the story of gerty mcnasty & my jerk uterus

Twenty-nine. 

I am twenty-nine glorious years old.  My facebook feed is filled with chubby-cheeked babies, classic poses by brides on the beach at sunset, status updates about pooping in toilets, and comments about the rat race / work / coffee / bosses / zzzz..... Sorry, I nodded off.  Anway, I enjoy seeing those people with their poofy white dresses, drooling infants, and white picket fences because it means that they are doing what makes them happy.  Getting married, repopulating the earth, collecting shiny items to display in expensive houses... It's all very wonderful.  For them.

I have one hell of an imagination, those who know me can attest, I'm a total weirdo.  However, I cannot fathom myself living that life.  I don't want a stroller that could double as one of the Transformers and costs as much as a plane ticket to the Middle East.  I don't want to work a job I hate (or even merely tolerate) to pay for shit I don't need and a house I can't really afford.  No offense, dear friends and family, nor judgement... just not my dig. 

My feed also occasionally dons the view from Machu Picchu or a dare become reality.  I have been fortunate enough to have collected fantastic friends who randomly move to foreign countries on whim, backpack entire continents in search of the best food, are true artists at heart, and remind me constantly that life is freaking beautiful.  They have even inspired some of my insane (and recently updated) Bucket List items!  However, a major surgery was never on that list. 

Exactly three years ago, I sat down and signed my name on the dotted line to have my insides looked at because I was constantly in pain and my flat little tummy would go from 'pilates video' to 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' in an moment's time.  What they found was endometriosis.  I also found out I was born without my right ovary, which I later began telling people that is why I fall over when I drink.  So, my solo baby-maker paired (ha) with this disease that is eating away at a handful of my organs, I was looking at a five-year window for popping out carbon copies of myself, unless I wanted to contract NASA to come in and make magic happen.  I might be paraphrasing...

"Happiness depends upon ourselves." -Aristotle

I had just ended my engagement after a five-year relationship, I had just started doing corporate marketing for a fantastic company, and I was 1,500 miles from my family.  I wasn't in a position to make any major decisions and thank sweet Lady Godiva that I didn't. Anything involving the human body deserves both objective and subjective thinking, and time was about to become my best friend. 

Flash forward to this semi-sunny week in July of 2013.  I am single, working at a non-profit helping people save their homes, planning the big move to Japan, and just aced my last class that has been plaguing me for ages.  I am also now scheduled for a massive, life-changing surgery.  This is about to get personal kids, but let me tell you why I am choosing to divulge this information before I throw all my lady cards on the table:

We are all in this game together.  Things like race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and the rest of the identifiers don't matter: we are all human.  If I can't be there to help someone else who is hurting and alone, I am doing this world a disservice.  If someone reads this- whether they reach out to me or not- and is encouraged or relieved, even if only for a moment, I have done something.  Complacency, apathy, and indifference are the true evils in this world.

Back to my lady cards.  My uterus is trying to kill me.  That whiny bitch throws a temper tantrum every month because she made me a beautiful present- this egg- and I don't do a damn thing with it.  So, that Jezebel burns down the house.  My single ovary is working over-time because her twin got hammered and never showed up.  She's exhausted, freaking out, and running out of eggs, so she's pissy with everything around her.  The rest of my organs are frozen in fear, wondering how messy this is about to get; there could be a riot on the horizon.  My abdomen is making that face people make when they are thinking, "Don't do it, bitch.  Don't you dare, oh, hell no!  That look pisses off my bratty uterus, who then decides she's going to get back at everyone north of her by literally throwing herself into the chaos that she started.  Bitch, you don't belong here.  Where is your passport?  You don't have one!  Deported!  Cue: Riot.

Yes, I understand that anthropomorphizing my internal organs is morbid.  So is the fact that my best ladybird gal-pal and I both only have one ovary and so we gave them best friend names.  Mine is Gerty McNasty. 

The bottom line is that my quality of life is not where I want it.  It is 2-3 months of no traveling, no playing, and none of the good stuff every time a doctor has to go in there and clean up my stupid uterus' non-baby-mama-drama.  I am collecting scars like it's the 90's and they are Pogs.  (Yep, I went there.)  I'm always exhausted, I feel like I'm 59, not 29.  I cancel on my friends constantly because I cannot muster the energy to socialize.  I hurt every day.  Every.  Day.  There are no tests or scans for endmetriosis.  Pain is not a direct indicator of damage done.  There is no cure.  There are no pills or drugs that can fix it.  There are shots out there for temporary, chemically-induced menopause, there are birth control pills for suppressed symptoms, and there are surgeries for cauterizing the lesions and implants.  Until they slice me open and poke around inside of me, they have no idea what the hell is going on in there.  I'm basically a piñata.  A piñata filled with bitchy organs.

My initial surgery to remedy my internal civil war was scheduled for September, but was quickly moved up due to complications.  Yes, I did my research on both the procedure and my doctor.  The procedure is called a hysterectomy (uterus).  I decided to keep my cervix for personal reasons, plus it is like Switzerland: neutral and just here for a good time.  My doctor worked on my sister a few years back and has a great track record.  Her bedside manner doesn't suck, so I gave the thumbs up.

Update: I have decided to retain Gerty and wait on the oophorectomy... Trusting God on this one... 

The idea of being a mother is mind-blowing, and I have the utmost respect for those who do it, especially alone.  I also do not believe that the traditional definition of being a mother is the only truth by any stretch of the imagination.  If my body is telling me that putting a baby in my belly isn't my path, then I need to listen up.  Besides, I can just collect little kids from all my favorite countries as I travel.  I would be thrilled to collect the whole set: The Multigrain Family.  Who knows, perhaps I can get a 2-for-1 deal if I buy in bulk.  I need to call Angelina Jolie and see if she can put in a good word for me.

Kidding...

