Perhaps a better example of the differences between my parent's culture would be in the conversations that go on with the families themselves.
For example, this weekend, when I was at home, and come to think about it, every time I've seen her from my teenage life and on, she's always openly spoken about sex and sexual relations. In fact, it seems like much of my mom's family is open about sex and drugs, to say the least. And, my uncle encourages me to have "sex" buddies, while the other uncle just assumes I have them, and I have no clue what the third uncle thinks. It was, a topic of concern this trip that no one know whether I am or am not a virgin. Like it's any of their business right? Well, it became a huge cause of concern, so much so that my mother took it upon herself to ask me about it while we were at dinner one night. Of course, I gave no direct answer to the question and instead gently hinted at the fact that my status is no one's business. Sigh. . . I really don't care that they ask, but it was kinda weird getting a "talk" from my mom when I'm almost thirty. And it was sort of an eye-opener to realize that it was truly a concern from my mother's side of the family.
My father's side of the family, is a lot more conservative. I don't think I could ever have an open talk about sex with my grandfather. And I highly doubt that either of my uncle's would encourage me to have several sex partners, or to do drugs, or anything wild for that matter.
My father, in fact had difficult time when I started dating, and assumed that the guys I was only friends with were guys I was dating. Let me tell you how uncomfortable I was when he'd introduce my friends to his friends as my boyfriends. Oh. . . my life.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I'm surprised my parents lasted as long as they did.
No one, well at least most people, don't like it when their parents get divorced. But after going home to Puerto Rico this weekend, it suddenly occurred to me that it's a miracle that my parents lasted as long as they did. No really, I'm being serious. I've been immersed in an adapted version of my fathers culture for the past year, and just can not fathom how my parents lasted as long as they did.
Here's the thing. My father's family comes from the all conservative well mannered, respect is everything country of Guatemala. There are customs, and a hierarchy that no one dares disrupt because doing so would cause you offend any number of people. (Trust me, I've done this on a number of occasions throughout my lifetime.)
Then, there is my mother's side of the family. The crazy Puerto Rican side, where, yes, their are customs, but the family is much more laxed about it, and teach by doing rather than ignoring. Here's an example. In my father's side of the family, should you arrive at a family gathering, you great everyone individually starting usually with the eldest person in the room and working your way around. Should you forget to great a person or do it in the wrong order, that person would probably hold it against you for years. You would get either A-the silent treatment or B a stern lecture on how disrespectful and mannerless you are, then you're parents would get lectured for not teaching you the proper manners, or C- they guilt factor, which is the worst, because they'll (both grandparents on my father's side are experts at this) make you feel bad for not knowing any better. That would not be the case on my Mother's side. Instead, said person would approach you, great you, and the night would go on as normal. Sounds nice right.
Now, I must make a clarification when I talk about my father's side of the family. This does not refer so much to the younger generation, who are in their 30s, but more so to the older generation. Only two of the "kids" from the younger generation seem to have issue with this, while it seems like the others either a-don't notice or b-don't care.
Also, I need to say that my grandfather's wife has been amazing to me. For example, unlike many people from my father's side of the family whom I've met throughout the years, she quickly realized that I'm not intending to be "rude," I simply don't know the customs or hmm,. . .I guess we'll call the cultural expectations/protocol, for lack of better words. It was only a week or so after I moved here, that she started to give me clear instructions on who to great first and what to help with, etc. Which is nice. For the most part, I've caught on, but I still screw up here and there, which usually results into a lecture on the spot or days later from at least one of the aunts. At first, this made me crazy--I felt like I could never do anything right, but I've learned to be better about it, and the one's who get bothered by this have recently turned to instructing rather than scolding, so it's been a fair adapting process. But I digress. We need to get back to the story.
So, this weekend, Mothers day, there was a little bit of a fiasco at my grandmother's house. You see, the thing about both cultures is that they tell you to your face what they think of you. If you have too much make-up on, they tell you, if you have a big ugly pimple on your face, they point it out to you, if you're dressed like crap they let you know, and if you're fat, they don't hold back, they tell you that your fat. The difference is that my father's side would strait up tell you in a serious and disapproving tone,(unless it's one of the aunt's or uncles in the younger generation who would either not say anything or make a joke out of it.) while my mother's family will do what they can to turn it into a joke, which is just what happened this weekend.
