Dried tears that waited months to fall

I spent 12 hours at UCSF today waiting patiently in the waiting room on a vinyl chair that left marks on my cheek when I got some much needed slumber.

My brother had it worse. He spent six hours having the tumor that has been slowing encroaching into his brain removed. And then several in the recovery room, and when I left he was throwing up in the ICU.

My family was fighting and barely speaking when he had the first major seizure a few months ago, the one in which he collapsed in 1015 Evans into a mess and smashed his glasses, bloodied his shirt. I sped to Alta Bates, again, to visit him in the ER, again, and to sit in uncomfortable silence with the family I was loved and hurt by. It's weird, my brother always seems to go to hospital when we are all fragmented and hurting and separate, but that is another story to be told another time.

The surgery went well, apparently without a glitch, and the tumor appears to be beneign, though we won't know for certain until Thursday when the results return. And I am sitting at home needing to write a paper that seems so inconsequential now that I can cry the tears I have kept in for the fear of the reality that his diagnosis was really true. If it was all going to be okay, than I didn't worry.

I felt relieved and happy the fear and the hurt can be finally released.
I love my brother more than words can convey.

On the up

Lots of people make resolutions for the coming of a new calendar year. i don't. I suppose I don't get down with making life changes with an arbitrary date in mind. That being said, i do believe in making life changes. Sometimes I create change, oi, at MAWS I was publicized as agent of change when I did presentations in high schools and stuff, and sometimes change drops into my lap. Last week was one of those weeks.

I met a United Nations reporter lady who seems keen to aid me in my future endeavors, including, perhaps, helping me get a hefty internship or a place in an exclusive program. We chatted. We drank tea. We laughed. She charmed the pants off of me (in a not pervy kinda way) and gave me interesting books to read. Most importantly, she inspired me. She ignited in me the passion I had let dim due to more menial pursuits. She brought out some of my most favorite parts of myself and she wants me to stay in touch.

Then, a guest lecturer in one of my classes in Cal and I chatted after the neato lecture she gave. I pointed out that Ruth Handler, co-founder of Mattel, connected much of her research: Barbie, advertising, bankruptcy, breast implants et al. and she was stoked. We chattered about her research, law school, debt and so forth...then she gave me her email address and phone number before inviting to show me around the East Coast if I end up thatta way for further academic/professional pursuits. She seemed interested in my research and me; it was a huge confidence boost. And she was nice, super nice, and wearing a foxy suit and knee-high boots. My kinda lady.

Also, I learnt something inadvertently from my internship attorney lady. She called me to ask me to help her out. I was at work and, figuring she wasn't there, I waited until noon the next day to call her. Poor choice. She gave it to someone else. Lesson learnt: if you want it, don't play it cool, don't wait. BUT then she called a few days later and asked me if I would like to take over for her law clerk that just passed the bar. Like every week. Woop woo, ask and you shall receive. Lesson learnt: all is well that ends well.

And I have my first race in one week after about an eight-year hiatus from racing. I am racing with my best friend and her (marathon runner) husband. I am nervous, excited, scared, and proud of myself for getting back into one of my passions.

I don't feel old by any means and I keep making poor adult choices , but I feel empowered to find my niche academically and professionally, something I momentarily had lost. And I am glad to have it back.

Dance Dance Revolution

The funnest game. Ever. I had to opportunity to play the "at-home" version with some childrens and Walt over Christmas Break. It was some good times. And, I must admit, I felt pretty money when I won. Perhaps it was this triumph that reminded me of my enjoyment and inclination towards dance in general, thus prompting me to return to both jazz and ballet this semester.

Whoa, Nelly. My ballet muscles seem to have died during my hiatus and my battement tendu jete and pirouettes are not what they used to be. In fact, I do not seem to glide like the swan I once was in jazz either.

I will keep you posted on my progress. Yasmin has already threatened to come to my recital and she is trying to lure Carman, Molly, and Natalie with the promise of pre-, post-, and, of course, during performance drinks. Perhaps that would loosen up my inner thighs, seems to work in other circumstances...

Tough cookie takes Mexico City by storm

I haven´t sent an update recently and quite a few of you have been harassing me to do so.

Your wish is my command...

Last weekend we took a trip to Mexico City, for those of you who aren´t in the know, you simply say Mexico (sin city...get it... you spanish speakers, you). I have heard many horror stories of the citay and was a little apprehensive for my personal safety; I was fully expecting to fear for my life/health/livelihood/kidneys et cetera, however, this was far from the case.

Yasmin and I took the city by storm and found that the largest fear factor is spending time with a group of panicking inexperienced travelers. Needless to say, we have found ways to ditch them whenever possible and Professora has finally figured out that I am safe and able to navigate the city. Mum, Dad, don´t worry, I didn´t accept rides from strange men.

