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



somewhere between champagne and backpacks

I like to make movies in my head.  I also like to sound insane by admitting really strange things and blabbing them somewhat incoherently on a blog that I have managed to trick countless readers into following.  Yeah, so, movies... I like to close my eyes while lying in bed and listening to the sounds of the city and imagine myself in places halfway round the world.  I imagine myself, for example, in Dubai, running my fingers along the sleek glass of the Burj Al Arab Hotel as it glitters under the UAE sun.  I begin to feel the hot sand seep into my sandals as I wander the beaches and take in the slight, compassionate breeze.  I listen for the Arabic, Malayalam, and Urdu words that float through the air and into my ears like foreign lullabies that sing to sleep my worries of the unknown.  I breathe in the smells of nearby shishas being shared by friends and colleagues, smells of grape, peach, and apple call me to come inhale and taste their sweet smoke.  Shawarmas, ghuzi, hoummus, and lamb cause me time and time again to overeat, as the taste is too compelling to not have just one more... 

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. –Martin Buber

I see myself walking around markets and trying new foods, sharing experiences with new friends, and writing home to old ones.  Then, I remember where I am at that moment.  Whether I am lying in bed, riding the bus to work, walking through a park, or sipping wine on a patio... I am in Quito, Ecuador.  Six months ago, I was making movies in my sweet little hometown of Corona, California and dreaming about things I didn't even know that I would miss one day.  I dreamt of salsa dancing with Latin men, eating succulent chicken and steamy rice dishes, learning to speak Spanish, drinking ice cold beers in tiendas, and being surrounded by the bohemian spirit.  

I must constantly remind myself to be grateful for what I have, as I am not only currently living my dream but living another soul's dream, by chance, and how dare I take that for granted.  However, this fact will not keep me from dreaming, but will keep me grounded.  I find, once again, my life is a balancing act.  I refuse to let anyone tell me (or anyone else) what balance should be stricken, but I will concede that there need be one.  Some people are unable to live in the now and bury their heads in the sands of the future, finding themselves, one day, middle aged and no better off than they thought.  Some individuals refuse to look at any day but the one they reside in, giving no thought to what lies ahead.  I see merit in both of these approaches, but cannot help but dance slowly around both until we all are swaying together.  The dichotomy that both defines and frees me is what keeps me with my heart, mind, and eyes open.

I just celebrated my four month anniversary here in South America and have had a few revelations while lying on the grass watching the clouds move or cooking eggs and vegetables while listening to the rain fall... I have a gypsy spirit. I am always looking for an inexpensive plane ticket or some special on a boat or train that can deliver my spirit somewhere new and enriching.  I have lost almost all attachment to the things I have left behind in my parents' home and find myself missing people (and food) above all other worldly things. My gypsy spirit beckons to me on the regular, though I cannot honestly say that I always understand what it is she wants from me... However, I try and nourish her as often as I can.  The question has now become, "What nourishes my gypsy spirit?"

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.  -Marcel Proust

I find that when a backpack is strapped to my back and the ground moves at my discretion beneath my feet, that is when I am the most free.  I find myself dancing on the inside.  I live for the feeling of the unknown, the rush from adventure, and the newly sharpened perspective of a place or culture.  I love the independence of the road, the freedom of the sky, and the defiance of the sea.  I know what I take with me is all I need, the music that I find along the way will guide me as a soundtrack, and wherever I land there will be someone to share a cold beer and a story with. 

There is a small part of me that misses some of the comforts and, dare I say, luxuries... I am a sucker for a cold bottle of champagne and a hot bubble bath.  I don't care if it borders on a cliche from a Julia Roberts movie; I will surround myself with candles and soak in bath salts until I am drunk and pruned.  What is it about champagne and all that is associated with it that plucks at my heart strings?  I am not accustomed to luxuries, so it cannot be that I am spoiled or entitled... Is it security?  Perhaps.  The last 10 years have been more inconsistent than stable, by far, and the concept of stability is a folly, at this point.   

I have found that I now crave change more than ever, which contradicts my initial beliefs of stability being the answer to my pseudo-problems.  After just a few months in Ecuador, I was searching for mini-vacations to satiate my lust for travel and going to different bars and restaurants in an effort to diversify my days.  Instead of getting to know new friends over coffee, I prefer to take day trips with them or try something new and crazy.

I went to Colombia for Carnaval this passed February and stayed in a sweet little hostel a few minutes walk from Old Town. The freedom I felt as I rocked in an old, wooden rocking chair with my bare feet on the mosaic tile floor of the community courtyard was liberating. I am so fortunate to be sipping fresh Colombian coffee on the Caribbean coast, exploring one of the most misunderstood countries
In the world, and living, not only my dream, but countless others' as well. The beds were mediocre, but acceptable, the family running the hostel rarely wore shoes, and there was no hot running water. Why on earth was this heavenly to me? Where were the big, white fluffy bathrobes? Where was the huge jacuzzi tub? Where was the massive, luxurious bed? Why was I not missing any of those things?

