tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760Sun, 01 Sep 2024 23:27:48 +0000A Life of MondaysBecause writing is a more cost efficient option to therapy.noreply@blogger.com (Syrie)Blogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-6854368413079989675Sat, 01 Jan 2011 21:33:00 +00002011-01-01T16:43:08.079-05:00As one ends another one begins...<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557334158830345106" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><br /><br />My year started off with a lot of questions and thankfully it is ending with a lot of answers. It was a year of many changes, challenges, new experiences and many blessings. Here are some of the lessons I’ll take with me after the ball drops…<br /><br />I learned to believe in myself and my talents and have no fear of failure but to be terrified of inertia.<br /><br />I learned that a cup of consideration, a quart of communication, and a liter of patience makes a gallon of love.<br /><br />I learned that there is no purer love than the love of my dogs.<br /><br />I learned that in order to be a good friend you have to be a little selfish sometimes.<br /><br />I learned not to judge but to embrace everything and everyone around me because you truly don’t know how wonderful some people can turn out to be if you give them a chance.<br /><br />I’m still learning to love myself and hug myself a little more each day.<br /><br />I learned that people change and you can’t stop it.<br /><br />I learned that sometimes it is wise to let go.<br /><br />I learned that beginnings are amazingly wonderful and endings are not sad but hopeful.<br /><br />I learned to quiet the life noise around me and really listen to what matters.<br /><br />I learned that the years don’t pass in vain and I can no longer drink a whole bottle of champagne without consequences.<br /><br />I learned to be kind to the planet and the living things around us, it is our duty.<br /><br />I learned to not only feed my body but also feed my soul.<br /><br />I learned the pure pleasure of a 68 degree summer day under a tree.<br /><br />I learned to stop and take it all in every once in a while.<br /><br />I learned humility.<br /><br />I learned humanity.<br /><br />I made beautiful bonds with amazing people that bring joy to my life.<br /><br />I learned that no matter how different your worlds might be, you only have one family. Love them deeply and passionately.<br /><br />I learned to say thank you more often.<br /><br />I leaned to look in the mirror a little less and look into the sun a little more.<br /><br />I learned that you should laugh until you cry at least twice a week.<br /><br />I learned to love the life I live and live the life I love because you only get one chance to make it wonderful.2011/01/as-one-ends-another-one-begins.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-9210860380766192244Tue, 09 Nov 2010 21:43:00 +00002010-11-09T18:28:28.321-05:00Forever is Over<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 258px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537688932151843074" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><br /><div>I have been thinking about friendships lately. It's a very complicated concept that shouldn't be. My lifestyle takes me different places more often that I wish it did so it is that much harder for me to make friends and worse yet to maintain those friendships. In the past few years I've met a myriad of people, some quite the characters. I've made some amazing connections and some that started out with the intensity of a Harlequin novel but fizzled almost immediately after the distance factor moved in. Those sometimes hurt the most. Those that you invest all your time on and open your heart to only to realize later on that they rather invest their time in the ones that don't require "as much work" as the one who moved away.<br /><br />Maybe it's me, maybe that is another one of the aspects of my life in which I need to take it down a notch... I'm so intense and passionate in everything I do that I reckon I tend to overdo it. I work too hard on things even when there is, clearly, nothing left.<br /><br /></div><a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 276px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 183px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537690635326363938" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><br />The way I see it you should treat a friendship with the same commitment and solidarity as you would treat a marriage. A true friendship has the power of pulling you through the darkest times, praise you during you days of triumph and ground you when you forget where you came from. It has the ability to build you up or to destroy you. We don't really give it the respect we should, we take it lightly and take it for granted. This is probably why it seems like so much work to maintain them. More than ever now that people can easily answer 528 when asked how many friends they have, thanks Facebook.<br /><br />Actual human contact has been reduced to a chore, to special occasions, to a rare occurrence. It is quite sad and almost pathetic the way we treat each other. I understand the impersonal and much easier communication vehicle of social networking or texting but it seems we have forgotten how great it feels to hear that voice on the other end or feel the warm embrace of an old friend every once in a while not only on birthdays or holidays. Life almost always gets in the way and we don't even look back, we just move on and move forward not even caring what we leave behind.