How Swimming Saved A Teenager

 I was reminiscing about high school for some odd reason. One of the memories that popped up was about being in the swim team. One year before I entered Sparks High, the swim team had this cute sweatshirts made that said "SHS Swimmers like it wet!" and I just thought it was the most clever and funny thing ever. I loved those sweatshirts. I mean, I didn't have one as they were made the year before I entered high school. Anyway, I think it was my Junior year when; if I remember correctly, the principal saw someone wearing the sweatshirt and she was highly offended and it was not allowed on campus anymore. Am I recalling this correctly?

Also, swimming saved my life. My freshman year for me was rough. For some odd reason, I had been bused to Clayton Middle in Reno for ESL classes, although there was a middle school less than four blocks away from our Section 8 apartment that had an ESL program in Sparks. Most of the Clayton kids got to go to either McQueen or Reno high. I was zoned for Sparks, which meant that I would enter high school not knowing anyone. I got bullied a lot that year. I was obese at that time, and I remember this one Jessie (asshole) who in-front of the entire Algebra class told me that I was so fat that I needed a bra. I was so hurt. I cried and cried and the poor lady teaching the math class didn't know what to do to get me to stop crying. LOL LOL. Anyway, I started to have really bad anxiety and bouts of bawling at home in the evenings. And then I signed up for PE swimming and then joined the swimming team and my life totally changed. It really did. It no longer mattered what happened between 7:30 and 2:00 PM - all I looked forward to was swimming at Alf Sorensen Pool next to Reed High. Being in the water was everything. It gave me the opportunity to be alone, to think, to get away, and I didn't know it at the time, but to meditate. I really own my sanity to swimming.

During the winter semester, people could still sign up for swimming. The number of students that signed up for that class was minimal so they would lump several high schools into one pool. I remember this one winter we were swimming at this one pool in North Reno closer to Reno High and there was this one snobby bitchy entitled girl from McQueen who pissed me off, and I don't really remember what she did or said to me, but I was mad and I was going to get her. I was gonna get that bitch!! bhahahha. So I had this bright idea that I would take a bottle of shaving cream and while everyone was in the lockers changing, that I would go and cover her car in shaving cream. Little did I know that some snitch had watched me and had then gone and reported me to the coach. We went thru practice and went to shower and change and all that, and upon exciting the locker room the coach was standing there with a bucket and he made me wash the car by hand in front of everyone in the middle of winter. LOL LOL. The school bus was delayed while I finished my punishment. People were not happy. I'll never forget that. I believe I never sought revenge against anyone after that - not physical revenge at least, I still psychologically put people thru the worst. hehehehe

Bahahahahhaha. Good god.

One last thing, I was also thinking about the current lives of my HS class mates, my own included. Funny that most, ended up in situations that I had NOT envisioned them in. Life is definitely a very interesting thing.

And... I need my car washed. Any recommendations in Concord, CA?

After the needle's prick, life instantly began to resume its normalcy. NOT.

I got my vaccine almost two weeks ago. I was thinking back to the day when I went in to get it and how to me, it felt... monumental. But it actually turned out to be just another sunny day. No fanfare. Where was my button advertising that I had been vaccinated? Why didn't anyone clap? Where was the band and the cheerleaders? No. Nothing. I sat there for 15 minutes to ensure I didn't have any major side effects and then they gave me an oversized card that doesn't even fit in my wallet and I was sent on my merry way with a boring band-aid of a hideous flesh color that I don't even know how to describe. If only the band-aid had had Snoopy on it or something. I just read some celebrity's post about how "you can feel the change as we begin to return to normal". What? Really? I didn't feel shit in terms of returning to normal. And to be honest, I am scared of that next life. My "normal", as many of you as well, was actually drastically changed and I don't get to go back to a normal. I am left with a new life working remotely, deprived of daily human connection and collaboration. I am now literally glued to a computer monitor and fucking Zoom/Team meetings. I don't like this. I also know that my emotions have been reconstructed by this whole experience. At first it felt like I had it all under control, because I am a survivor, an adaptor, a high achiever, high-producer. But the reality is that, a lot of my individual successes were fueled by a collaborative environment, competition, challenges, support. I didn't have that this past year. Neither in my work life nor in my personal life. I can't point finger and lord knows I want to, but the truth is that we were all too busy trying to cope and trying to make sense of what was going on and how we were going to adapt. I fucking ran 1100 miles in 2020 and probably walked some 500 more. So far in 2021, I have ran 250 miles and have walked over 400 miles, because I take myself out for a walk every damn day to get a Starbucks at the plaza just to get myself the fuck out of the house and those walks are/were my priority - the boring complicated work could wait, because I would have time later... but the problem was that I was too busy nursing my fragility and my anxiety and my fear to really focus on the work. My heart and mind took precedence over all else - and at first, our BS bosses and companies told us this was all okay. "Take care of yourselves first!", but then when we did and our work suffered a bit or when suddenly the pace started to drastically pick up... the allowances are minimal, and the expectation for repair are high. What is my point? I do not know. But I do know that although I was blessed to have a job, shelter, cats, and things to keep me busy and even blessed to be isolated and not have to worry about navigating the complexities of being sequestered with others in a small space, or having to try and educate a kid via remote learning while also trying to do a job and trying to run a home, all at the same time with limited resources and surrounded by the same colored walls and the same smells and sounds over and over and over again. Gosh.. I am grateful, but I do know that I have been left changed. IF not changed, at least scarred. I am not sure how to nurse that wound and just pick up and go. Do you?

Bonami

 It's actually "Bon Ami", not "Bonami".  It's French for "good friend", but I didn't name the feral cat Bonami because he was a good friend, I named him that because the first time that he showed up in my backyard he was skinny, skittish, extremely dirty and in desperate need of a bath.  Did I associate a dirty cat with the soap?  I did not, actually.  Growing up in Mexico City, there was a drunk homeless man who hung out at our block who was nicknamed "Bonami" - because he was rather dirty and well... he was "in desperate need of a bath".  So, when the cat kept coming back and I began to routinely feed him, because he was looking the way that he did, I instantly thought of "Bonami".  (A little disclaimer, the original Bonami eventually got off the streets, got sober, got a job, married and raised kids!)

