FRIDAm (freedom)

Sometimes I paint.  I love it.   But who has time, really?  I usually paint when I'm feeling something so deep that I can't write it down (yet).   I find that the colors,  not necessarily what I use them to shape - are what helps.  Last year I was very sad and I started a winter landscape.   It felt heavy and unbearable.   So much so that I couldn't finish it.   I hate snow.   I hate being cold.   I let it dry and shoved it to the back of the hallway closet - "I cant." Yesterday I dug it out.  I was ready.   I added color.  Icy water.   Northern lights.   A shooting star.   It was finished.   The weight of winter was beginning to lift and the colors in the sky were proof.  I don't hate it anymore.   It's a good story that I haven't finished telling with words.     

Blitzing a BOLTrayal

I’ve started to write about my Chargers story at least once a month since the announcement but I haven’t been able to bring myself to finish it.  I’ve got decades of content but it just doesn’t feel right.  It’s not ~flowing~ from my brain to my fingertips, but writing about it has helped me understand why the Chargers have been such an important part of my life…

Idk what year it was, but I was little.  My parents & I were walking around (not shopping, we were poor) Plaza Bonita on a Sunday.  My mom went into Montgomery Ward & my Dad went into Radio Shack while I watched a game being played in the snow on TV thru a store window.  I’d only seen snow once before & I hated it so I was amazed @ how people could live in such weather.  I was so confused at what they were doing & why but I wanted MORE.  It was FUTBOL AMERICANO, & although I had the attention span of a goldfish I figured out that San Diego had its own team & thus I declared my loyalty to the San Diego Super Chargers.  I, like many of you, remember watching the 1994 AFC Championship game vs Pittsburgh where Seau was ALL over the field, Pupunu cracked open an imaginary pineapple in the end zone & Gibson had that fateful knockdown to get us to the Super Bowl.  That game that Americans fussed about & ate chips at.  THAT GAME FINALLY mattered & I NEEDED a jersey.  But, again, we were kinda poor so my awesome mom, in a pre-Pinterest era,  made my friends & I Charger bolt pins out of blue & yellow felt, so I pinned mine to my royal blue windbreaker & passed them around to my friends @ school & invited them all over for a SUPER BOWL PARTY!  Where we would eat the chips & win the game!  I BELIEVED we would win!  But alas, Stan Humphries & the Chargers got steamrolled by Steve Young & the Niners & I was left with my first blue & gold heartbreak.  I could not understand why they insisted on running it up the middle.  I did not understand the X’s & O’s. 

For about 5 seasons I worked Sundays & was left to watch high(errr…low)lights @ the end of the day, which wasn’t so bad considering this was around the Ryan Leaf debacle.  I did make it up to Carson one summer to watch them practice though, which is weird now, in hindsight.  In 2001 came LT, Doug Flutie & Drew Brees & I FINALLY had enough money to buy myself my first jersey:  a powder blue #21 *strikes LT pose, flips ball*  The following season my cousin Nen won 2 tickets to the Chargers/Chiefs game at school & she was awesome & took me instead of one of her  brothers – who were also Diehards.  I attended my very first home game @ the age of 21, with a 13 year old girl, in the nosebleeds, surrounded by Chiefs fans but WE WON – BY A POINT- in true Charger fashion!  I was hooked.  That day I decided that if I ever made enough money that I’d become a season ticket holder someday. I wore that LT jersey every week – even in the offseason.  I copped a couple pullovers in the offseason on clearance, which I threw into my weekly rotation & wouldn’t you know it?  I was rocking one of those pullovers the day I met LT.  I was interning @ Z90 my senior year of college & one of the DJs was speaking with him in the lobby.  I was on my way out but I stopped dead in my tracks to stare at them & then realized I was being weird & started toward the door again when suddenly Tre (DJ) caught up to me.  Momentarily retarded I asked “is that – is that really LT?” to which he said “Yea!  You wanna meet him?” & before I could reply he was walking me back over to him & my heart was racing & I started sweating.  When I finally got in front of him I couldn’t do anything but shake his hand with my right & cover my face with my left.  I just kept saying “Thank you, omg thank you!” to which LT said “hey nice to meet you Susie, that’s a nice shirt” I bowed & backed away in awe but can you believe it?  This paisa chick from the barrio with her clearance Chargers pullover purchased off my bakery wages had just shook hands with LT & he knew my name!!   I later realized he’d read my name off of my necklace LMAO but hey, how many Chargers have read your name off your jewelry huh?!  Also -  who BOWS?!  LOL!  I was still working Sundays but my Dad gave me a small, old school black & white TV that you could either plug into an outlet or into the cigarette lighter of your car.  So I’d prop the TV up on the bakery counter & listen/watch & try not to cuss between customers at the register.  Soon, my Apa started to share my passion for the Chargers so much that he got the old school Chargers logo (with the horse) tatted on his forearm with my initials -  ‘SD’ bc, he said, “you are the biggest Charger fan I know.” 