My uncle called my aunt "FAT." And, according to my grandmother, I made matters worse or lit the match to a wick when I turned to him a said, "Tio, you don't talk to women that way, have a little respect please." I said it in a mocking tone, being half serious while trying not to laugh, but my cousin went "ape-shit" on him.
First she told him never to talk to her like that again, to which he quickly responded to with a sincere apology. I must say, that was very surprising to witness because I've never seen my uncle apologize to anything, but he apologized. However, by that time, my cousin was already seeing red. She wasn't listening and stopped out of the kitchen. Apparently she went to the family room to vent, and the next things I knew, she was walking out of the house calling my uncle a women hater who knew how to ruin mother's day for a woman, and telling him it was no wonder no women would ever stand by his side, and that she didn't want anything to do with him for as long as she lived, blah blah blah blah blah. Needless to say, she was furious.
Was it a ridiculous reaction, I think if you take the culture into consideration, the answer is yes. But anyhow, the whole time this scenario was going on, I was thinking, oh, this would never happen at my grandfather's house. This shit would be stopped before is started-maybe not if it were one of the kids from my grandfather's second marriage, but I can guarantee that none of the grandchildren would dare blow up in this manner on a holiday, at a family gathering, out of strait up fear of causing a scene or upsetting the grandparents. Blowing up at your elders or disrespecting them in any form, regardless of whether or not they have it coming to them is simply not acceptable behavior. I could be 40 and still get my ass whipped for saying something like that. But it happened. And she left, and the incident became the topic of conversation that night and into the next day, and the family came to several conclusions:
1. She is very sensitive to being fat
2. She was under a lot of stress and that was the straw that broke the camel's back
3. She was on her cycle
4. She must be going through something no one knows about.
I however, can not give her reason in this. For one, she has gained a lot of weight since I last saw her. True, she's had two kids, but she's also had two years to work off the weight and hasn't, which wouldn't be an issue except for the fact that I lived with this family for a summer five years ago and they haven't changes a bit. If you're fat, they will tell you you're fat. If you're to skinny, they'll let you know. If you talk too much or not enough or whatever, they will tell you. They do everything short of publishing in the paper all of your flaws, so you just deal with it. She's lived with them all her life and should be accustomed to this by now, but isn't.
On the other hand, I feel for her, because I tend to have weight issues, I have all my life, despite the fact that I hit the gym three to four days a week for a serious work out, and also play sports or go on long bike rides. My diet isn't the greatest, but it's still better than most people's (by this I mean the bulk of my diet consists of fruits, vegetables, and healthy carbs), and yet I struggle to be at a healthy looking size. Not fat, but not skinny, just slightly heavey, and sometimes it's difficult to constantly hear from people that I'm fat or a little on the heavy side, but the truth is I am, and blowing up at them isn't going to do anything. I usually respond by saying, "I'm not fat, I'm pleasantly curvy," which I really believe I am, and leave it at that.
I have obviously gone on a tangent here. The point is that one. These are two vastly different cultures with drastically different reactions to the same incident, and based on a reaction such as this alone, I have no idea how my parents lasted as long as they did.
Here's the thing. My father's family comes from the all conservative well mannered, respect is everything country of Guatemala. There are customs, and a hierarchy that no one dares disrupt because doing so would cause you offend any number of people. (Trust me, I've done this on a number of occasions throughout my lifetime.)
Then, there is my mother's side of the family. The crazy Puerto Rican side, where, yes, their are customs, but the family is much more laxed about it, and teach by doing rather than ignoring. Here's an example. In my father's side of the family, should you arrive at a family gathering, you great everyone individually starting usually with the eldest person in the room and working your way around. Should you forget to great a person or do it in the wrong order, that person would probably hold it against you for years. You would get either A-the silent treatment or B a stern lecture on how disrespectful and mannerless you are, then you're parents would get lectured for not teaching you the proper manners, or C- they guilt factor, which is the worst, because they'll (both grandparents on my father's side are experts at this) make you feel bad for not knowing any better. That would not be the case on my Mother's side. Instead, said person would approach you, great you, and the night would go on as normal. Sounds nice right.
Now, I must make a clarification when I talk about my father's side of the family. This does not refer so much to the younger generation, who are in their 30s, but more so to the older generation. Only two of the "kids" from the younger generation seem to have issue with this, while it seems like the others either a-don't notice or b-don't care.
