“Somewhere in that little brain of yours…” AKA Resolutions

Photo on 2012-02-02 at 21.04 #2I am going to make changes in my life Blog Land. I am going to (1) quit drinking soda, (2) write at least 1,000 words a day, and (3) start running in my new neighborhood. Why am I making these changes? Because my nonchalant hermit video editing, casual writing, and caffeine addicted ways have not been working out for me. Also, I have to stop with the negative attitude.   I am those type of people who freak out easily when a job doesn’t come out the way I want it to. I take things too personal, and before thinking about options I decide to attack myself. I say really negative things like, “Somewhere in that little brain of yours,” or “When you get kicked to the curb,” or “If it wasn’t for that (fill in the blank) you would be nothing!”  Gag, I have to stop that because that is no way to live!

It’s time to organize my time. Because in life, we have to make time for everything. Otherwise, we let the important things slip away. I have to make time for peace, for writing, for crying, for laughing, for gatherings, for friends, for family, for love, and for meditation and growth. The Byrds had it right with the song they covered, Turn, Turn, Turn.


Here’s wishing you all a blessed and outrageous 2013. 




The Boy Who Ran Home

Paris nightlife can be pretty wild.

However, this interesting person post is not about Paris, but about a boy who ran home from a nightclub. I am traveling with a group of people, but I am going to talk about one of the gentlemen we are traveling with — who for all purposes we will call COURIR. 🙂 

A little bit of information I have collected from the source himself: he loves to travel, climb, talk to strangers, sketch, and basically share his many cool adventure stories with whoever wants to lend their ear. He’s pretty rad, actually. He’s a Latino surfer dude from Souther California, and well, basically, the epitome of ChiLL. The type of person who hates to hold grudges, etc. etc. etc.

BUT the most interesting about this guy is that he’s kind of the lone-ranger-type. Sometimes, he likes to part his way from the group of us and do his own thing. Another interesting thing to know about this world traveler is that he hates nightclubs. I imagine it has something to do with nightclubs usually being a meat market with hot air and sweaty bodies rubbing up against eachother. I imagine this, but I don’t know the real reason. However, the group of travelers managed to convince him to go clubbing with us because…well, that’s how this group bonds. We dance together in a large circle, and scream like banshees when American songs come on. Songs like: Starships, California Love, and Hit the Road Jack (the French do love Ray Charles). And we sing along to

“New York!
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There’s nothing you can’t do
Now you’re in New York!

And the Parisians look over and say, “Oh, that’s where the Americans are” or “No, stupid, you’re in Paris!”   Well, if you can imagine, we Americans can get pretty darn loud.  Well, we convince him is the point, and our night starts out like any other night.

We make it to the club and boogie. There’s like nine of us all together, and we’re going from first floor to basement trying to get a feel for the atmosphere. The basement has cool lasers, but the first floor has reggae. You can’t beat reggae in my opinion. I stick to one other Latina girl who happens to like the same music I do, and we see COURIR from a distance. He’s boogying down with the large group—dancing the night away. Maybe he was just trying to make us happy–or–maybe, he was actually enjoying himself. All I know is that I look away, and all of a sudden he disappears. As if he was never there, as if a ghost had been present in our lives for two weeks and then suddenly decided to evaporate. Poof! Gone!

Reader, you know me, I get curious, imaginative and inventive. So here are some ideas I came up with (as to why he left the club last night):

1. He realized his socks did not match and he had to go home.
2. The girl who he wanted to dance with shot him down.
3. A large male bouncer threatened his life with a broken glass bottle as he went to the restroom.
4. He got the runs.

Later on that night, perplexed and with tired feet we walk up the flight of stairs to find out that COURIR had run all the way home. The man was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, a black tie, and nice shoes—-and he ran in all of them. We were by the Arc de Triomphe and he ran about 10 kilometers home alone at 2-something in the morning.

We don’t know why he did it. We don’t even know how he beat us to the hotel, but he did.