These questions are not limited to this experience, nor my travels. I have little preoccupation with marriage and zero concern about my biological clock ticking. According to society, that makes me a gypsy and a weirdo... I'll take both with a smile. Though I truly miss my dryer, I have grown accustomed to hanging my laundry to dry. I feel as though my newly adopted lifestyle has altered my perception of what is normal and what is a luxury. A few years back, normal was having a fridge full of food, having a bathtub, and being able to flush toilet paper. All of those are now luxuries. I count change now, saving every coin I find, knowing it could add up to a bus fare or an almuerzo, whereas I used to give all my change to the neighborhood kids or into the family's communal beer bottle bank. I've not become money-hungry by any means, but I am definitely more careful than ever with my spending.

So, I've fallen in love with my backpack. I've traded my dreams of grey walls and throw pillows for dreams of conversations in a foreign language and stamps in my passport. What of my champagne? I am still a classy broad in need of romance (of my own, personal definition) and a a human being in need of comfort. Can I love both my backpack and my champagne? Must I choose? I believe that it can be both... I can stand on the top of a mountain, backpack in tow, and sip my champagne with sweet satisfaction. I have spent the majority of my adult life bending over backwards for people in my life, sacrificing career and self, it's my turn to find the balance I desire: I want champagne and a backpack.

My life is befitting of dichotomy. I work hard and I love harder. Dressing up and going out for a night on the town is as enticing as watching movies in bed while eating pizza. I find contradictions within my dichotomy... I feel at home in cities I've never been before. I find some of my best friends are people whom I spend a few hours speaking to while lying in a park. My favorite things to write about are experiences that leave me without words. Perhaps, my home lies somewhere between champagne and a backpack.

xx.a

i fell in love with a girl named quito

Quito. When I was looking to move abroad, all of these amazing places sprung into consideration. I imagined myself sipping Argentine wine in a romantically lit cobblestone courtyard in Buenos Aires while I watched locals and foreigners alike Tango and twirl. I saw myself bowing slightly to pass through the noren that hang in every restaurant throughout Japan, removing my shoes, and sitting amongst countless locals to eat the freshest sushi on earth while I practice my formal tea pouring and regional diction Japanese in Kyoto. I pictured myself eating tapas and viewing Gaudi's architecture along the streets of Barcelona before headed to the beach to sip Sangria and chat with the locals. Never did I think, "Hey, perhaps I will head to the Andes and try and build a life in a city I have never even seen a photo of", but therein lies the adventure.

I hadn't taken a Spanish class since Sra. Gallardo's Spanish class at Corona High School my sophomore year, and seeing as a solid decade had passed since then, I knew I was in for a challenge when I accepted a position in the capital of Ecuador. My sweet mother gifted me the South American and Ecuadorian Lonely Planet books (I live by these books) and I got started planning my new life... My new life in Quito. My mother and I popped open an ice cold bottle of champagne, poured two glasses worth into her fancy-schmancy crystal flutes, and opened the fresh, virgin pages of the travel guides to see what was in store for me.

On a side note: Admittedly, I am a bit of a planner. Ok, that is an understatement. I am a certified professional organizer and I love to plan, organize and make sense of things. I did do some research on Quito prior to my interview and my departure, but I found my gypsy spirit whispering, "Let go..." and so, for once, I did.

Back to the champagne. We drank, we read, we laughed, we dreamed. A short month later, I was sipping coffee with my father on the way to LAX as the sun seemingly chased us westward in the early November morning. Luggage in tow, containing carefully chosen articles, I sent vibes to this foreign city that would become my dwelling place for the next year. Would it become my home? Flash forward to the three month mark of my journey and I can say without hesitation that this city has become my home, my friend, and my lover.

My feet have grown accustom to the often jagged terrain of the streets and sidewalks that aid my navigation of Quito. I find that I need match my eyes to my steps less and less with each passing step and each passing day. The sounds of airplanes in the distance blend naturally with the clamor of honking taxis, buses shifting gears, and the symphony of car alarms that sound off endlessly throughout the city.

It is amazing to ride the blue city buses and watch contently out whichever window sports that day's adventure. Seeing something new every time, it allows the association of times passed to be connected with new sights, inciting, "I've been there before..." as connections are made. I am truly beginning to know this city. I am falling in love with her curves- both those soft and seductive, as well as those dangerous and elusive- as she allows me to explore them with the curiosity of a child. I have grown accustomed to the temperamental and fickle weather, just as women are perceived to be. As I leave my home some mornings, drenched by the time I reach the bus and taxi hub at the bottom of my hill, only to find myself peeling my coat and scarf off under the intense equator sun as I exit my class just a few hours later. The altitude, around 9,000 feet, depending on your location, offers a hospitable home for rolling, white clouds and constantly changing views in every direction. At night, when the sun rests, the fog rolls in like a team of bandits in the Wild West, occupying street corners and slowing traffic to a cautious roll. Quiteños fear not this timid fog, still linking arms and wandering the streets of La Mariscal in search of cuba libres and reggaeton music.

