Red Red Wine

Heads up, the Author of this post has consumed 4, maybe 5, glasses of Red Wine.  It worked for Hemingway, right?


Some thoughts on some things:

The Blog
Posts have been few and far between of late.  Shortly before Thanksgiving, during Thanksgiving, and after Thanksgiving, I had some personal, family, and business obligations to attend to.  I had to focus on those things which didn't leave much time for anything else.  I could either press on with going to the gym and continue working on my health or write the blog.  Of course, I chose to let the blog slide.  I had too.

In addition to not having enough time to focus on the blog, I felt stuck -- there are only so many ways that you can say that you are going to the gym.  The last two posts I needed to write for me, for my family.  After that, writing about losing weight didn't seem as important.

Going forward, I still want to write at least twice a week.  I love writing and I have things that I want to say, so I'll find the time to do it.

The Country
Today, was a horrible day for America.  DADT, Tax Cuts, D.R.E.A.M. Act, Volume Levels for Commercials... Instead of making some positive changes in the policies of our country, our leaders, that we elected, have done nothing.  Instead of addressing some of the major issues of our day, that could include people, we chose to keep them out.  Instead of making history, we kept with the status quo.  It makes me sick.

I am a lower Middle Class American, the son of Immigrants, with friends and family that are gay, who has a remote control that adjust the volume on his television.  Today, my government did nothing to help me, and everything to piss me off...Fuck this, lets move on...

An Angry Mexican Guy in Chicago will be back in a second.  The author, having read the last two paragraphs has slammed his wine and is on his way to get more.  Please enjoy this message from our sponsor:

Taco & Burrito House - Just Good Food

The Women

Um...Nope, not that drunk.  Lets keep going.

The Friends

I...Well...Um...You know...Right?  Yea...You know.

I love you all.

The Family
I...Well...Um...You know...Right?  Yea...You know.

I love you all.

The End

The wine caught up with me.  If you see above, I think it happened when I went to Google the picture for the Burrito House.   That is it for now.  

I'll be back soon.

Sober. 

Peas piece peace. 

Hemingway is a fucking G.  Writing is tough when your drunky. Really tough.

To My Favorite Skate Boarder:

Dear Dude,

I've never told this to anyone really, but things being how they are, maybe its time...

I've never tried to kill myself.  

Once in my life, though, I tried to make myself go insane...

About 5 or 6 years ago, I don't remember exactly when, I ate an 1/8th of Mushrooms.  For the second night in a  row.  I was working this crappy job, and my Boss at the time made an investment in Mushrooms -- a recession proof stock, really.  I was doing a good job at work around that time and I would frequently get tipped in 1/8th's of Mushrooms.  Back then, I couldn't believe how lucky I was but looking back on it now, it was one of the most dangerous and self destructive periods of my life.

As I have mentioned before, my Mother and I had a ton of issues.  The biggest of which, which you may or may not have heard about before, was when she confessed to me that she had been lying to me my whole life about who my father was.  I did not know how to handle that information.  Any sense of who I was, or what I was supposed to do with my life was gone.  

I had dropped out of college.  I was broke.  I didn't trust anyone or anything.  I was trying to use the people around me to make myself feel better, to understand what the hell was going on around me but all that did was push people away.  That brought on this intense loneliness and depression that I didn't know how to deal with.  I was a hot fucking mess.  I often thought that I didn't fit in, or know how to live in the world that everyone else lived in. 

I thought I was going crazy.  I can still remember those feelings.  When I think about those days, my neck tenses up, my jaws clinch, I start to get nervous and sweaty.

Well, one night, 5 or 6 years ago, I came home from work with my second 1/8th of Mushrooms in as many nights.  I held that 1/8th of Mushrooms in my hand, and I decided that I was sick of being afraid to go crazy.  I was going to take matters into my own hands.  I had eaten an 1/8th the night before, and I knew how strong these things were, but I also knew that they weren't going to kill me -- I was too afraid to kill myself, but I was perfectly OK with making myself go crazy.

So I ate this entire bag of Mushrooms and let me tell you, Dude, it was one of the scariest fucking things I have ever lived through.

For about three hours there, I thought I had done it.  I vaguely remember sitting in front of a television, in my living room, all alone.  I looked outside and I didn't know if it was day or night.  It was rainging, but I didn't know what rain was.  I couldn't understand the languages that were coming out of the speakers on the television.  I was terrified.  I couldn't stop crying, and laughing, and feeling nothing, and crying, and laughing, and feeling nothing.

For three hours I was convinced I was in hell.  

Somehow, 5 hours in, I ended up at my Mom's house at 3 in the morning.  I woke her up, I told her what I had done, I told her that I had gone crazy and that I didn't know what was going on.  I scared her senseless.  We called my Godfather, and I called a friend, I told them both that I was crazy, and that I couldn't deal with reality anymore.  I may have told the friend that I planned to hurt myself, at that moment, it seemed like the only way out. This trip wasn't ending.

My Godfather and my friend calmed me down, Dude.  They walked me back into reality, and gave me some hope.  My Godfather told me to spend the night at my Mom's and that he would take me to the doctor in the morning, which we did.  

That night was one of the worst nights of my life. 

I am sharing this with you, Dude, because you need to understand that you are not alone in feeling the way that you feel.  I want you to know that there are other people that have gone through what you are going through.  I also want you to know this because I hope that you never, ever, ever, live through something like that. 

Never, ever, ever.

You have a strong, loving, amazing group of people around you.  They love you.  So much, they love you.  In time, you will come to see, how I did, that there is strength and hope in that love.  You need to understand that if you ever feel like doing something so hurtful to yourself, you have people around you that understand, and while we may not feel how you feel, we understand.  