The majority of my life has revolved around children: nanny, swimming instructor, Sunday School teacher, youth leader for my church, English teacher... I love kids.  Each of those positions required me to teach, lead by example, touch a life, and make a difference; is that not the definition of a mother?  I have to look at this pending surgery as a list of Pros & Cons, not as removing my ability to be a nurturing mother, because I have been doing that my entire life.  When I was 4, I fell at pre-school and split my chin wide open (yes, I have a scar from that as well).  The school called my mom to come pick me up and, upon arrival, she found me with one hand propped up on my knee with ice in-hand, holding my bloody chin, and the other arm slung around another child with a book.  I was reading to him while I waited to go to the doctor. 

This post is me putting my arm around anyone out there who is dealing with a disease, condition, or decision in their life.  Whether it is your jerk uterus, punkass balls, or some other rebellious non-reproductive organ... I got your back.  The bottom line is this: You must be true to yourself.  You cannot give a half a damn what anyone else thinks.  Yes, it is important to discuss this with family and friends, gain perspective, etc.  However, in the end, this is my body, my jerk uterus, and my life.  Comparison is the thief of joy, kids.  I can't compare my one little bastard ovary to my overly-fertile friend's dynamic duo; I'd go positively mad. 

The hardest part of this whole process is trying to talk to people about it- like my doctor- who don't know me well enough to pass judgment.  When I went to talk to my doctor about it, she said this little gem to me:

"What if you meet the man of your dreams?"

Shut the front door.  Really?  If the man of my dreams doesn't want to be with me because I can't make a tiny human in my loins, then he is not the man of my dreams, I assure you.  Those of you who have been a reader for a while know that I lack a filter, so I fired back with a smirk:

"What if I meet the woman of my dreams?" 

Checkmate.  She stopped talking and started listening.  People need to stop spoon-feeding societal standards to others like it is the only acceptable form of sustenance.  I have felt judged, like I am a freak and heartless, all because I would rather live my life for me and be happy & healthy, rather than spend mountains of money and stress non-stop over making my DNA hook up with some dude's and in a hot rush. 

"But Amie, what about in vitro?"  Why would I spend tens of thousands of dollars to maybe get pregnant?  A lot of women end up with four freaking kids when they mess with that stuff!  For that price, I could fly to Kenya, go on safari, adopt a child, feed the orphanage for a week, and buy a gift for the lady who is having four freaking kids because of in vitro.

"But Amie, what about a surrogate?"  Hmmm... "Hey, lady, hold my baby.  For 9 months.  Oh, and then go away, because it's mine.  Gimmie.  Wait, change their diaper first."  Aside from the aforementioned monetary cost, this one is still tricky.  I'll keep you updated.

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a guy and just trying?"  Trust me, that crossed my mind.  Oh, and I tried that.  Though it would be a very enjoyable experiment, the result- you know, the important part- isn't a goal.  This is someones life.  I don't want to bring a person into this world just because I might be able to. 

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a girl and just trying?"  Nice try.  

The hardest part of this procedure for me will be losing a part of me that is vital to feeling feminine.  I'm tall, I have some curves (thankfully in the right places), and I have the mindset of a twenty-something dude.  I need to feel pretty, delicate, sexy, and feminine... So they're going to take out what essentially makes me a woman... Rad.  My family has been supportive, providing as many hugs as they do questions.  My bosses let me put my head down on my keyboard until I have a page and a half full of the home row keys on my screen.  My close friends offer a full glass of wine and a full bottle of Advil whenever I make it off the couch. 

Despite all that jazz, it has been quite lonely.  I know this isn't the easiest subject to deal with, and bitches be crazy, but I would like to feel I have managed to have a pretty firm grasp on all this.  So, dear friends and strangers alike, if you run into me or end up sipping whiskey with me on a Tuesday night, please don't freak out.  I don't expect you to know what to say or how to comfort me, just be cool like the fuzz is watching and all will be well.  If it will help, here is a solid list for those who couldn't buy a clue with a $100 bill.  

  

Guidebook to Amie's Hysterectomy 

x  Don't pity me.  

✔ Do buy me a drink.  

x  Don't avoid me.

✔ Do ask how I am doing. 

x  Don't let me get bored... Entertain me.

✔ Do just tell me, "I'm here".  That'll do, pig. 

x  Don't forget how hilarious I am on pain killers.

✔ Do come visit me.  Seriously... We can color and watch Disney movies...

I don't expect anyone to understand what I am going through, even another Hyster Sister.  This is an incredibly personal journey and I am lucky to be doing it at a transitional point in my life.  Yes, I am saddened by this, yet another jagged turn in the road that will change my body for the rest of my short but powerful life.  Simultaneously, I am honored to be trusted with such a massive task and given the opportunity to shine through as a positive soul.  I am nervous that I won't be the same afterwards.  I am more nervous that I will be exactly the same afterwards.  More than anything, I am excited.  I am excited to be pain free.  I am excited to never have "that time of the month" again.  I am excited to be freed from my chains.  

Let's recap what we have learned today, class: 

• My uterus is a jerk.
• I am a gypsy.
• I like mismatching children.
• I don't care what gender you are.
• I named my only ovary.
• I use inappropriate humor as a coping mechanism.
• I'm pretty funny.
• I want to watch movies with you while I am high. 

So, as I awkwardly stumble into this adventure, I try not to spill my drink & I thank everyone for their support, patience, kind words, and offers to carry my hypothetical future unborn children or lift me off the couch.  August 28th will be yet another insane moment in my life... Cheers to many more.

xx.a



amie the drunken mermaid: jalapeños, tattoos, & the big bang

Think about this: What is the point of a date? An interview? A pilot episode? To capture attention, to enthrall, and to see that spark. I'm asking you to do that very thing: spark with me. I ask you to read my soul and flick your eyes through the revelations and products of soul-searching. In turn, I ask that you be kind- agree or disagree- in your words. I will not tolerate hate here, but I will not censor you. Leave your message, but be bold and leave your name with it... Stand behind what you say. I also ask that you get to know me.

Hi, I'm Amie.

I'd rather be barefoot and pantsless always. I still love shoes. The bigger the cup of coffee the better, but I have a love affair with tea. I have a hard time picking my favorite season, color, or food. My passion knows no bounds, nor do I want it to. I think languages are fascinating and sexy. Travel is my pornography.

