Someone tried to kill me today…

Someone tried to kill me today. I didn’t get to see their face; it was all so sudden. I was driving on an off ramp, going the speed limit—when I saw the vehicle. It was approaching quite fast directly behind me—white truck; not a monster truck but still quite high. I can’t recall the make and model. I was so startled when it happened and couldn’t think straight. All I felt was instant rage. Possibly the kind a momma bear feels when her young cub is in danger, since my son was riding in the back.

I’m not sure if they were male or female but I feel inclined to say HE. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill me and my son. Maybe I’m some kind of Sara Conner and some bad-ass from the future was sent to my 2017 to extinguish me? What if they meant to kill my son? I won’t know for now. I can just say I’m safe in my home, in front of my computer, blogging, telling y’all the story.

He came fast behind me. I had a car to my left and HIM following close behind. In an instant, the way most killers do in movies when they’re  trying to run someone off the road, HE switched lanes to my right and spad up. We were all three following the curve of the ramp, turning left, when he decided to go for the kill. He didn’t even care about the car next to me as he spad up and switched lanes again, cutting me off—the way killers do. His back bumper came so close to my van that if I had not had spidey reflexes, he would’ve hit me for sure. I probably would’ve hit the other car that was next to me. My son and I could have been dead.

Now, as I sit safe in my home, whenever I hear an engine reeving, I think it’s him. Is he stalking me? Is he waiting for the moment I forget?

Killers are cold blooded. If this man didn’t care about my son, what makes you think he’ll care about yours? Beware. They are out there…sent from the future…to kill.

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Easter-What Came First? The Chicken or the Bunny?

Easter. I was brought up Catholic, strict about sex but lenient about alcohol and smoking (Though for the record, I HATE SMOKING and I don’t drink much nowadays…oh and sex? Not much of that either nowadays…lol). Let me clear that up for you since I brought it up. My mom used to smoke many years ago, and my dad wasn’t an alcoholic but a social drinker with a two drink maximum. There. Can I please go on now? Ok. So they did take us to mass every Sunday, we had a bible study at our home for a couple of years, and Easter Sunday was a huge deal—with lots of prayers as we prepared for the big day. We’d dress up and head to an overcrowded mass. Everyone there was wearing pastels and looked like they were all headed to the Del Mar races afterwards. After mass, we’d come home and nothing much would happen after that—at first.

When my parents began having more American friends, that’s when we started going to Easter egg hunts. I don’t remember thinking much about it except that it was fun to be playing with a bunch of kids and getting candy and sugar.

When I became a mother, I followed the Easter egg hunt tradition with my son but when his father and I divorced, I just let him take over. I didn’t have family here in the US and my brothers didn’t marry nor had kids so, I thought he should stay with his dad and he’d just bring him in the evening. His father had like seven sisters and plenty of nieces and nephews and I was sure my son would have more fun with his father’s side of the family. So, for many years, I didn’t have the spirit of Easter and chicken and bunnies and hunting.

Through the years, I let my Catholic faith go and decided there was a little bit of truth in ALL religions but I wondered why this Easter bunny thing was as it was? When did this Easter egg hunting come to be? Sure, it’s fun for the kids but I just didn’t understand why it should be fun? At least make chocolate crosses and have the kids look for them? Or make plastic, hallow faces of Jesus and put candy inside and have kids find them? I don’t know. (humor)

It was until yesterday, when my parents, still following the hunt tradition for my next two children, and I were sitting in the backyard; relaxed, stuffed from all the delicious grub, began to talk about the meaning of Easter. My mother, who loves history and loves reading, had an answer to almost all of my questions. She even mentioned that the Jewish also celebrate an Easter. I did not know that! I was full of more questions. We went all the way back to Abraham and Egypt and each time I had more and more questions. I realized I just wanted to know too much and my mother began feeling frustrated (I should do my own reading). LOL. I left it alone but from all the questions I asked, she did not have an answer for one. She could not answer why the bunny and the chicken? LOL

Good day my PEEPS =D

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Clearing the Air with Frankincense

Lately I’ve been feeling hate—hate towards my husband mostly. One day, that was all I could think about. He got home from work and I felt this negative energy consuming me. He got close to me and placed his arm around me—I wanted to push him away, almost in a rage. I didn’t know why.