To be honest, I did not know where to being to tell this story.  Should I open up with a tacky cheesy paragraph about a messenger who brought to me a lesson and an opportunity to learn more about myself?  Or should I go down the even tackier path about the miracle that this journey and the adoption process turned out to be?  Or maybe I should start by admitting what a horribly pet owner I am and to question why on earth would I want a third cat?  A young cat at that!  My two cats, Jimmy and Amy, are 12 and 10 respectively, and I had already made a promise to myself that I would not get anymore pets and I would simply wait out for these two to move on so that I would be pet-less and have more flexibility in terms of relocation and vacationing without stress.  What happened to all that?  

Perhaps after all, this is a story about a miracle, about a messenger and a story about learning about myself. 

Sunny October days in California are not unusual.  It was one of those days in 2019.  I think it was a Sunday and I was trying to be productive and getting chores done around the house.  Laundry.  Dishes.  Make the bed.  Pull up the shades to allow some of that sunshine into the bedroom with its window looking out into the backyard.  I don't spend a lot of time in my backyard, to be honest, and in the absence of "human presence" a lot critters tend to make the back deck their home.  At one time, there had been a racoon that had taken up residence underneath it, the squirrels are often attacking the barely-existing grass.  A few years back the gardener had pointed out to me that he had seen a cat mama with her kittens come out from underneath the deck.  So it was no surprise to me when I pulled up the shades, on that sunny October Sunday, that I spotted yet another cat mama and her five kittens coming from underneath the deck.  

Growing up I never liked cats.  I don't know when and how I ended up living with cats.  And here you had me immediately running outside with a bowl of water and food for the tiny gang.  I sat down next to the kittens who were all quite friendly minus an albino one that was hiding under the deck.  All others, including the mother, allowed me to pet them and ate the offerings.  Now, we all know that one of the first golden rules of feral animals is:  Do not feed.  Do not name.  Because once you do either of those... They are yours.  

I tried to call up a rescue group to come get the kittens, but they were not very prompt to reply.  For the next few days, I continued to put food and water for them while I awaited to hear from one of the many organizations I had contacted.  Unfortunately, between the day of my discovery and some days later, the mama had moved on and had taken her kittens with her, and in her place, a dirty skittish other cat had taken to eating the food I was putting out there.  And thus, began my chaotic relationship with Bonami.

In no time, Bonami became incredibly friendly with me.  He would let me pet him and he would even come into the garage when I would step outside to feed him.  He had made himself very much at home in my backyard, but because I had seen him jump the fence sometimes I assumed that maybe he was someone else's cat and he was just coming over for food.  You may be familiar with the intelligence of cats, and their ability to incorporate themselves into your routine - or perhaps they will alter or ruin your routine.  Bonami quickly learned that at 5:30 AM, the lights to the kitchen would come on and it would be feeding time.  As soon as I had flipped the light switch, I would see his cute little face on the other side of the French doors leading to the backyard.  

Bonami was so incredibly affectionate towards me that I quickly became attached.  They were right you know?  Don't feed and name them, dang it.  Else they'll be yours!  Well, in a way he was mine and I was ready to start the process of somehow turning him into an indoor cat.  I once again called one of those crazy-cat-lady organizations in hopes of getting some tips of how to get him fixed and tested for diseases before trying to bring him in.  Because he was so friendly and trusting about coming into the garage, I made the assumption that he would easily adapt to becoming an indoor cat - assuming that he was not owned by anyone.  

So, I began my first short-lived effort to adopt him.  One night in early November, I was able to fool him into going into a pet carrier with some treats, and I took him to the vet to have him scanned for a microchip, which he did not have.  I was one step closer to making him mine!!  So, it seemed. The next step would be for me to post about him on Nextdoor and Facebook and see if anyone claimed him.  No claims.  The crazy-cat-lady organization had actually been able to secure me an expedited appointment for November 16th with a neutering clinic where he would be fixed and also tested for other stuff. 

In that Pre-Covid19 world, I was commuting for work to San Francisco Monday thru Friday.  I would leave my house around 7 AM, take the train to the city one hour each way, and be back home around 7 PM or so.  I had been told that I would have to keep Bonami separated for one day to let him heal, and of course there was the acclimation period that I would need to allow to socialize all three cats.  I was worried about this process.  In addition, the old house that I own doesn't have centralized air and the doors don't all close too good; I was worried that Bonami would have to spend hours in a cold room while I was away at work, or that the cats would be a able to push the doors open and that a bloodbath would ensue.  Honestly though, the one thing that I was very hesitant about was whether Bonami used a litter box or that he would learn to use one.  

I reached out to my spiritual advisor and asked her for advice on what to do, as I was not certain what or how I should go about this adaption/neutering process of a feral cat.  She said something to me that at the time, made a lot of sense:  "He is a free creature.  Why do you want to take that away from him?".  I thought a lot about that.  True, very true.  Why would I want to take his freedom away from him?  I used to love looking out the French doors whenever I was in the kitchen and see him laying out in the sun, stretching out his boy along the fence or making himself into a fully little donut. Maybe it would be best if I remained simply his "bud" and I offered him food and let him come and go as he pleased.  I wasn't sure what I would do about the situation, but all I knew is that the appointment date was getting closer and I had to make a decision.  Well, on my birthday night that November 15th; one day before I was due to take in Bonami for his treatment, I fell off the wagon and had a night of debauchery and when I woke up the next day, I had already missed the appointment.  The Crazy-Cat-Lady was pissed!!  She was very upset that I had not kept my appointment, or that I had not had the decency to cancel the appointment.  I meant to capture Bonami that morning and take him for his treatment, and I know that relapsing is no excuse, but that is exactly what happened.  And I gave up on the process of getting neuter or trying to adopt him.  He was free and I was going to let him be just that. But in a way, it was easier for me to just not take accountability for the little creature and "laisse faire". 

Winter came and went and Bonami continued to show up for his meals.  It was never clear to me whether the lived underneath my deck or he came from somewhere else.  I remember the Winter of 2019 being quite cold and wet and all that didn't seem to phase Bonami.  He just showed up all happy and made his way past the garage door, rub his face against my pants and meow a greeting here and there.  That had became my routine, for the next year:  Waking up at 5:30 and feeding Jimmy and Amy, and then putting on a jacket to make my way outside to feed my tenant.  

