The errors we make when we buffet

I started my day with a Guatemalan breakfast. Then proceeded to snack the entire day on seaweed, grapes, and Chinese porridge. My stomach is confused by 3:55pm and I am kicking myself because my partners’ parents have decided to celebrate their 37 years together at a buffet in a fancy hotel. Crap. This means dressing up, hiding the extra pounds from his mother, and keeping the wild brown lady hair subtle and clean. Double crap. I hate when I have to present myself in public — especially public who judges me based on whatever their conceptions of brown people in LA are.

Why can’t life be a fantasy world of sweatpants and jeans with oversized tee shirts? I mean, I love dressing up sometimes – but not on rainy days when the house is cozy and the porridge has taken over just about all the spaces around my stomach’s walls.

I put on a black dress that hides a bit of my pooch. But frankly, when your pooch is bigger than your boobs – there’s no hiding it.

I try to stick to light salads and fluffy deserts and side dishes.

“I pay lots of money for you to eat salad? Come on! Eat some of the meats, the lobster!” his dad says to be. I smile and burp up a chunk of seaweed from earlier in the day. I had literally done too much.

The problem with me is, sometimes I listen to others and take their advice so much I forget to listen to myself and my body’s cues. You’ll find that when you’re truly honest with yourself, you will stop where you need to stop. I find this is true in writing as well. Why do we feel the need to fill up the pages until we reach the page count? What will that serve? Questions we must ask ourselves are:

  1. are we revealing too much?
  2. are we giving too much detail?
  3. is there too muchness in general that can be cut out?

Because when you leave space in your stomach, or in this case – in your writers mind – you’ll be apt to catch things you normally wouldn’t see. Like, maybe your character is missing a layer of dimension? Maybe your details are overpowering the plot and you’re being lost in details that might only serve purpose in a science lab. Or maybe, you fill up your plate so much you don’t let room in for your readers interpretation and reflection.

Too muchness can be a dangerous thing.

Take it from this chubby Latina who tends to over-snack. Sometimes, it’s good to leave things open ended. Your reader is smarter than you think. And what they fill in, might be more interesting that what you would ever come up with.



Midnight Post 3 aka food for thought

You know that part in the book The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, written by the ever-fabulous Dr. Seuss, when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes? Well, it has happened. I have matured by three tiny levels tonight in a way I have never before. Okay, the truth is I’ve been on this “growing-up” kick for a while now, but tonight I feel like all the things I have been challenging through have been paying off. I would like to share some of these discoveries with you. Just know, that this is all based on my personal experiences. Everybody is different. But if it can help a few fellow artists out there, then good! So here’s the deal writers and artists alike:

1. Take your art seriously because if you don’t, nobody else will.

2. Be responsible. If you know events are coming up in just a few weeks – don’t be wimpy and do things the last minute. Prepare, prepare, prepare! Better to be over prepared then have things falling apart during your events. In fact, in the film industry (when I used to work in it) we had this saying, “Have a back-up for your back-up.” It’s no joke.

3. Don’t be a flake. Do not expect people to come to your music concerts, fundraisers, food events, screenings, readings when you do not invest into that person/community. Give more–take less, in the end it’s most rewarding. You develop as an artist, plus, the more things you go to — the more you get to network!   Get out of your comfort zone already.

4. Write your mom. It’s good karma. If you don’t have a mom, write someone dear to your heart who has seen you grow up and develop.

5. NEVER–and I mean NEVER FORGET TO SAY THANK YOU. To those who have helped you, supported you, stood by you, loved you while you were on your path to self-discovery as an artist. These are the people worth keeping around.

6. I’ve learned that the people I feel the most awkward/uncomfortable/defensive with — are the people I usually have the most in common with. Do not ignore yourself. Great work can come out of these awkward encounters sometimes.

7. It’s okay to have your downs, just as long as you appreciate them as much as your highs. I get very creative during my lows, so use that depressing time wisely peeps.

8. Remember that what you create, whether it is a piece of writing, a canvas full of paint, or a song — you are impacting some type of energy around you. This energy can be a single person. It can be a community. It can be the self. Be bold and brave, but know that there are always consequences to your creations.

In my short life, I have found that everything is balanced. Therefore, after something really bad happens — I look forward to something really good happening. And when something really good happens, I TRY to make peace with the likelihood of something bad happening. Because good and bad are irrelevant. It’s all about how you take it into your being and your creations as a writer/artist/performer/ etc. etc. etc.

Just know that the bad is just like the good: fairies, fantasies, and farts. Everything is ephemeral.

Long live Art.

Is a Writing Partnership possible?


Hello Blog-Land/Writers,

I have  a question for those of you who may have some knowledge on this. How is it to work with another writer? Someone contacted me about possibly assisting them in a 15 year-long fiction project. Part of me is excited, but part of me has absolutely no idea what a Writing Partnership experience is like.

Anyone willing to shine some light on this for me?

Fairies, fantasies and farts–


(Personal stories are welcomed).