A slight diversion: The Public Transportation in Mexico

The buses are AMAZING! Serious luxury, people. Such decadence has only been experienced on a first class Virgin flight years ago, champagne et al. There are two classes of bus travel in Mexico,
Primera Plus (money class ifyaknowhatimean) and Amarilla Flecha (the jungle); these two were not,repeat: not, created equal. Upon check-in at Primera Plus you will receive a sandwich, cookies,drink, and coffee sachet (oh, the joy of the coffee sachet). When you make your way to your assigned seat, you will be able to recline your seat to approx. 135 degrees where, for your viewing pleasure, a film (or several) will be played for your enjoyment during the duration of your journey. The bus is clean, it has a bathroom, there is a foot rest, I mean, people, this is L U X U R Y. Flecha Amarilla, however, is a far cry from luxury. If you have taken the Orient Express through Chinatown, you will have a picture not dissimilar to this rather lacking experience. On Flecha Amarilla, the jungle, you must carry a switchblade to fight for you seat. It is not unusual for a passenger to get onto the bus with their 7 children who climb on their mother/seat/each other like a jungle gym and if you are lucky, the children will burst into a song that is painful for your ears/head and then harass you to give them money for their horrendous performance. I mean, I gotta respect that we are all trying to make a living, but couldn´t they sell chicalets like the rest of employed children under the age of 5? Primara plus has suspension,The Jungle does not. PP has air conditioning, the widows of the jungle might sever your fingers whilst you are energetically trying to open them due to the heat and horrific smells that have
begun to permeate your system and make you ill; seriously, I have the scars and a reduced forefinger to prove it. Maybe the English were on to something when they thought smells would give you the plague, I have never felt so unwell in my life. Momma, I thought of you on that cable car in Turkey as I nearly squeezed myself out of the 2" crack I was able to procure able after severing my finger and breaking a nail. Needless to say, pay the extra 50 cents and take Primera Plus any opportunity you have.

We set off for Mexico on Friday morning -- after 2.5 hours of sleep for Yasmin and myself -- comfortably arriving in the early afternoon. Professora was panicking and shouting, as usual,about the risks, the danger, and the necessity of conversing solamente in espanol. Out hotel was charming and we set down our heavy limbs and bags for a moment before embarking upon what potentially could be the last journey of our lives. I held my kidneys and earplugs -- 2 things it would be hard to survive without -- close, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and ran out into the street. Luckily there were no cars to terminate my life after my poor judgment in blind running and I opened them to see a beautiful and bustling city.

Wow, Mexico is a rockin´ city, don´t believe the horror stories. It was really cool to see Diego Rivera murals in the flesh; when enough oil paint is used, I swear you could believe it was flesh...or, maybe it was the fear factor and dehydration, just my imagination running away with me(80´s anyone...?). And the highlight of my trip: visiting Teotihuacan(http://www.mexicocity.com.mx/teoti_i.html). I have been wanting to visit the big T since we studied the pyramids briefly in sixth grade or something. The precision of planning, degree of accuracy, and sheer monumental visual stimulation was exhilarating. In addition to my selfish joy and sense of accomplishment of hiking up the damn things, it was hard to think of the obliteration of the indigenous people who had walked barefoot up the Avenue of the Dead before my teva clad ones had.

Later, against all better judgment, I mean, really, we decided to hit the club scene. Replicating a VW commercial, we crammed six people (AND driver) into a cab and sped off toward the flickering lights. I was wearing a belt, um, I mean, skirt that the driver craned his neck to see under while driving which resulted in the near death of several dogs/cats/children/grandmothers. We walked around trying to find our ideal venue -- we didn´t -- before breaking into 2 groups. We nearly spent the evening watching strippers, but after eying their (lack of) talent, I decided that I needed to shake my money maker. My reduced group of 4 went to V.I.P. I should have be clued in by the "woman" in line in front of me that this was no ordinary club; her hips were too narrow, her breasts to perky, her hair too prissy, but I didn´t realize until we were inside that this was indeed was a gay club.

I hope you are giggling, because you should be. Beautiful men surrounded me with intoxicating dance moves, a TS cabaret show, and more hair products than those used during the entire broadway running of Hairspray created a most amusing environment. My gaze was transfixed on a particular man with impeccable style and enviable rhythm for most of the night and his boyfriend looked about
ready to jump me by the end. A topless man wearing a cowboy hat tried his magic with both Diana and Tien before whipping out a condom to lure out any takers. Oh, my! Luis looked increasingly uncomfortable and my ab´s hurt from laughing so hard. Whattanight.

We decided to walk home. Yeh, bad idea, I know. Tien glanced nervously around and pointed out that he couldn´t defend me in my belt. The police pulled over to hoot n holler and practice their English, "you are a very beautiful woman", "good morning", and "yes, i like." I took charge of the situation after minor cardiac arrest and we took another shoebox taxi home.

Back at the pad, I discovered Courtney had become deathly ill in my absence and was lying on the bathroom floor struggling to breath, no bueno. I stayed lovingly in the next room -- ew, she was coughing so hard that she was throwing up -- and then took her to the doctor today in Guanjuato.Don´t worry, she only has an infection and is now on penicillin and 2 other medications. I am ridiculously proud that my spanish skills were sufficient to converse with la doctura and get such good results and i hope you are too.