My ears have ceased searching for English in the sea of Spanish palabras (words) and have sat back in the hammock next to my brain and begun enjoying the challenge that has thus become a game: Learning Spanish. Reggaeton, Salsa, and Meringue music please my inner musician and songs have become familiar, just as in the States.

The incredible preservation and restoration of Centro Historico (Old Town) Quito has helped it quickly become one of my favorite areas to pass the time. Classic Colonial buildings are flanked by the soft, golden lights that guide locals and tourists alike down the streets towards canelazo and empanadas. Massive churches with ornate entrances remind us all that there is something greater than us, and we should all remember to not outgrow out britches. Street performers and beggars alike cast hopeful eyes in the direction of those who pass by and handfuls of plata (change) become the sought after treasure battled for by all.

Parque la Carolina, Quito's answer to Central Park, beckons to all who must pass by on their way to work or school. Flanked on the North side by an art exhibit of massive hummingbirds that have been decorated by local artists, Parque la Carolina hosts jungle gyms, museums, paddle boats, islands, bridges, a skate park, grassy knolls, basketball courts, soccer fields, shady trees, and all sorts of guests who use the park for their own benefit.

My legs have grown accustomed to the countless hills that are to be climbed on my daily rounds and I have found that my daily retirement upon my pillow is always truly welcomed. It has never failed, however, that my mind and body rejoice in venturing out again into my city when it calls upon me.

When I am sick, she lulls me to sleep with her many voices. When I am weary, she reminds me of the incredible, bustling life going on around me. When I grow lonesome, she provides me thousands of people to listen to and watch. When I find myself lost, she shows me a sliver of curving mountaintop or a peak at a street sign, and I have once again found my way. When I feel like dancing, sweet Quito delivers me music to entice my soul and my hips.

She is a good lover, this Quito, and I seek to enjoy every last day with her...

¡SIGA! ¡SIGA! ¡SIGA!

Every day I leave my house in La "Y" (pronounced: 'La Yay') and wander down the broken asphalt of Echaverria to our giant Roundabout-o-Death in hopes of a miraculous break in traffic so I can scurry across dodging cars, motorbikes, buses, horns, and sly comments in Castellano (Spain-influenced Spanish).  I walk down to the corner, past the tienda where we buy our beer, eggs and bread, and stand amongst other Quiteños and hope the next electric blue, smog machine that comes barreling down the feeder road is headed my way.  

My limousine.  I like to share. 

I am fortunate enough to have been born a woman, in that the bus will almost completely stop for me when I am attempting to get on.  When I am strapped into 3+ inch heels, this is a blessing beyond comprehension by the male brain (well, most male brains, but that's another story entirely).  The humor in that we as women are given a hard time about the buses treating us well (they also stop for people who look like they could be 100 years old and anyone carrying a child like a football or basket of bread) is that once we are on that first step, the bus driver- conductor- is off.  Most times, it feels as if he has skipped first gear entirely and thrown the blue beast into second gear and we are handing our twenty-five cents over to the controlador (fare-collector) who wanders up and down the aisle.  How they remember who paid and didn't during rush hour is beyond me, and I have a knack for faces.  

During rush hour, getting on the bus is an Olympic event.  Usually, I must climb on amidst countless other (not to mention over-capacity) Quiteños and squeeze in between a middle-aged man who, coincidentally, falls at the appropriate height to function as a guard for the money stashed in my bra, should I need him to, and an indigenous woman with a baby strapped to her with a bed sheet and a bag of some unnamed vegetable either on her head or squared between her short, sturdy legs.  The crowd is not conducive to personal space, let alone the aforementioned jerking of the bus, which causes you to get to know your immediate traveling companion in the biblical sense.  

Standard method for carrying babies, though typically more complex in the wrap. This one looks like he can breathe, which is an anomaly.

On the off hours, you should find a simple plastic seat with your name on it.  Those who sit in the aisle do not rise or scoot over to allow you to pass by and lower yourself onto the window adjacent seat; they simply scoot both knees to the aisle and keep their glazed stare on the passing buildings or on the sales person selling choclates, caramelos, dulces, and chicle.  No one wants their bag sliced.  The dull roar of the engine and warm sun beaming through the messy glass makes for a nostalgic ride, like when we were babies and our parents, worn out from pacing us back and forth while we wailed, would strap us into the car and drive us around the block until we were lulled into a peaceful slumber. 