Also, I need to say that my grandfather's wife has been amazing to me. For example, unlike many people from my father's side of the family whom I've met throughout the years, she quickly realized that I'm not intending to be "rude," I simply don't know the customs or hmm,. . .I guess we'll call the cultural expectations/protocol, for lack of better words. It was only a week or so after I moved here, that she started to give me clear instructions on who to great first and what to help with, etc. Which is nice. For the most part, I've caught on, but I still screw up here and there, which usually results into a lecture on the spot or days later from at least one of the aunts. At first, this made me crazy--I felt like I could never do anything right, but I've learned to be better about it, and the one's who get bothered by this have recently turned to instructing rather than scolding, so it's been a fair adapting process. But I digress. We need to get back to the story.
So, this weekend, Mothers day, there was a little bit of a fiasco at my grandmother's house. You see, the thing about both cultures is that they tell you to your face what they think of you. If you have too much make-up on, they tell you, if you have a big ugly pimple on your face, they point it out to you, if you're dressed like crap they let you know, and if you're fat, they don't hold back, they tell you that your fat. The difference is that my father's side would strait up tell you in a serious and disapproving tone,(unless it's one of the aunt's or uncles in the younger generation who would either not say anything or make a joke out of it.) while my mother's family will do what they can to turn it into a joke, which is just what happened this weekend.
My uncle called my aunt "FAT." And, according to my grandmother, I made matters worse or lit the match to a wick when I turned to him a said, "Tio, you don't talk to women that way, have a little respect please." I said it in a mocking tone, being half serious while trying not to laugh, but my cousin went "ape-shit" on him.
First she told him never to talk to her like that again, to which he quickly responded to with a sincere apology. I must say, that was very surprising to witness because I've never seen my uncle apologize to anything, but he apologized. However, by that time, my cousin was already seeing red. She wasn't listening and stopped out of the kitchen. Apparently she went to the family room to vent, and the next things I knew, she was walking out of the house calling my uncle a women hater who knew how to ruin mother's day for a woman, and telling him it was no wonder no women would ever stand by his side, and that she didn't want anything to do with him for as long as she lived, blah blah blah blah blah. Needless to say, she was furious.
Was it a ridiculous reaction, I think if you take the culture into consideration, the answer is yes. But anyhow, the whole time this scenario was going on, I was thinking, oh, this would never happen at my grandfather's house. This shit would be stopped before is started-maybe not if it were one of the kids from my grandfather's second marriage, but I can guarantee that none of the grandchildren would dare blow up in this manner on a holiday, at a family gathering, out of strait up fear of causing a scene or upsetting the grandparents. Blowing up at your elders or disrespecting them in any form, regardless of whether or not they have it coming to them is simply not acceptable behavior. I could be 40 and still get my ass whipped for saying something like that. But it happened. And she left, and the incident became the topic of conversation that night and into the next day, and the family came to several conclusions:
1. She is very sensitive to being fat
2. She was under a lot of stress and that was the straw that broke the camel's back
3. She was on her cycle
4. She must be going through something no one knows about.
I however, can not give her reason in this. For one, she has gained a lot of weight since I last saw her. True, she's had two kids, but she's also had two years to work off the weight and hasn't, which wouldn't be an issue except for the fact that I lived with this family for a summer five years ago and they haven't changes a bit. If you're fat, they will tell you you're fat. If you're to skinny, they'll let you know. If you talk too much or not enough or whatever, they will tell you. They do everything short of publishing in the paper all of your flaws, so you just deal with it. She's lived with them all her life and should be accustomed to this by now, but isn't.
On the other hand, I feel for her, because I tend to have weight issues, I have all my life, despite the fact that I hit the gym three to four days a week for a serious work out, and also play sports or go on long bike rides. My diet isn't the greatest, but it's still better than most people's (by this I mean the bulk of my diet consists of fruits, vegetables, and healthy carbs), and yet I struggle to be at a healthy looking size. Not fat, but not skinny, just slightly heavey, and sometimes it's difficult to constantly hear from people that I'm fat or a little on the heavy side, but the truth is I am, and blowing up at them isn't going to do anything. I usually respond by saying, "I'm not fat, I'm pleasantly curvy," which I really believe I am, and leave it at that.