When I landed my first job out of school my Apa & I purchased half a season & thus began an epic run of bonding.  My Apa was always down for me.  He was hard on me growing up but he didn’t trip during the games when I got embarrassingly loud, took a zillion pics or chain smoked @ halftime.  I will always cherish those days with my Apa.  Over the next few seasons I kept running into (stalking) Chargers all over the city.  Rodney Harrison @ Foot Locker, Igor Olshansky & Nick Hardwick @ a gas station, Kassim Osgood @ the Tavern (who bought shots for the entire bar when I told him it was my bday), Drew Brees @ Hoover HS, Reche Caldwell & Tim Dwight @ Jamba Juice, Luis Castillo @ IKEA.  Countless more while I hung out at the Bullpen, a bar/grill conveniently located next door to the Cheetah’s near Chargers Park.  We eventually purchased an entire season a few years in a row, despite Brees’ shoulder, Nate’s missed kicks & back to back playoff losses.   My Apa & I were at the old moldy Q when LT broke the TD record, and we leaned over the rails as far as we could to watch the O-Line hoist the greatest running back of the decade into the air while we all chanted “LT! LT! LT! LT!”  We were also there in 2007 when we finally won 2 playoff games back to back & fair weather, bandwagon ass fans were literally popping the tags off the jerseys & hats they’d worn to the game.  Dude, the emotions the following week were crazy!  We were on our way to the AFC Championship & we had a bye & home field advantage & it was like 1994 all over again, but better.  Bc THIS time we were gonna win with authority.  But we lost.  We barely lost.  AGAIN.  By ANOTHER missed kick & I was drunk, and thinking about how I was moving to Hawaii in a few months & I did not know if I would ever have times like these with my old man & this team again.  So I cried.  I cried like a basic drunk girl on her way home from the bar without her phone or a burrito & the next thing I knew some lady was asking me my name & where I was from.  I slurred it & she jotted it down.  The next morning was MLK day & thankfully I didn’t have to be @ work.  My flip phone had like 15 missed calls & another 6 voicemails & as the hangover kicked in, I listened to each one:

** first message sent today @ …*  mija its dad.  Hey, uh, call me back ok?  Bye

*next message sent today @ … * mija, get up, gimme a call ok”

*next message …* heeeyyy girrrll...just calling to make sure you’re okaaayyy, hit me up

*next mess-…* hey Susie, (oh sh** - realizing it was my boss) just checking in, lmk if you’re OK…

*next* DUDE IM IN ORANGE COUNTY ARE YOU FRIGGIN KIDDING ME (LOLS) THIS IS CRAZY (LOLS) ITS IN THE PAPER UP HERE AHAHAHAHAHHA”

*ne-…** mija, its dad again, call me

I called my Apa first.  I grabbed my cigs & put on my house shoes & called him omw outside to smoke.  He said there was a BIG-ASS picture of me crying in the tribune.  I grabbed my wallet & walked to the liquor store around the corner right then, with him on the phone the entire time, talking sh*t about the loss, puffin on my cig, dragging my chanclas across the pavement as fast as I could.  I flicked the butt & turned into the store. 

