I want everything back. 

The person who can make a rewind button for life will own my soul. 
I just want this weekend back. 

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It all ends and begins again. 

Our world collectively changed Tuesday. I’m am gutted and scared, but life continues. So does the struggle. The kindness of my community has been abundant. The work is never done, and the love I have for my country never ends either, no matter how severe or cruel the betrayal. 

Self care is something I preach the importance of but often find difficult to practice. This weekend, however I devoted to spending with a friend, making new ones and making memories in MY country, a country that is already great, if misguided. 

I have much to share but want to watch the sights of my road trip. I leave you with this picture and a promise of a longer post later. 

Never been afraid of the dark.

As a child, my grandmother Hortencia Torres taught me not to be afraid of the dark. She was really something special, but to make this long story short- she empowered me so much, even as a little girl. I’m not fearless, but I fear minimal things, foolish things, human things. Spiders. Losing those I love. Getting into a car accident. Bad credit scores. Donald Trump supporters.

You know, logical things.

Anyway, I saw this comic and it made me laugh, but then also want to cry.

You see, this election season has weighed heavy on my heart. It has been difficult. It has been personal. I’ve been verbally and emotionally attacked as a Mexican and as a woman by man that has been best described as an evil, racist cheeto. It’s not that I think racism is dead, I know it isn’t. Racism is alive and kicking, subtle, sometimes we get a good look at it, but now it’s ALL UP IN OUR FACE and it’s negligent and impossible to ignore. Trump has been like a pied piper to a bunch of white power serpents, is all. It’s sort of a blessing in disguise. 

I’m surprised all the rage and anger I have been living lately hasn’t made me die of a nose bleed. This is a (pretty accurate) anime reenactment of me listening to politics in the morning:

Thanks, NPR!

I have so much I want to talk about regarding the election but most of the time I just end up screaming profanities and it’s hard to get across more than just the fact that you’re super upset when all that comes out of your mouth are curse words.

I’m a smart woman, why can’t I say what I am feeling without resorting to basic words? I just don’t know. Again, me, hearing the latest news about Donald Trump:

“Grab them by the WHA-?!” *splurt*

Anyway, I was listening to Latino USA and Jorge Ramos, that sexy silver fox gave an excellent interview about his documentary Hate Rising (***TRIGGER WARNING *** THE DOCUMENTARY TOUCHES UPON racism, racial profanity, white supremacy, derogatory terms, KKK gatherings and Nazi gatherings) . It’s frightening as hell, but a really great point to open up dialogue about racism and race relations and what that means as of late. The last quote of his interview left me in messy tears, it is what I know to be true, also incredibly healing to know that me and mine a part of that repair.

Hate is here and the damage has been done. It doesn’t mean that we won’t be able to go back to a civilized society, but I think it’s gonna take many, many years to repair the damage that Donald Trump has done those voices that were contained, those voices of hate are out in the open.

-Jorge Ramos

Like I said, I am not afraid of the dark, but I know what it may contain. I am not scared of the light, as it allows us to see what may harm us and work to disarm and improve and do away with what doesn’t serve us.

The the damage has been done, yes. However, the ability to come together and make something stronger and greater still is there. I know it won’t be easy. I know it will be painful. I know it will be done.

Dry Magdalena.

Magdalena Rivera lived an exciting life, filled with booze and trouble. She sang too much karaoke. She went scuba diving and when she got a Charlie horse, the scuba diving instructor massaged her foot long after her tiny cramped toes relaxed. Magdalena broke dozens of beer bottles on the heavy wooden doors while the bouncers threatened to call narco gangs to disappear her from the face of the earth. She didn’t care, she screamed “I’ll call them for you! What’s the number?”


Magdalena would drink your beer, and steal your boyfriend. They still message her on Facebook, late at night, when they are drunk and lonely.

Things Magdalena has done while drunk- off the top of my head:
• Picked fights (and forgot about it the next day)
• Bootie danced with a guy at a wedding, when his chick saw them, she dropped her drink and broke the glass on the dance floor. Magdalena danced around barefoot.
• She stole bouquets from multiple weddings. (sorry)

 • Made out with a bunch of people in a hot tub. (Someone’s wife, someone’s boyfriend. Not sorry about that.)
• Hung out of a sunroof while the driver drove too fast down the highway.
• Got on a motor scooter after a her goodbye party and went to a new friends house…she did wear a helmet.

Many more things happened. This is the short list.

Moving on.

I started a new job at the beginning of August, and took a personality test. They assign you a color and you reference it in regards to the way they train you, the way you work and the way you interact with your colleagues and the customers. I thought for sure I would be blue- emotional, compassionate. I was a strong orange- action, adventure, risk, trouble.

I am a troublemaker. Unless it is not clear, I am Magdalena. She is my evil, drunk twin. Magdalena is me, with a heavy liquor lacquer.

I moved from Magdalena life to the life I am living now- an office job, a part time student, with an occasional side job. I try to go to the gym. I try to have a social life. These days, though, I try not to drink. Earlier this year, in an attempt to clean up my unhealthy eating and shed a few pounds, I quit drinking. I had faced my fair share of hang overs, overspending, over indulging and regrettable choices through nights that turned into early mornings- of heavy, heavy drinking.

One night, a few months ago I was celebrating a friends 30th birthday, I recalled the times I had vomited in friends cars, vomited out of their cars, vomited in trash cans while my world spun around and I cried. I recalled this because I was splashing water and slapping a young woman’s face in the grody bathroom of a local bar. She was incredibly intoxicated, much more than her friends. I recalled Magdalena, and all of the dangerous choices she- I- had made, while drunk. I was lifted from this bitter trip down memory lane as I snatched a cell phone out of a teertering young woman, snapchatting my friend moaning and crying into the toilet.

“Get the FUCK out of here before I break your phone and your fucking face, you BITCH!” I screamed.

As I dragged that young woman from the party into the closest emergency room, my heart was aching, for all the times I had done this very thing- drank until I blacked out. I ached for her, and for myself. I thought it was the cold that made me shake, but it was really because I was thinking about the time I was so out of sorts I was almost raped.

I ached for the multiple times I recounted the messy weekends for my far away friends in emails. Once, one of my best friends responded that she feared I would end up dead. Though I would be a liar if I said I stopped drinking completely, I will say I am much more thoughtful in my drinking, and my reasons for it.

I can say, with certainty I never want to live that seemingly exciting, but ultimately dangerous life I once did. Magdalena is dry. It’s fine.

She’s- I’m free.