I am the most dichotomous person I know. I'm torn between the way the experienced pages of a book smell and the iPad that allows me to load dozens of books into my purse and just go. I live in my jeans and soft t-shirts, yet wait with baited breath for a chance to strut in my hot pink heels or red carpet gown. I could easily leave those clothes on the floor and spend the day naked and between the sheets watching my favorite movies, however, I relish those days I'm up and in "Producer Mode" and my to-do list doesn't stand a chance.

I paint my emotions, draw my decision making, sing my mood, write my purpose, and teach my desire.

I get off on helping people. My favorite outfit on a man is a white t-shirt and jeans. I am a dog person through and through. I used to be afraid of fire extinguishers. My superhero power would be either flight or mind reading. Ok, it's really flight. I'm naturally auburn- no, that is not red, people. I aspire to be a part of the Century Club... I'm on 11. I feel sexiest walking around the house in a men's button down shirt and boy shorts. Yeah, I still feel sexy in a little black dress. Bubble bath + champagne = bliss. I'm obsessed with kissing. I'm a lady.

Nothing is sexier than when someone makes me laugh. I think it should be mandatory to take and pass a social etiquette class before graduating high school. I always jump at the chance to make someone's dream come true. I have a knack for dating a guy right before he finds the girl of his dreams. I get excited very easily. Sriracha on everything. Once I'm disenchanted, it is a done deal. I only rap Caucasianally. I'm a sapiosexual.

I am by far my own harshest critic, yet my loved ones' opinions matter more than they probably should. Sometimes I cry at commercials and don't care who knows it. Celebrities don't make me nervous, but published writers do. So do abnormally beautiful women. I detest the mere existence of oranges and all their little citrusy relatives. My list of guilty pleasures is far too long. I'm super protective of my friends, and if you hurt them, I'll carve a three syllable word in your leg.

I think hands are one of the most telling parts of a human being. I'm a sucker for a charming smile. I believe clichés are crutches. I love getting carried away. I think the human body is pure magic. I believe in the power of the human mind. Manifesting has become a way of life for me. Sometimes I forget to breathe. I think thumbs are fascinating. Those "Faith in Humankind: Restored" memes make me cry. My childhood dream jobs included: photo journalist, dancer, Queen, mermaid. I'd still like to try photo journalism. I would also like to try the mermaid thing...

I walk a fine line between philanthropist and pushover. I've always wanted my motorcycle license, but have have been hesitant after having lost friends to them. I have almost no desire to bungee jump, but might be persuaded to under the lines of LOTY*. I'd rather be single for the rest of my life than settle or cause someone else to settle. I was born without a filter and don't give half a damn. I make movies in my head constantly. The one statement that has rendered me speechless in my life was as follows:

"Amie, when I am with you it's like being drunk: I have the time of my life, it's a fun filled, sexy haze, and in the morning... It's all a memory I could never hold onto."

So, I'm whiskey. I am a night owl. Sunsets always win, but I still love a good sunrise. I love my tattoos and I love tattoos on others. I took my parents to get their first tattoos this year. My Bucket List is weird, getting weirder, and I love it immensely. I'm allergic to Jäger. Tequila and I don't speak, but once a year we get together and have hate sex. I look forward to movie marathons like the guys on The Big Bang Theory. If you don't get that reference we can't be friends.

My idea of a perfect mate is someone I want to tell everything to and can trust with everything. I want to have a teammate standing by my side. It's harder for me to commit to a place than a person. Cleaning is my therapy. When I'm happy I dance on the inside. i am a gypsy spirit. I love to cook, don't like emptying the dishwasher, and hate taking out the trash. I do not understand people who run marathons on purpose. Jalapeños on everything.

Above all... I believe in love.

Nice to meet you.

xx.a

*LOTY= Life of the Yes, derived originally from "Year of the Yes" when on November 6, 2010 I committed to saying "Yes" to everything physically and financially possible for one year. I found a new purpose in life and now subscribe to saying "Yes" to life. Book to follow.

illegal block: get around and sell a dress

Writer's block.  Building blocks.  New Kids on the Block.  Jenny from The Block.

I have experience with all of these, but there is one more block that trips me up: Blockage.

Blockage is when you know you need to do something and you not only feel within you a great desire to avoid something.  Now, this differs from not wanting to do laundry or write a paper.  Those are task that few souls enjoy and it's obvious as to why they would be avoided.  Blockage refers to the tasks that aren't that heavy or laden with negativity, but your psyche or subconscious are strongly adverse to completing.

Let's get personal.  About 4 years ago I let someone put a ring on my finger... I won't say I shouldn't have or that I regret it because it was part of a path that lead me here and I am one happy little lady... However, I will say that we were definitely not meant to be together.  I won't presume to speak for him, but I know I wish him well and learned a lot.  Now, during this whole proposal, I did what every bride-to-be does and planned a wedding.  I even found "The Perfect Dress" (Yes, that's a link to see it.  I need my reader emotionally involved!).  Yeah, well now this "perfect dress" has been hanging in my closet (on two sides of this country, nonetheless) for over 3 years and it's time to say goodbye.  I have changed, my body has changed, my heart has changed... and even though the dress is gorgeous and in perfect condition, I can't seem to wrap my head around putting it on and strolling down the isle to... anyone.  Time to sell.  Time to sell... tomorrow.  Oh, or Thursday after I have coffee with Amanda.  Well, Friday I want to finish painting that multimedia piece... Whoa.  Wait, why the hell am I making excuses?  I need that money to finish my schooling, which will propel me into a place I have wanted to be for a decade.  I need to not have a reminder of the past and an unhealthy relationship hanging next to my favorite blazer.  Why then, self, are you not throwing that bad boy on a billboard and laughing all the way to the bank?  

