pillow talk

I've been listening to "indie" music recently. I wonder if that is why I've been moody lately- one of those...why am I so bothered? who rained on my parade? why do I need to have answers to that? I hate questioning shit that should just be.

A good aspect of my moodiness is that I have been able to think about things. more than I like sometimes, but my mind has been on overdrive. All this thinking has led me to feeling as if I need to do more. To get out there - where ever there is. I want to read more. I want to feel the sun on my skin and hear the ocean in my heart. I want to go to Disney and feel like a kid again. I want to write more. I want to take more pictures. I want to dance more. I want to listen to more music. I want to experience more.

At the end of the day we are nothing more or less than the sum of our own experiences. The world only exists to those who have seen it. You can't describe a feeling without having it touch your fingertips, run through your veins, change your heart beat, or raise the hair on the back of your neck.

I love those moments. Seeing something new. Feeling something new. Those moments that give you goosebumps. Those moments that you're so conscious about what you're doing...you just know its going to change the course of your life forever.

I struggle on a daily with wanting to stop time to enjoy it. Or to speed it up to embrace the change. Time has its own agenda. It waits for no one and does not look back. I've been allowing it to pass me by way too long. It is my turn to live.

Enjoy the silence -

Cin

Do I wanna know...

I have so much on my mind, but I think it's best I take it step by step before pouring it all out at once. I recently had a conversation with someone about more than I thought was possible to talk to them about. I'm not really sure why I had figured them out the way I did. 

One part of our conversation was about how they saw people. When the conversation went in my direction - the way they saw me left me a little troubled. They told me that they felt that I put up a lot of walls to hide my insecurities. This person didn't ask why nor was it said in a way where I felt I was in the wrong for having these walls up. It was just a statement. 

 

That statement has rattled my brain ever since it was made- not because I was bothered, but because they were right. Everyone has insecurities. I'm not the first person ever to come with them. But how did they know that I try so hard to hide them from everyone? I thought I covered it all up really well by being so loud and upfront. I thought that if I distracted people with my loudness they would miss the girl inside crying for ...something. I thought that only those close to me - and trust me, their aren't many - know this about me. I was wrong. 

My insecurities are kept in a place where only I can scrutinize myself for having them. A sign of weakness shows a way in for someone that maybe I don't want in. If I cover up that weakness then I'm the one with the control. I control what emotion to show. I control what emotion to share with them. Do I think it's right? No. I don't at all. I know that I am restricting myself to fully be myself in all sense. But it's what I've known all my life. And the fact that this person can see this in the short amount of time of knowing me scares me. Am I that transparent? Are these walls all in my head only? I cannot allow someone to control my fear and in the end - me.

Another wall up. 

Another reason to hide. 

Enjoy the silence.

 

-Cin

sappy movies for the win

Why in the hell do they make these romantic, sappy, comedy movies?
Why do they insist on messing with my hormones on a sunny day?

There I am... home alone for 2 hours (kids make it hard to be alone) and the only thing I really want to do is watch a movie without having to say "stop jumping on the bed!" or having to hear "mom, I want a cereal bar." or even better, having to pause the movie constantly when an inappropriate scene comes on. Inappropriate for a 4-year old and a 2-year old that is.

So here I am, home alone with my Netflix and 425.3 choices to be made and I ALWAYS go with the romantic comedy that makes me wonder about so many things. I hate wondering about things. It makes me think that I feel a certain way when I feel just fine. And no... there isn't a hidden meaning behind it. I genuinely feel - happy. Yet here I am. Watching these movies, wanting to be the woman that lost my memory and still falling in love with my husband in the end. Or even better, the one that falls in love with the sparkly guy. 

As if the plot isnt' enough to make you question how you feel or fantasize about that "perfect" man or vampire (I'm not judging), the music tugs at those strings that make your heart feel full and overwhelmed with joy. And all you can do is cry when you hear that one song with those one lyrics. Or when the scene comes on where the lovers embrace in a kiss while the perfect buildup and release music plays in the background. It's like an emotional orgasm, and they are making sure you climax.

These people know just what they are doing. Poor women. And poor husbands that do not stand a chance.

You win this time.

-Enjoy the Silence

Emotional Comeback Cin

and hello 2010

ok so maybe I am a little late and all... it is September.
but bare with me. It has been a while since I have last posted and a lot has happened.

I just wanted to say hi. I am back. And I am ready to blog.
So welcome me. Love me. I don't care... I'm not going anywhere :D

get a room... preferably away from mine

it was three in the morning when I woke up for the first time this morning.

no, I did not set my alarm off for that time.

no, I did not wake up because I had to pee.

and no, Mr. Tortilla Face was not stealing the blankets and leaving me to fend off the cold on my own.

there was a different culprit this time.

apparently, waking up at three in the morning to have sex is the thing to do nowadays. NO. let me rephrase myself - waking up at three in the morning to have sex and get loud so that all of the neighbors can hear you, is the thing to do nowadays.

don't get me wrong now, I am not one to cock block. If you have the place and the five minutes to spare, by all means "get yours." Just as long as "getting yours" does not involve interrupting the time spent between me and my sleep. Waking up at three in the morning to hear my upstairs neighbors' bed banging on our ceiling and them moaning and moaning and MOANING and MOANING... is a waste of my sleeping time.

