Friday, August 10, 2007
Afternoon ramble
I am tired. I am sleepy. These are not interchangeable terms, no matter what Gabe would say. You can be tired and not be sleepy. You can be sleepy and not necessarily feel tired. Am I making sense? Probably not. I need some coffee, but if I drink it now I will be wound up until midnight or later. What are we doing tonight? i have no plans. I should not say that, I'll sound like a loser. Maybe not, maybe I'll just sound like a mom of two who just came back from vacation and is slightly broke. I should have stayed at the office instead of working from home in the afternoon. I am falling asleep at this desk. I tried to do the Fiction Friday meme from Write Stuff, but I got stuck. And now I am bored, and sleepy, and putting off something I have got to do and have no clue where to begin. Anyway, I am tired. And sleepy.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Confessions
I like to think of myself as a good person. I pride myself on following the most basic rules of society, on acting with the conscious goal of not hurting others. Yet I know I am not as good, as nice as I would like to be. With that in mind, I started making a list of my transgressions, with the intention of sharing them on this post. I was halfway through number one when I pictured my lawyer husband warning me about the sheer idiocy of what I was doing. Do I really want to have a written record of my peccadilloes for posterity?
I also remembered the stories about companies regularly checking the blogs and MySpace pages of employees and potential recruits, and of people being fired or passed over for jobs because of the contents of their blogs (can you say dooce?). My blog is public, my face is plastered all over it, I sign it in my name. It truly is a risk. So I stopped myself, and now I am left with nothing but disappointment at the fact that I self-censored my blog. I have always had this wonderful, idealized notion that my blog was going to be the one space for true self-expression, so I hate it when grown-up reality intrudes.
And yet, even though I will not share most of my less-than-stellar experiences, I can share the one memory that got me thinking about this subject. It is one of my worst moments, and I am ashamed of it. I have never before shared it with anybody.
When I was growing up, I had a best friend. We went to a small school together, from kindergarten through sixth grade, except for one year when my mom moved me to public school. I loved my friend very much, but once we went to different middle schools, we sort of drifted apart, although I still learned about her life from mutual friends who I ocassionally heard from. And once in a blue moon we would see each other at the mall. We went to different universities, on opposite sides of the island. She became an engineer, as her family wanted to, then put her title aside, got married and worked as an event planner. Or at least that is what I heard.
My shameful memory comes from the time Paula was an infant. Details are sketchy, so I can't remember exactly how old Paula was when I found myself sitting accross the room from my old friend at a pediatrician's packed waiting room. I know she was still in her baby bucket carrier, so she was pretty young. I remember noticing my friend and then deliberately pretending I had not recognized her. She did not make any kind of acknowledgment that she had recognized me either. I wonder what went through her mind.
At the time I was so embarrassed about my life that I dreaded saying hi. What was I going to say, that I was unhappily married, miserable at work and most likely depressed? That I could not even breastfeed my baby full time? That I, the smartest kid in our class, now worked as a receptionist because I did not have the guts to stay in law school? She looked great, and I looked so fat and ugly, I could not face her. Trying to avoid humiliation, I did one of the things that I most despise, acted like a jerk and ignored someone I once cared deeply about.
I never saw my childhood friend again, and now I live in Texas, so there is little chance of running into her again. In hindsight, I wish I could apologize to her for my stupidity.
I also remembered the stories about companies regularly checking the blogs and MySpace pages of employees and potential recruits, and of people being fired or passed over for jobs because of the contents of their blogs (can you say dooce?). My blog is public, my face is plastered all over it, I sign it in my name. It truly is a risk. So I stopped myself, and now I am left with nothing but disappointment at the fact that I self-censored my blog. I have always had this wonderful, idealized notion that my blog was going to be the one space for true self-expression, so I hate it when grown-up reality intrudes.
And yet, even though I will not share most of my less-than-stellar experiences, I can share the one memory that got me thinking about this subject. It is one of my worst moments, and I am ashamed of it. I have never before shared it with anybody.
When I was growing up, I had a best friend. We went to a small school together, from kindergarten through sixth grade, except for one year when my mom moved me to public school. I loved my friend very much, but once we went to different middle schools, we sort of drifted apart, although I still learned about her life from mutual friends who I ocassionally heard from. And once in a blue moon we would see each other at the mall. We went to different universities, on opposite sides of the island. She became an engineer, as her family wanted to, then put her title aside, got married and worked as an event planner. Or at least that is what I heard.