SMH.  No.  No.  No, this is not happening, no.  Oh, WOW.  Oh no, OH MY GAHHH *unfolds newspaper, jaw drops*  LARGE color picture of my faded ass in a blue wig, crying about the Chargers.  I looked over at the dude behind the counter & he was looking back at me laughing.  I’d seen this dude at least once a week since I was 10, he watched me go from buying candy to buying  lottery scratchers, cigs & booze & now he watched as I stood there, a hot hungover mess, smelling like empty beer cans & cigarette smoke, horrified.  His phone rang & he stopped laughing long enough to speak Farsi into the phone & cash me out for 5 copies of the paper.  I walked home wondering how this happened & then fuzzy bits & pieces came back to me & I recalled the small lady with the note pad & the questions.  OMG THAT’S why she asked me how to spell my last name!  I walked in the house & showed my Mom & even though I could tell she wanted to laugh she said “ayy mija” shook her head & made me bfast.  I went about returning calls, emails & myspace messages the rest of that day.  I went to a friends house that week & she’d set it as her screensaver. The next day at work someone had pinned the pic up in my cubicle.  It was funny, yes. I was super sad though. It’s never been “just a game” to me. 

Living in a different time zone before smart phones were a ‘thing’ made it challenging to watch games but I managed.  We’d still purchased the season & sold some of the tickets but I traveled back to SD for the season opener.  When I eventually moved back I was so happy to be home that one of the first things I did was get the back of my neck tatted with a bolt. My Diehard status was sealed in bloody blue & gold ink.  I had so many great times that season tailgating with my Dad & friends, but I was single & I really wanted to meet a guy who understood (among other things) what it meant to be a True Blue Charger Fan.  Somebody once said if I ever met the right guy that I would probably get married @ The Q.  I will admit that at the time, I didn’t think it was a bad idea!  Haha, classy! 

I met C online.  I was wearing a Charger jersey & an eye black sticker in my profile picture, we met 2 days later & we haven’t separated since.  Our mutual love of the Chargers has always been for better or for worse.  We have matching jerseys, matching tattoos & our anniversary (09/10) usually lands right before the first game of the season.  We used to live in an apartment in Mission Valley & that whole season we rode our bikes to the stadium with cold beer in my backpack & we’d cruise from tailgate to tailgate until Game Time.  So many good times chillin with equally Charger Crazy friends. My family & I may not always be on the same page about things but we could always agree on the Chargers. 

So when Deano basically text the city of San Diego to break up with us, I was kinda stunned.  Which is dumb bc all the signs were there.  For 15 years the city pointed the finger at Deano & Deano called the city names & it got messier & messier.  But I mean, really Deano, a letter?  Not even a press conference to show your stupid face?  No opportunity for a farewell season for the Diego Dedicated?  Junior Seau was probably turning over in his grave. Watching a “FIGHT FOR LA promo on YouTube the other day made me queasy.  I almost threw my phone across the room!    WHY will you ‘FIGHT FOR LA’ but you WONT ‘FIGHT FOR SD?!’  They don’t even want you!!  Clearly, I am still pissed. 

My Chargers story begins like a sad mariachi song.  It runs the gamut from a classic rock & roll hit to a Hawaiian reggae jam & even a wretched Taylor Swift breakup song.  Then the music STOPS.  And in the quiet, I had to figure out if I wanted to keep dancing.  I had to decide if I was still down to ride or if I was going to burn my jerseys.  I am a woman scorned.  But I am also business-minded, & I understand that this is business.  I am not spending any more money on this franchise.  I am not purchasing another jersey, I am not driving to LA to watch them play  or paying $100 to park,  I will not shed any more tears for this team.  I feel like I’m writing a eulogy.  I know, I’m so dramatic, but Chargers football has never been “just a game” to me.  Learning about American football as a young paisa girl helped me assimilate into a culture I wanted so badly to be a part of.  And of course, it being the Bolts, I had to learn about losing.  It taught me to be resourceful on Sundays that I had to work.  It taught me to be a good sport.  These days it motivates my tired ass to socialize.  The Chargers season starts tomorrow.  I haven’t watched a single preseason game but I will be watching tomorrow, & I will continue to watch on Sundays.  I still want them to win, I wont root for any other team.  Raider fans get to root for the Raiders regardless of what toilet bowl they’re swimming in.  I am mad, yes.  I am butt-hurt, yes.  But this is business, and I don’t know anything about being a gajillionaire.  I’m just an old diehard.  I understand some old skool Charger fans live in other states now, & that makes it easier to transition to another team.  Maybe if we lived somewhere that had an NFC team I’d consider switching too, but for now, you won’t catch #teamavila in another team’s jersey.  Call me crazy but I think Deano will eventually sell & another gajillionaire will move the team back to SD.  Maybe I’m delusional but for now, I’m not gonna stop believin.’