Sometimes there are entertainers who enter the bus, much like those selling soccer nets, sweets, ice cream, music, hats, chips, etc.  I have seen two boys under the age of ten come on to the trolé and blow the windows out of it with two classical guitars and voices that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up out of respeto.  Conversely, I have had a tall, goofy man with skin the color of lacquer come on with a jump drive and speakers and rap the same three words over and over and then stick his hand in my face for his due diligence.  Back it up, buddy. No me gusta.

¡SIGA!  ¡SIGA!  ¡SIGA!

It means "Go ahead..." but it comes across as, "Get on the goddamn bus and get away from the door".  The laid back, round-to-it attitude of the Latin Americans disappears as soon as that electric blue tank rolls around the corner of the redondel and screech to a halt- never where you are, mind you, but about ten feet away and around ankle-breaking potholes- and you hear ¡SIGA! Shit.


Every parada where countless ¡SIGA! exclamations are poured out of the open bus door onto the grimy streets of Quito, I see people get off the bus and return to their private lives; filing into twenty story buildings, wandering into local restaurantes or exchanging kisses and handshakes with loved ones.  At stop lights, local performers wander between vehicles juggling bowling pins, spinning poi, throwing balls over buses to their counterpart, riding unicycles, you name it. Older indigenous women meander the lanes with newspapers, fresh corn on the cob, lottery tickets and handmade items.  Pedestrians scramble to cross the asphalt before the light changes to green and horns begin to blare out of sheer habit.  Drivers pitan (honk) and have zero remorse... Think NYC with flavor. 

Exiting the bus is by far the least stressful leg of my daily adventure, I bid a lighthearted Gracias to the holder of my destiny as a thanks for not killing me between La 'Y' and Estadio Olympico (where my employer is).  As the bus rolls away, I always find myself feeling as though I left a part of myself on the bus... With the child who was turned around in their seat looking over their mother's shoulder at the gringa smiling back... With the old man with the brown fedora perfectly framing his experienced face and snow-white hair that has probably lived two or three lifetimes.... With the woman wrangling three children who want nothing more than ice cream from the man in the bright red uniform on the bicycle...

I am amazed at the pace of the daily life here in Quito.  The incredible people who unknowingly cling to their culture inspire me to look deeper into mine, as well as to create my own.  I know in my heart, that every day I am fortunate to be here in Ecuador and that this was by far the best decision of my life.  My "Year of the Yes" will continue into 2012, without a doubt, and I will continue to ¡SIGA! every chance I get.  A massive part of my blessings are derived from the people I have met here... But that is another blog, as they deserve recognition, if for nothing else, just for helping me find my home here in South America. 

Go forth... ¡SIGA!

xx.a

no gringos were harmed in the making of this blog

Let's start simple: I like a lot of things. I like adventure, hot showers, delicious new foods, inside jokes, massages, painting, a good beer, a good whiskey, making people laugh, surprises, photography, kissing... The list goes on. Trust me. The things I do NOT like is much shorter: Rude people, being cold constantly, headaches, negativity, liars, oranges, and ignorance.

After a fantastic night of drinking, dancing, and making new friends, my roommate, Ian, and I woke up early to a cold, dark apartment. We have electric showers. Did I mention how much I love hot showers? And despise freezing my tots (yes, tots) off? Damn. So, sans electricity, we bundled up, grabbed some treats from the local bakery and scurried to the first of a few bus stations. The overcast morning partially disguised the beautiful Andes mountains, but the bolder peaks managed to stand strong for their 15 minutes of fame here and there. After a few changes, we settled in on a relatively clean, electric blue bus with matching velvet curtains & velvet reclining seats. I kept damning the luck that our camera got picked off our group in Tulcán the first weekend I arrived.

The dilapidated houses and strangely colored businesses lined the streets of northern Quito, and each took a part of me as I stared out the window over Ian's folded arms while we were flying by them. This bus was not exempt from the street vendors selling powdered milk, candies, Seco de Pollo, sodas, bootleg DVDs, music, and other, usually unidentified, items. 

The white fringe in the front window of the bus swung back and forth in unison with the passengers as Barbie Princess en Español with talking gatos (cats) played loudly between bursts of static on the TV behind the driver. Standard popular Ecuadorian music played relentlessly from the driver's stereo on the other side of the TV. Paired with the city traffic and the repetitive lists of what was 'se vende' (for sale) marching up an down the center aisle, our situation did not bode well for grabbing a few Z's. I ignored my headache the best I could, shoving it further and further back in my head until I managed to make room for the sweet thoughts of coconut drinks, textile shopping, new foods, and another new adventure in Ecuador.