Do you ever get the urge to run away from some place, Reader? You feel like there’s nothing for you at one place, and you get this urge to run as fast as you can in the other direction? I think that’s what happened to this chap. Maybe in the end, the night was just a confirmation of how much he detests nightclubs. I would have been thinking: my body will hurt tomorrow. What if I get kidnapped? Who’s going to know I’m gone at 2-something in the morning? Etc. etc. etc. I suppose some people don’t concern themselves with doubt, they just do what they feel like doing in that moment. So interesting.

Writer’s Block

I’ve got a case of the writer’s block y’all. It’s really starting to freaking annoy me. I’ve started about five posts, stopped mid sentence, and said to myself, “This is SH*T!”     So today, Reader, I ran away from my temporary home (my mom’s house) and came to my favorite hole in the wall in Temple City: Boba Express. It’s a quaint boba/coffee shop next to an old fashioned barber shop on Las Tunas Drive. A fun escape from all that is…well, familiar. Also, a good forty five to fifty miles away from my mother’s place. I love my mom, but sometimes she…well, sometimes she wants grandchildren and since I am not able to provide her with such right now, she focuses on making me look pregnant by feeding me all types of delicious greasy Peruvian stuff. I ran away. Away I ran.

I’m here now, drinking a Coconut Milk Tea Boba and chilling in the shade. Every now and then a gentle breeze comes through the back door and caresses my face. It’s a nice feeling. A very nice feeling, especially because the San Fernando Valley feels like the surface of the sun today! Aren’t we supposed to be getting rain soon? Gah…

Anyways, back to the reason I am writing (my personal drama). I think I have writer’s block because I am genuinely concerned about my future with writing. I mean, what do you plan on doing with your life? Writing? What does that mean? What are you writing about? Blah blah! And then there’s my novel. Is it based on a character, or are you trying to write an anthem? It’s like I’m getting spooked out of my own creativity.

Mainly, the most haunting question looming in the corners of my brain is WILL I HAVE A CAREER IN WRITING? Will I? Sometimes I tell myself that as long as I keep writing, and as long as I work through the writers block — something good will come out of it.     I should just keep venting to this blog because at least in my head, I know there’s some crazy a$$ woman out there who is also obsessed with aliens and afraid of writing about what she loves.

But you know what Reader? I’ve been hard on myself. I think we writers can sometimes be too much. We want to take a big bite, and sometimes, we’re not ready for the big bite. I think right now I have to take smaller bites, chew comfortably until the right answers emerge in my mouth like fun little flavors in a chocolate bar. Flavors that will inevitably settle down to give me the right answers. My imagination runs away from me sometimes, and in my naivete I came here to day, to this boba place to escape. I thought, maybe if I run after it to Boba Express, me and my creativity might meet up. I’d be like, Hey Creativity, it’s been a while. Come have  seat with me! Then I would proceed to swallow my creativity in order to trap it inside of me always. She hasn’t shown up. No luck! However, I am enjoying this refreshing drink.

Sometimes, Reader, I forget to celebrate the small things in life. These small things are what make us who we ARE: weird a$$ people with awkward social skills to boot.

I mean, right now I have an audience of about one to four on a daily basis. Isn’t that enough? Why must I be such a selfish little Peruvian creeper? As long as I reach some, that should be enough, for now. The point is to connect with a reader, Reader. Am I right? Tell me if I’m wrong.

No you’re not wrong! (<–talking to myself again) Damn straight. We writers need to take pride in our small successes and work through the things that discourage us to continue our progress. Life sometimes can interrupt our flow: bills, rent, work, drama, rejections, relationships, alien abductions, etc. These things can chip away at our soul on a daily basis, but in the end — we have to do it. We have to write. I’ve had writer’s block for about five days now—and quite frankly, it’s gross. Like, I want to throw up at how much time my creativity has decided to be away from me. It’s probably because I bragged about working on the third chapter of my novel to someone a few days ago. I have instant karma like that—but whatever. I should celebrate the fact that at least I started five posts with five unfinished sentences the past five days. That’s how Hemingway did it anyways (or at least that was a rumor I heard). He would stop writing his pieces mid sentence, in order to have something to complete the next day.  That’s a good tactic. Now time to work through the block. Ugh, this is so painful.