Spirits

Sand

My Abuelito Teofilo passed away in 2002.  I don’t REALLY know what year he was born but he was at least 80 when he passed.  I was 20.  I would not consider us as having a super strong bond but it was special in its own right.  I was his first grandkid (that he knew of).  My Apa & I inherited his birthmark on the same spot on our backs.  As a child I did not understand why he always smelled like sawdust & rubbing alcohol but I was happy to run to the corner store for him to pick up a pack of cigarettes if it meant he’d spot me a soda (poured into a plastic bag with a straw).  I didn’t understand why sometimes he would yell & throw things at my Abuelita, Apa, tios & tias but I was happy that he would visit & bring me cajeta & aguacates.   He was a little scary sometimes.  He was loud, was missing teeth & would curse everything & everyone between swigs of a bottle he’d tuck under the skirt of the couch.  As I grew older I realized that he was an alcoholic, a carpenter & an abusive father & husband but I didn’t care; I loved him as he was.  It was easy for me because I never had to bear the brunt of his demons.   For my tenth birthday he crafted a kid-sized vanity fit for a princess.  It was recently passed down to my youngest cousin. 

He grew frail.  I can still picture him now, in a plain white v-neck undershirt, sitting with his legs crossed & his arm behind his head over on the far end of the couch closest to the TV.  Chants of “JE-RRY!  JE-RRY! JE-RRY!” bounced off the cinderblock walls of his house while he’d mumble some obscenity in Spanish at the love triangle on the screen.  He’d always stand up to greet me “como esta mi muchachota?” & I’d always stop him halfway to sit him back down & slip him a $5 bill.  I’d been working for a while so I’d kick him down five bucks every now & then to enable his habit.  Almost everyone else complained about his vice but I knew he wouldn’t quit regardless of whether or not I gave him that $5.  He was always grateful & offered a blessing.  He rarely left the house but when he did he’d be in a leather jacket & a newsboy cap.  He even had a wrinkly old tattoo on his forearm of a shield from when he was in the Mexican Army.  Such an OG.  One day he quit drinking & smoking of his own volition…he died about a week later.  I wore my leather jacket & poured some Sauza out for him that night.  I was mostly sad for my father. 

I feel like he died right when I was beginning to understand him & was starting to get the courage to ask him questions about his life.  I regret not making a stronger effort to get to know him.  I’d heard whispers that he’d had another wife, a secret family from before he’d “taken” my Abuelita when she was only 15.  For all I know he might not have told me anything but at least I could have tried.  A week after his funeral I had a dream that he was at the foot of my bed scolding me & yelling “No sea miedosa!  Le voy a jalar las patas!” which doesn’t really translate to English (“don’t be a scaredy-cat, im gonna yank your feet!”)   - it’s an expression used to convey the idea of  someone coming to haunt you in the middle of the night - to tug on your feet while you sleep.  Told you it doesn’t translate.  -_-   Anyway – he did not visit me in my dreams again. 