Otavalo was absolutely charming. A small town set in the Andes, about 2 hours north of Quito, was sprinkled with all sorts of people. Saturdays host the biggest and best market, wherein local vendors, indigenous families, adventurous tourists, hopeful children, and random backpackers alike venture out to find the ultimate treasure.

Every textile invited me to run my fingertips over its threaded nature; the most brilliant cotton weaves, the softest alpaca wraps and scarves, the most intricate woven bracelets... It was all too much.

Musical instruments begged to be strummed, beaten, blown, and played at every turn. Wooden Andean pan flutes (WAY harder to play than anticipated) wrapped in an array of brilliant braided knots, small, solid guitars- either painted or carved to bewilder the eye as well as the ear- and brightly styled maracas called to me. I cannot wait to get my ukulele and start learning!

Ian is a haggling god. With that being said, I was prepared to see either this man swindle old ladies or be pushed around by them, but I was surprisingly impressed. He managed to secure amazing deals for his family gifts and still leave the vendors happy. I started taking notes immediately. By the end of the day, thanks to Ian, I too had scored some sweet deals in the middle of the Andean mountains in Ecuador. My life is rad.

I felt exhilarated and needed to taste more. Literally. I snagged this random food cart as it was passing by and asked for this softball sized monster of a snack. "Papas Rellenos, sesenta centavos, por favor" he chirped. I like me some papas, and sixty cents will sell me on most anything, so I threw some ají (salsa/hot sauce) on top and wandered back to Ian. We parked it on a curb behind two thirty-something ladies selling bracelets and scarves and bit into what has become my new favorite food in Ecuador. A hard boiled egg, buried in tasty flavored rice and tender beef, wrapped in a spiced tortilla and in my belly as fast as I could get it. Don't worry, Mom, I shared like you taught me.

Papas Rellenos

To my dismay, we were never able to track down the coconut drink vendor, but at least I have another reason to return in the future. Oh, and the fifty things I want to buy.

In the center of the open market were food vendors, selling everything from fresh fruits and vegetables to chicken heads and feet (one was looking at me...) and spices. Indigenous women wrapped in jewel tone shawls and donning fedora hats with peacock feathers or colorful hair wraps cooked contently for anyone who would stop. We decided to sit down on the toddler-sized stools in front of a small table with a massive pan over gas burners. Potatoes, a few veggies, and what was described as "Carne" by the small, but plump, indigenous woman (we called it "Mystery Meat") on a small plate for 'una dolorita' and we were set. Small, stray dogs wandered up to us and gave us "the look" but I informed them I don't speak very much Spanish and they'd have to try another table. Yes, it actually worked. Ian ate more than I did, but we both waved cautious white flags in the face of the Mystery Meat as a preemptive strike against food poisoning. (No gringos were harmed in the making of this blog.)

Paintings, hand carved wood, pipes, kitchen ware, bitchen hammocks, clothes, candy, spices, hats... Otavalo had everything and I wanted to build a home with everything I saw. I pried myself away from the market, having only purchased a small, hand painted bowl for myself, and Ian and I loaded onto another electric blue bus. Fed, walked, and played with, we were both ready to nap. Anyone see where this is going?

This time, there were no reclining seats, no charming, old Ecuadorian movies to win me over... Instead, we were plagued with Jean Claude Van Damme's "Cyborg" dubbed in crappy Spanish voices absolutely blaring over the shoddy speakers on the Blue Bus of Death. After 2 hours of horrible explosions and grunting (I am not going to clarify if that's the movie or the bus. Use your imagination.) we ran from the bus and I looked adoringly upon my new treasures from the Middle of Nowhere, Andes, Ecuador.

Until we meet again, Otavalo...

Ecuador Bound!

It's been years in the works, 100+ hours of certification, months of planning every single step, months of improvising when said steps were different than anticipated, countless sleepless nights, hundreds of questions (some of which remain unanswered), thousands of prayers... But it is finally a sweet reality.... 

I am moving to Quito, Ecuador to teach English! 

I physically am incapable of speaking these words without breaking into the biggest, nerdiest grin humanly possible.  My heart has never been so full and happy, nor has my deepest self ever been so sure of this being the right path.  I am beside myself in joy and am proud of all of my accomplishments, as this is something that I did by my own free will, but also with the support from friends and family, and for that I am supremely grateful.  

I will be teaching English to business professionals on the Equator, two miles in the air.  When did my life become so fascinating?  Well, truth me told, it was pretty damn cool before when I was traveling the world modeling, studying in Europe, achieving scholastic greatness with a triple-major, double-minor degree, producing television and radio commercials for brand giants like KIA and Universal Studios in my native Los Angeles, rocking a massive corporate restaurant chain in Dallas, becoming certified as a Professional Organizer, and nannying for one of the best families I have ever met.  Lord knows I love to take things to the next level, so why not teach English in South America?  