“If you let go of your ego, you can be a hero.” My Dad said this to me once.

I was raised mostly by my father. I sympathize more with the male point of view because of it. It’s just the way I grew up, I suppose. It has taken me a while to trust and let women into my life: as friends, guardians, teachers, etc. etc. etc.

However, I recently made friends with this dude who I thought was super nice. Ugh, trust. Something I already struggle with, but I gave it to him. Maybe I gave it too fast. The friendship seemed familiar; as if he was like a family member, almost. This guy ended up being destructive and bizarre. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love destruction. I love bizarre things. I love weird, in general. I am not here to judge upon those things. As long as it’s not hurting anyone else in the process. I’m talking about petty stuff, not world changing kind of politics. Personal things. Things that should probably be discussed in person, kind of stuff. It seems that this guy doesn’t care who he hurts along the way. He just wants to be RIGHT.

I will confess (another confession) that I, myself,  dream up the weirdest things sometimes. Fantasies, fairies, and farts kind of stuff—as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Reader. I like to write about interesting people I meet. People with strange qualities — and most of the time it is because I find them so fascinating, so absolutely interesting, that I might consider writing about them someday. Sometimes my imagination takes over. Sometimes a word can trigger a world. I like to watch, listen, and write. Write what I know, and what I don’t know.

However, having this conflict with this guy allowed to to reflect upon myself as a person–as a writer. I am upset and confused by the situation. Because frankly, that’s the way conflict works. It’s usually a THING (ephemeral), and not a PERSON. This is just my opinion.

Let it go.    I could hear myself say inside my head.


Ego is flawed. 

It was blurred, you see. My ego, his ego — the conflict. Miscommunication breeds conflict. I understand. I sat eating some yogurt and releasing some negative energy that has been haunting me for the past week. Especially this B.S. about miscommunication. There are better things to focus on. Bigger problems in the world. Than this crap friendship.

So here’s my numero uno lesson to myself, something I borrowed from Mister William Shakespeare…

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

It sounds simple, but man…how hard it is to sit still and let things be. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is never here, and today is all I have. Today I chose to let go of my ego. Everything is fantasies, fairies, and farts in the end. Ephemeral. Might as well smile and let it be. Such an OATMEAL kind of day.

Yet, he would make a great existential character in a short story.


I just woke up to some crap gray light bursting through the cracks of my blinds and a slap to the ass. Wish I could say it gets kinkier than that, but no. It stops right there. Part of me is glad it didn’t go any further, I think my mouth guard doesn’t really fall under the category of sexy.

Remnants of black eye liner from the night before remind me of our late night excursion. It spreads towards my cheeks as if I had been crying, but no. I just sweat a lot when I share a bed with a man. Woah girl, what’d you do last night? Yeah, I know you want to know. I wish I could give you drama, reader. Was it a party? No. Was it a club? No. Did you get in a fight? Ha! Not since the third grade. No. No. It was a movie and ice cream night. And it was spectacu-LAR.

I lead an exciting life, as you can see.

Anyways, this morning of crap gray skies has inspired me to reach for some oatmeal. The life of cray cray party people like me need to have a break from excitement. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m too wild.

So I sat up in bed and pulled down some blinds to verify that indeed it was gray out. Indeed it is. As I opened both eyes, allowing the overcast brightness to shine on my greasy face, I smile through my mouthguard and enjoy the splendor of fog outside my window. Ah…to live in the bay.

Today I will OATMEAL away. I hope I still have some Apple Cinnamon left.

Breaking Fingers

I just got a massage from a dancer. It was the most painful and amazing thing I have ever felt. These past thirty minutes together made me understand my body in ways I have never been able to understand. There is so much I can fix about myself.

The minute she touched me she exclaimed, “Woah! You poor thing.”

Poor thing.

Do I treat myself that bad? My poor body! Then she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backwards, by pressing her fingers on the top part of my pectorals. She pushed down her fingers one by one, and it stung everywhere around my chest. As if jelly fish inside my body woke up and stung me all at once. She pushed upon hundreds of little pieces of toxins, and I felt them all. I felt them bursting and cursing me as they spread about my body, running away from her strong and fluid hands. Her fingers, as if breaking against my skin, squeezed harder as she said, “Oh, I hate these!”

I hate these?

As if these little balls of toxins were critters! If my body was a house, this dancer just cleaned out the attic. It was painful, but it was spectacular all at once.

I am at a loss. I am stupified. I am a horrible person to myself. I feel like the first thing I do when I wake up is curse: “Get up you lazy _____” (fill in the blank). Then I carry about 3 bags a day, just in case I decide to do something productive, which almost never happens until I get home, anyways. I do this to myself. My poor body. My poor mind.

Now the jellyfish are in my head. I hate headaches. It’s time to drink some water. It’s time to change myself: how I view my body, how I speak to myself, how I treat my nutrition…everything needs to change it seems.

Gosh, more oatmeal. More oatmeal please!