I Left My House Yesterday
There is a whole world out there: The Grove, a hugger, Urth Cafe, Sonny Ray and Ethpaña!
Guadalupe Gonzalez, Contributing Writer
I decided I had to leave my house. When I was not inside, it was bitterly cold outside. When I was inside, I would catch a glimpse of the people in Newtown, Connecticut, of a funeral, of a gun nut frothing at the mouth, or Piers Morgan.
Published on LatinoLA: December 20, 2012
And whenever I saw Piers Morgan, he was arguing with some NRA dude, and I kept yelling at the t.v.: "Piers, shut off his microphone! You know he's a lunatic!" But Piers could not hear me, and everyone continued to yell. And as for the weather, our heater is broken and it is presently 57 degrees Farenheit in the house. I am wearing so many clothes that I think I need a grocery store cart to complete my "look."
I am thankful that tomorrow I am going to the dentist, because they may have a warm office. Although the receptionist disgusts me, she of the built-up triceps who is in her forties but has a daughter in her twenties. The receptionist either started "schtupping" early in puberty, or has made a deal with Patas Coloradas, like in "The Picture of Dorian Grey." Get the picture? (pun intended.)
Then I hope to go visit my Papi's place, where we buried him three years ago, on the twenty first of December. I have roses for him, which are keeping very well in our refrigerator/laundry room. And they are beautiful.
Tonight, I write rather tentatively, because I am so sad for the families who have suffered so this past week. They are foremost in our minds, or at least, in mine. But I mourn also for families who are not in the public eye, who do not have specialized counselors to help them deal with their own issues. I mourn for people in the cold, the real, "I-am-sitting-out-here-on-the-concrete" cold. My husband told me some guard saw two people, one was a lady sleeping in a public building. The guard awakened her, not from a luxurious, feather-bedded uber comfortable mattress, but from her hunched up, grizzled sleep. He told her to move on. She could not stay there.
While my husband was telling me this, I was thinking, "Oh, God, please do not tell me they found her frozen body elsewhere." Apparently the lady headed toward the train tracks and hopped on a train, and just rode it, back and forth, back and forth, while she slept. And yet again, I wondered, why must people be mean in the name of "just doing my job, man." Sure, there are cameras everywhere, but do we not all have human hearts and souls and minds? Has there not been a time when someone needed a kind word, an unselfish act, a bit of change? And, all of a sudden, another person says, "You okay?" And when you spill your guts or start to cry, has that person not tried to help? We have all been there, to one degree or another.
So, I went to The Grove, to a rather expensive store, to pick up what I had left behind one day. A coin purse. Thing is, I had a $50.00 gift card from that store, plus another 25% off, and I was left owing about $1.10, which I did not have. As I walked in, people were hurrying past me, not looking at anything but pieces of paper or their phones. No one walked slowly and took in the expensive decorations, or heard the music playing, or saw children's faces when they walked out of Santa's Workshop. I walked slowly, because I have a heel spur, and just looked around.
I realize the whole place is like a movie set, stores placed just so, to catch the most attention, other stores sending employees out intermittently to spritz "their" perfume to lure people in with sexiness. All phoney. I saw not one Nativity or creche, nothing of any religious nature. Just stuff to make us say, "Hey, I want that!" When, just an instant before, we had not even considered coveting it. But now, it had to be in my bag.
I got my coin purse and left. A man called out to me in the parking lot, where I had abandoned my dinged up car in the Farmer's Market Parking Lot. He rushed over and had that, "Do you have a dollar to spare?" look about him. I gave him a dollar and told him I wished I had more to give. That is when he asked for a hug. Sure, I could use a hug, too. Unfortunately, he had an Eau de Thunderbird scent about him, and I hoped that is not where my dollar would be going next. But, oh well. We waved a fond farewell and he told me I had a good "aura", which in L.A., means a lot!
I then cruised over to my favorite coffee place in all the land: The Urth Caffe. Now, I tell you this as a complete and utter confidence, for it is my secret place to just sit and watch the world go by. And do not dare order the tomato and rice soup, the best ever, and all organic. Do not even try it, okay? I know you can keep my secret, Mi Gente, and that is why you are Mi Gente. Everybody there is Latino, and if you order a latte in a mug, they paint a picture in the foam! I love it. So, I was walking outside, getting close to my car, and this man in a BMW hops out of his car.
And when I say "hops", he Pilates/Zumba/Abs of Steel/Cinnabuns hops. And in his leather passenger seat is not the tall, blonde with highlights and extensions to there. NO! There is Sun Ray. It is his picture that his owner, Josh Reyes, could be star of the next tele-novela, playing the love interest and possibly the unidentified father of a baby expected by a girl who used to be a nun, but then had doubts about her faith and was ruined when another sacerdote saw her kissing a Methodist. NO!!
My mind wandered off for a moment there. It was Sonny Ray and his owner, Josh Reyes. Sonny's future is so bright, he needs sunglasses! Sun Ray and his owner-person, Josh, were out for business meetings and water for Sonny Ray. They are going to be doing a "DOG-umentary", naturally starring Sonny Ray. That dog, I can tell you, has natural talent and un petit quelque chose (I do know what that means but my iPhone told me to say it.) Anyway, Sonny Ray has "IT". After I stopped fawning all over the dog, i turned and saw the most beautiful little drawing on a wall. I took pictures, and you will see them soon.
I drove home, drinking mi cafecito and singing songs de España (or, if you prefer, "Ethpaña." Just seems so poser.) All in all, I was glad that I had left the house, seen all the beautiful decorations, avoided all the spritzy employees, hugged my own personal panhandler, met Sonny Ray and drove home with cafethito y muthica.
Hathta la vithta. Maybe my dentitht will know what to do about the phoney ethpañol.
Guadalupe Gonzalez, Contributing Writer:
A Woman in Mourning, I Tried to See Light