As I revealed my amazing news to my family and closest friends, I discovered that there were quite a few misconceptions as to what kind of place Quito and Ecuador as a country are.  Some people thought I was going to be in an urban metropolis dominated by cement giants.  Others believed I was going to walk to a classroom down a muddy road and live in a grass hut.  I Googled these images (thanks, Google!) to give you readers an idea of where I am headed, and to preemptively answer questions regarding my new adventure.  You can find all the information about Quito & Ecuador aquí and find a little love for Latin America until I get over there, settled, and start posting about how things are coming along.  

When I started blogging a year ago, I had no idea that my blog would have well over 2,700 hits thus far, that I would be moving to a foreign country other than Japan, that I would be surrounded by and involved with the most amazing people on the planet, and could possibly be this happy!  I am truly a blessed individual.  Every struggle, every heartache, every heart break, every disappointment, every wrong turn, every mistake... They all were stepping stones leading to this monumental moment in my life where my heart is screaming "YOTY!" (Year of the Yes) and I am forever changed.  


I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestioned ability of a man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.  -Henry David Thoreau 


Soy verdad agradecido para el amor y apoyo demostrado por usted... And off I go to practice my Spanish...  xx.a

I want to be contagious.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.   -Angela Monet


The written word is one of the most beautiful forms of expression on this sweet planet, yet I cannot help but feel as though they just cannot fully convey the emotions I feel.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words... This is true, but sometimes even a photograph cannot fully express what is living in my heart.  (That is saying a lot, coming from a photo-obsessed blogger!)  


Strangely enough, I have discovered that, at least for me, it was more difficult to express joy in my writings, paintings, and music than sorrow.  I am naturally a happy person, so this baffled me upon my revelation.  Why would this effort be more difficult if it is natural?  So I pondered my findings over a cup of fresh coffee and a bowl of watermelon cubes while enjoying the early morning breeze through the backdoor screen.  I strive daily to express the joy that I have found in my life- especially over the last year- both as a form of gratitude to the universe, as well as to lead by example.  The negativity in the daily life of people I am surrounded by astounds me.  Quit your bitching, count your blessings, say thank you, and start appreciating your life, people!  It's easier to express discontent or pain because those emotions are stronger when you allow them in.  Since I have parted ways with my old self and the negativity associated with her, I find that the happiness and excitement that is now a constant light in my chest is dominating my creativity.  


Every man dies- Not every man lives.  -William Ross Wallace 


That being said (thanks for riding out my ramblings today) I have to remind myself not to get frustrated when my paintings turn out differently than imagined or when I cannot find the words I need to connect an intangible emotion to a cognitive understanding.  


I paint to create something beautiful I can pour emotion into. 
I write to express ideals and ask questions.
I photograph to capture things that move me.
I sing to open the doors to my soul.
I play guitar to find balance.
I learn languages to connect to other worlds. 
I teach to help mold the minds of a new generation.
I adventure to feed my soul & connect to the universe.  


All these things are beautiful in their own respective ways, and I am so fortunate to have the ability and drive to create in these fields and feel a sense of accomplishment and be filled up with peace and happiness.  My newest adventure is moving abroad to teach English.  This venture combines so many of my loves: travel, teaching, adventure... Plus I will be able to write, paint, photograph, and perform wherever this life takes me.  


There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. -Albert Einstein 


Making someone laugh brings me more inner happiness than I could ever even begin to explain... That is a miracle to me.  I could list two hundred other miracles I am thankful for, but there are two I am focusing on in my life right now: 

1. Every single person I interact with.

2. My new adventure.

Applications are out, kids.  There is no turning back now, not that I would if I could!  I have applied to some amazing countries... Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, Costa Rica, and Thailand.  This is the first thing I have ever done in my entire life that is for me.  The level of support from the people in my life is outstanding, and I am forever grateful.  I will have to devote an entire blog post to just thanking you crazy people for putting up with me!  I hope that this massive, life-altering step I am taking inspires you all to live your dream, or even start a new one.  I want to be contagious.  I want you all to catch this incredible passion for life and rise with the tides!  I began this post with stating that sometimes my media cannot truly express the light inside of me... I just want you all to feel it for yourselves.  I hope that you can find something in one of our interactions- even if only for a moment- that moves you.  That is the greatest joy and greatest gift I could ever ask for.  


Find some inspiration in something.  Anything.  Start getting out there and making magic happen... Find that inexpressible inner light & inner joy.  Then do your damnedest to express, to share, to inspire, & to give back the positivity into this crazy-amazing universe of ours.  


xx.a

kicking the bucket: death be not a player hater

I want to do that before I die! 