But all along, I wanted to adopt Bonami.  I kept on wondering how I could go about transitioning him into an indoor pet.  I reached to several organizations for help and they all said that they could not help, that they were maxed out, that I was outside of their territory, blah blah blah.  I was hoping to find a foster who would take him after his surgery and help me transition him and I would be willing to give him a home after that.  I really did not know how to go about this transition.  I also did not truly know if taking him in was the right thing to do.  You know, I am not a very religious person, but as most all of us do, in our time of need we turn to the heavens and ask for guidance.  I asked my High Power to please send me a signal and let me know what the hell I was supposed to do with this situation.  Was I meant to adopt Bonami?  I literally waited for the clouds to split apart and for some old man with a big white beard to reach down and speak to me:  "Yes Queen!  He's meant to be yours!".  That never happened, and if God did send me a signal, I honestly did not pick up on it.  

So, a whole year went by and Jimmy and Bonami seemed to have developed some form of camaraderie thru the French door glass.  Amy was another story.  She was not having it!  She would charge and swat against the glass rather violently.  Very unnerving.  I can't tell you how many times I was started by the sudden noise of the commotion.  Eventually Amy calmed a little bit, but there was also a bit of resistance on her part about the other creature.  

Cue in the pandemic n early 2020.  I am now working from home and Bonami is now showing up at 5:30 AM, 10AM, 4PM and 8PM.  Like clockwork.  He's now fat as a cow and I think I am to be blamed.  I am such a cheap-ass and because he was not "my" cat, I did not want to spend more on buying more of the expensive cat food I fed my two indoor cats, so I bought him this giant bag of kibble from the pet store for  $15.  That stuff most be the equivalent of a Big Mac because Jimmy and Amy would howl for some of it - which I sometimes give to them as small treat.  

Winter ended, Spring bloomed, Summer roasted and an unseasonably warm Fall creeped thru as we continue to be sequestered.  On December 22nd of 2020, I went outside around 4PM to feed Bonami and he showed up limping.  It didn't look that bad and I assumed that perhaps his fat ass had twisted his paw trying to jump a fence or something.  The next day I had an eye appointment and I shared about his injury with a friend of mine who was my ride home after the appointment and who also has cats and she suggested that I'd give it a few days as cats tend to heal very quickly from injuries. The next day was Xmas Eve and I had not seen Bonami all morning and when I went outside at noon to call him and feed him, after waiting for him for a while he eventually limped his way from under the deck, and came to get his chow.  His limping had gotten much worse and I could see that he was in a lot of pain.  He still greeted me and rubbed his face against my hand and gave me head bumps.  It was at that moment that I realized that I had to do something.  I had already turned my back on him that last November of 2019 when I missed the neutering appointment and had chosen to just let things play out.  To be honest, I once again had decided that I would not take accountability for the injured cat.  That it was a minor injury and the would be okay.  

Would he be okay though?  

I could not do that again.  I had to do something to help him out.  I once again fooled him into limping into the pet carrier and I was able to trap him.  I brought him into the house and put him a room while I got busy calling all the vets in the area and see which one would be willing to see us.  Not one of them would. I mean, it was Xmas Eve day at around noon.  I was freaking out.  I had an angry cat in a carrier, pissing all over the place and howling bloody murder.  I called the Crazy-Cat-Lady from that one November and asked for her help.  "Remind me who you are, again?" she asked. "I am Jose.  Remember, last year I tried to take Bonami in to get him neuter?" I replied.  "Oh, you mean, the one that didn't show up?"  Bitch.  "Is that all that you remember about me?"  I went on to explain to her the situation and asked for he advice and she mentioned that I could take him to Sage Veterinarian Hospital in Concord and that they would see him, but that it would be pricey, but that if the bill was out of my budget, that I could surrender the cat.  

One of things that I learned about myself from this experience, is how I go about decision making in times of stress.  I went to Sage with Bonami and I surrendered him.  Just like that.  I took him to the place and told the woman I had an injured animal and that I wanted to turn him in.  The nice lady that took Bonami asked me a few question, got a name and phone number and told me that once she took him that they would not be able to provide me with any updates aside from calling to provide me with an animal ID before before he was transferred to Contra Costa Animal Services.  I said okay.  Walked to the car and nearly had a melt down.  What had I just done?

In a way, that kind of put a damper on my Xmas holiday.  From the minute that I got back home and I saw the little things of his that I had accumulated in the garage, my heart completely broke.  There was his bag of "Big Macs", his flea brush, his flea meds, his little towel with remnants of hair.  What had I done?  What if they put him down?  How could I get him back?  Will be he okay?  

I waited for a call from Sage with a pet ID, but no one ever called.  For the next two weeks, I obsessed checking the Contra Costa Animal Services website to see if by chance they posted him for adoption.  More than anything, I really wanted to know that he was okay.  It broke my heart to have simply had handed him over and had no closure.  Several times a day I checked for an adoption posting for him until I stated to lose hope and accept that maybe I would never see him again.  

Then, on Friday morning January 8th I went to check the website one last time and saw a posting for a sad looking two year old tuxedo male cat, with no name, ready for adoption.  I could not mistake those crazy eyebrows of his.  That was Bonami!  I immediately called the shelter and inquired about adopting him.  The woman on the phone said to me that yes, I could adopt him but that I had to complete an application online.  I did just that.  I was told that someone would reach out to me in one to three business days. Okay, I'll follow the protocol and will patiently wait some more.  The next day I get a call from the adoptions counselor and we talk for about an hour about the situation and I told her the story of how Bonami ended up at Sage.  She thought this would be a good home for Bonami and so she approved the adoption that Saturday morning and told me that one of their admins would call me soon to do the paperwork and pay the $25 adoption fee.  About two hours later, a young woman called me, but not to handle the paperwork, but to tell me that unfortunately, Bonami (who they had name Stallone) had been picked up that morning by a rescue organization.  WHAT THE FUCK!??!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had never cursed a non-profit like that before!!  So now, here you have me calling, emailing, Facebooking and Instagraming this organization East Bay Animal Rescue to try to find Bonami and secure his adoption.  I was desperate to get him home.  I missed his little face looking thru the French door so much; every time that I went to the kitchen I would immediately check to see if he was there and my heart would break at the realization that he wasn't, I had surrendered him to the hospital.  How very sad.  Although friends had tried to convince me that I had done the right thing, I was heart broken because I had chosen to not take accountability for Bonami and chosen not to foot the emergency room vet bill.

Finally, I was able to get a hold of the woman that runs EBARR and get approved for the adoption.  After a lot of finagling about paperwork, paying the $150 adoption fee and playing phone tag, I finally made arrangements to drive to Oakley and pick up Bonami and bring him home on Tuesday January 12th at 8 PM.  The woman had offered to bring him to me on Saturday, but the poor thing had been moved around so much and had been thru so much in the past two weeks that it was crucial for me to bring him and get him settled.  Of course they neutered him and also tested him for ailments and all that jazz, and his medical record did say that he had been treated for an abscess on his right paw, the one on which he had been limping.  My decision making process probably wasn't ideal, but I am glad that I trapped him and took him in to get treated, because I don't know where this would have ended had he not been seen by a doctor.  