Simple.  We cannot just sell shit and not deal with the issue.  We know, in our core of cores, that when we sell the perfect dress, update the dreaded résumé, or finally catch up with someone we have been 'meaning to call' that we are, in fact, addressing an issue... Whether we want to or not.  Updating your résumé means you have to think about your future, explain your past, justify your actions, and put yourself out there.  It's change.  Catching up with someone (the relationship determines a lot, here) means you have to figure out why you weren't spending more time together or chatting, explain yourself, possibly apologize, and update another person about your Pinterest projects or listen to their potty training stories.  

Selling my former would-be wedding dress was a little different.  You would think it would be difficult because it was saying "goodbye" to him, our former would-be future, etc... However, it was more about the value of the dress.  My ex and I have no unfinished business, but I do value that dress because it was a beautiful time in my life and I hold it at a value where money doesn't touch it.  However, since I cannot buy a plane ticket with emotions and I don't need an expensive dress I can't wear anywhere to remind me of the lessons I have learned, out she goes.  

Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it's always your choice. 
-Wayne Dyer 

You have to want to move past these issues.  It's like working out; you dread going to the gym and have a thousand excuses, however while you are working out you can actually feel the improvement in your mindset, you become proud of yourself, and the more you do it, the easier it becomes.  Afterwards, you feel fantastic and you see a change (just go with me on that one...).  

Remember when I challenged you? (If not, click on it and read it.  I double dare you...) Well, consider this challenge numero dos.  

Write down a 'To Do' list.  List everything from household chores to errands to things you have been meaning to do.  Then highlight the really specific ones you aren't looking forward to doing.   That in itself is a huge step... Give yourself a cookie.  Just one, dude...  

Now, turn your paper over and write why each one is something you aren't looking forward to doing.  This is facing your blocks.  Now, look at yourself in the mirror and yell and wave the paper around a lot... "What? It's COLD?! You don't want to run because it's a little chilly?  Pansy*!"  Then, realize that all that wasn't necessary, but sometimes you have to change where you are sitting to see something from another angle.  Ask yourself, "Why is this so difficult for me?  Why am I putting it off?" 

If you can't get over it, get around it.

*Note: Anyone who knows me knows I have much more... colorful language skills.  I will allow you to adjust for your own level of comfort.  Go to where you are comfortable, and then turn it up 3 notches.  Yeah, scare yourself with foul language.  

Challenge yourself, people!  You are the product of a bajillion years of evolution... Act like it.  

I listed my dress, I updated my résumé, I went outside while it was cold, I waved my paper and yelled in the mirror, I even wrote a few notes to send love and catch up to some folks from days-gone-by as a gesture to you, my readers.  I cannot, in good faith, ask you to do something I have not or will not.  Now, someone buy my wedding dress, please. 

If there is no struggle, there is no progress.  -Frederick Douglass 

xx.a

artsy fartsy: gum on your shoe and a high five

Two people standing in front of a piece of art will see very different things more often than not.  

When I stand in front of a Clark Takashima original from The Dream Series in the gallery I work at on the North Shore of Oahu, I see the water for what I feel it really is.  Others see strands of hair, deities, magic, or even just a  simple wave.  This piece, entitled "Vibrational Planes", has so many hidden elements.  The ohm symbols, the orb of life, the manifestation of the implied peace with the universe... It is difficult to look at this piece and be bored or uninspired.  

The same can be said for most of the occurrences in the universe and our daily lives.  When I step in gum, I simply scrape it off and throw it away, and I assume it was the universe keeping me from stepping off the curb into a speeding bus or allowing me the few moments I needed to wait to run into an old friend.  Hell, sometimes it is just stepping in gum and there is nothing significant to it at the time... Until the butterfly effect hits.  

Others may step in gum, and burst into tears, as it is officially the worst day ever.  Ever.  How does one get into a mental and/or spiritual place in which the simple act of an annoying tidbit can break their spirit?  One word: Perspective.  You cannot allow for yourself to find the negative attributes of the day or a single action break you.  Yes, we all deserve a day where we snuggle up on the couch, eat junk food, and watch five seasons of How I Met Your Mother on Netflix.  Conversely, we also deserve days where we pick ourselves up out of the rubble, slap on a smile, and find the brighter side. 

Any time I have a rough day, I try and focus on the blessings and brighter moments in an effort to not let myself slide back into the quicksand.  And, yes, dear reader, it is indeed quicksand.  Negativity, self-pity, and shitty days will keep on sucking you in.  Everyone is sick to death of the  person on facebook that has Armageddon in their lives all week, every week.  So, you stepped in gum.  That sucks.  At least you have money for shoes, legs and feet to put them on, no debilitating disease preventing you from walking, and you're in a safe enough place in the world where you can walk outside without car bombs threatening your safety and life.  

Was that a bit dramatic?  Perhaps.  However, so is stating that you hate your life because you're in a boring meeting.  Guess what, kiddo:  You have a job!  Boom.  Lawyered.  

You cannot appreciate the sun without the rain, the warmth without the cold, and a person until you have truly missed them.  

Moving to Hawaii showed me how much I missed the warmth, but it also made me miss those crisp, cool days in Quito over the last year.  One slightly overcast afternoon, I was sitting at Rumfire in Waikiki, my home away from home on the island, and listened to the waves while I sipped an ice cold Kona beer and listened to a few girls (transplants from southern California and Florida) bitch about the weather being "gross, ugly, and lame".  Seriously?  Seriously.  If it is sunshine and no clouds, it's too hot.  If it's raining, it's a drag.  If it's overcast, it's ugly.  

Perspective, people.  

You live in Oahu, Hawaii where people save their entire lives to go visit just once and you have lost sight of the beauty that surrounds you.  You are living someone else's dream... How dare you take that for granted?  If we all stopped complaining about stupid shit and looked at the positives, I think we would all have bigger smiles, fuller pockets, and warmer hearts. 

Now, go high five someone.

xx.a

in to me see

Intimacy. 
In to me see. 

Intimacy is the foremost ignored aspect of a relationship... and the most important.  Most people refer to intimacy in regards to the physical closeness: kissing, touching, sex, etc.  For me, and for many others who choose a path of growth and self-betterment, it is almost completely emotional.  