My shameful memory comes from the time Paula was an infant. Details are sketchy, so I can't remember exactly how old Paula was when I found myself sitting accross the room from my old friend at a pediatrician's packed waiting room. I know she was still in her baby bucket carrier, so she was pretty young. I remember noticing my friend and then deliberately pretending I had not recognized her. She did not make any kind of acknowledgment that she had recognized me either. I wonder what went through her mind.
At the time I was so embarrassed about my life that I dreaded saying hi. What was I going to say, that I was unhappily married, miserable at work and most likely depressed? That I could not even breastfeed my baby full time? That I, the smartest kid in our class, now worked as a receptionist because I did not have the guts to stay in law school? She looked great, and I looked so fat and ugly, I could not face her. Trying to avoid humiliation, I did one of the things that I most despise, acted like a jerk and ignored someone I once cared deeply about.
I never saw my childhood friend again, and now I live in Texas, so there is little chance of running into her again. In hindsight, I wish I could apologize to her for my stupidity.
Well
When it comes to patience, I am definitely impaired. I have never made a secret of it. It's the reason why I never became a teacher, why I could not stick with graduate school, why I am not a better parent.
The other day I wrote about not getting access when a blog I enjoy reading went private. Maybe I should have waited a little longer before bitching and moaning about it. It turns out I have access now. I was never informed, but I checked the link today and it works now, so I guess it's another example of the need to be patient and not jump to conclusions.
The other day I wrote about not getting access when a blog I enjoy reading went private. Maybe I should have waited a little longer before bitching and moaning about it. It turns out I have access now. I was never informed, but I checked the link today and it works now, so I guess it's another example of the need to be patient and not jump to conclusions.
Weaning
I woke up this morning with a feeling of aprehension. Today is my last day of vacation. Tomorrow I go back to the office, but today I will need to connect and do some stuff, and have a conference call with an analyst in the afternoon. So even though it's my last day of vacation, I have to work at least an hour or two. Ugh.
I have been up since around 5 AM. Acid reflux again. I need to get my Protonix prescription filled. I hate taking meds on a regular basis, but it seems I really need it.
I am thinking of my friends Amanda and Shannon this morning, hoping their days go well. Amanda is quitting her job today. After working thirteen years for the same company, she is making a complete career change and going for something she feels passionately about. I admire her so much for it. I hope her talk with her boss today goes well. Shannon is feeling under the weather. She has bronchitis and has been coughing so much that it seems she tore some cartilage in her ribs. She is in pain and I hope it goes away quickly. Send some love their way, please.
I have been up since around 5 AM. Acid reflux again. I need to get my Protonix prescription filled. I hate taking meds on a regular basis, but it seems I really need it.
I am thinking of my friends Amanda and Shannon this morning, hoping their days go well. Amanda is quitting her job today. After working thirteen years for the same company, she is making a complete career change and going for something she feels passionately about. I admire her so much for it. I hope her talk with her boss today goes well. Shannon is feeling under the weather. She has bronchitis and has been coughing so much that it seems she tore some cartilage in her ribs. She is in pain and I hope it goes away quickly. Send some love their way, please.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
We're home!!! Also, my earliest memories
We got home around 7:00 PM and we're exhausted. It was a loooong drive. I drove all the way back. I love driving, but it was a bit too much. Still, I get restless when I am in the passenger seat.
The girls are spending the night at my in-laws. They want to see the girls and they have a surprise for them, a kitten. That will give Gabe and I a chance to regroup after the holiday. Right now we are bickering a little because we are both so tired. Tomorrow the four of us will spend the day home recovering from the vacation. Thursday both Gabe and I go back to work and Isabel goes to daycare. Paula will come with me to the office.
In other topics, Josie issued a writer's challenge to her fellow bloggers. Between August 4th and the 11th, those who want to participate should write a post about our earliest memories. So here I go.
I have a few memories. Two of them are related to the crib and are from when I was between 2 and 3 years of age. I remember being in my crib, holding the bars and yelling "que me bajen" (get me down!) at the top of my lungs. I also remember the time I fell and got a bump on my forehead. Of course, it is entirely possible that I remember these things because my mother has reminisced about them many times.