The past two weeks have not been fun really.  The stress level at home has been thru the roof, for all four of us. Lots of adapting and rearranging for everyone.  Jimmy seems to have made peace with Bonami's presence (although after having gotten his ass kicked twice), but Amy is not having it.  She is vigilant and is making sure that Bonami respects her as the queen and leader.  I don't expect this to be an easy and comfortable adaptation, but I do hope that in the end, we can all get along and settle in. Another thing that I learned about myself thru this process is how I handle stress, how I resolve conflict, how I cho0se the easy way out, how I don't follow direction and how I am very very impatient.  

I do worry that perhaps Bonami would be best suited in a single cat household.  We will see.  I am going to work on this situation for a while longer.  I have faith that things will be alright.  

So much for my plan to travel and move into a small apartment in the city.  I am now the proud owner of a two-year old cat (Turkish Angora?).  

Wish us luck!!!

                                

Why I dislike the holidays

There are several reasons for which I dislike the November/December holidays.  On the surface, I dislike them because these are massively commercialized events focused on generating profit.  I also dislike how the population loses their damn minds – I think we see the worst side of people on the holidays; for example, yesterday some woman almost rammed her car into me as she was driving 20 mph in a parking lot to beat me to a parking space that I was not even interested in (I usually park far far away from the door to get some exercise).  I dislike the hypocrisy of the holidays, the fake love and caring that we display one another – We should be kind to one another year-round, not just in specific holidays. 

There is also a more deeper personal reason for why I dislike the holidays.  Perhaps there are a few reasons.  Number one:  Well, my mother passed away on Christmas day of 1998 from a heart attack while she was making our pozole for dinner that night.  I accepted my mother’s passing a long time ago, and it’s not that Christmas makes me sad because of her passing, but it does make it awkward for me to celebrate joyously.  I do not only think of my mother on Xmas day; I think of her  year round.  Second:  Most of my family is in Mexico.  Here in America there are only a handful of us and we are scattered over the West Coast.  For me, the holidays really outline my lack of a family structure – Yes, it’s true that I wholly believe in “Family is best loved from afar”, but at times when everyone else in the world is running home to a family gathering you find yourself looking around analyzing your support system, those are times when you question your environment.   Now, I want to be clear that I don’t feel lonely and I have many friends who each year are kind to offer to host me for the holidays and usually I decline and prefer to stay home and veg out.  Bottomline is that for me, the holidays make me force into perspective the family and culture that I exchanged for financial stability when we immigrated to America.   

I met a man.

Let me tell you a story, but I am going to tell you my version of it – meaning that I am going to edit the truth in such a way that you will find my story amusing and maybe giggle a little at the end.  I am going to tell you this story, in the way that I want you to remember it.  In the way that I want to remember it, and so that maybe after telling it a few times, my mind will begin to believe my altered version is an accurate depiction how the events played out.  I am going to omit the parts about awkward conversation, the whiskey, and the annoying drunk invasive straight girls with big purses.  

My Scorpio horoscope for Saturday 11/17 said to get out and meet people.  I already had plans with a friend to go see a drag show that evening, but the smoke from the Camp Fires up north lingering around the Bay Area apparently was yanking out his lungs and his sinuses and he was not able to go meet people with me.  I was going to call it; once again, one of those Netflix Saturdays where I sit at home eating something microwaved while a cat purrs on my lap, my eyes pretending to watch the show, but my mind wondering what all I am missing out on.  Fucking hashtag FOMO! (FOMO = Fear Of Missing Out! In case you’re in your forties too and senile).   But I am an obedient individual and I follow directives well.  My horoscope had instructed me to go meet people, and so I did.  I showered, purposely put on an old set of clothes on and left for the city.

As so I  met a man.  The type of man that I had created a “must have” list for, and he met almost all of my criteria.  Holy fuck he does exist, I thought.  It was as if the God Of Love had finally said “Send this bitch a man already!!  She’s in her forties!!!”.  He was Italian.  Tattooed.  Brown-reddish hair with a full soft beard.  Tall.  Funny.  Sweet.  Great Kisser (I know, I know, I skipped a bunch of bases, but remember… I am in my forties and can’t waste any more time!!  My ovaries are drying up!!).  He had the body of a Greek god plus a box of donuts.  Sexy.  Charming.  Lord have mercy!!  It was true what they say, about “the right one comes at the right time”!!!

We danced.  We talked.  We laughed.  We kissed.  We held hands like a high school lovers and all that fairytale bullshit.  I was in such a state of euphoria that I forgot that some ugly old fat woman in a mildew-y dress and tiny tiny wings that barely supported her massive ass had told me that my pumpkin would turn to shit around 2 AM.  She gave me to extra hours – because I am in my forties, she said. 

Come 1:30 AM and the party is about to end.  We kiss one last time.  And I am ready to surrender my love.  Take my heart and all I own, no prenup needed!!  When we get ready to leave and I ask for his contact information, that’s when he tells me that he’s married, to a woman and she’s simply out of town.  And then he leaned over and kissed me one last time.

 

Disclaimer:  60% of the details above have been fabricated or edited to protect his identity and so that you won’t judge me too much! The fat fairy godmother was legit; we have those in Concord.

PS:  I think I hate pumpkin pie now.

Emotional Growth And Falling In Love... Never stops.

Hello.  I am about to turn 42 years old this coming up November.  I don't feel 42.  I might look it, but I don't feel 42 at all.  Specially when it comes to the part about how by this age one should have emotionally grown and reached a certain level of maturity.  I feel that for me, emotional growth is an eternal process.  I am constantly entering new stages in my emotional life.  I just recently entered a very challenging and interesting stage, one that I had totally forgotten existed until I allowed myself to feel a little bit of love for someone, allowed myself to reenter my love life.

After my husband of five years and I ended our relationship in 2012, I was left behind with a mortgage and two cats in the suburbs 27 miles outside of San Francisco - a place where I had never envisioned myself ending up at.  I  was also left with a broken heart that went into some form of emotional hibernation that lasted some six years.  I think part of me was sort of hoping that he would return to me?  That we would mend things?   I don't know.  I mean, we really weren't a match at all  so I don't know why I would sit and wait for his return for six years.  The interesting thing is that I didn't know that I was waiting for him.  I thought I had mourned the loss.  I thought I had healed and was working on moving on.  I guess I was wrong.  If you ask me to account for these past six years, the truth is that I cannot.  I don't know where and how they went, these years.