We all have our baggage from our childhoods, our past relationships, friends who have wronged us, and our own mistakes (for those that truly own them).  It is how we carry that baggage that determines our success in our present and future relationships.  There are countless other analogies and metaphors for baggage and finding someone whose baggage "matches yours" or "is willing to carry some from time to time"... That's wonderful for those that it inspires, but for me, it is more about realizing what you carry with you and consolidating.  

When you are backpacking through the world, you can only bring with you what you can carry on your back and shoulders.  You don't need ten pairs of jeans and high heels for each color scheme.  You need the basics, the things that will get you through the rain and snow, the things that will shade you from the scorching sun, and the things that will remind you where you came from.  The same is true for relationships.  I, personally, have been a victim (and I do not use that term loosely) of every sort of abuse and I have had to learn over the last thirteen years what to bring with me, and what to leave on the table as I move on to the next place.  

The lesson I learned when I was cheated on by my boyfriend- with my best friend, no less- was to evaluate who my friends are, why they are my friends (Are they friends with me to gain something?  Are there ulterior motives?  Do their core values match mine?) and whether or not we are bringing out the best in each other.  That is the baggage I choose to bring with me: experience.  The baggage I chose to leave behind: distrust, anger, cynicism, and fear.   

It is very easy for people to get caught up in being the victim and create a pool of pity they are too afraid to climb out of.  Newsflash: You will eventually drown.  

With all this baggage, any person will begin to feel like Atlas, and their relationships will suffer.  How can you gaze into your partner's eyes and be completely honest and open when you looking for the easiest exit?  How can you lovingly embrace the person you want to spend your life with when your arms are full of baggage?  How can you hold hands and walk down the path when you have countless walls that you either built, or were constructed during one of your wars, hindering?  

Intimacy is not an option.  For a successful relationship of any sort, one must be open to change and willing to take down those walls... Even if it is brick by brick.  Some walls can be bulldozed in a short matter of time, and some will take ages.  It is a matter of that person in your life, the one standing on the other side of your wall, being worth the effort it takes to destroy those walls. That person will help you.  That person will accept you as you are.  That person will love you unconditionally.  

Without intimacy, your relationship with your family is nothing but obligation.  
Without intimacy, your relationship with your mate is nothing but friends with benefits.
Without intimacy, your relationship with your friend is nothing but social networking. 
Without intimacy, your relationship with yourself is nothing but an empty existence. 

Don't allow the beautiful things in your life to slip away because you can't reach them over your baggage.  Don't let that person run from you because you are throwing your baggage at them.  Life is too short- guilty of a cliche and too passionate to care- and you have spent the majority of your life learning how to love yourself... You don't have that kind of time to convince somebody else.  The same goes for them.  Tear down your walls, dump the baggage, and quit being a little bitch.  You have more to lose than you think... and regrets are the heaviest of baggage. Intimacy is the only thing that will help you on your journey.  The choice is yours. 

In life, you have three choices: Give up, give in, or give it all you've got. 

Don't blind yourself so you cannot see into your partner.

xx.a

back, back to cali, cali

Quito, my city...

Surprise! I snuck back into the states a few months early to surprise my folks... Sneaky bastard, I am. Seven incredible months after I first touched down in Quito, I am looking back having learned an insane amount of lessons, found sides of me that I didn't know existed, and saw places in the world most people have never heard of. I have met people who will forever be in my heart, as well as a few I'd like to give a swift kick in the ass. I learned a language on 3 different levels, learned to defend myself and express myself, and learned that sometimes words aren't the anchor that keeps us from drifting...

Falling in love in South America

I spent the last seven months evolving, growing, teaching, learning, dancing, playing, laughing, crying, speaking, listening, hoping, falling, soaring, hurting, healing, traveling, drinking, experiencing, and- most importantly- doing. I have been 'doing' for seven glorious months.

I think that the two major aspects that affected my living in Quito, Ecuador were simple, yet vital cosas (things): the people and the travel. Yes, I am aware that does not seem to be a shocking revelation, however, come along on this magic carpet ride with me. (Wait, what's the Latin American equivalent of a magic carpet? The Ecovía?)

The people. I can't even begin... (Don't cry... Don't cry... Don't cry...)

The travel.

I somehow managed on a teacher's salary in Latin America to explore a solid portion of Ecuador, as well as visit Colombia and Perú. I devoured countless bowls of ceviche in a hammock while staring at the endless beaches of Montañita, Ecuador on New Years Eve. I danced alongside the locals while drinking ice cold beer and wearing a feathery mask during the Carnaval parade in Barranquilla, Colombia. I celebrated my 28th birthday with six lovely ladies, barefoot in the sand and drink in hand in Mompiche, Ecuador. I finally manifested the tattoo I have been wanting for the better part of a decade, with the assistance of an Argentinian artist and an open mind.  Most recently, I trekked the 54 hours by bus down to Cuzco, Perú and conquered a four day jungle trek and watched the sun rise from the highest point in Machu Picchu. I love my life.

New tattoo

I focused on making a life for myself, and I feel as though a made quite the sweet one in Quito.  There are so many things I miss already, and it has only been just over a week... 

I Miss...

The views

$2 lunches

Escaping into the language

People who made it special

Mountains

Green environment

Street art 

Salsa dancing

Sense of adventure

Absolute freedom

I Don't Miss...

Gringo tax

Stares

Pollution

Lying taxistas

Everything closed at night

Sundays

Public urination

Whining

Shit DVDs 

Kids that stare while I eat

Electric showers

La Basilica, Quito, Ecuador

After a rough start at the Quito airport, I sunk down into my 22B seat and painted a small smile on my face as i bid the elderly woman in 22A "buenos dias". After a half dozen uniformed workers slowly paced the aisle, counting and recounting us while they eyeballed our every move, we finally took off. I took advantage of the missing Sra. Gracia in 22C and slid over into the aisle seat. My complete lack of sleep from the night before charmed me into the previously denied slumber I had attempted in the airport and I was only awoken by my own shivering. Seriously, I couldn't be that bad, could it? I assure you, faithful reader, it was. Even 22C had shifted to my 22B and explained in very proper Spanish that it was just too damn cold on her side. I helped her adjust her air just in time for a hot breakfast to come sweeping across my tray table and my insides to be warmed with some half-decent coffee. Then, it hits me: BOOM. I'm gone.