Being a problem solver, I begin going through everything I’ve learned in my life so far. I realize my anger must be with my father, but why? I begin analyzing. Though it’s all making perfect sense (I’ll save the results for a later post) I admit there is a negative energy present.

Yesterday, I felt it. My mother is a big believer of spirits and I worry about her. I feel I’m here to protect my family. Several things have happened which have no explanation, and though I try to ignore such things, I admit I do believe in energy. After all, that is what moves us all.

I’ll keep this post short and share only the need to clean the air every now and then. I’m not an expert on everything; I don’t know why this works, but it does.

cleanse

I found an article with some information I’d like to share. Apparently, there are different incense for different needs. For example, I didn’t know one shouldn’t burn Myrrh by itself!

“Unless it is mixed with an elevating incense it is liable to bring negative things to the person using it incautiously.” [article by Draja Mickaharic]

I think this would be a MUST read for those interested in incense. I’ll only share the title:

Cleansing Your Home and Environment with Incense

Will and Testament

Yesterday was a lovely morning. My mom and I were bonding like we haven’t bonded in a long time. We were talking about books (one of our favorite topics) and I shared with her my next book. This time, she sounded supportive. I almost stopped several times since there were several interruptions, and expecting her to let me; but she reminded me to continue.

You see, my mom and I haven’t been the best of friends. We’ve always had animosity towards one another. There was even a time I could tell you I felt hate. Even towards my father.

There are so many mixed feelings about the experiences I’ve had with them in this life. My husband says I obsess about it but I call it something else. You see, I’m also a mathematician, a psychologist, a teacher, a counselor, a problem solver. I need to solve problems. I have to. That is what I do. People come to me to help them solve theirs but no one is as dedicated to solving their problems as much as I have been to solve my own. After all, that is how I fought and won my battle with depression.

After my wonderful morning with my mother, my father comes and reminds my mother they have somewhere to be in the next hour. I usually don’t ask them where they’re going, but this time, for the sake of keeping the conversation with my mother going, I ask. My mom tells me they’ve got an appointment with a lawyer.

“A lawyer?” I ask.

“Yes, for the will.”

I don’t dare ask anything else. At the same time, I’m fearing I possibly heard wrong. My expression is expressionless, unresponsive. I even feel guilty for not responding but I just don’t dare.

Two reasons: One, I’ve been accused of being a person of monetary interests by my mother. (That really hurt but the child who will always reside in me is willing to forgive her; for this morning she’s been kind.) Second, I don’t want to face the destiny that awaits us all.

Though I’ve had issues with my parents, I need them both, still. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle. My time is limited and I must solve it before they pass on. I don’t want to live without them in an abyss of misery with unanswered questions.

In the afternoon, I hear again where they were. I finally gather the courage. I have to know, and I ask, “Lawyer for what?” My mother affirms my fears—to write their will and testament.

I wanted to cry but I didn’t. How do you react to that? Do you joke about it and ask for her book collection? Do you weep and fall to your knees and possibly make them feel worse about how close they are to moving to the next unknown? Again, I looked down, fearing my puzzled expression would show. I said nothing.

 

When is the Right Time to have a Boyfriend?

Back in junior high I was such a shy kid. I wore my bangs all in front of my face, making sure they covered my whole face. If a boy liked me, I’d just go and hide under a rock, seriously. It was so scary to me. Once, a boy grabbed my butt and it scared me so much that I avoided going to my locker (his was next to mine) for as long as I could. This was in 8th grade. I had no idea why anyone would want to touch my butt. As far as I was concerned, it served two purposes: to sit and squeeze out the poo. Why a guy would want to touch it was freaky to me.

High school was even worse. I was Death-Rock (now Goth) and wanted to have an artistic, complicated, Alien Sex Fiend (a band back in the day) kind of boyfriend. But how? I had no idea how to flirt; how to talk to a boy; how to even kiss. I felt I was falling behind in the ‘love’ area and it wasn’t long until the pressures of high school social life cornered me. I didn’t want to be the last girl to finally kiss a boy but I didn’t know why none of the boys wanted to go out with me. I thought I was ugly. I thought my teeth were crooked, my thighs humongous, my butt too flat and to make it worse, I was Mexican.

All my life I had heard bad things about being Mexican. Since I can remember no one wanted us in the US and my parents were fixing their immigration papers. They were a mess, trying to fit in and attain residency while little ol’ me, I was a mess just knowing their stomachs were in knots every time we’d come across border patrol. The hundredths of questions we’d have to answer as the officers shuffled through the stack of papers my parents had to carry with them at all times.