The other memory is of a dream I had when I was still living in the duplex at Villa Fontana, so I must have been younger than four years old. I dreamt I was floating up the sky. In a cloud up high there was a presence and even though I could not really see him, I knew it was Jesus and he loved me and was waiting for me. I woke up from that dream with such happiness. And it's funny, because I do not know how I came to dream about ascending. My parents were not religious.
The following people have so far responded to Josie's challenge:
Wolfie at Gazing Into The Abyss
Soul at Soul Survivor
Pen at The Pen Is Mightier...
Loz at Sunrays and Saturdays
Josie at Picking Up Pieces
Frank at Ranting Monkey: LastStand
The girls are spending the night at my in-laws. They want to see the girls and they have a surprise for them, a kitten. That will give Gabe and I a chance to regroup after the holiday. Right now we are bickering a little because we are both so tired. Tomorrow the four of us will spend the day home recovering from the vacation. Thursday both Gabe and I go back to work and Isabel goes to daycare. Paula will come with me to the office.
In other topics, Josie issued a writer's challenge to her fellow bloggers. Between August 4th and the 11th, those who want to participate should write a post about our earliest memories. So here I go.
I have a few memories. Two of them are related to the crib and are from when I was between 2 and 3 years of age. I remember being in my crib, holding the bars and yelling "que me bajen" (get me down!) at the top of my lungs. I also remember the time I fell and got a bump on my forehead. Of course, it is entirely possible that I remember these things because my mother has reminisced about them many times.
The other memory is of a dream I had when I was still living in the duplex at Villa Fontana, so I must have been younger than four years old. I dreamt I was floating up the sky. In a cloud up high there was a presence and even though I could not really see him, I knew it was Jesus and he loved me and was waiting for me. I woke up from that dream with such happiness. And it's funny, because I do not know how I came to dream about ascending. My parents were not religious.
The following people have so far responded to Josie's challenge:
Wolfie at Gazing Into The Abyss
Soul at Soul Survivor
Pen at The Pen Is Mightier...
Loz at Sunrays and Saturdays
Josie at Picking Up Pieces
Frank at Ranting Monkey: LastStand
Monday, August 06, 2007
Awake at night with acid reflux
The title says it all. I am not having a good night's sleep.
Sunday at the beach was great. We all had a lot of fun at Isla Blanca Beach. We did get a little too much sun, though, so today we'll have to be extra careful. Monday is our last full day at South Padre Island. Tuesday we pack and start the drive home.
Sunday at the beach was great. We all had a lot of fun at Isla Blanca Beach. We did get a little too much sun, though, so today we'll have to be extra careful. Monday is our last full day at South Padre Island. Tuesday we pack and start the drive home.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Vacation, all I ever wanted.
We have been in Padre for about 24 hours now. As is bound to happen whenever we go out on vacation, or as Gabe would say, whenever he travels with the "tres diablitas", there has been lots of drama, plus bruises and bumps. But overall it's been great and I am so happy we are away.
South Padre Island reminds me of Puerto Rico so much! There is something about being surrounded by blue seawater that makes me all warm and tingly inside.
We took a Dolphin Watch Tour. It was cool and we got to see some of the dolphins that make the waters of SPI their home.
So far my pictures are less than spectacular. I still have time to redeem myself. In the meantime, here are a couple.
South Padre Island reminds me of Puerto Rico so much! There is something about being surrounded by blue seawater that makes me all warm and tingly inside.
We took a Dolphin Watch Tour. It was cool and we got to see some of the dolphins that make the waters of SPI their home.
So far my pictures are less than spectacular. I still have time to redeem myself. In the meantime, here are a couple.
The Face Behind the Blog
Fellow blogger Wolfgang has tagged me for The Face Behind the Blog, so here we go:
Blog Title: Boricua in Texas
Description: the ramblings of a thirty-something Puerto Rican woman who lives in the Houston area.
Why "Ingrid"?: because it's my name. So much for the protection of anonimity, eh?