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, this is not some idealistic, cry fest, i want to matter to you bullshit but it is something that bothers me. It bothers me how we toss each other out like bad milk. It bothers me how we use each other while the getting is good and move on to the next party without even blinking. That's all. I am a guilty of this as much as the next person, I've done it too, plenty of times. People's lives change over time and sometimes the threads that connect us becomes frayed and weak. Usually why many relationships we thought "would last forever" turn out to be transient and friends, even very close ones, slip in and out of our lives for a variety of reasons. I understand all this, but something inside of me wishes we could hold on so forever wouldn't have to be over.2010/11/forever-is-over.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-1374091479041313321Sat, 25 Sep 2010 00:32:00 +00002010-09-24T21:28:13.782-04:00People.Make.(me)Sick.<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 235px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520645809090934322" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><br /><div><strong>WARNING: The following rant is not the normal type of writing that you get from me. This is unapologetic, raw, angry and full of f*bombs. If you believe in unicorns, rainbows, world peace and that love lasts forever, I strongly advise you not to read.<br /></strong><br />You know what?? I’m tired, tired of being “happy”, it’s fucking exhausting. I’m done, I’m done smiling, I’m done being positive, I’m done seeing the motherfucking glass half full. I’m done. It is so much pressure to be happy that I almost rather be bitter and bitchy. Yes, I love where I live. Yes, I love my husband (most of the time). Yes, I love my friends (the few that I have). Yes, I am grateful for all that I have but guess what?? I despise a lot of things too and I feel like I should be able to be angry and spit out a fucked up comment or two every once in a while. Since when is it socially unacceptable to complaint about whatever the hell you want to complaint about just because “there is always someone next to you that is worse off”? Seriously? Fuck off.<br /></div><br /><div>I have been wondering why I haven’t been able to write in about 2 months and I came to the conclusion that it is because I’m numb, I’ve tried so hard to suppress the angry, sarcastic, snarky bitch that I am that I have completely depleted my brain of any good writing material!! Honestly, I believe happiness produces good novels, but sarcasm and anger produce relatable reads…but maybe that’s just me.<br /></div><br /><div>Besides, watch the news, read the paper, listen to the people on the streets…is there really that much to be happy about? The economy is shit, the health crisis is not getting any better, the caps are melting, the weather is bananas, people are losing their homes, there are no jobs and I still haven’t won the lottery.<br /></div><br /><div>I have decided to stop feeling guilty for not being satisfied, for wanting more, for thinking that the road doesn’t end here and I have no reason to be complacent, I have earned my right to rant. Yes, my life has gotten much better. No, I don’t have the stress of a horrible job that I hate. But the world I live in is so unbelievably fucked up! I have recently flirted with the idea of having a child in a couple years but the more I think about it, the more I analyze it, the more panic sets in. I honestly can barely take care of my dogs and seriously consider giving them up for adoption about 4 times a week. Kids, you cant give back kids, no matter what that crazy Torry-Ann Hansen lady did to that little Russian boy. Granted, a child will not piss on your floor or eat your walls but still, you have to feed it, educate it, protect it and love it. That kind of love terrifies me. Unconditional love, just the thought of it makes my stomach turn like everything worth worrying about. That topic will be one day worth revisiting.<br /><br />Back to the angry, sarcastic, snarky bitch that I am...Let me asure you, I like being all happy, sweet and nice. And I am nice just don't be an idiot because I have no patience for it and I am simply not going to take it. By not taking it I mean I will embarass you in front of your friends by calling you out on your idiocy. If this makes me an angry, sarcastic, snarky bitch, then sign me up. So, world, what I am asking from you is to please let me be angry, let me be pissed off. At least for this week. Who knows? Maybe this is the infamous PMS showing its ugly face, but I suspect it is not, I'm pretty sure I'm wired like this, this is who I am and I do not plan on apologizing. </div><br /><div></div>2010/09/peoplemakemesick.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-6930401906843321166Tue, 10 Aug 2010 04:12:00 +00002010-08-10T01:17:16.039-04:00For the Sisterhood<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503644309892760274" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>Today is the last day that I will sit here and watch silently as you wither away. Silence has never been my thing, I edit myself as little as possible, you know that. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Strong, beautiful, intelligent, full of life and potential. Instead you think very little of you, and too much of him. Somehow his web has tangled all around you and slowly you're closing the door. I wish I could hold on to you and guide you out of it, far away to the times when you had that light in your eyes, when you looked at your future full of hope and promise, before him. I sometimes feel slightly responsible, for leaving, for not being there enough, for not taking that phone call, for not answering that message. I wish you would have listened, I wish you could see. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You tell the world he loves you but I'm not sure you believe it wholeheartedly but you've gone too far. There's no looking back now, what will people say? You've defended him, fought for him, held his hand through the dark times. No, you can't leave now, then your mother would be right. You will never allow that, no, not you. Now you've chosen to cry in private, you've chosen to not say a word. To paint your pain in a shade of red and disguise it as passion and conviction. To tell the world how happy you are while trying to prevent the next bomb from exploding. You peel away a little more of yourself everyday to make him happy, you do what he wants, because what you want can wait. You've become an extension of him, maybe that way he will love you, maybe that way he will choose you and not his vice. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Lying has become second nature, and reality has turned a dark shade of gray. But not to me, you don't lie to me, instead you have become silent. No more phone calls, no more of the messages that used to make my day, silence, dead, cold silence. With the promise of a phone call that never comes, because you can't face me. Because you've found someone else that tells you how great he is. You know I know. I know you, I see right through you. You have stopped reaching out, you don't want judgement, you don't want lectures, you don't want to hear the truth. The truth is I love you and it hurts. It hurts because I feel your pain, we've all been there in one way or another. I know what heartbreak feels like, I've looked at it in the eye. It might be too late for us, maybe we rather leave things well alone. But if its the last thing I tell you let it be that there is still time for you. Don't let it be too late. Shed that skin and rip him off your soul. Maybe the numbness will go away and you will feel again. Raw, gut wrenching pain the pain that comes before every sunrise after the rain. Touch your body and hug yourself again, look for the light in your eyes. It is only then that you will find what is real, what is true, the one that is forever. After loving you. Maybe our paths will cross again and we will glance at each other knowingly with a smile. Since silence has never been my thing I had to. For your mother, for your sister, for your neighbor, for your friend, for you and for me. You know who you are. </div>2010/08/for-sisterhood.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-6655354649866369077Wed, 14 Jul 2010 23:42:00 +00002010-07-14T20:04:26.859-04:00Buffalove<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 298px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 298px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493912683181560722" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><br />When I first heard the name it didn't inspire any excitement in me, to be honest I knew little to nothing about the place, chicken wings was basically the first thing that came to mind. Every person I told that there was a possibility we were moving to Buffalo concluded that we had lost our minds. Everything I heard was negative; it's so cold, there is nothing to do there, it's a dead city, there is so much snow in the winter, it is so cold, it's so far away, it is so cold... Lets just say I was a little more than hesitant. We though about it and though about it and thought about it some more, but in the end it was the right choice for us, so we did.<br /><br /><br />We headed north. The way there was hell, I hate Virginia and all her cousins. I was lucky to have my mom as a co-pilot, otherwise I would've had a panic attack by the second toll booth. I have an aversion to driving and I drive the automotive equivalent of a horse and buggy, I hate it and it hates me which is probably the reason why my tire blew in South Carolina...it didn't pop, it didn't slowly get flat, it blew, it blew to pieces and I thought I had pissed my pants. I handled it like a champ, my husband said, meaning I didn't have a complete nervous breakdown and there was no crying involved..just some slight cursing. Three glorious days later we reached our destination and it was worth every second of driving agony.<br /><br /><br />Now that I have lived in Buffalo for more than 5 minutes I think I know why I have never heard anything positive about this town...because Buffalonians are smart people and they want to keep the fact that this city is amazingly fantastic a secret... I'm guessin' it's to prevent overpopulation and all the bullshit that comes with it, you know? They don't care if you think their city sucks, they know it doesn't suck. It doesn't suck at all. One thing I heard more than once was that "people live in Buffalo because they can't afford New York City", really? Really? I'm pretty sure, the person who told me that has never been to North Buffalo or any of its glorious, wealthy neighborhoods. With the risk of sounding like a cheap infomercial... I believe Buffalo has the best of both worlds, the hustle and bustle of the city and the beautiful scenery that characterizes upstate New York, without the overcrowding of the urban sprawl, the pornographic housing and living costs or the hellish traffic congestion. <br /><br /><br />Another thing I was expecting was for people to be rude, loud, obnoxious and uninterested. You know, the typical New Yorker. I am sure there are some...since, lets face it, stereotypes are 90% based on truth...but I have yet to encounter any. To my surprise the people I have met are genuinely nice and excited to tell me all about Buffalo and how great it is. And they actually give a shit about what I have to say, or so it seems. One thing that has really stood out to me, mostly because I can relate since I feel the same way about where I'm from, is their pride. They are proud of where they live and what they do and it shows. Buffalonians are passionate people, people that truly care and are aware of their surroundings and how they impact their environment. Something we should all care a bit more about. It is very rewarding to live somewhere where the people that stand out are not the ones doing everything wrong, the people that stand out are the ones that are doing things right, that's a refreshing change.