Elenamary

I think I am going to have to write up a permenent entry with names and a quick sentence background on people in my life, and the approximate time they entered into the theatrical preformance that is my life.

Anyway, December 23rd an ex boyfriend from long ago (a few years ago) gave me a call that he was in town.  We spent the day Christmas shopping for his immediate family.  It was quite enjoyable.  At the end of the day we drank mochas and wrapped gifts which are two of my all time favorite things.  I would pay people to let me wrap their gifts.   During our day together I told him “Man I wish we got along this well when we were dating.  I like you a lot more now than I did then.”  It is true though, we get along a lot better now as friends when we speak to each other once a month by phone, and hang out once every year or so.

Perhaps, what happend is that we both matured and just don’t need bull shit in our lives anymore.  Neither of us our dishing it out anymore nor our we putting up with it.  Now, if only I can apply the rules of this relationship to every other aspect of my life.

Merry Christmas everyone!  To those of you who know me personally, I made Ponche and Tamales, come on over!

Damn, visiting the prison sure did cheer me up.  I got to see Bombo, which is always enjoyable.  I had some great conversations, about traveling, politics, and music.  Ate some pretty decent food, sounds so cliche, but I ordered Huevos a la Mexicana at the prison, Bobmo ordered pollo con mole verde.  And of course before the prison I started out my day as I do every morning when here in mexico, with an catucus-aloe-organe juice—my favoirte.

Sunday, I want to my newborn baby cousins baptism, it was really more of a big family reunion.  My mother is the oldes of 9 children, which means I have 6 aunts, 2 uncles, and a few hundred cousins, acutally more like 35 cousins and of course all of them that are old enough to breed, have.  Which means they each brough a few kids in tow.  Lordy!  And of couse everyone was asking me where my husband was and then would laugh and say “We all know you will never marry or have kids” it was sweet, I am the old maid of the family at the whopping age of twenty-something (you dont need to know the exact number).  Otherwise though it was nice to see everyone.  My time is up at the internet cafe…

Okay, so I didn´t make it to the prison today but that is quite alright, I´ll go tomorrow.I decided not to go because today is not an official visiting day at the prison. Which means it becomes a big hassle. Here is out it would´ve gone down:

After a little less than an hour of driving to get to the prison, I would arrive and have to ask one of the guards outside the prison if I could visit a prisoner. The guard would then go looking for the warden´s secretary. She would come out, with about 12lbs of heavy make-up all of it different shades of orange and pink, and ask me who I thought I was to come on a none visiting day? Then I would lie and say that I had no idea that it wasn´t a visiting day and that I had come all the way from fricking Ohio, and couldn´t I please come in. Then the warden would come out and depending on 1. how good of a mood he was in, and 2. how good my tits looked to him, would decide, if and for how long I could visit. Usually, the warden (they change the warden every year or so—I think to supposedly avoid corruption) would say I could come on in, but just for “a little bit” and that we could only hang out in the courtyard.

So, instead, I´ll just go tomorrow, Saturday, an official visiting day. I wrote a very in depth article about what that is like but right now I cannot link to my old entries…sorry.

When I get back from the prison my graduating class, is having a reunion. This was my class of tercero de secudnaria, kind-of-like 9th grade. We were a small group of 45 students and went to a private catholic school, we are surprisingly tight knit and the the class has a reunion every year. This will be the first one I will attend. I´ve always been out of the country during our reunions and instead of attending get sent pictures. It will be kind of weird for me considering everyone is now married. The question won´t be are you married, but how many kids do you have. To which last time I checked the responses will be something like Dulce 3, Yadira 2, Leonel 3, Elizabeth 2, Aida 2, Fausto 1, Cristian 1, Malena 4, Angel 2, man I could go on and on.

I am glad I don´t have 4 kids and live in Mexico and work my ass off. I am also glad, I don´t have the older-looking face of a woman who is now a mother. I know I am about a year younger than most my classmates, but still I wish I did at least have more substance to my life. Or damn, I wish Josie was here to make some kind of comment about snot-nosed kids.

Either way the reunion will rock, it will be nice to see everyone together.

I think to cheer myself up, I am going to go to the prision tomorrow and visit Bombo.  I bought a lot of DVDs while with Charles to make him happy.  I gave him most of them when he moved out but I did keep the series Playmakers.  It is a totally predictible soap opera-esq series about a bunch of football players, but I swear to god the series sucks you in.  I decieded I´d give it to Bombo and that we could watch it together.  So, tomorrow I will head to the state prision with a bag of dark chocolate, and the Playmakers and enjoy the day with him.  What could be a more perfect day than that?

I`ve lost myself.  I am in Mexico trying to find myself again.  I know I am here, I just have to dig hard.  I have to dig as hard as my 3-year-old cousin dug in her nose to see if she could find a nose piercing like mine (I don´t have the piercing anymore).  I lost touch with friends, with school, with my blogging, with my own physical body.  I am going to find it again, and I am going to be more beautiful than ever.  Right now, though, my cunt feels nasty.  It feels used.  

Before I get started, let me explain I LOVE the word CUNT.  It is  a beautiful word.  The first time I ever heard the word cunt I was 16, and had moved out on my own with two feminist bisexual women who referred to each other and all women they loved as cunts.  A cunt was a strong, independent, fierce, take-no-shit kind of woman.  Later I learned it could also be used to refer to a vagina, but again it was still in a positive way.  It wasn`t until months after living with them that I learned most of society views the word negatively, but by then it was too late, I loved myself the cunt, and I loved my cunt.

As my relationship has ended, I realize that my cunt beauty was jeopardized, not destroyed but abused.  I want my cunt to feel better. to be beautiful again.  I want to feel about my cunt what is spelled out in children´s alphabet magnets on my fridge “I LOVE MY CUNT”…which by the way can be written out without repeating any letters.  I love my cunt, I love cunt-self, I hate that I allowed my cunt to be abused by a man.  A male friend wrote me and in referring to Charles said :  ”A man like that only wants one thing and it is not you soul or even your heart, he needs you like a crack head needs his dealer.”  I want to grab my cunt and scream, “this is a beautiful sacred place, and you have damaged it.  You failed to appreciate it”.  I also want to know that at some point someone will love me enough to want to be with me and to share having a beautiful new life be pushed out of it.