Just a few months ago my ex  asked me out for coffee to tell me that his new boyfriend and him were moving in together.  At first, I did not have any sort of response to this.  I mean, I was happy for him  and happy that they were taking this huge step together.  But about a month later, I began to experience an immense sadness.  I had this huge desire to cry like a toddler, but nothing would surface - ever.  I tried watching sappy romantic movies, I tried writing and listening to sad music.  Nothing worked. I wanted to emotionally purge, but I had a bottleneck in there somewhere holding it all in.  It was at this moment that I realized that my relationship with my ex truly had truly ended, he had truly moved on to the next stage in his life... and that I should to.  I was finally free.

Then out of the blue enters this  kind, handsome, funny and talented friend with a passion for music.  And in my fragile (confused) emotional state, I slowly but steadily began to somehow get attached to him, and I began to allow myself to  feel the butterflies in the belly for just about anything that he did or said.  I lost my damn mind.  All of sudden I wasn't in my forties, I was 12 and I was crushing over a boy.  LOL  Before I knew it, I had allowed myself to fall in love, or whatever you want to call it.  I should clarify that my friend is straight, so we were not ever going to get anywhere; but the things that I was feeling for him were things that I had not felt for anyone in a very very long time, and specially not this strong - and lord knows I was craving these feelings.  It was very confusing. And Painful.  At first, I told myself that I would allow my heart to just feel what it was feeling, and enjoy the feels for what they were.  But then all of a sudden I was trapped in a little storm inside of a glass of whiskey that I myself had poured.  I had fabricated a complicated love plot inside of my head. Sadly, in a drunken state, I did and said much more than I should ever have and I think along the way I damaged a lot of things - maybe even our relationship, which I truly treasure a great deal.  My best friend had warned me "Say nothing."  But I did.

What's my point with all this?  It's that at the age of 42, I am still growing and I am changing.  And so will you.  And you may be 60, but you too will fall in love with someone that you may not be able to have - but you will fall in love.  But I do believe, wholeheartedly, that people come into our lives to deliver a message and to make us feel things, and so take these "feels" and savor them - they are yours to keep forever!  My message?  That I am ready to love again.

 I want to open up.  I want to take risks.  I  want to be able to surrender everything about me into the arms of someone that treasures me and sees the magical person that I am, flaws included.  I've sat back for six years and just lived life day in and day out, sort of waiting for something magical to happen on its own without any effort from my part.  I can see that I've wasted six years locked away in my suburban home awaiting for the return of someone who left on a one way ticket.  I am totally ready to begin a new.  I am ready to let love back in and take some emotional risks and not hide away from the possibility of getting hurt of heartbroken.  (Plus, heart breaks are mysteriously delicious, and they trigger your artistic talent.  STFU!)

PS:  I want to write more.  I am going to try and commit to writing one blog each week.  Might be random craziness, but at least it will be a writing exercise for me.

My Negative Experience with VW of Fairfield

My very first car, was a used 1977 Rabbit that my mother bought for me.  It was a turquoise color and it had black tinted windows.  This was 1994, and I absolutely loved this car.  I also had a 1992 Jetta, and a 1998 Beetle which I lost in 2001.  I loved every single one of those cars.  I always felt that they fit my personality better, that I connected with the car and the brand, and I felt safe within them. 

I didn’t need a car until 2011, and I went for a Honda Fit because Honda had a leasing special for zero down, zero payment for a month, zero interest, etc.  It was such a painless positive experience that I returned again for a 2^nd Honda Fit in 2016.  Again, the experience with the dealer was direct, honest, painless and with no stress.  I assumed that the culture of car dealerships had changed during the decade that I hadn’t had a car, given the ample competition in the market and access to car sales online. 

As part of an assignment for a class, I had to read an essay on Volkswagen and the introduction of the New Beetle back in 1998.  It brought back a lot of memories about being a proud owner of a VW.  Although I had no need for a new car (my 2016 Honda Fit I had gotten brand new and after two years of ownership, I had only 8000 miles on it), but I had been wanting a VW for a while, and finally I decided that I would treat myself to one. 

A couple of miles from my house in Concord, there is a VW dealership in Walnut Creek.  I texted them via their website to see if there was a way for me to trade my Honda Fit,  and possibly get into a VW lease without being out of pocket.  I didn’t want to be out of pocket because in reality, I didn’t need a  new car, but I wanted to see what it would take to get me back into the VW family.  VW Walnut Creek did not reply; I assumed that my ask was not feasible. I probably should have gone in person instead.

I then contacted VW of Fairfield via their website and I got a response.  I made my asks very clear:  I want to trade in my 2016 Honda Fit EX with 8000 miles and a balance of $15,200 (there was some equity for sure), I don’t have a down payment, and I want a stick shift – this was very important to me.  I got a reply from the dealership and they asked me to come in, and they texted me a link to a Golf GTI as a possible car I could get into.  I looked up the model and it was $32,000 or something, way out of my league so I texted the salesperson back and told her that I had done the math and that the car was way out  of my league and that I would not be pursuing the purchase.  She responded with “we will work with you, but I need you to be here in person”.  I apologized to her for wasting her time.  The following day (6/9) I got a text in the morning from her asking if I wanted to come in, and I told her that this didn’t seem like a possible deal, she again stated that the dealership would be willing to work with me, but I needed to be there.  Later that day I got curious, I started to wonder what this “we will work with you” was all about.  I had had such amazing car buying experiences with Honda, and I loved VW so much that I got excited and decided to drive the 20 miles to Fairfield and see what they had to offer. 

Upon arriving to the dealership, Briana welcomed me and showed me this amazing red manual Golf GTI.  We took it for a test drive.  Briana was very patient with me as I attempted to drive the manual (It had been nearly 17 years since I had driven one).  I loved the car, although I didn’t really see how I would be able to get into such an amazing car, but then I thought maybe a lease would do.  Briana asked me if I was interested and I said that I was, and she took my key for my Honda.  She disappeared for a few minutes and then came back with a piece of paper; the negotiation tools, and wrote down the value of the car and told me that  in order get me into the car, that she would need a little help and asked that I put down $11,000!!  I was very clear with my expectations when I initially reached out to the dealership:  No money down.  Just my trade in with low miles.  I wanted a stick.  That’s all.  I didn’t mind the color.  I didn’t mind the VW model.  A lease would be okay.