<br /><br /><br />Maybe I'm being naive. Maybe this is not the Buffalo some people have experienced. Maybe I'm just high on smog. But as of right now this is my Buffalo. The Buffalo I have seen, I might not have seen it all but I have seen enough to know that I love it. I am grateful to be here. I feel lucky to be able to take a walk downtown, to look at the lighthouse down at the Marina, to go to the market on Saturdays, to sit on the park and not worry about getting mugged. To stroll down Elmwood with a delicious cup of coffee that wasn't brewed at Starbucks or cost me my first born, to go shop at the Coop and know that the money that I am spending will revitalize my economy not China's, to be able to meet the farmer that grew and picked the vegetables that I'm having for dinner. I'm grateful for beef on weck, frosty Canadians and 72 degrees summer days. These are all things that make this place unique and truly incredible and exciting, this is what quality of life is all about. I've been trying to define all that I feel towards this place and the other day I read it somewhere: it's <strong><em>Buffalove. Definition - a marriage of two smile-inducing words, not unlike the combination of married celebrities, or divorcing celebrities, or otherwise romantically</em></strong> <strong><em>entangled celebrities.</em></strong> <em><strong>Anyway, it means you</strong></em> <strong><em>love Buffalo.*</em></strong> I thought it was the perfect word.<br /><br />From now on if any of my friends that live elsewhere ask me how I like it here I will say it's shit. Don't worry Buffalo, your secret is safe with me. ;)<br /><br /><br /><br />*Block Club Issue #19, May/June 20102010/07/buffalove.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-4169944907818268003Sat, 19 Jun 2010 02:05:00 +00002010-07-03T09:03:48.971-04:00Nomad<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489662639808006914" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br />1238. That is the exact number of miles from my previous home to my new home. Once again we hopped on to the train of life and started over full speed ahead. This time it feels different, this beginning smells of fresh air, it smells of happy, it smells of hope with a little city smog for good measure. Most people don't understand how we do it, how we are able to, at the drop of a hat, pack up and move on. Others tell me how envious they are of just that. The thing is that to me a home is not 4 walls, or a specific place, to me home is a feeling. That feeling of warmth, of security, of love, of butterflies. Knowing that no matter where in the world you are, you are in the right place at the right time and as long as we are together everything will be fine.<br /><br /><br />To be quite honest, places tend to bore me so I wholeheartedly embrace change. And this time, change I will get. For starters I had never been to my new home before, not to visit, or driven through, nothing, ever. I am also from an Island so by nature I don't handle cold weather too gracefully and my new home is literally twenty minutes away from Canada...so I guess I better get used to it or start eating whale fat...ha! Also, for the first time since the invention of electricity I will not have to work for a living. Yes people, I am divorcing the restaurant industry. And it's not amicable, not at all. I now live in New York, the grand state of New York, Buffalo to be exact. Where dreams are made and broken. Just the thought of the possibilities brings tears to my eyes, expands my waistline and overdrafts my bank account.<br /><br /><p>I have been here exactly 113 hours and I am already in love. I'm in love with the air, I'm in love with the trees, I'm fascinated by the architecture, I salivate over the food. I don't get tired of walking up and down the sidewalks for miles and miles, and I'm sure those of you that know me know how shocking this statement is since I'm chronically allergic to any kind of exercise! </p><p>I simply can not wait to be an active member of the community, to make friends (gasp!), do something for the city, anything to leave my mark. I am going to start a writing internship with a local magazine that has a strong online presence, my heart flutters just thinking about it, I get to write, to write and be read. I am so happy about it that I'm not even scared or intimidated by the judgemental eye of the readers although I know it can be brutal sometimes mostly because us writers always leave a little piece of ourselves on the page. We don't take criticism lightly...</p><p>Today we are going to a wonderful place, a place filled with smells, flavors, colors and endless possibilities; the farmers market. Food excites me, and quite frankly eating it is not solely the exciting part. I rejoice in every single little step; from looking at the ingredients on display, smelling them, picking them, walking home thinking about all I will prepare, washing it, chopping it, smelling it again, the anticipation when cooking it and that sensation you get in your mouth when you look at it and start to salivate...Doesn't it make you hungry? </p><p>I believe this is why I am so in love with this city, it is because of this city that I get to experience all of these things that until now I have only dreamed of. Now it will all become a part of my life, and I really love my life right now, so much that I'm a little scared that at some point someone is going to pull the rug from under me...But enough of that, no more negative thoughts. It's because of those negative thoughts that we sometimes don't fully enjoy things in life, because somehow we don't feel like we deserve it, like our life isn't fully ours, and we choose to enjoy those moments cautiously and not passionately as they quickly pass us by. </p><p>Today, I vow to enjoy every single moment with hair pulling, heart racing, sweat inducing passion, I am going to hug and kiss my life every day. I will fully absorb every sight, every sound, every smell so if my gypsy heart takes me somewhere else I don't have to look back and cry, I will look forward and smile.