I just had too much to deal with and all this time I just wanted a boy to like me. Not like me and grab my butt, but the like me like Sixteen Candles, where the girl gets the handsome boy, who’s way out of her league, but he likes her because she’s got self respect. But what self respect if I didn’t even like myself? I hated my body, one boob bigger than the other; I wasn’t white enough to be death-rock and lure in that death rocker I liked; I was even the wrong type of Mexican. Often I’d hear other Mexican’s talk bad about those from Mexico City. I had no clue why but I knew my parents lost friends because of it. I thought we were all the same but apparently not.

So here I am, a mess. Not knowing where my place is but I just know I want to daydream; where the boy is sweet and carries my books to class. Instead, I start settling for less. I ended up kissing loosers. Really. There was this one kid who was a trouble maker and I kissed him after school one day. We kissed a few more times after that and I even allowed him to touch my butt, but nothing else developed from it. I was sad because not even the “worst” kid in school asked to be my boyfriend.

The moral of this blog is to advice young ladies when is a good time to have a boyfriend. I’ll say this, “It is when you can look in the mirror and see yourself and you like what you see. Love yourself, respect yourself; protect that which is most precious, you; because if you don’t, you WILL regret it. Watch my video on Youtube. I’m typing away and cutting so much out because I don’t want this blog to go on and on but I do say some meaningful advise on my video. Many times our parents have so much baggage and they just can’t help us with these types of life choices. I wanted to share a bit of my life and family so you can see how we all have something that can be used as an excuse to convince ourselves why we are not worthy. But I’m telling you, we need to raise our standards. Watch my video and remember, love yourself and accept nothing less.

Love big or go home! xoxo

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCdeRsHlODWjvBSuuBQ2Q6nQ

When you don’t approve of your son’s girlfriend…

I’m not sure if I gave this one an appropriate title but I’ll leave it alone for now.

Where should I even begin with this one? I swear I’m going to write a book about this guy one of these days. So the other day my eldest overheard me say I wasn’t happy he had gone back to his gf. You see, back in February, they got into an argument where she ended up smashing his tv, called me up, told me he was a piece of crap, basically, and I had done a lousy job raising him—and I needed to go pick him up at her place.

Never in my life did I think I would receive such a call. I was angry, ofcourse, but I kept my cool and just told her I’d be on my way. I got in my car and headed over there. Within two minutes she texted never mind, she’d give him a ride (his car was in the shop). My immediate thought was the hell you will, and I hurried over. Once there I stayed outside and texted my son. I heard some squeals and saw my son coming out of an apartment with her crying behind him, begging him to stay. WTH? I’m confused. He forcefully said, “NO” and I couldn’t have been more proud. Her little boy peeked out the door and yelled something at my son. I was horrified at the situation.

I tried telling my son everything that was wrong with that picture. He made me believe he was done with her emotional outbursts. I pleaded with him to stay away but did he listen? Nooooo.

Immediately she blew up his phone with every promise imaginable. He said he was confused because no one had loved him that much. I warned him it was manipulation. (I mean, the girl wouldn’t even let him come spend time with us!) That night she called me and I answered (though I regret it)—I answered because I told myself she was young and troubled and I just couldn’t turn my back since my son must have had some fault. It always takes two to tango (I really shouldn’t have answered). First thing that came out of her mouth was that she was sorry, ofcourse, BUT that he had hurt her so much and she had given him multiple chances. I asked her then why did she want him back? Obviously he was no good for her then. In a nutshell (because I’m not going to go on a rant about her), I told her to get over her divorce first, take care of herself and her son and then think about being in a relationship. She didn’t listen. She didn’t call me again but instead kept bugging my son. She did come by with a card and a flower but I was cold with her and she got an attitude with me. I mean, come on! In her card she said how loving and caring my son was (I thought he was a piece of crap? “A horrible human being?); how mature he was and how lucky she was to have him in her life. WHAT?

I cannot stand this girl. This is when I wish my son’s father would come around and talk to him about this stuff. I feel because my son has been estranged from his father for many years, that he didn’t get that identity he needed from him. Instead, he got mine, in a way.