This is where things got really shitty.  Briana takes off and then returns with a different car to show me.  It was a used 2017 Golf TSI with 14500 miles that someone apparently had owned for 7 months  before me, according to the Car Fax.  It wasn’t really clear that Briana was showing me this car as a possible purchase, she just mentioned that she just needed to get gas in it, so she drove it to the gas station and I got to drive it on the way back.   It was not a stick, it was an automatic.  But I liked it.  I could make it work.  It wasn’t 100% what I was after, but I thought the numbers could work.

The sales manager then came in to negotiate.  I do not recall his name.  These are some of the things that happened that totally ruined the experience for me:  1) the manager told me that the price for the car was $22,000 but  that he was willing to make me a deal and drop it to $20,000.  2) They collected my information for my payoff on the Honda, but they didn’t tell me how much they had valued my car at and that they had calculated a negative $3000 equity on it, which they would roll into my new load – this was not discussed at ALL.  3) They asked me for a down payment, I then thought that I could squeeze out $500 out of my budget without restraining any other bills or responsibilities, and the manager mentioned that I most likely would not have to make a payment on the car for two or three months and to see how much I could come up with, so I agreed to put down $500 now, and in a month or so another $1000, 4) even though they had seen that I had perfect credit, during discussion I asked the manager what my loan rate would be and he said “I don’t know.  That’s a finance question”.   5) I told him that I had a pre-approval loan from my credit union, and the sales manager said “oh, I don’t know.  That’s a finance thing.”  6) When I asked him about getting into the lease and my credit, he said that I did have the credit to get into a lease, but why would I, that I should let someone else deal with the depreciation from buying a new car and just buy the used one, which brand-new he said was worth $30,000.  (I did some research, and I think the Golf Wolfsburg went for about $23,000 or so new last year.)   I agreed to buy the car anyway. 

I waited for maybe half an hour in the waiting area while the paperwork was being put together.  I was by then pretty excited about having a VW again.  Even though I wasn’t feeling good about my deal with the manager; I wasn’t going to let that ruin my excitement for the car and to help me fall in love with it I decided to look it up on the VW of  Fairfield dealership website and look at pictures.  I found the car posted online for $18,500, not $22,000.  So, when I went in to talk to the finance person, I asked him for the VIN numbers and I compared the it against that on my mobile and they were the same, so I confronted him about the real price of the car and the fake “deal” I had been offered by the sales manager from $22k down to $20k.  The financing manager informed me that on his database, he had the car indeed noted at $18,500 and he brought in the sales manager to clarify, I confronted him  and he apologized for the “confusion”, there was no confusion – it was clearly deception.  I also then found out that on top of the $1,500 down payment they wanted, that my loan was being upped by the $3000 negative equity that my Honda supposedly had.  It was then that I told the gentlemen that I would not move forward with the deal, that I was angry that I had been lied about two very important pieces of the deal, that I could not go forward with it because I didn’t need a  new car and they were totally under-valuing my Honda.  I asked to please cancel the sale and that I wanted to leave.  I clearly told them that they had damaged the trust. 

The Finance manager (Richard?), then apologized and offered to “make it better”.  He upped my Honda trade-in value so that only $600 would roll into my new loan.  He offered me five years of maintenance for free, of which because of the low mileage that I drive annually, he reduced the frequency of service to once a year.  He then offered me some “packages” at employee price – insurance for bumper to bumper and 2^nd I don’t even recall what it was for, but on my loan it totaled $4000 worth of added cost.  The finance manager was able to process my loan thru my credit union, and he even stated “If I had known earlier… “, I was thinking “I did tell your sale manager.  He wasn’t listening to me.  Dismissed this important piece of information.” 

I walked out of the dealership with a $25,000 load and a used automatic car.  Now, don’t get me  wrong, I love the Golf.  It’s a beautiful machine.  I love the way it drives.  I’ve always loved the way my VWs drove. They make me one with the road.  Totallly awesome.  The following day, I decided to take a look at my loan documents to understand how the car purchase got to be $25k, that’s when I saw the $4000 worth of extended warranties (on a car that still had some factory warranty to go, these extended warranties expire within six years or 60k miles, whichever comes first – the mileage I put on a car <which makes a lease perfect for me> is about 5000 a year and it would take a while before the factory warranty expired, so the extended overprized warranties were not needed.)   I went back to the dealership the next day, drove the 20 miles again and signed a form for the extended warranties to be cancelled and the $4000 refunded to my loan/bank.

I still can’t get over the several attempts to deceit me.  We live in an age where technology gives us so much information and so many purchasing options – I don’t know why the dealer thought that I would not research the car.  And furthermore, why even risk the negative feedback over a couple thousand dollars?  There are so many online platforms for anyone to get on social media and rant and review about a negative experience.  The dealer had the opportunity to wow me and send me off happy and would  have earned a client for life, because that’s what I  wanted – I wanted to be back with VW, be a proud owner of one and look forward to many years of happy driving.  Unfortunately, every time that I get into my car and I drive the automatic Golf, I think of the stressful situation at the dealership that day and really wish I had not gone there.  Although I have five years of free service on the Golf, I might just forgo those because I really don’t want to go back and deal with those people, dishonest people. Once the trust is gone, it’s extremely hard to re-establish.

Lastly, buying a car is a milestone in one’s life and a dealership has the opportunity to create a life lasting bond.  Why not capitalize on that?


 Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my experience with you. 

Jose  

Some thoughts on Mother's Day 2018

Here are some thoughts that have crossed my mind this week about Mother’s Day. 
First of all, in Mexico we celebrate Mother’s Day on May 10th, regardless of what day it falls on.  So this year it was on a Thursday, and I totally forgot about it.  It wasn’t until my sister posted a picture on FB of her at my mother’s grave that I was reminded of the holiday.  And then here comes the following Sunday the 13th, which is the American Mother’s Day and everyone suddenly really really loves their mother, but on any other day they secretly hate her.  But this post isn't about negative feelings we sometimes have for our mothers.  Read on. 

I remember one time when my mother was cooking something in a giant pot and stirring it with a metal spoon and I don’t remember what I asked her for and she rejected my demand and so I called her a bitch; well, she did not hesitate and took the metal spoon and pressed it against my lips, and I never called her a bitch again.  I was seven or eight years old. 