</p>2010/06/nomad.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-7978303863950507723Fri, 14 May 2010 02:19:00 +00002010-05-14T00:13:47.224-04:00Sabatini Cocoa and her knight in shinning armor<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470973999499601714" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>All of you that know me are aware that I am not your average married girl. I have somehow managed to balance my married life with my own life and I expect my husband to do the same. I have plenty of single friends and I live vicariously through them, even though I don't miss single life a bit (I am too lazy for it). I have dates with my husband, I have dates with my girlfriends, I have dates with my husband and my girlfriends. And sometimes those dates with my single ladies turn into unexpected adventures, to say the least.<br /><br />I've always said my life is one of those "you had to be there jokes" and last night is an epic example of it...It all started very innocent, a girlfriend invited me out for a drink to listen to some good music and talk shit, which is one of my favorite sports only second to shopping. I very rarely go out without my husband, not because I can't but because I don't need to, I don't want to. I have tons of fun with him and my girlfriends love him. I have to give him a lot of credit because it must not be easy to keep your testicles in place after enduring many hour long discussions about: whats wrong with Mr. Big?, did you see the new Instyle?, argh, I wish I looked like Kim Kardashian...you get my drift. I will never forget a particular evening that involved my husband, two of my girlfriends, vulgar amounts of champagne, a hotel room and myself...Any man's fantasy, right? Well, he ended up nursing 3 drunk chicks in frumpy pajamas that were threatening to cut his testicles, saute em' and feed em' to him if he didn't shut the fuck up...Bless his heart.<br />Going back to last night, I get home from work, start getting dressed and decide to wear what I call my stripper shoes (5 inch bronze platforms heels) because my friend, who will remain un-named, is particularly tall and I needed some leverage. Little did I know that those shoes where going to become the irony preceding that evening. I get to the place, a dim lit small Italian restaurant and meet my friend at the bar, she looks fabulous as usual and she orders me a drink from the bat shit crazy bartender. The bartender, who will also remain un-named, is one of those characters that you have to love because you didn't have another choice, she is loud, obnoxious, 75% plastic and clearly starved for attention. Did I mention that no matter what or how much we drink our tab is always $15.00? So, needless to say, after the show was over our decision making abilities where impaired, so she suggests we continue drinking. I swear to God this girl has an inhuman resistance to alcohol, the bitch can drink for days!! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I suggest we go to a bar next door that is conveniently within walking distance from my apartment (you know, just in case we have to make a run for it) she agrees. We get in her car and the bat shit crazy bartender suggests we change our destination to a place called "Envy", mind you, I am new to the area and I don't get out much so I say: "sure, lets go!" before my inebriated brain realizes "Envy" is a strip club. At this point we are half way there and I can't freak out because then I will always be "that boring married old bitch" and my drunken self would never have that.<br /><br />We get to the place and the bat shit crazy bartender introduces us to the owner and tells him we are "rock stars", I smile and make a beeline to the bar. I had 2 choices, I either sat next to a half naked middle aged woman grinding on top of a defeated looking (married) old man or I sat next to a rather normal looking dude. I chose the latter, my poor friend sat next to the before mentioned couple. I'm not above it or anything, but man! this place is seedy. The woman behind the bar looked like she had eaten a pharmacy load of painkillers and was rude on top of high! I text my husband: "OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG I'm at a titie bar,FML!!" to which he answers: "Haha". Seriously? We ask for a Mich Ultra and a Heineken, we got a Mich Ultra and a Bud Light, I hate Bud light but I am not going to fight a stripper wannabe, not tonight. I start sippin' on my beer and admiring the strategically placed mirrors on the wall that make it seem like there's tits on my head when the man sitting next to me decides to utter these words: "well, it suddenly got prettier in here". I smile, say thanks, but the fucking guy wants to talk. I am the only girl that comes to a strip club and gets hit on by a guy, or so I was told. Needless to say, the working ladies where giving me dirty looks since I was entertaining their customer for free and fully clothe. </div><br /><div>Unfortunately I had to pee so I went to the sad, cruel excuse