Getting to know me ramblings ...

• In fifth grade I entered a ballroom dancing competition at the Waldorf Astoria in New York and we won First place.
• In my late teens, I made a rather large bread sculpture of an alligator, no one here at the asylum remembers why, but everyone remembers how much fun we had "dissecting" and eating the gator.
• I joined a ceramics class when I was 10, I felt very artsy at the time. After 3 months I had 14 ash trays. Regardless of the technique being taught, every project became an ash tray. In my defense, my use of colors was spectacular. All my friends got ash trays for Christmas that year, pretty ash trays.
• I went to high school at Brooklyn Tech in New York. I got a perfect score on their entrance exam. They accused me of cheating. A Puerto Rican from East New York couldn't possibly be smart. (that was my second encounter with racism) They made me take the exam again, alone in a room with 3 witnesses. I was one question short of a perfect score the second time. I played dumb the second time.
• My first encounter with racism was in a store. The store owner accused my friends of stealing. He said it was obvious they were thieves after all they were Spanish. He could tell by their accents. He told me to go home, I spoke English well. I called him a racist in Spanish and called the cops. The cops did nothing and told us to go home. I stole a piece of candy on my way out the door.
• I have performed in five plays. Each time I have played a homeless person.
• I have an irrational fear of having my head underwater.
• I love tattoos. There is currently a work in progress involving most of my back. In a perfect world this tattoo would wrap along my front.
• I'm tired of telling you things about me, am off to bed.
  

Brassiere

According to the dictionary a brassiere is a woman's undergarment worn to support and give contour to the breasts. Seems simple and basic enough. So when the hell did purchasing said simple and basic undergarment become such a fucking chore? According to who ever it is that is in charge of bra details ( I'm thinking it is a group of men, who else would make something so simple, so complicated) most of us wear the wrong bra size. Is it any wonder that we can't figure out what fits right? We can't even figure out what style we need to contour and support our breasts. There are push up bras, shoulder and back support bras (my shoulders don't need support nor does my back, my breasts do). There are under wire, no under wire (which by the way are not an easy find). We can buy sports bras, strapless bras, demi cup and padded bras. Despite the multitude of styles, sizes, colors, and fabrics, purchasing a bra sucks. (Unless of course you are a prepubescent female when generally owning a bra is badge of honor.)

I need/want a white bra. One I can wear with white t-shirts/blouses. Yes, I am one of those crazy women who must wear a white bra with a white shirt, in fact I always match my "undergarments" to my clothes. I think it has something to do with the old adage about always wearing clean underwear, in case you get into an accident and have to be rushed to the hospital, I never want the emergency room doctor to think my mother screwed up with me, so I wear clean and matching underwear. Anyhow, my pretties here is where things go awry. First I have narrowed done my right size, thank god I have a college degree and know a few engineers. This feat required an analytical and mathematical mind as well as several department store bra clerks. (your finer department stores do have specialty bra clerks) Armed with my new found bra knowledge I head to the store on my quest for that fabulous white bra. Bullshit! After many stores, and many stupid clerks and way too much fucking time spent in changing rooms, I came home empty.

I don't want to make a fashion statement, I always wear my bra "under" my clothes. I just want a plain, white bra! Is that so wrong? I don't want a lace bra, a padded bra, a bra that has a mind of it's own. I don't want a bra that promises to lift and separate unless it can also cook dinner. I don't want a bra that "angels" would be happy to be seen in. (who is this Victoria? we all know she isn't keeping any damn secrets) I don't want a bra that will mold my breasts into some extraordinary shape even if it promises to drive the men wild. All I want is a plain white bra! A bra that will lift my breasts just enough to keep them off my knees but doesn't point them in the direction of planet Pluto ( it's still a planet to me). I want a basic simple white brassiere. (Gotta love the word brassiere sounds so much more important than bra.) I fondly remember the days when I didn't wear a brassier. Now of course with age and gravity, going without is just not a pretty picture. I, being the determined female that I am, will not give up, I will continue my quest. I will continue to wish harm upon all the idiots that invented brassieres, research brassieres, and tout the beauty of brassieres. But I will show 'em. I will find that perfect white brassiere and when I do, I am buying enough white bras to get me through until my 80Th birthday. At 80, who cares about brassieres, I'll just be known as that crazy old lady whose breasts hang to her ankles. Life is sweet.