Cue waterworks.

I had cried when I received an overwhelming goodbye from some locals and bar regulars the night we left for Perú; I felt so blessed to have a group consisting of Ecuadorian youth and retired Kiwis hugging and kissing me goodbye with such zeal. I also cried when I my friend and boss, Kevin- a handsome Irishman who owns a Vietnamese restaurant in Ecuador- told me I'd become his little sister and we would soon see each other again in this great world of ours. I cried when I said goodbye to Jason- acquaintance turned friend turned can't imagine my life without him- at the airport, knowing I'd be back but still aching. However, these tears were different: they were not tears of exhaustion, longing, fear, sorrow, or disappointment. These years were that of realization. I had made a LIFE and it was a damn good one. I was not ready to leave this place, but I knew it was time.

Montañita, Ecuador - NYE 2011

"Milk and sugar, please..." I answered the blonde haired, blue eyed flight attendant in English. The English words left a strange taste in my mouth. I had grown accustomed to the way "leche y azúcar" rolled around my head and my tongue. I took a bite of fruit from my tray: melón. No more batidos at breakfast made from whatever fresh fruit they decide you want to drink. I sipped my coffee: café. No more instant craptacular coffee shoveled into cups with endless sugar to mask the taste. (Note: Ecuador and it's surrounding sisters grow and export incredible coffee, but try profit margin is too large to serve it at most restaurants. Only higher end businesses and restaurants maintain a natural coffee bean based brew.) Maybe that's not such a bad change...

The kicker was thinking about my mom and the look on her face when I walk through that door. Even writing those words brought the stinging sensation to my baby blues and flushed my face. She's done so much for me over the years, I can give her this one little gift of coming home early and doing "our things" together: Watching "So You Think You Can Dance" wine in hand every week, shopping for nothing in particular followed up by Mexican food on a patio somewhere, Sunday coffee and Bailey's while snuggling with our cocker spaniels Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels. (Yep, you read that right.)

28th Birthday, Mompiche, Ecuador

Call it 'Reverse Culture Shock' or call it readjusting... I will no longer be deprived of the things I had once been accustomed to. I am no longer accustomed to those things, and so having them will be strange. Speaking English and being clearly understood everywhere, having hot running water regularly, being able to flush toilet paper, stores and restaurants being open passed dark and on Sundays, and not fearing for my safety for every second. Seriously. I summed it up about four months ago by saying, "In the states, I can walk outside my door without looking both ways first, at night, barefoot, with a beer in one hand and my iPhone in the other and sit on my grass alone without a care in the world. In Ecuador, you don't even say the word 'iPhone' without worrying someone is going to hold you up for it." Thinking about my parents' home it seems like a luxury hotel. I have stayed in some nice places while living in Quito, but having a dryer downstairs and no bars on the windows is incredible. Having grass to share with the neighborhood kids is a gift straight from Heaven.

Cartagena, Colombia - Carnaval 2012

Please do not mistake Quito for South Central Los Angeles, for its beauty is ever challenging my creative eye and it's culture kept me afloat without boredom for over half a year. I once wrote of my love for Quito, it's dichotomy only matched by what it taught me, and I am already planning my return. It is just so very different from the 27 years I spent living and traveling this world of ours.

I know my tears have been tears of love.

Love for Quito.

Love for Ecuador.

Love for the lessons I learned.

Love for the places I have seen.

Love for the person I have become.

Love for the person I was when I landed there.

Love for knowing love.

Love for the people I have met.

The people.

Rachel and her remarkable wisdom for her age, her many faces we all adore, her insightful outlook, and her undeniable inner and outer beauty.

Kevin and his undying charm, infinite kindness, street and common smarts, and the fact that he without a doubt saved me.

Jason and his brilliant wit, impossibly large heart, incredible positivity, ability to bring out the best in every single person he touches, and inspiring me to be a better person daily.

G Spot Nick and his huge smile, kind heart, never ending friendship, and remarkable ability to carve out a niche in your heart and stay there forever. (G Spot is his restaurant, for those who were wondering...)

Ian and his undeniable warmth, endless support, never failing sense of humor, optimism beyond naivety, and desire to grow: none of which are over shadowed by his ridiculously poor taste in NFL teams.

Andrea and her love of teaching, ability to find joy when her friends are happy, free spirit, and lack of fear of the unknown.

Drew and his fantastic dichotomy, ability to cause me to think deeper and harder, unconditional support when I needed it most, and complete selflessness.

Katie and her deep love affair with cooking, contagious laugh, solid sense of hope, ability to laugh at herself, and ability to call it what it is.

Juan David and his endless love and devotion to his family, passion for music, his love of teaching and playing tennis, charming sense of humor, and his trust in God.

Puma Family - Machu Picchu - 2012

There are countless more; some for the blink of an eye, some who will never read this blog, and some who I will know for life. Even though there are words- and I thank you for indulging me this lengthy entry- I cannot manage to describe how fortunate I am to have been where I was, doing what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. I am grateful beyond my own comprehension. I am blessed beyond what I even remotely deserve. I hope without recourse that I can somehow give back to those who gave to me.

30,000 feet above the Gulf of Mexico, where I once wrote of French-Canadian women and Ecuadorian men, I wrote of a changed life and a changed person. I am a year older, an organ lighter, 2000 pictures heavier, more experienced, more aware, and all the happier. I stepped off of United Flight 1641 at LAX for the first time in 7 indescribable months and walked through my parents' front door to my mother's surprise. My sister, being my accomplice, agreed to Skype my mom in an effort to secure her location and consciousness for my late arrival. Her surprised face and endless hug was more than reward and everything I hoped it would be.

Don't worry, Quito, I will be back... Very soon. 

Thank you to all of you who gave me a part of you. 