That phrase has almost become almost as cliché as they come, being muttered by drones wandering the cubical mazes making a theoretical list (ok, some people actually make a list) and never crossing a single adventure off of it.  I've begun to wonder as the drones wander... Do they make these lists as a crutch?  Do these idlers and settlers use the classic "Bucket List" as a way to have hope that their lives will magically one day turn into something fantastic?  Newsflash, kids, good things don't come to those who wait.  Great and mind-blowing things come to those who get off their asses and open the door themselves.  There is something to be said for patience (it is a virtue, after all... and we should all strive to be virtuous, right?) and not being too hasty, but where is it written that we need to wait until our retirement to live life until it hurts-so-good?  I wouldn't want to be a senior citizen trying to climb 530 steps to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral and have my hip pop out!  Though, dear readers, I did manage this climb on the one day it was sunny in London and I was wearing a skirt.  (You're welcome, German tourists, hope it wasn't too distracting from the centuries of history and culture surrounding you.)  

I started asking my most interesting and dearest friends if they had ever taken the time to sit down and pen out their "Bucket List" out.  A few had compiled a tangible list, to no surprise, and I was fortunate to have them share their sensational, albeit some nonsensical aspirations with me.  A few souls admitted it's on their notepad in their iPhone (good God where would we be without them?) for constant editing.  There was a scattering of surprises, though, that caused me to stumble when they shrugged their proverbial shoulders when admitting they hadn't put much thought into it or muttered, "There are things I want to do before I die." Oy. 

Some of the entries were outstanding.  My sister's boyfriend and my dear friend, Chris (who specifically asked to be credited with his), wants to live in a tree.  No, really.  He also wants to stay in the Hobbit Shire homes in New Zealand.  I applaud his remarkable and distinguished list, as it reminded me that "Travel Asia" isn't enough when it comes to figuring out my list.  One of my favorite people on the planet, Benton, rocked my world with some of his entries, though I shouldn't be surprised as his mind is one of evil genius married with eccentric splendor.  Only he could come up with having his outgoing message recorded by the voice of NPR, Carl Kasell- classic Benton.  What threw me was his final submission: he wants to be struck by lightening. My initial reaction surprised me; I was exhilarated.  What a rush!  The ultimate 'To-Do' is death, really, so this should probably be his last, but he most likely considered that while assembling his list.  Richard, an old friend and stellar soul, has a concise and well thought-out list; his entries ranging from playing catch with his father on the Field of Dreams at Cooperstown (family sentiment) to scuba diving with sharks and moving to Las Vegas for an entire year.  I love the variety and brilliance of some of the tasks these amazing people came up with.  I decided to dive a little deeper.... into something they call, "The Inter-Web". Some up-and-coming thing all the kids are using.  We'll see if it takes off. 

Skydiving, 2nd time, 2009

 think there is a substantial difference between "The Bucket List" and some things you wouldn't mind doing.  These things should incite riots within you, raising exhilaration to new heights when you discuss it or- gasp!- make plans to cross it off your precious list.  For example, I have been to both Disneyland and Disneyworld, and one day would like to visit TokyoDisney, but I must admit it is more because of my ridiculous obsession with Japan than it has to do with Disney.  If I am in Paris or Hong Kong, I won't prioritize spending my money or time wandering around a theme park.  Therein lies the key: prioritizing. Everything on my Do-It-To-It Bucket List is prioritized from this point forward!

Granted, I wrote one when I was 15 or so, then again at 18, but they have fallen victim to Spring cleaning or mistaken identity of a grocery list, one would think.  In this age of ludicrous technology, why not pry into random individuals most private desires, much like you are doing to mine?  I might as well make sure there is nothing I am missing out on!  I first and foremost had to grab something tangible to put these hot little ideas down on.  I know myself, I am a list maker, and if I am going to make these dreams of mine a sweet reality, the list needs to be as tangible as I desire them to be.  (Besides, that gives me something to scrapbook later!  Oh, in case we haven't met, I'm a massive nerd.  Alright, back to my list.) I started by making two separate lists: Badass Adventures That Made Me Who I am & You Jealous and Adventures That Won't Happen If I Am Sitting On My Sweet Ass.  Admittedly, that's a bit wordy (even for myself, the Wordsmith) so I simplified: Things I Have Done and The Bucket List, respectively.  I wrote as much as I could, as quickly as I could to get things rolling along before picking the brains of random people all over the world.  

Himeji, Japan 2006

I found that most individuals ambitions revolve around accomplishments, such as Masters Degrees & eliminating debt, and travel.  As I found myself scrolling quickly through blogs, lists and forums it hit be: I've done almost all of these.  How fortunate am I to be scribbling furiously in this bright lavender ink (I keep it real) over the Benn-There-Done-That side of this experiment?  I did manage to find a few I hadn't done or even considered, one I even added to my own list.  It felt amazing to fill the blank pages with my adventures and accomplishments, even the smaller ones we often forget about, like witnessing a sunrise from its inception or getting slap-you-in-the-face-drunk. Conversely, there are some things that I just cannot bring myself to put on my list, but you bet your ass I will proudly put them on my list of accomplishments should I ever find myself in that position: getting arrested, streaking or breaking someones bone.