I was also reminiscing this past week of the many times when my mother would take us out on a this "budget" field trips.  I miss those field trips.  My favorite ones were the trips to the Chapultepec Zoo in Mexico City, and she would bring tostadas, deli sliced ham and cream and we would find a spot in a grassy area and pic nic to our heart’s content. 

I also remember that my mother bought me my first pair of figure skates when I was 12 and I was learning how to figure skate in Sparks Nevada; she knew I really wanted a pair of professional skates and she saved up the $300 or so to buy me a pair.  My mother also bought me my first car, which was a VW Rabbit 1977, one that I had specifically had been eyeing for a long time – the car was not on sale, but I loved the design and the turquoise color and the sunroof, and I dreamed of it being mine and then one day my mother said “I don’t want you riding that bike after work in the dark and so we are getting you a car" – and so we walked to a nearby place and when we got there I squealed like a little girl with excitement and my dad told me to STFU because if they saw how badly I wanted it, the seller would raise the price.  I adored that car.  Still, one of my favorites, and when I traded it in for my very first “modern” car, it actually ached. 

I remember that my mother didn’t demand things from me, although she needed things.  I also remember what a dick I was to her a lot of times, for example, one time I told her that I was going to start eating yogurt in the mornings, and so when she went grocery shopping she bought some and brought it home for me and I remember how excited she was to tell me that she had brought me my yogurt, and then I picked it up and saw that it was regular yogurt (not the low fat, low carb that I wanted) and I threw a fit, and she simply said “Just leave it then.  I will eat it.”  But I knew I had hurt her feelings, and to this day, it makes me tear up a little bit.  I'm an ungrateful dick.

I remember one time when she asked me to buy her her smokes, and I told her that I would, but that I would not pull into the driveway to deliver them, but that I would throw them out the window into the yard of our house (on a main avenue) and she could pick them up from there.  I did just that; today I wish I had gotten out of the car and handed her her smokes, because she deserved much more than that. 

I remember how it was 1997 and I discovered the internet, and how it functioned on dialup and how I spent hours and hours online and totally ignored my mother for nearly a year, and I limited her access to the phoneline because I was using it for the internet and I would throw a fit if anyone called and I got disconnected. 

My ma died unexpectedly a year later, and I wish I had spent much more time with her.  Today, I see a lot of young people neglecting their relationships with their parents or people simply holding a grudge against their parents, and it breaks my heart because although I understand that sometimes our parents hurt us and we need to break away, sometime we get so fixated in hating and punishing that we overlook the opportunity to forgive, forget and love for what time we can. 

I miss my mother at random times throughout the year.  And I am thankful for the “other mothers” that I have in my life who care for me.  Thank you , because I did not just turn out to be such an awesome person on my own, I am a product of the contribution of many mothers. 

Anyway, that’s my long-ass mother’s day rant. 

Bye.

Days Like Today

I love those days when I get to stay in my pajamas all day.  Lazy days when even a trip to the grocery store is a challenge and so I rummage thru the cupboards for edibles, and shift around the bottles of mustard and ketchup in the fridge in hopes of finding a delicious gift from the divine – a shifting that’s taken place days before already.  These days of frequent contact with the cats’ eyes, for they are by my side for most of the day.  Days of gratitude in which I realize how blessed I am to be here, with the few old possessions and hoarded books and emotional tokens that surround me; my things – things that I’ve worked hard to accumulate, fruit of my labor, my ingenuity or creativity, things I have collected over time, love letters, cards, journals, calendars.  This is wonderful place; filled with love and cat hair and scratches all over the furniture and hardwood floors… but there’s love.  I love days when I can sit back and see the beauty in what it is.  Days when I allow myself to stop measuring us against irrelevant guidelines and I allow myself to see how great this is.  Days when I allow myself to celebrate this, celebrate us, celebrate me.  I love those days when I acknowledge that every single part of me is beautiful, every single part of me belongs to me, and that is alive!  Today was one of those days – and I am not only thankful for the goodness that surrounds me, but also for the chance to be here and to be me.  Thank you for today!

My cats, the internet and I.

We are becoming an isolated society.  Social media and technology are facilitating and encouraging isolation.  What makes me say this?  Well, first, my commute from Concord to San Francisco takes up two hours of my day, so technically by the time I am home it’s almost seven and I have my daily home tasks to tackle (feed cats, pet cats, clean the litter box, water plants, take out trash, etc.) – so it’s not like I get to go hang out and be social.  And when I do have time to be social, I am actually pretty freaking exhausted from the week running around and all I want to do is sit on my sofa with a cat on my lap and watch Netflix.  Yeah.  But, I love it.  Yes, I do – I LOVE IT!!!  I look forward to my down time.  Alone.  Me. Me. Me.  And I cheat myself into a faux sociability thru social media.  I post thoughts and commentaries and whatnot and a few of you participate in the dialogue, and this leaves me feeling “socialized”.  Check!!  Done.  However, this weekend I left the house and went to see “I, Tonya”.  It was great.  And you know what was great?  To be in the movie theater with other people.  I did not know anyone of the ladies in attendance (to whom I referred to as “white suburban women” in an earlier post), but it was nice to be part of a collective group with a common goal.  We were here, together – elbow to elbow,  to watch a movie about figure skating.   Movie theaters have reported a decrease in revenue due to Netflix and other access to entertainment online (sorry, I do not have a reference), and that troubles me because what if theaters were to close down due to decreased attendance?  Where would we get our people fix?  Church?  Gag.  Is there not something magical about going to a movie theater and being there, transfixed into a fictional story line outside of your existence?  Getting the chance to escape “you” for nearly two hours?  I wish movies were not so expensive.  I mean… a movie in the evening and a soda pop is $20 for sure.   That’s a lot for some folks.  In conclusion, I think it’s important that we keep an eye on where we are headed as a society and what heritage we will leave for the next.  One last point:  NY Times had a few articles about Trump and Oprah, but the key take away from these was how did Trump impact our society and what comes next?  Shit has changed.  Very rapidly.  But, besides the political and governmental – I am more worried about the social.  Amen.

I love myself in the mornings...

My morning routine involves love.  I love myself in the mornings. 

It’s not what you think.  I’m certain you are visualizing a step by step process that involves coffee and toast, but the truth is that my morning routine these past few months has changed, and now is mostly psychological.  And no, it's also not about a solo sexual event; not that kind of love.  It's also not love that stems from the heart - it's a synthetic kind of love with an expiration date of 12PM. 