I have obviously gone on a tangent here. The point is that one. These are two vastly different cultures with drastically different reactions to the same incident, and based on a reaction such as this alone, I have no idea how my parents lasted as long as they did.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Five Borough Bike Ride
Ok,
So last month . . . well, actually in mid March, I got it in my head that I was going to do this Five Borough Bike Tour in NY. I've been riding around the streets of NY some 22-26 miles on weekends to prepare, and was so excited about it, that last night, I slept maybe two hours, because I was so worried that I wouldn't wake up in time. (Yes, we all know I can be 'slightly' neurotic at times)
I don't know what I was thinking. The website says they cap participants at 30,000 people, but when we got there the announcer said that there were 37,000 people out on the tour. CRAZY! All you could see for miles and miles, was a sea of helmets. And, there were so many people out, that we were forced to dismount our bikes on several occasions because the space allotted simply couldn't handle the amount of riders in them.
I think, all in all, we probably walked 5 miles worth of the stretch. Around mile 25 it started to rain pretty hard, and by the time I finished the race, my clothing stuck to me like a second skin, my fingers were numb, and my feet were sopping wet. I was so cold, that the first aid people gave me a hypothermic blanket thing--You'll see in the picture. Anyhow, my friend's bike broke around mile 15, so I finished the race all on my lonesome. I met several nice people along the way, and got picked up on by a couple of nice guys, which is always flattering. And, since we were on bikes, I had the perfect reason for not being able to exchange numbers, although, one of the guys did hand me his business card, which was interesting. He just whipped it out of his pocket and asked me to e-mail him sometime, and almost crashed into someone in the process, since he wasn't watching the road.
The ride was fun, but I'm thinking it was a once-in-a lifetime deal for me. I think I prefer long stretches of biking where you don't have to get off the bike or worry about crashing into the person in front of you, or getting crashed in to by the person behind you. It was a great experience though. Despite the wretchedly cold and rainy day, most people were in good spirits, and the natives kept telling me all about the best trails and where to ride this summer. Oh, and it turns out that my neighbors that live two complexes down from me are really big into biking. They're about my age and invited me to join them on future outings. YEAH! I'm so excited for biking buddies. I love my mountain bike, but I think I'm slowly convincing myself that it's time for a road bike. . . we'll see how much I get into this NY biking club before I make my decision.
OK, that's all. Gotta go. I know it's a long e-mail, but I'm super excited and wanted to share.
Have a great day! :-)
Your loving friend, sister, niece, daughter, or cousin,
-Maritza
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Rough Night
My grandfather went into some sort of shock tonight. The image of his head bobbing backwards, and his eyes closed with his mouth slightly open, is nothing that I ever want to see again. I hope the image will soon be erased from my mind, because it's almost too much to handle.
My grandmother, from the other side of the family is pretty sick too. She's been hospitalized, and I'm scared. I don't want my fairy tale grandmother to pass away. I love her so much. And even though I'm not that child or grandchild that calls all the time, she holds a very very very very special place in my heart, and for some irrational reason, I was under the impression that she was going to live forever. My magical grandmother has to live forever, because that's just the way it is. But she's dying, and I'm so sad. It breaks my heart to think of my vibrant, stubborn, outspoken grandmother, laying in a hospital room in pain, trying to run her life and make decisions on her health, when she can barely move. And I feel so awful for my cousin, and my uncles, and my mom, who do what they can to help, but aren't experts and have to witness her detriment first hand. Life seems so cruel and unfair at times.
Yet, i pray each night for their health and to be out of pain. And I cry myself to sleep, and am thankful to the spirit that brings of life, God, or whatever power is out there that lets us be, that at least I'm able to meet them, and talk to them, and let them know how much I love them. And, they're surrounded by a loving family that cares for them. That I'm lucky enough to be part of a huge family that cares and loves as much as we all do, because the most beautiful thing about life, is knowing and feeling the love of a family.
My grandmother, from the other side of the family is pretty sick too. She's been hospitalized, and I'm scared. I don't want my fairy tale grandmother to pass away. I love her so much. And even though I'm not that child or grandchild that calls all the time, she holds a very very very very special place in my heart, and for some irrational reason, I was under the impression that she was going to live forever. My magical grandmother has to live forever, because that's just the way it is. But she's dying, and I'm so sad. It breaks my heart to think of my vibrant, stubborn, outspoken grandmother, laying in a hospital room in pain, trying to run her life and make decisions on her health, when she can barely move. And I feel so awful for my cousin, and my uncles, and my mom, who do what they can to help, but aren't experts and have to witness her detriment first hand. Life seems so cruel and unfair at times.