Having all boys, I’ve come to accept there are some things men just get from other men. I can talk and talk and give him the best advice and back it up with proof from psychological statistics and data but he won’t get it; until another male comes along—a male he respects—and tells him the same as I just told him; then he’ll get it. Sadly, all the men in his life are MIA when these issues come up. I wish my dad, my brother or my husband, one of them; I wish they’d sit down and talk to him—take him out for a baseball game, a football game, something; not just sit and scold and remind him what a kid he is, no, not that because we’ve all been there. He needs men in his life who make him feel he matters; that he deserves to be treated with respect.

I wasted so many years being depressed and not loving myself that this is what I’ve shown him. I tell him there’s a better kind of love out there; he just doesn’t know it because he can’t imagine it. I tell him how a healthy relationship should be but he can’t visualize it. This girl has got him like a crutch and it hurts me to sit back and witness it. It hurts to see her little boy in between all of this mess. I want a woman who will make a man out of my son but I see her enabling him, manipulating him into a co-dependent relationship. This can’t end well, but all I can do is wait it out. I told him my fear is that she’ll get more aggressive, more violent and next outburst will be worse. I fear that this girl can get my son into some real trouble. I tell him to just walk away if she ever gets like this again; to call me asap but do NOT stay and try to reason with her.

For anyone out there experiencing something similar, RUN THE OTHER WAY. People who are this angry, willing to destroy property and cause bodily harm, have been scarred for a long time and need help. It is a rage that has been planted in them since childhood. Most likely it is learned by watching their caregivers and it forms into a cycle. The daughter sees her mother’s anguish and anger caused by her father; she forcefully repeats the very same in her relationships as an adult. In her mind, there is no other way. I could have a whole new discussion on this subject but I’ll leave it for another time. As for my son’s low self-esteem, he saw me with one for many, many years. All my bruises were internal and left there by those who claimed to love me the most. It’s taken me years to get rid of my martyr ways. I’d like to end this by urging everyone to learn how to love yourselves. It’s URGENT—because we do pass this along to our kids!

Love Big or go Home! XOXO

Happy Dry-Hump Day!

HUH? What did I just type up there? Happy dry-hump day? That’s just disgusting and unladylike. Really? I do apologize. I don’t mean to be offensive but this truly happened. You may choose to leave my blog NOW…or keep on reading…

Ok, yes, that’s the title, but hear me out first. (LOL) I meant to type this one up yesterday, since it was Wednesday and, indeed hump day; but I just ran out of time—messing with other stuff which I’ll have to share with you later. Let’s get to the meaning of all this. Shall we?

So, yesterday morning I had a bizarre dream. I dreamt I was ‘dry-humping’ a woman!

OH MY! OH ME! OH WHY? (sigh)—Dreams—I tell ya; they are one way to tell how dirty your soul really is. LOL. And I found how dirty mine is…just kidding. If anyone is into dreams though, please tell me your interpretation of this one because I just don’t know what to make of it. (Please keep it clean…be nice)

I was somewhere, in some apartment building, walking, minding me own business, when these two women approach me. They weren’t good looking at all. One of them, the one I ended up dry-humping, actually had a triangular head, bushy, dark eyebrows, and a missing forehead. So, these two ladies are horny—super horny. They are rubbing on me and want to invite me to have a threesome. I am disgusted and mad that they are actually rubbing their horny, nasty, unattractiveness on me. I tell them I am not into that and I try to walk away, but they follow me and tag team me—one is in front of me and the other one behind me. For reasons only a man would understand (joke), I feel I have no other option but to give in to their sluttiness. I have the one in front, with the triangular face, lay on her back and as I lean over to lay on her, she lifts her legs up and opens them wide. She’s moaning like a crazed cow (I’ve never seen a crazed cow but I can imagine one) and I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. Out of nowhere, I begin feeling aroused! Yes, aroused! WTH? (This is pretty embarrassing for me to share but it’s just hilarious at the same time that I figure ‘why not share?’) —OK. Back to me feeling aroused. I start thinking, “What the heck. I wish I was a man so I can do this.” I start dry-humping this woman, with everything I had…

I’ll stop there. If I continue describing what I felt, I’ll just hide under a rock. I did share this with my husband and we were cracking up. His explanation was, “Well, maybe because your subconscious knew today was hump day. Happy Hump Day.” LMBO

Ah, the mysterious world of dreams. SMH