Please know you will always have a part of me.

xx.a

machu picchu, tube dancing, and weird meat

Lista...

Peru never held a strong draw for me, even with Machu Picchu being the most sought-after world wonder to date. I had heard that the beaches bordered lackluster deserts (which is mostly true) and the major cities left something to be desired. When my good friend and co-worker, Rachel, informed me that Machu Picchu topped her bucket list, I knew I was in and in for it.

A few friends had been traveling south from Quito for the last few weeks and were meeting us in Cuzco, Peru where we would prep for our four day trek. Two American and four Canadian girls decided to bike, raft, climb, zip line, and explore the Andes mountains and have out journey culminate at the top of Machu Picchu.

Streets of Peru

Rachel and I boarded a night bus from Quito to Huaquillas with high hopes and full backpacks. I advise all adventurers to avoid Huaquillas with every ounce of energy possible. Aside from the attempted kidnapping at the border, it's a dirty and tasteless town that leaves you wanting a half dozen showers and saying a Hail Mary despite your chosen religion. For those of you who know me, I prefer to write about the places I love and avoid the negative, but this merited mentioning.

The Sexy Seis

After we avoided kidnapping, robbing, and God knows what else, we finally secured a ludicrously overpriced taxi to deliver us safely (fingers crossed) to the bus terminal (which didn't exist) and found a reputable bus line to get us the hell away from the border and to the sands of Lima. We were greeted by a double-decker bus with semi-cama (reclining) seats and a wicked view from the massive front windshield. We were off. Again.

Peruvian Ceviche

Lima, here we come! Just 22 more hours... It felt like scene out of "Swingers" when Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau head to Las Vegas from Los Angeles and they start out stoked and fade into a lackluster hoot every once in a while.

After 33 hours on a bus, Rachel and I snatched up the first hostel we found to be both reputable and affordable and scrubbed ourselves to the bone. We wandered around Lima proper, which was lovely, and kept away from downtown, which was dirty and best seen from the bus, as well as the outskirts, which were tin-roof huts stuck into the sides of the dirt hills. The coast line was well kept and consisted of cliffs, art, gorgeous landscaping, and plenty of tourists.

7 months...

Lima, though lovely, was well experienced in a day a we went for a cold beer. We scarfed down multiple-meat burgers topped with fries and tried the local brews. Calling it an early night, we enjoyed sleeping in a fully horizontal position for the first time in three days.

Cuzco, here we come! Just 22 more hours... That sounds a little too familiar. This time, in the back of the 2nd story bus, we posted up and watched another three movies poorly dubbed in Spanish. This trek from Quito, admittedly, did not commit the sin of eighties action movies that consist of Jean Claude Van Dam and an endless amount of dubbed groaning and killing women with large breasts. Aside from the young porter who developed a minor obsession with my feet during our ascent to Cuzco, it was a solid trip: We had arrived.

Cuzco, Peru

We booked our trek through Loki Hostel in Cuzco and met our Canadian counterparts around noon, where we woke them from their hungover slumber around noon. Excitement buzzed that evening as we were briefed and surveyed our trek mates.

Day 1: Spinning Wheels & Paddles

Abramalaga Bike Ride

We ascended to 4250 meters on Abramalaga Mountain and mounted our bikes. We were about to drop 2000 meters over 50 km and the views were stunning. The warm sun ripped through the thin air and tinged our skin as the wind cooled us. We bounded around curves, splashed through natural streams, raced each other over gravel and dirt roads, and we're constantly awestruck after every turn. Little black butterflies danced around us and our faces hurt as much from smiling as our arms did from the two and a half hour ride.

delish.

We loaded up our gear in a small mountain town and devoured some local cuisine accompanied by black corn, pineapple, & cinnamon juice. Dirty, tired, sweaty, and ready for more, we headed to the Urubamba & Vilcanota rivers to cross another beauty off my bucket list: whitewater rafting. Hell yes.

Our guide, Sagá, was a Chilean man in his mid twenties who put up with touring gringos for a paycheck and a chance to live his passion on the river every day. Paddles in hand, we strapped on our helmets and climbed into the giant blue and yellow rafts that would serve as platters to the 3+ rated rivers for dinner. Sagá briefed us on safety regulations and informed us about the dangers that laid ahead, much to his dismay, the our raft nodded half-heatedly and looked to me. Yep. Guess who was dubbed translator for the duration of our trip. Accepting the challenge of translator (and someone who took a sophomore Spanish class in high school a century ago), I managed to tell a bunch of strangers ad a few friends what to do while spinning down a river in Perú. I even managed to convince Sagá to let us tackle some of the more difficult rapids and spin us around in circles! It was most definitely one of the highlights of my trip.

A former resident's depiction 

After we finished, we were driven into the sunset and up a pitch black road to a clearing in the bushes, where we were promptly kicked out and told to strap on our hiking boots once again. Wait, what? We wandered up a steep path by flashlight and iPhone light, panting and hungry, until we reached a little shack with a small monkey tied to one of the door frames. We gathered our breath and played with the mischievous little bugger and fed it sweet sesame peanuts. As we all started to unstrap our packs and take of our shoes, our guide announced in hesitant English, "Ok, guys, let's go... Only fifteen more minutes!" Famous. Last. Words.

Day 2: Morning view

Forty-five grueling, uphill minutes in the pitch dark of the Peruvian jungle later, our surprise hike was over an we had reached the home stay. Exhausted and all-around pissed off, the group stared our guides down as we hung our wet clothes to dry. A delicious dinner was served as the three British boys offered to help our Señora, and we all collapsed onto our wooden benches. Food was devoured at such a rate that we could barely mutter a "Buen Provecho" but everyone seemed in good spirits and had high hopes for tomorrow.

One by one, the girls wandered off to bed, hoping to recharge for tomorrow and keep the mosquitoes at a distance. The Señor came out with his guitar and joined us in a beer while the guys and I played cards with another female traveler. We took turns teaching each other card games and listened to the Señor and one of our guides play poorly tuned guitars and saluds every few moments.