for a bathroom which doubles as a dressing room. It smells of beer, broken dreams and bad decisions.I had a slight heart attack when the first thing I see is a head peaking out of an unlocked stall and a Puerto Rican flag on the floor, yes people, I couldn't make this shit up. I say, very nonchalantly: "nice flag" to which Candy replies "thanks, I'm Puerto Rican". I made the rookie mistake of saying: "me too". Well, now I know Candy has a 3 year old who is 4 feet tall and his daddy is Hatian and doesn't pay child support. I smile and walk away, slooowly while she is on the phone. I text my husband to please, please, please come save me! I get back to the bar and my friend and I start talking about what our stripper names would be, you know, the name of the first street you lived in and your first pet. Turns out mine is Sabatini Cocoa and hers Gennaker Sydney, classy. I feel a hand on my back and I jump about a foot and a half, its the door girl pointing towards the entrance. There he is, my knight in shinning armor coming to rescue my drunk ass. We got home and as I scrubbed the night off my skin I think about how lucky I am, how great my life is regardless of all the bullshit. I'm thankful that I can put those demonic shoes away, and that I will never have to use the name Sabatini Cocoa. </div>2010/05/sabatini-cocoa-and-her-knight-in.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-3875657673660416903Sun, 09 May 2010 00:51:00 +00002010-05-08T21:21:01.650-04:00The characters that give life to my story<a href="(56).jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469067089211568562" border="0" alt="" src="(56).jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Growing up I was, lets say, a little challenging. Anything and everything I wasn't supposed to do I probably did. I drank, I smoked,I partied, I dated older boys and hated school. I had one goal and one goal only, piss my mother off, I did an amazing job at that , by the way. I swore to myself that I would never be like her, that I would be different, that I would be better...</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Boy, how things change!! Not only did I start looking just like her, but with each passing day I started acting more and more like her. As the years passed I started understanding and listening to my mother a little more, of course I never let her know I was listening, but I was. I am. And today, I believe that I would be the luckiest girl alive if I turn out to be HALF the woman my mother is.</div><br /><div></div><div>Truth is that I come from a long line of amazing, remarkable women. My grandmother is a fighter, a survivor and the most gentle soul you will ever encounter. I truthfully cant remember ever seeing her angry or loosing her temper, except when grandpa insists on messing with her garden! Ha! Grandma raised her daughters right and in turn my aunt and my mother raised us right. I am very fortunate to have a tight group of women in my life that shape who I am and who I will become as time progresses.</div><br /><div></div><div>I can only hope to inherit my grandmother's kind heart, her compassion, her faith in God and in people. From my aunt, her disarming smile, her perseverance, her honesty and her sense of style. And from my mother, well, what can I say, you are a true survivor, an inspiration. You never put your head down, you continue walking. No matter what life has thrown at you, you always come out on top, no matter the sacrifice, you always make it happen. Thank you for making me eat my pancakes and blow my nose. Thank you for all the birthdays, for all the recitals, for all the dreams you made come true. </div><br /><div></div><div>To all the women in my life, the angels in my life, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sister, friends. Thank you because even though I might not say it, sometimes not even show it, you are and will always be the characters that give life to my story and without you life would definitely be, well, life less. </div>2010/05/characters-that-give-life-to-my-story.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-1910848460963728118Tue, 04 May 2010 00:45:00 +00002010-05-15T23:22:51.232-04:00Rehab<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 232px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471702894396206946" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>I don't know why I put myself through this, every month, to be honest it's more like every week. I salivate and my hands get clammy when I am in the presence of a new fashion magazine. I buy them like it's my job, my religion. I bet my husband would prefer I'd develop a drug habit in place of my magazine habit, it would be quite possibly cheaper. I sit in complete silence, fan the pages on my face, smell it, inhale it, salivate again. Then I devour it. I first look at every page with the voracious desperation of a child opening presents on Christmas morning. Then I start over again and read each article meticulously. Then something awful happens. Just what I imagine happens to a junkie after a fix, that wave of self hatred, self loathing, that deep, deep sense of helplessness. And I ask myself this question: Why the fuck can't I be rich so I can buy all this shit???!!!! It happens EVERY TIME.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Some people might think this is silly and a tad overly dramatic. But I urge you to stop and think about this. Where do you think women get their ideals on beauty, life, relationships and even parenthood? Ok, so probably 50% is from Oprah, but the other 50% is from what? The media, in the form of glossy, bright, beautifully overpriced magazines. How else can you explain that something like "gaucho" pants are fashionable and the fact that Kate Gosselin is still on TV. Magazines. Oh! the lies they tell! Like the fact that Jennifer Aniston's secret is Smart Water, that simple, water. Bullfuckingshit, how about the fact that she is a bizillionaire, has a personal chef, a trainer,a stylist and virtually zero stress. Not to mention that she will forever have images of her naked ex Brad Pitt embedded into her brain. I'm guessing, THAT! is her secret. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I read through the pages like I'm looking for the meaning of life, which I'm sure is somewhere between relationships and the horoscope. I love how they tell you everything, ranging from simple things like "what to do to look super cute" to "how to know when your man is cheating" and validate your life with columns like "don't worry, it ok...". If only it was that easy, if only all the answers could be contained in 194 full color pages. Us, as a society have given so much importance to celebrity that we have lost track of what's real, what's important. Do you even know how many houses I have decorated in my head while reading the latest issue of Harper's Bazaar, or how many fabulous parties have I attended in haute couture while reading Vogue? At this point I am basically best friends with Lauren Conrad and we can not wait till that annoying girl Heidi goes away, ewww, she is totally gross and totally jealous of us. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It's a little ridiculous how far my celebrity knowledge goes. But please don't ask me what's going on in the middle east because I have no idea, after all, no good gossip comes from those parts. I remember the days when I would read the paper cover to cover and knew everything about current events and politics. I really wonder what happened? Did reality become too painful to bear, did it become so real that I needed to escape? Maybe I escape inside frivolous publications because I want to be lied to, I want someone to tell me to my face that if I but a pair of Christian Louboutins my life will be better, that I'll be happier. That the worst tragedy happening in this world is that Jessie cheated on Sandra, not that millions of children are dying because they have nothing to eat. That is too depressing. I think about wanting to make a difference in the world, do something that matters, but right now I don't have enough money, no, it'll have to wait. I don't allow myself to think too much about it because it brings me back to reality, to my reality. Where I want to do so much to make a difference but don't have the means to do it, where I want to start a change but I'm too lazy to take action. I use the cheap almost mundane excuse that "one person can't make a difference".This is why I escape, because right now I need to, any other option will be too painful. So I turn to the next page. Maybe I need help, maybe I need life rehab. It worked for Britney and Lindsay, and as the thought enters my mind I immediately wonder if the Betty Ford Clinic allows magazines.... </div>2010/05/rehab.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-1276285764922346569Mon, 03 May 2010 22:28:00 +00002010-05-14T00:43:14.296-04:00Women of a certain age<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 218px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470981681654125714" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>I've been thinking about friendship lately. Is it me or does it really get more difficult to make friends as you get older? It would make sense for it to get more difficult since your interests shift and you expect different thing from people. I remember being 17 at a bathroom in a club (underage drinking and partying was my sport!) and some random girl came up to me and told me how much she loved my top, we have been friends ever since. I gave her that top and she still has it.<br /><br /><br />I find it really challenging to make friends these days and quite franky most of the time I just don't want to be bothered with it. Is it that I am too demanding? Too jaded? Maybe even scared to get hurt. Could it be that I am comfortable knowing that regardless of friendships being married means I am not alone? Fuck! Just the thought of that is really disturbing because I swore to myself that I would never turn into "that married girl that doesn't need friends cause she married her best friend", I hate that girl! No, I am not that girl. I love my husband and we have a great relationship but I don't necessarily want to discuss with him the things I talk to my girlfriends about, besides, he would be bored to tears or completely uninterested when I start talking about Tomkat, Brangelina and Speidi and if he wasn't I would be afraid, very afraid.<br /><br /><br /><br />I don't understand women that say they want a man that likes fashion designers, pop music, trips to the spa and never ending shopping trips...umm do you want a gay friend? Or do you want to get laid? Cause' you cant have both from the same man!! (I mean, physically you could but ewww!) Just like you cant get everything from one girlfriend.<br /><br /><br /><br />I consider myself quite promiscuous when it comes to friendships, I have many friends, all very different and I think they all represent different aspects of who I am, all my different personalities..ha! And even though this is fun and all, most of the time we share the laughter but hide the tears. You are who you want to be, share what you want to share, never get too close this way you wont be judged or hurt. In part because lets be honest, few friendships are without self interest. I have found myself craving a core, those people who not only are there when your world catches on fire but remain when the smoke clears and help you pick up the pieces. This is the type of friendship that is the hardest to find, the ultimate goal, the hallmark card inspiring , lifetime made for tv movie of friendships. The friend that'll force you to examine and encourage you to grow. That doesn't tell you what you want to hear, tells you the truth and nothing but the truth, unadulterated, pure, clean and concise. I don't have time for anything less, after all I am not 17 anymore.