Yet, i pray each night for their health and to be out of pain. And I cry myself to sleep, and am thankful to the spirit that brings of life, God, or whatever power is out there that lets us be, that at least I'm able to meet them, and talk to them, and let them know how much I love them. And, they're surrounded by a loving family that cares for them. That I'm lucky enough to be part of a huge family that cares and loves as much as we all do, because the most beautiful thing about life, is knowing and feeling the love of a family.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I think I have post-traumatic stress
Lately, people killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves, is all over t.v., or at least all over the few shows I watch, and frankly, it's making it really difficult for me to watch these shows. Not because the writing isn't good, or because of dis-interest, but because of the cold fear that creeps up my spine and settles into my bones every time the images pop on screen. The images stay with me all night as well, causing fitful sleep as I strive to wake from the horrific images that plague my dreams for many nights thereafter. It's my struggle, I suppose in dealing with my own insecurities and the guilt associated with Grant and Aubrey's deaths.
I am still so angry at them, I suppose, but I really don't know. My therapist said that they chose a long-term solution for a short term problem. Oh how, I wish someone had told them that when they were making their decisions to leave. My cousin made the comment once, that she was so angry because there are so many people striving to live in this world, so many people born with an illness, or who have come into bad health, and live each day fighting to live another day, yet they (Aubrey and Grant) they chose death, a finite end to what so many other people wanted. I still struggle to understand it, and at the same time fear that some day, I, like them will loose that instinct of self preservation. It seems so inhuman. And so unreal, but once people close to you choose that path, it makes you doubt yourself, and wonder if you'd be capable of going down that same road.
I hope not, I'd rather fight for what's mine to have. For what's mine to experience, and I'd want to choose to live for Emily and Tony who died such tragic deaths at so young a time. I'd choose to live for those two people who were just blossoming into new people, when life dealt them a cruel blow, and cheated families of a brother and sister, a father, a son and daughter, etc. It seemed so unfair. And yet, I still live with the sadness, and the anger, but mostly the fear.
The fear of being so afraid of the consequences, that I'm afraid to take big risks and chances in life. The fear of not ever becoming who I'm really supposed to be, because I'm afraid of what that would do to me, of whom I would become, and of how drastically my life would change. But also, there's that fear of living life without taking those risks, and cheating myself of a once-in-a-life-time adventure of Life.
I still lay in bed at night, and sometimes hear their laugh, or voice, and see a memory clear as day. And for a moment everything is peaceful, and life is as it should be, and those events of the past are nothing but a horrible dream. But then the dream beaks and I'm saddened, and anger causes me to push the memory aside. I go outside and turn my face towards the warm sun, and remember all the light in the world. I let the sun hug me with her rays, and remind me of all that's good in life, and am happy again, for that moment, in that day.
I am still so angry at them, I suppose, but I really don't know. My therapist said that they chose a long-term solution for a short term problem. Oh how, I wish someone had told them that when they were making their decisions to leave. My cousin made the comment once, that she was so angry because there are so many people striving to live in this world, so many people born with an illness, or who have come into bad health, and live each day fighting to live another day, yet they (Aubrey and Grant) they chose death, a finite end to what so many other people wanted. I still struggle to understand it, and at the same time fear that some day, I, like them will loose that instinct of self preservation. It seems so inhuman. And so unreal, but once people close to you choose that path, it makes you doubt yourself, and wonder if you'd be capable of going down that same road.
I hope not, I'd rather fight for what's mine to have. For what's mine to experience, and I'd want to choose to live for Emily and Tony who died such tragic deaths at so young a time. I'd choose to live for those two people who were just blossoming into new people, when life dealt them a cruel blow, and cheated families of a brother and sister, a father, a son and daughter, etc. It seemed so unfair. And yet, I still live with the sadness, and the anger, but mostly the fear.
The fear of being so afraid of the consequences, that I'm afraid to take big risks and chances in life. The fear of not ever becoming who I'm really supposed to be, because I'm afraid of what that would do to me, of whom I would become, and of how drastically my life would change. But also, there's that fear of living life without taking those risks, and cheating myself of a once-in-a-life-time adventure of Life.
I still lay in bed at night, and sometimes hear their laugh, or voice, and see a memory clear as day. And for a moment everything is peaceful, and life is as it should be, and those events of the past are nothing but a horrible dream. But then the dream beaks and I'm saddened, and anger causes me to push the memory aside. I go outside and turn my face towards the warm sun, and remember all the light in the world. I let the sun hug me with her rays, and remind me of all that's good in life, and am happy again, for that moment, in that day.