It is in the mornings when I make the most resolutions; Commit myself to change habits that hinder my growth and my health.  It is in the mornings when I love myself the most and when I commit to making amendments to my behavior.   Because I love me. 

It is in the mornings when I wake up; most likely slightly hungover, that I resolve to quit boozing and get back on the wagon.  It is in the mornings when I shuffle my way to the kitchen sink and I get myself a glass of water to start hydrating.  It’s at this moments when I feel ashamed of myself destructive behavior and I commit to stop and I swear to never drink and to change my ways.  Because I deserve to be healthy, because I am amazing, because I owe it to myself to celebrate me and not hurt me.

It is also in the mornings when I commit to working out more and staying on a consistent running regime.  But, it’s not because I want to be healthy that starts up this dialogue, it’s because I stood in front of the mirror and I spotted all the fat pockets on my body or watched my muffin top squeeze over my jeans.  I will get skinny again, I will get fit, I will burn off all this fatness. 

I love myself in the mornings.  The future is bright and positive in the mornings.  All is good until about noon, then it all changes.  As the afternoon arrives, the healthy Jose seems to evaporate, like Fog.  The unhealthy Jose awakens around noon and takes over and all the morning promises are discarded and replaced with plans for indulgence.  One drink won’t you!  That pastry sure looks tasty; eat it, you can always just run it off later.  Oh, it’s okay to miss a run, it’s cold out.  Etcetera. 

It’s just funny that this has been a discussion I’ve been having with myself every day.  The morning repenting and promises to change my way, following by the afternoon dismissals, negotiating and justification for doing so – The afternoons are indulging. 

But yes, there is some coffee and toast involved at some point. 

A small investment... in the heart.

I came to the realization yesterday that my soul and heart have been craving and longing for something.  I am not sure what, but I have been numbing this thirst with alcohol and other forms of self-destructiveness - things that made me feel empowered, alive, beautiful... but only momentarily, as once the effect would fade, I would find myself back in that same sinkhole, except deeper.

I occasionally give to the homeless, when I can.  I try to give them food first, and money I save for those that are actually working for it, unless I can see that they are mentally ill, then I will give without any demands or expectations.  Regardless, I should always give from the heart, not from the mind.

Today, I got off the train and went to get me a cup of coffee at this place on the upper platform of the Embarcadero train station.  The Jehovah Witnesses have take over a spot right next to the AMT machine.  Today, close to them, hiding behind a large signage was a homeless transsexual.  From afar, I thought it was a woman, a tall and thick lady, with her dirty sleeping bag near by.  Just hiding there, as if awaiting for someone.  At first I thought to give her money, but then I rationalized and came to the conclusion that a sandwich would be a much better contribution, so I bought her a sandwich.  

I paid for my purchase and made my way past the Jehovah Witnesses who were not acknowledging the homeless person (whatever happened to Christina kindness so often preached?)  I went up to her and I said "Sandwich?" and handed it over.  What struck me deep was the look in her eyes as I made my offering, they totally brightened up and sparkled with a little something.  Something beautiful.  It really moved me.

It moved me.  As I made my way towards the escalator, I felt something starting to stir inside me. The look in her eyes had reached inside me and touched something.  Climbing the stairs, a woman passed me and said "That was very nice of you."  I thank her.  And more stuff began to move.  I got to my desk at work and I couldn't help it and I began to cry.  I'm still crying a little bit. I'm overwhelmed with emotions.

I am thankful for this moment.  I am thankful for the opportunity to give, but most importantly, for the opportunity to feel this.  I am sharing this with you not because I want to be validated, but because I want you to; if you can, to take a minute and give someone in need a little sign of hope.  It's not only going to do wonders for the recipient of your kindness, but also for you!!

It is followed by healing...

I find myself feeling rather shattered and shaken at my core.  Not only some events that transpired during my therapy session left me feeling invaded and attachedk, but also a night out with Josh drinking, which turned into complete chaos and ended with me being ditched later in the evening for some boys that he met.  I have no patience for that shit.


My initial responce is shame.  I'm mad at myself and I can't stop beating myself up about it.  However, I cannot continue with that approach; I need to instead forgive myself and practice self love and compassion for me.


I recognize my behavior.  I forgive myself.  I love myself.  I now turn to nurtuing my injuries, the damage both physical and emotional that I may have experienced.  I am embraching myself and understand there was some ache and some sorrow, and I take care of my wounds. 


I will not beat myself about it.  I will work to make changes instead.  I Love you.  I love you Jose. 

Three BART Observations

Because you appreciate my #BART stories.  I have three observations to make.  They are not really stories.  Just observations.

1)      yesterday.  There was a god in office attire riding the train, post work-out.  He had this gym bag.  He was simply gorgeous from the stand point of beauty and perfection.  Actually, one could also consider him to be annoying.  Anyway, as you probably are going to go ahead and assume:  Yes, I was salivating and staring at him like a new born stares at a nipple.  Num num num.  He caught me looking.  Several times.  He didn’t reciprocate my admiration, he would simply look away in a different direction, almost dismissive… but he would flex his muscles.  He would change his stance to an almost model-esque stance and flex his muscles.  And I would catch him looking to see if I was still being a stalker.  I was.  I liked my ride home.  Thank you Walnut Creek.

2)      I got a spoonful of my own medicine.  I was on the train and this one dude was staring at me.  Totally flirtatiously.  We would make eye contact and he would pull up his imaginary geisha fan and hide his shyness and bat his eyelashes.  It was cute at first.  But then by like round 55 I was like “Queen.  Come up and say hello.  Fuck”.  She never did.  I got off the train and she was still being a Geisha.  Bye Felicia.  My point?  I now know how freaky it is to start at dudes.  Am I gonna stop?  Fuck no. 

3)      I bitch and moan about BART all the time.  But on accession, I happen to witness something beautiful and so real that it stuns me.  Today, on the train going towards the Mission around 5 PM was packed, more so than usual.  At Montgomery, these elderly couple got on the train.  The woman was too short to reach the handle.  The man steadied himself and she buried herself into his embrace, with her face pressed against his chest and her hands – wrinkled hands with nails invaded by age – held on to the collar of his jacket.  I felt the love.  Fuck, I felt it.  I almost started crying, but then I would really really really be like totally a crazy Bart Person.  They were crammed closely to me by the mob of commuters; I wanted to join in the embrace.  But I thanked the divinity for allowing me to have this moment.  It made up for many of the negative experiences I have on BART.