Name: see above. What can I say? Mom was an Ingrid Bergman fan. A lot of Americans are baffled by the fact that my name is Scandinavian in origin, as if all Latin women should only be called Carmela or María. This may surprise you, but the name Ingrid is actually a lot more common throughout Latin America than it is in the US.
Country: Currently, USA.
Originally from: Puerto Rico, which culturally is very much a country, despite the fact that it is a US territory.
Occupation: Business Planning Analyst for a major computer company.
Email: Should be listed in my profile
Birthday: December 14
Fav Colors: red and purple
Fav Drink: Water. I know, boooooring! Also, beer.
Fav Fruit: Bananas
Fav Desert: Flan
Hobbies: Reading, writing, cooking, photography
Some of the blogs I know that have posted pictures of me: None that I know of.
TAG, YOU'RE IT!:
The Rules, to quote Wolfgang:
The usual rules apply. Post a short article and include your photograph (or more if you want). If you already have a pic online somewhere, then get creative with a new one.
Next, include the link to the others who have displayed their pix, or even include their pix in your post, adding a reference to it.
Bloggers who have shown their face:
Although the chain is quite long, right now I am only linking to Seiche and Wolfgang because I have not read the others' posts yet (I need to). Wolfgang lists them all, so check out his blog in case you are interested.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
In the middle of a packing frenzy (sure)
Isabel is napping. Gabe is watching the end of a movie while his laundry is in the washer. I helped Paula pack her stuff, and I am slacking off on mine.
Something is bothering me more than I would like. I keep telling myself to not take it personally, but of course I do. There's this blog that I had been reading lately. I found it through another blog and I had been visiting for a week or a little over that. It's written by someone who is vastly different from me in terms of life experience, and yet I found some universal truths in what was being written, some touchpoints in terms of lives afflicted by a loved one's dysfunction. On a few ocassions I left comments, mostly friendly ones to try to establish some rapport. They were never acknowledged. Still, I did not think much of it because I don't respond to every comment left on my blog and that does not mean I do not appreciate them.
Well, this blog writer announced recently that there is a change in the blog and going forward it will be by invitation only, and those who wanted access should write the blogger. So I wrote and asked for a password. It's been a couple of days and I received no answer and no access. I thought that maybe the problem was I provided my hotmail e-mail address, as opposed to my gmail address, which is tied to my Blogger account. So I wrote the blogger again and provided the gmail address. Again, no answer and no access.
This blogger doesn't really know who the hell I am, after all, other than a few celebratory comments I had left, so it is not surprising if I don't get access. Still, while I am fully aware that it is the blogger's prerrogative to grant me access or not if they so choose, I have to admit that my feelings are a little hurt. This situation has made me feel pathetic and stupid, the way I felt when I was in school and the cool kids snubbed me. So what is it about me? Why did this blogger not like me enough?
I am pretty friendly, but also very proud. I don't like to be where I am not wanted, and I do not go around whining to people and begging for friendship. If anything, I tend to keep people at arms length for a while until I feel comfortable enough to let my guard down. Which is all the more reason why I am so mortified by this. I mean, I put myself out there not once, but twice and my messages were not even acknowledged by the blogger. I am not as bothered by not being able to read the blog as I am by being left out. Whatever.
Something is bothering me more than I would like. I keep telling myself to not take it personally, but of course I do. There's this blog that I had been reading lately. I found it through another blog and I had been visiting for a week or a little over that. It's written by someone who is vastly different from me in terms of life experience, and yet I found some universal truths in what was being written, some touchpoints in terms of lives afflicted by a loved one's dysfunction. On a few ocassions I left comments, mostly friendly ones to try to establish some rapport. They were never acknowledged. Still, I did not think much of it because I don't respond to every comment left on my blog and that does not mean I do not appreciate them.
Well, this blog writer announced recently that there is a change in the blog and going forward it will be by invitation only, and those who wanted access should write the blogger. So I wrote and asked for a password. It's been a couple of days and I received no answer and no access. I thought that maybe the problem was I provided my hotmail e-mail address, as opposed to my gmail address, which is tied to my Blogger account. So I wrote the blogger again and provided the gmail address. Again, no answer and no access.