Day 2: The Cliffs of Insanity

Sta. Teresa Valley

When the sun rose the next morning, we emerged from our respective habitations and were left without words. The figureless hike last night left us with sore muscles and one hell of a view. We scarfed down breakfast and readied ourselves for the big hiking day. Frank, who was born on the very land we were trekking across, grabbed a half dozen achiotes from a nearby tree and sliced them open. They proceeded to paint our faces with the seed pollen, claiming it was a natural mosquito repellent, and then slathered themselves in our American-bought chemicals. Whatever.

Achiote

They dubbed me an Andean Inca Princess. Ha. I, in turn, painted his face like a 5th grade pottery project. Disfrutas, homie. Let's go, day 2! We continued our hike up and away from Señor and Señora, expressing our gratitude and leaving just a little part of each of us with them. every corner we turned brought surprises: coffee plants, coca leaves, random giant fruits, millipedes, massive snakes, papayas bigger than my head, and cliffs that drop off into oblivion. We plodded down carefully places steps, dug our boots into cavities scaling up mounds of dirt and rocks, and followed obediently as the path wound tightly around ancient cliffs. Frank explained the traditions and offerings that took place in order to appease the three animals: the snake, the puma, and the condor. 

Great peril...

As we explored the Santa Teresa valley we took turns leading our Puma Family. Pictures cannot do justice to the lands we trekked, but that did not stop us from trying. We teetered down into canyons and hiked the Bilkanota riverbed, had water fights in the streams to battle the almost equatorial heat, and snacked on local grown fruits like Sawinto coffee and bananas as part of the circle of life.

¡Vamos! Let's go! ¡Rrisintu hatumich! Spanish, English, Chichewa... All put a pep in our step as we marched on to night two in a small, Peruvian town, praying there was no uphill night hike. We scooted down the winding path to some thermal spas where we sunk into hot mineral water absorbed every second of relaxation we could. The vies from the pools was the sole item that superseded the pools themselves.

The Pumas

We were dragged from the pools kicking and screaming to a small restaurant where the long, wooden benches were lined with alpaca rugs and Saltado Carne greeted us and we celebrated Shannon's birthday and found the only discoteca within a hundred miles. We went, as Frank called it, "tube dancing" which was actually a bunch of drunk gringo guys taking turns trying to outdo each other on a pole in the middle of a small dance club, but was sufficient enough to give us all a slight hangover the next day... Guides included.

 Day 3: Zip, Zip, and Away

Since Frank and Renaldo we're sufficiently hungover after drinking games and the discoteca, we skipped the three hour hike first thing in the morning and we took a van to the zip line local. Strapped in and stoked for something besides hiking, we climbed a vertical route to the first line of six. One by one we glided across the canopies, lush, green mountains rising up on every side of us and the stream winding intricately below us. Birds darted up and around as the incredible silence was only broken by the whir of the line and the wind in our ears.

Pulling your leg...

After we reluctantly stripped off our gear, devoured another delicious lunch of comida típico, we hiked a few hours around the base of Machu Picchu. We followed the railroad tracks through the jungle to Aguas Calientes, our final stop before the grand finale. Exhausted and riddled with homerun fever, we matched into the pseudo-Aspen town at the base of Machu Picchu. Luxurious hotels, hostels, and countless restaurants and shops lined the paved roads of the touristic city. The pavement and pavers felt strange beneath our blistered and worn feet, as they'd only known rocks, pedals, dirt, and mud for three intense days. We welcomed the stranger beneath our feet, battled with scalding hot and ice cold showers, and tried our best to sit up straight at dinner. After a ridiculous amount of food and some briefing for the big day that would follow, we were all settling in to the worst of the three hospitalities thus far. Running water aside, we all longed for the first homestay that followed the night hike from the first night. 

And then there was Day 4.

Sunrise over Machu Picchu

Day 4: Machu Picchu & Every Man Left Behind

Sufficed to say, our new guide relieved Frank and Renaldo but that was the extent the word "relief" was used for that day. Hugo, though very funny, left us all to find our way to the top of Machu Picchu at 4:30 am. My team of Pumas managed to make it up to the top alive and well about the time I was delivered by bus. My body had decided it had put up with enough and it wasn't sufficiently healed from my appendectomy from a few months back. Deciding my body knew best, and I too having been left my Hugo the Ridiculous, meandered in to my sweet Bucket List item and decided to make the best of every second by following other guide groups here and there and staring at the sun directly until an Inca God spoke to me... Ok, maybe not the last part.

Sun rising in silence

I sat on the compressed dirt that surrounded the stone sun dial at the second highest point in Machu Picchu and gazed silently at the insane dichotomy of the ruins. Old and new, clean and dirty, organized and mysterious. As the sun rose over the mountains in front of me, the chatter stopped and all that could be heard was silence broken by the shutters of hundreds of cameras around me. No one spoke, as it is a sacred and revered time and in a sacred place. Worth every penny, every sore muscle, every hour on a bus getting down there, and every sacrifice made.

Before dawn....

The friends made on this trip were a definite plus, as our group dynamic was untouchable and obviously envied by other groups. The weather was absolutely perfect every single day, especially the last day. The adventures were wonderful and irreplaceable. Taking the train back from Machu Picchu to Cuzco sealed the trek as one of the best experiences of my life; and I've done some pretty cool shit.

7:30 AM

I know I learned more from this adventure than I have yet realized, but I will wait patiently for these lessons to unfold in time. One of the Seven Wonders crossed off, a few Bucket List items completed, and a few steps closer to an intangible state I have yet to identify... Plus, Peruvian ceviche is amazing. I also managed to try alpaca (very similar to beef) and cuy (guinea pig, not as delicious as I had expected) which crossed off a few from my "Let's Eat Meat" list (yet to be published).

The Pumas

Weird meat, big rocks, and tube dancing aside, I know how fortunate I was to have been able to not only experience this, but to do it alongside so many wonderful people.

Hello, Bucket List...

Andean Inca Princess, signing out...

xx.a

P.S. I'm eating one of your relatives tonight.