Playing with baby tigers, 2010

One of the most inspiring people I have ever met was only in my life for a short while before she left our advertising agency to travel the world and increase her badass levels to incomparable levels. Laurenne Sala: author, freelance writer, creative director, comedian, producer, story teller, cultural guru (my opinion) and general hottie.  She uses words like 'vagina' and writes up mock-interviews with God, calling him a douchebag because he won't get off his Blackberry.  She traveled the world because she damn well felt like it and she's on of the most genuine people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  Her blog is the highlight of my day, and with a name like Humans Are Funny can you blame a girl? She wanted to attack life, not sit back and hope the right people meandered into her office at the right time.  She puts herself out there, breaking pretty much all the social standards and rules we try to abide by, and she does it with a gorgeous smile and no shame.  I feel fortunate to have someone as such a stellar example of someone taking life by the balls and forging her own path, not giving half a damn about what others might think she is "supposed" to be doing. 

The thing I hate the most about advertising is that it attracts all the bright, creative and ambitious young people, leaving us mainly with the slow and self-obsessed to become our artists.. Modern art is a disaster area. Never in the field of human history has so much been used by so many to say so little. - Banksy

Don't worry, Banksy, she plays for both teams. Advertising and art, that is... Hopefully she forgets she gave me permission to use her in this blog because I can't bring myself to delete that.  Maybe humans are, in fact, funny... Regardless, Laurenne was brought into my life for a specific reason, as she has never been far from my mind and I see her wearing an attitude rivaling the one I am tailor-making for myself at this point in time.  Laurenne reminded me of my list, and I am fortunate enough to say that I have inspired a few others, in my asking, to make theirs and start making plans. 

Every body dies, but not everybody lives.  I'm not going to allow death to be my greatest adventure, I want to welcome it with a smile and an eased sense of satisfaction.  Hopefully, as the title of this entry boasts, death will not keep me from my list of adventures I am about to share with you.  Please note, it has been simplified greatly because listing every place I want to visit would be ridiculous.  More will be added... 

Adventures That Won't Happen If I'm Sitting On My Ass

See the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) 

Go whitewater rafting   May 2012, Peru

Go scuba diving

Ride a dogsled 

Attend an Olympic event 

Learn to Salsa dance in South America  November 2011, Quito Ecuador 

Visit all 7 continents

Visit all 50 states 

Celebrate New Year's Eve in a foreign country  Montañita, Ecuador 2011-2012

Finish learning Japanese 

Sing karaoke solo  6/5/13 Gunpowder & Lead, Miranda Lambert (Thanks, Mom!)

Write a book 

Use a fire extinguisher 10/28/11 Thanks, Nik Cherwink! 

Finish learning guitar 

See the 7 Wonders of the World

-Machu Picchu, Peru   05/27/12

-Great Wall of China, China

-Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt 

-Taj Majal, India 

-Christ the Redeemer, Brazil 

-Stonehenge, England

-Colosseum, Italy

Play one song at an open mic night

Move overseas   Ecuador, 2011

Drive on the Autobahn 

Set a World Record  32,673 Luche Libre masks worn @ Angels Game 5/10/11

Attend a World Cup match

Attend Coachella  April 15-17, 2011

Attend Burning Man 

Go sailing

Paint a self-portrait 

Participate in a Japanese Tea Ceremony

Attend an opera 

Float down the Amazon River

Ride a unicycle 

Write with a quill 

Seal Island in South Africa

Ride an elephant in Thailand

Be in two places at once  Mitad del Mundo, Ecuador 2012

Milk a cow

Attend Carnaval in South America Carnaval de Barranquilla, Colombia February 2012

Ride in a helicopter  

Go on an African Safari 

Drink Guinness in Ireland  Study Abroad, May 2005

La Tomatina Festival in Buñol, Spain
Sakura (Cherry Blossom) Festival in Okinawa, Japan
Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany 
Mardi Gras in New Orleans, LA
Hot air balloon ride 
Brew homemade beer Amie Ann Amber Ale - Sept 2011
Visit a nude beach 
Climb Sydney Harbor Bridge in Sydney, Australia 
Visit every country in South America 
Fill up a passport before it expires 
Learn to surf  North Shore, Oahu - Dec 2012
Save someone's life
Live in Japan
Fire a flamethrower
Join the 100 Club (countries)
Volcano Boarding in Nicaragua 
Cage diving with sharks 
Dine in the Sky 
Swim in the Dead Sea in Isreal
Death Road in Bolivia (I assume cycle... We shall see...) 
Wing Walking 
Go snowmobiling 
...
BAM. Let's do this.
xx.a