Once my sleeping time was wasted by the surround sound filled porn going on above my bed, that put me in the best of moods when I had to wake up three hours later to get ready for work. (sarcasm. major sarcasm)

on my way to work I thought of what had taken place and how my ears were never going to be the same. Instead of getting upset with the neighbors (I mean I can't deny them from having sex), I turned my frustration towards our condo's architect.

Why in the hell would he think it was a great idea to build a bedroom directly above another one? Your bedroom is your space. You rest there. You wind down. You have sex with your partner, or with yourself. (no one is here to judge you) Why would that architect think it was a bright idea to share that space with your neighbors???

I bet you it was an older, conservative kinda guy that was so traditional that he never slept with his wife of 50 years. Instead they had their own twin size beds, a la "I Love Lucy" mode. Only putting their beds together when they needed to create another life.

Yeah, okay... maybe I am just being a bit dramatic. That is what happens when you don't get your sleep. Maybe I should just stop complaining and get into competitive mode. Show them a trick or two about beds banging and moaning.

Who am I kidding? I will be completely knocked out by three in the morning. And the only moan that will be coming out of my mouth is when I am competing with Mr. Tortilla Face for the blanket.

enjoy the silence

-Cin

are you a Dexter fan?

so I've been watching Dexter lately. I knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. But I prolonged my obsession for it simply because I did not want to buy the DVDs or pay for Showtime.

The truth is that I was obsessed before even seeing a single episode. Why you might ask? Well it is simple really. He's a serial killer. And there is a whole show about him being a serial killer and living among you and me. How could that not spark a bit of your interest?


Now before you think that I am this crazy person that wants your blood, let me explain to you my interest.


When I was younger I lived in South Central LA. It definitely did not have the rep it has now, but it wasn't a walk in the park either. Occasionally we would hear rumors that some bum had taken residency in the closest abandoned apartment. And at the time we did not understand why all sorts of people constantly came in and out of one apartment. Can one person really have that many friends? I now know that is what you call a crack house.

Anywho - there was a point to all of this - one night while I slept on the roll out bed that I shared with my older sister (her on one end, me on another), someone tried to break into our apartment. Our apartments were one-story with no bars on the windows, so they were easy access to anyone and everyone. My sister and I slept in the living room because my mom, step dad and newborn sister slept in the room. It was summer time and since I was blessed with asthma I slept with my head to the window.
Of course, this would be the point of entry for our intruder. So there I was sleeping. And there he was cutting a hole on the screen of that window big enough for him to crawl in. He didn't know that he was in for a surprise. I didn't either.
He put his hands on each side of my head and started crawling in. This is when I decided to wake up and stare right into his face. Now keep in mind, I am only 7 years old so of course I did what any other 7 year old would do - scream bloody murder. The guy panicked, grabbed the pocket knife he had in his hand and backed out. My step dad ran out of the room in his boxers with a machete and rushed toward the door. He had caught a glimpse of what was going on.
My mom comes running after him with my little sister, Banani in her arms.
I was curled up next to my older sister on the other side of the bed waiting.
After about 5 minutes my step dad came back and told us the guy had disappeared. This is when the interrogation began - no, not from the police. My family did not bother calling them. The questions came pouring in from my mom and sister and the neighbors my screaming had woken up... what did he look like? I described a Hispanic male. Thin. I could see his cheekbones. Dark, kind of long, wavy hair. Dark eyes. His nose stuck out and his breath smelled bad. My step dad said that he was fairly tall, but had only seen his back.
After that, our bed was moved into their room and the screen was replaced - no bars added.

One day after school, I came home to the news being played on the television. They had caught the Night Stalker - Richard Ramirez. As they reported his capture, they started to show his booking picture and I realized that was him. He was the one that had crawled into our apartment and had stared me down. I told no one.

Keep in mind that I was only 7 years old at the time. So there is a huge possibility that my mind associated him as my intruder because of what I heard about him and what he had done. There is also a possibility that it was him. I did live in the area that he roamed. Whichever way, I did not fear him. Instead it made me wonder why he would do the things that he was doing. This is where my interest came about. My interest started with him at that age, and it expanded to others after a while. I was curious to find out who these people were. Not what they had done, but who they were before that time.

This also started a routine in my life that I follow on a nightly basis - all doors must be closed. My closets, bathroom, and bedroom doors have to be closed or else I will not sleep. Mr. Tortilla Face thinks I am weird because of this. What he doesn't know is that my older sister has this same routine.

This is why Dexter was so interesting to me. I wanted to see how they would portray a serial killer to society through a show. And let me tell you - awesome show. Season 3 is kind of dragging, but it is a good show nevertheless. Mr. Tortilla Face now watches the show with me and thinks that because they are both white that he can be like Dexter too. Silly Tortilla Face. He can't even kill the crickets that sneak into our living room.

Oh but don't worry. I was not left with a complex. I am not on the verge of murdering Mr. Tortilla Face. Even though he constantly tells me that I will end up on Snapped. What he doesn't know is that I love the little effer too much, plus I can't stand the sight of blood. I'm a wimp when they are drawing my blood.

enjoy the silence
-Cin