Struggle

Last September, after 5 years of trying to get pregnant (naturally & with medical assistance) I miscarried at about 6 weeks.  This is another story for another time but to nutshell it, I did not take it very well.  I was a hot mess for about a week & then I drowned my sorrows in carbs, white wine spritzers & IPA’s for 3 months to fill the new holes in my heart & womb.  I managed to get my sh** together by New Year & about a week into my annual ritual of temporary sobriety (3-4 month detox from Jan-Easter) I went to dinner with family for another cousin’s bday.  She was born on our Abuelito’s bday, January 8.  That night he visited me in a dream again, nearly 15 years after he passed.  We were in a dark room, I was standing at a distance & he was sitting in a metal chair with a spotlight shining down on him.  In his arms was a bundle wrapped in a pink blanket.  He tried to turn the bundle toward me but I couldn’t see her face.  He was speaking to me but I could not hear him, no sounds or voice were audible.  I yelled to him: “EN INGLES O EN ESPANOL?”  (my grandfather did not speak English).  His lips kept moving but again, I could not make anything out.  I yelled in English – “IS THAT MY DEAD BABY OR MY NEXT BABY?!” and again, lips moving but not a peep.  Frustrated, I asked him again with the same results.  I woke up in a fog.  The dream bothered me every.single.day, I questioned what it was he was trying to tell me, what it could all mean & how this would fit my Christian worldview. 

Silence

Last week, while floating in an isolation/sensory deprivation tank (another story, another time), I was drifting somewhere between asleep & awake when I suddenly felt a warmth emanating from my navel.  I can’t even really say for sure if my eyes were open but I visualized an amber light hovering above it.  Weird right?  Yea I thought so too - but I managed to roll with it & found myself flashing back to my “Abuelito:  the baby-wielding mute” dream.  I still couldn’t hear what he was saying but in this version I stopped asking about the baby because I already knew who she was.  A tear or two escaped me, and I found it ironic that it took a pod of salt water for me to come full circle in my grieving process.  I’ve read that “grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and flowing.  Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming.  All we can do is learn to swim.” 

Soopernatural

I didn’t go into this situation deliberately seeking this experience, I don’t know how to meditate & I’m certainly not on drugs.  I tread very lightly when it comes to exposing myself to alternative spirituality & other peoples’ energies because it scares me & frankly – I don’t want to ‘feel’ their burdens (demons).  My faith in God is first & foremost based on the Holy Bible, which states that we are not to add to or subtract from the Word of God.  Therefore, I don’t believe that the Bible left out chakras or hallucinations or meditations on accident.  BUT I do believe that our Heavenly Father gave us free will & the Holy Spirit, which, when coupled with other spiritual gifts (perception, servitude, teaching, encouraging, giving, mercy, etc.)  can lead our souls on some pretty crazy journeys, and nothing is impossible with God.  He created the heavens & the earth, He made it rain manna, made a whale spit out Jonah, parted the red sea, kept David safe in a den full of lions, He rose the dead – He sent plenty of people throughout the old & new testament dreams & visions, who’s to say he can’t send us one now?  Also, deprivation tanks have been known to induce hallucinations, sooo there’s that.   In the meantime I’ve filed this experience in the box in my brain where I keep aliens, the Bermuda Triangle & la chupacabra bc I just don’t know & I probably never will. 

Sarahi

I’ve asked God to take this sorrow from me in so many different ways, too many times to count.  I’ve stopped asking for a baby.  I’ve asked Him to make my paths straight, to take away this desire to be a mom & instead help me focus on all the other ways He’s blessed me.  I’ve asked Him to help me be a blessing to other people, and their kids, to help me figure out a way to serve Him by serving others.  To please help me temper this vice so it won’t affect my marriage – this vice I inherited the predisposition for from my Abuelito.  Call it science or subconscious, imagination or coincidence.  Call me batsh** crazy if that helps you make sense of it all – I don’t care.  All I know is late at night, after I’ve said all my prayers, I’ve finally found peace knowing that my badass Abuelito is watching our baby girl until God calls me Home & THAT is the BEST gift I could have EVER received this birthday.  

Phillippians 4:7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Miranda Rights

Day One of Criminal Justice 101 class, 2004.  Thank you, CourtTV & every single race driven trial for making it so easy to pick an elective.  Thank you,  predominantly white, Christian, upper class private university for pissing me off daily & providing me with an audience rife with superiority complexes.  Two truths & a lie, she said.  I just happened to have a LOT of time to prepare since she started in the back corner of the classroom & I tend to sit by the door (quick escape).  Gaaawwwd why is everyone soooo corny???!!  OK.  I’m ready.  Hmm, that was a good one.  Come on Token Black Guy make it a good one…*sigh* lame.  He must be dating a white girl.  Why am I sweating, I’m not even nervous... dammit this chair is narrow & I am fat.  Eek here we go!  “I am a Comm major.  I have a 5 year old son & I am an only child.” 

