanted me, if you loved me like I love you, you would have shown me long ago. You've had relationships, a few long term. But you've never once tried to be with me.

I have to make this stop. The ony person crying and confused is me.

I wish I didn't love you.

"BLACK" OR MIXED OR "MORENA" OR "WH"AT"E"VER"

There was a time where my need to belong was overwhelming. I grew up in a liberal, interracial family, which led to a bit of an identity crisis during my adolescence. I felt that in order to be who I was supposed to be, there were certain things I was supposed to do, specific ways to act. I knew I was a phony, that my behavior wasn't a reflection of who was inside. My mother would constantly tell me that I should never define myself by my ethnicity, but I wasn't sure how that was possible, especially when the rest of the world said otherwise.

A facade is a hard thing to maintain. Eventually I decided to shed the burden of everyone else's notions of what I should represent, how someone of my ethnic background should behave. I knew I could be proud of my ancestry, without conforming to stereotypes - and that didn't make me a "sellout" or someone "trying to be White". It's amazing how that confuses people; they get this bewildered look in their eyes when they find out I refuse to watch B.E.T., that I would sock Beyonce in the face if I ever met her, and that I'd rather never eat again than ever take a single bite of bread pudding.

So whether I rock a mohawk when I salsa dance, enjoy a glass of Valpolicella with my greens and fried chicken, or belt out a Tina Turner song during kareoke night at the local tavern, it doesn't matter. I refuse to be any less authentic, and I think my ancestors would be proud.

Of "me".

Obama for Presidente.

EL PECHUGON

Things have been changing at the Restarante y Cantina. The owner is ready to retire, and she's been looking for a suitable buyer for the better part of a year. She recently found a man who is interested in purchasing the establishment, but he wants to get a good feel for the place before he makes any serious commitments. So for the next six months he will be our manager. His name is Cristian, but my coworkers and I refer to him as "El Pechugon", due to the fact that he struts around as if he is the best thing since mango con chili lollipops.

For the last two weeks, El Pechugon has been making many changes. Some for the better, others for the ridiculous, it seems. He likes to walk up to customers' tables and start enthusiastically asking if the people seated there are having fun. Other times he stands at the front desk while customers are leaving and wildly thanks them for coming, trying to shake their hands or pat them on the back. During a moment when he caught me standing idly near one of the computer terminals, counting the minutes until I could blow that popsicle stand, he suggested that I "engage the customers more". Upon asking what that entailed, I was told that I should talk to the patrons about Mexico; the food, the music, ask if they've ever traveled there, etc. Considering I'm not from Mexico, am not Mexican, and, most importantly, don't care to hear any of their stories about their unoriginal trips to Cancun/Puerto Vallarta/Cabo/Ixtapa, his request didn't go over well. Last time I checked, I worked at a Restarante, not a circus. I am not here to entertain, I'm here to serve you food, y no mas.

So El Pechugon has ruffled more than a few feathers. He's made changes to the menu, raised prices, and has even started asking customers in the Cantina not to raise their voices too much or loudly use foul language, because it is a "family restaurant." Not many customers have complained about El Pechugon, but a few of our regulars have slowly began to take their business elsewhere, and to this our new manager seems oblivious. At this rate, the Restarante y Cantina will not just lose customers, but also it's authenticity and charm. It will slowly become another cookie cutter Mexican restaurant, with bland Americanized food, exorbitant prices and stupid Cinco de Mayo parties. Although I will soon be parting ways with the Restarante, I'm sad to be witness to it's homogenization.

IT WOULD BE EVEN BETTER IF...

Blogging when you're drunk is probably not a good idea. But tequila is muy delicioso.

So are barbeque potato chips and lemon pies.

All I need now is the love of my life. But he's not answering the phone.

Ni modo.