This blogger doesn't really know who the hell I am, after all, other than a few celebratory comments I had left, so it is not surprising if I don't get access. Still, while I am fully aware that it is the blogger's prerrogative to grant me access or not if they so choose, I have to admit that my feelings are a little hurt. This situation has made me feel pathetic and stupid, the way I felt when I was in school and the cool kids snubbed me. So what is it about me? Why did this blogger not like me enough?
I am pretty friendly, but also very proud. I don't like to be where I am not wanted, and I do not go around whining to people and begging for friendship. If anything, I tend to keep people at arms length for a while until I feel comfortable enough to let my guard down. Which is all the more reason why I am so mortified by this. I mean, I put myself out there not once, but twice and my messages were not even acknowledged by the blogger. I am not as bothered by not being able to read the blog as I am by being left out. Whatever.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
La regla de ocho
I have done the "Eight things about myself" meme before, but I got tagged again by the Myopic Legion, so I must comply. Of course, I have spent some time wondering qué carajo más puedo decir de mí. My life is not a veritable mine of exciting memories, which is why my plan of writing a brilliant memoir is dead before it even began. But let's start scraping the bottom of the barrel and give it a try:
1- My middle name is Cristina. It's not my favorite name, so I hardly ever use it. It evokes images of bratty self-centered princesses I may or may not have gone to school with.
2- Although to me it is quite obvious that I look like a Puerto Rican, I have been asked if I am Russian, Czech or Middle Eastern, among others. Must be the nose.
3- Years ago I had an episode of automatic writing. Well, more like scribbling. I have never known what to make of it. Some of the people I was hanging out with at the time were into esoteric and New Age stuff (for lack of a better term). I was on a spiritual quest of sorts, and trying hard to suppress my natural skepticism in favor of keeping an open mind. So it's very possible that the power of suggestion was responsible for my scribblings. It never happened again. These days I would be more interested in automatic writing of the surrealist kind.
4- I get obsessed with songs and have to listen to them repeatedly, over and over and over again, until I get them out of my system. As I write this, I am listening obessively to a song by Orishas called "El kilo". Tremendo bla, bla, bla, tremendo guaguancó.
5- My only regret in life is that I smoked. Like a chimney. For years.
6- I am taking my laptop with me on the trip. I don't plan on checking any work stuff and my boss already said he is not going to bother me while I am gone. But I want to be able to read my favorite blogs and maybe post once or twice on mine. I'll probably do it when we retire for the night or early in the morning before we set out to the beach.
7- I don't have any tattoos or piercings, other than my ears (and I hardly wear earrings). I got nothing against people who get them; it's just not my thing. I can understand the appeal of tattoos; I have seen some very cool ones. But for the life of me I do not get the piercings.
8- I collect stamps. How's that for being nerdy and anachronistic?
1- My middle name is Cristina. It's not my favorite name, so I hardly ever use it. It evokes images of bratty self-centered princesses I may or may not have gone to school with.
2- Although to me it is quite obvious that I look like a Puerto Rican, I have been asked if I am Russian, Czech or Middle Eastern, among others. Must be the nose.
3- Years ago I had an episode of automatic writing. Well, more like scribbling. I have never known what to make of it. Some of the people I was hanging out with at the time were into esoteric and New Age stuff (for lack of a better term). I was on a spiritual quest of sorts, and trying hard to suppress my natural skepticism in favor of keeping an open mind. So it's very possible that the power of suggestion was responsible for my scribblings. It never happened again. These days I would be more interested in automatic writing of the surrealist kind.
4- I get obsessed with songs and have to listen to them repeatedly, over and over and over again, until I get them out of my system. As I write this, I am listening obessively to a song by Orishas called "El kilo". Tremendo bla, bla, bla, tremendo guaguancó.
5- My only regret in life is that I smoked. Like a chimney. For years.
6- I am taking my laptop with me on the trip. I don't plan on checking any work stuff and my boss already said he is not going to bother me while I am gone. But I want to be able to read my favorite blogs and maybe post once or twice on mine. I'll probably do it when we retire for the night or early in the morning before we set out to the beach.
7- I don't have any tattoos or piercings, other than my ears (and I hardly wear earrings). I got nothing against people who get them; it's just not my thing. I can understand the appeal of tattoos; I have seen some very cool ones. But for the life of me I do not get the piercings.
8- I collect stamps. How's that for being nerdy and anachronistic?
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