*silence*

*eyes darting around*

Token Black Guy:  “THERE IS NO WAY you’re an only child!” 

Everyone else:  “Yeah!  Only child is a lie!”

Me:  “I don’t have kids”  *sits down carefully*

Criminal Justice Professor *jaw on floor*

*silence*

Pinche Checkmate Cabrones.

  

Hasta La Pasta 2016

2016 has been rough.  People died bc they were the wrong color, sexuality, religion, etc. but somehow some of us were more upset about a dead gorilla.  There was worldwide destruction,  protests, & contaminated water (& not just in Flint & North Dakota).  We were bombarded with each others opinions during a hostile election season & we weren’t all as tolerant as we could/should have been.  There were dead pop stars, environmental disasters & wars.  At least one captured drug lord, a pandemic & the TV told us nothing was ever safe.  Not a church, not a movie theatre, or a park, or your office holiday party or the voting booth or your conscience -  nothing. 

Personally, my faith, marriage, health, career & friendships were all tested to varying degrees.  I questioned God’s plans, I challenged my husband’s decisions, I neglected my fitness, I took a risk with my career &I also judged many friends as they shared their opinions of our undocumented/Muslim/LGBTQ/colored neighbors from what I assumed was a pedestal of privilege.  I started out 2016 so hopeful, so committed to exhausting every opportunity that I was presented with; so determined to impose my will on Cesar, on my body, on my friends ballots, even on my God’s divine plans.  And for the most part, I fell flat on my face.  I fell into a sad little hole & at the bottom of that hole I found cookies & beer. 

A couple weeks ago, I saw a picture someone had tagged me in with a group of people & I thought my eyes were closed in it.  But no, my cheeks are just that puffy right now.  I am NOT saying this fishing for compliments – please believe me when I say that I am as vain as I am confident but lets be real, cookies & beer is not undoing any of the emotions 2016 brought with it & now I am just uncomfortable.  Like, if I cant wear leggings somewhere I am not going, lol!   And it’s a damn good thing idgaf what anyone thinks about me bc the other day a girl (who is like 5’9, 110 lbs & doesn’t age) said to me: “you’ve gained weight huh?  I can tell bc your face is SO ROUND!”  (as she gestures a wide pancake shape around her face)… & I couldn’t even clap back because I literally had a friggin bagel in my mouth.  So wtf was I REALLY supposed to say to that?!  LOL so I just nodded & chewed aggressively.  Swear like I was gonna stop eating that bagel.  Trippin. 

All this to say though that I just feel like a lot of BS went down in 2016 & I did not adult properly & deal.  Instead I stewed.  And I ate too many cookies & drank too many beers & I stopped going to the gym.  So I am breaking up with 2016 & all of the depression, disappointment, despair, discrimination & donuts it brought with it!  It had some highlights, don’t get it twisted, I know I am beyond blessed.  But I am human & I cannot front.  Sometimes I am burdened.  I hope this makes sense, please don’t misconstrue the message.  I am just saying, sh** was rough.  And I guess that is the beauty of it.  That if you’re reading this on 12/31/16  you & I are still blessed to have able bodies & sound minds, and God-willing the safety & well being of our loved ones.  We even have this blessing/curse of social media to communicate with/compare ourselves to our family & friends. 

Idk what 2017 is bringing.  But I know that I am not going to continue to reopen wounds,  I am going to let go & let God. I am not going to be so consumed with the pain that I do not see the gain.  I will recognize that the burden is the blessing, and I will remind myself that His mercies are new EVERY DAY, that He will turn my mourning into dancing.  I pray that the coming year brings you the basics, the beautiful, the blessings & beyond.  One love – S

#TLDR #harambeforever