Monday, April 13, 2009
The bike ride
So, I'm on this biking kick--the same one I go on every spring. Only this time I'm in the "Big City," and it can be kinda scary. I mean, cars only stop at the red light at the very last second, pedestrians never stop for lights or traffic, and the roads aren't exactly always well kept. Really, it's no surprise to me that most people own a mountain bike.
Anyhow, so I did 22 miles last weekend and 24 miles this weekend. Each weekend I explored a different part of the city. Las weekend was passover, and we were following Vernon road until we came across a ginormous gathering of hasidic Jews. It appeared that they were waiting for some sort of shipment. Well, we worked are way through the black sea of clocks and continued to ride through an obviously Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn until we eventually made our way to the Brooklyn Bridge. On the way, we saw these really cool old ruins covered by vines that ended up being part of an old Army something or other. I can't remember, but I really wished I had a film camera at that time to take black and white photo's of it.
This weekend, I decided to explore Astoria, but 10 miles wasn't enough for me, so I rode over the 59th street bridge, across Manhatten and up the Hudson River trail, were I discovered riverside park, which was actually pretty cute and quaint. I liked it. I turned around at 125th street because my knee started to hurt, but curiosity was urging me to go on.
This coming weekend, I think, that for safety reasons, I'll take the subway into the city, start my ride up the trail, and see if I can make it as far as the George Washington Bridge. That would be pretty fun, and quite an accomplishment.
Anyhow, so I did 22 miles last weekend and 24 miles this weekend. Each weekend I explored a different part of the city. Las weekend was passover, and we were following Vernon road until we came across a ginormous gathering of hasidic Jews. It appeared that they were waiting for some sort of shipment. Well, we worked are way through the black sea of clocks and continued to ride through an obviously Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn until we eventually made our way to the Brooklyn Bridge. On the way, we saw these really cool old ruins covered by vines that ended up being part of an old Army something or other. I can't remember, but I really wished I had a film camera at that time to take black and white photo's of it.
This weekend, I decided to explore Astoria, but 10 miles wasn't enough for me, so I rode over the 59th street bridge, across Manhatten and up the Hudson River trail, were I discovered riverside park, which was actually pretty cute and quaint. I liked it. I turned around at 125th street because my knee started to hurt, but curiosity was urging me to go on.
This coming weekend, I think, that for safety reasons, I'll take the subway into the city, start my ride up the trail, and see if I can make it as far as the George Washington Bridge. That would be pretty fun, and quite an accomplishment.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Never Ending Quest for the Red Baron
Red Baron (http://www.redbaron.com/default.aspx) is truly the worlds best Frozen pizza. Nothing expressed the comfort of home like crispy crust Red Baron frozen pizza on a Friday night, while watching a chick flick on the big screen, with your dog on one side and the cats curled up at the top of the stairs.
Sadly, I don't live with my cats and my dog anymore, which I had mentally prepared for, so I'm ok with that, but now I have to live without the my Continent Soy Milk (http://www.8thcontinent.com/) as well as without my Red Baron Pizza, which I will again proclaim as the best Frozen Pizza to grace this earth. It's seriously Yummy! and I am so sad to be living without it.
I've been to countless stores in Manhatten in search of my Red Baron and Continent, but to no avail. It's all about the snooty pattootie healthy crap, or frozen Pizza's for one. How lonely does that sound? Sigh, I think next time I go home and bringing back pizza and soy milk. I know, it sound ridiculous, but I already checked Amazon, can't buy it there, so I'll have to fly it to me.
Sadly, I don't live with my cats and my dog anymore, which I had mentally prepared for, so I'm ok with that, but now I have to live without the my Continent Soy Milk (http://www.8thcontinent.com/) as well as without my Red Baron Pizza, which I will again proclaim as the best Frozen Pizza to grace this earth. It's seriously Yummy! and I am so sad to be living without it.
I've been to countless stores in Manhatten in search of my Red Baron and Continent, but to no avail. It's all about the snooty pattootie healthy crap, or frozen Pizza's for one. How lonely does that sound? Sigh, I think next time I go home and bringing back pizza and soy milk. I know, it sound ridiculous, but I already checked Amazon, can't buy it there, so I'll have to fly it to me.
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