</div>2010/05/women-of-certain-age.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-6930712684529691403Wed, 28 Apr 2010 15:39:00 +00002010-05-14T00:46:03.401-04:00Can I please have my happy ending?<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 275px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470982235104774194" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>And I am not <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">referring</span> to the Asian kind. I mean the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">utopically</span> perfect life I was promised if I went to school, then college, got a job and found a man to marry. Granted, I took a couple <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">shortcuts</span> along the way, drove drunk and deviated from the route quite a bit but at the end I got to my destination. I graduated college, got a career and conned a decent man into marring me and yet I feel like so much is missing. I am looking for a purpose, a motivation, something to believe in, something to lean on. And if you tell me to have a child I might just punch you in the face. Seriously.<br /><br />Lately I can't seem to shake this feeling, this incredibly aggravating voice in my head telling me all that is wrong with me and all that I am not doing to make a difference and create a legacy. Go green, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">exercise</span> more, eat less, quit smoking, save money, take your fucking vitamins, get some sleep... I have tried everything to shut the bitch up but nothing seems to work, no vodka, no beer, no fatty food or designer purchase. Nothing, the bitch is resilient. So I guess I have to shut up and listen. Listen to myself, really listen. Something I haven't done in quite some time for one reason or another. Mainly because sometimes its painful, it is painful to take a deep, hard look inside yourself and realize you left your dreams on hold, on hold for the "better" things that came along. Came along and are now gone. The way I see it, I have 2 options. Either I sit on my couch and let life happen (which I do quite often) or I take charge, stop making excuses and do me, do me and mine. Create my own happy ending, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Asian</span> kind and all.</div>2010/04/can-i-please-have-my-happy-ending.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5942549264898711760.post-1984939839454596152Wed, 28 Apr 2010 04:26:00 +00002010-05-14T00:44:19.125-04:00Quarter Life Crisis<a href=" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470981968914181698" border="0" alt="" src="; /></a><br /><div>For most people, I am a well adjusted, rational, responsible young woman with a promising career, a great marriage and a fabulous life. In all actuality, I am just a great actress who missed her calling (as my mother so accurately puts it). I am, in fact completely chaotic, neurotic, judgemental, bitter and most of the time irresponsible. I do believe I am great at what I do but at the same time sulk in self loathing because I hate every minute of it. I am in the food and beverage industry and have been for what seems like an eternity and no, I am not one of the lucky ones that are working on a degree while waiting tables to pay my rent, tuition and drug habit, I actually went to college and have a degree in this shit. I'm completely invested in it, I even married a Chef, THAT invested. They say it takes a certain type of personality to make it big in this industry, I say yes, it takes having SEVERAL personalities AND an alter ego to make it, not to mention a tough skin and an endless supply of vodka to put up with the emotional and physical abuse that you have to endure. I also have passion for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">writing</span> and I never shut the fuck up, which often gets me in trouble. I curse like a sailor, although I have never met a sailor so I can't accurately confirm this fact. I think I am a good friend but let's face it, who <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">doesn't</span> think they are? I am great at giving advice but I believe I need a life coach, and I cant swim even thought I am from an Island. I have two dogs who I believe are the dog versions of my husband and I, the female is jaded, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">opportunistic</span> and uninterested and the male is overly excited, sweet and clueless. The beach makes me happy and I believe there are few better things than a really cold beer. My husband insists that I have body <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">dysmorphia</span> and that I am not fat but his job consists of making people eat pornographic amounts of calories and be happy about it, even pay for it so I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">don't</span> know if I should trust him. And I am convinced that I am going through a quarter life crisis. So I have decided to write this blog as a more economical option to therapy. But I have to warn you that due to the graphic nature of my life some content might not be suitable for all readers. Please be advised that nudity, rude and crude language, violence and brutally honest content will be present...</div>2010/04/quarter-life-crisis.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Syrie)2