Doors

"when one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us".
Alexander Graham Bell

Two years ago when I left Boston for Puerto Rico I felt many doors close. In fact I felt some were slammed shut right in my face. I was leaving behind friends, family, my rich and not so famous lifestyle, living in high end neighborhoods, eating at expensive restaurants, constant travel and staying in 5 star hotels. I arrived in Puerto Rico to the sounds of construction (new additions to the house), coqui's, and roosters crowing (contrary to popular belief roosters don't just crow at sunrise). I had new responsibilities, a much larger family to take care of, and my life style went from stylish urban dweller to mountain top country hick. Most of my travels were to hospitals, most of my culinary delights included some kind of pork or chicken from a road side stand. It's all a blur, except for the stress, the depression, the constant crying, the frustration, and of course, the sound of the damn doors closing.

Fast forward to today, I awoke to the sounds of doors opening. They have been opening all along, it just took me a while to see/hear them. Yes, life is completely different now. Yes, my lifestyle has changed. Yes, I have way too many things to do and not enough time to do them all. Yes, if I want a banana for my cereal I don't go to the supermarket but to my back yard. But the doors are opened. Opened to experiencing my culture and my new home. Opened to this island with its unbelievable sights and sounds. Country life has surprised me. There is a much more defined sense of community. (excluding the stupid loud idiot neighbors next door) Eating fresh fruit right off the tree is truly a delight. Stopping at road side stands can be a culinary adventure. The flora and fauna of Puerto Rico is incredible. I have seen 19 rainbows and each time I sit in awe. I miss the coquis when I can't hear them. I have met new friends and new family who inspire me to be a better person. I laugh daily and it isn't always the laughter of an insane person, it's a joyous laugh. I have my new responsibilities down to a science ... OK, not a science more like organized chaos but it works. I don't stay at 5 star resorts as often but you haven't lived until you stay at the Holiday Inn and eat fresh mangoes while sitting in the pool, listening to the roosters crow. I left cold New England winters for constant tropical sunshine. I keep my windows open year round. I have my morning coffee while sitting out on the balcony watching the sunrise. I have not had any allergies nor taken allergy pills since I moved here. I have a pet gato. I drive to the feed store and buy 25lb bags of chicken feed for our free range chickens. (OK, this door can close at any time). I still do miss some things from my city life, but my country life is full of possibilities.. Two years later, I see open doors all over the place. When I choose to walk through that open door is up to me, but I know it's open and that is progress. It's a crazy country life, but (dare I say it) it's a happy life. So, I am passing on this sage advice. Don't focus on the closed door, look for the opened one, it's there, maybe a little obstructed, but it's there.

7 Days In

It is 7 days into the new year. Nothing too extraordinary (still feels like 2006) except that it is the anniversary of the day of my birth, or as it is commonly known my birthday. I have spent the day sick and in bed. (Not sure if it's an actual physical illness or just a mental reaction to getting older) In honor of such a blog worthy day, here are 7 things about me which you may not have known.

1. I once had a "thing" for Raul Julia
2. I hate the color brown.
   
3. I love champagne, not just any champagne but expensive champagne.
   
4. I can be extremely anti- social (OK some of you already knew that)
   
5. I always park my car in the spot reserved for pregnant women, and hope the "pregnant women rights group" confronts me about it.
6. The years between birth and high school were the most tumultuous of my life (plenty of blogger fodder there)
7. I am not aging gracefully, woe is me.