We are here for you.  Please, please, please don't forget that.

I won't lie and say that everything was great and perfect the next day.  It wasn't.  For a long time, it wasn't.

5 or 6 years later, though, having lived through all I have lived.  I can say, that things are better.  It took a lot of hard work, and there was a lot of bullshit to deal with along the way, but things are better.  

I have the greatest friends a guy could ask for.  I create awesome works of art, with amazingly talented artists.    I am still broke, but thats ok, haha....More time, more effort...

As cheesy as it sounds, it gets better.

Much Luv, Dude,

Chuy

11/23/1947

She was born November 23, 1947.  Tomorrow, she would have been 63.  The last birthday that I spent with her, was two years ago, when she turned 61.

I don't really remember what we did during the day but that night was spent at home, in our kitchen.  We had dinner, I think.  She wasn't feeling to well, she hadn't been for a few weeks.  No one really knew what was wrong.

No one actually thought anything was wrong with her.

The last five years of her life, she had a shit ton of health problems.  She was a diabetic.  She was a smoker.  She was overweight.  She had a useless limb -- her ankle, heel and all of the bones connecting them had been shattered in a car accident.  The useless limb made her mobility pretty much non existent, which didn't help her weight or her diabetes.  She also had ovarian cancer.

Those five years, she had hospital stays of at least a week at Northwestern, Swedish Covenant, St. Joseph's, St. Elizabeth, and St. Mary's.  I was on a first name basis with the staff at some of those places.  We went to the hospital all of the fucking time.

The year leading up to her 61st birthday was very similar to the previous 4 in that regard.  She kept asking me to take her to the doctor.  She wanted a pill that would give her her strength back.  That is all she would ever say.  "Tell him that I feel week, that I want a pill or something to give me my strength back..."  Her doctors having given her ever fucking medicine under the Sun, really didn't know what to say.  They would take blood samples, run tests, nothing of consequence would ever be found.

Ever.

Three months before her 61st birthday, she spent 3 weeks at St. Mary's.  They thought that she had put on too strong a pain patch (she had them because of her foot) and that she had started to get addicted.  That she was weak and her balance was off because was fucked up all the time.

They thought this because I told them that is what I thought happened.

My mother and I had a trust problem.  I didn't fucking trust her.  When I was 18 she revealed to me that the person I thought was my father, was NOT my father.  It was just a name I had, mind you -- I'd never met my father, but I had a name.  I thought I knew who he was.  When that happened, her and I were never quite the same.  In time I would grow to understand, well, reconcile that situation.  As, I saw it, my mother was a person, she made some mistakes, but she always loved me.  Who was I to judge someone that did nothing but love me all of my life?  She asked to be forgiven, but I never did.  I never felt that I had too.

She never did anything to me, but love me unconditionally.  Yes, she lied.  She made that mistake.  But after that, it was Ride or Die, Bitches...  No one had my back the way she did.  No one.

To forgive her was to say that she needed to apologize for loving me...That never felt right.

The thing is, I never really trusted her again.  I tried.  Actually I am not sure that I did.  I hope I did.  It was all just so fucked up at the time.  I don't know.  I do know that the trust was never the same.  Ever.

When I told those doctors that she had taken too strong a pain patch it was because neither they, nor anyone else, at any other hospital, ever found anything wrong with her.  Doubt crept into my head.  I stopped listening to her.  I got angry, frustrated that I kept having to take her to all of these fucking doctors appointments and nothing would ever be fucking found to be wrong with her.  Other members of my family started thinking the same thing.  Maybe she was just getting old.  Maybe she just wanted attention.  Maybe the guilt of her life being exposed just caused her to go insane.  We all thought she might have just lost it.

The night of her 61st birthday, I was at my wits end.  An Uncle came over.  He saw her, saw the way she was acting, and because she had just been released from the hospital, because I was so angry, and we were all so frustrated, we just stopped listening.  I resented that even on her birthday, she couldn't let up this act for sympathy.  That she was just acting this sick and confused to sell the fact that she was sick, when in fact she was fine.

My Uncle and I challenged her, if she felt as bad as she was acting she just needed to go to the fucking hospital.  She refused.  She had been in and out of those places so much she didn't trust them.  I mistook her refusal for not wanting to be found out.  I was so confused.  So angry. She wasn't lying to me.  She wasn't acting.

She was fucking terrified of having to go back to the needles and the nurses and the shitty food and the hard beds.  I had stopped listening though.

Finally, she agreed.  We would go to the hospital the next day.  She wanted to spend the night at home.  It was her birthday, she wanted to sleep in her bed.  In the morning, we would go.

We did.  The day after her 61st birthday, I called an ambulance.  For the 3rd time that year, fire fighters, about 8 of them, filled our house, carried her out, loaded her in an ambulance, and then we would rush to the emergency room.

When we arrived, I told the doctor her history, like ever other time.  I knew her medicine.  I would run down our hospital stays, how long, what hospital, and what for.  I would list the various surgeries, for what, when, and where.  I knew what doctors they should speak to at what hospitals to fill in any blanks.  I had this routine down.

This particular time, I told the doctor I was leaving.  "Listen dude, I have to go to work.  I don't know what the fuck is wrong with her, I just can't take this anymore, I need to take off.  Just...Just call me when you don't find anything."

The doctor said, "No problem, Mr. Contreras.  You go ahead.  I just got her blood work back, everything does look normal.  I'm gonna run a few more tests and then I'll call you.  Have a good afternoon."

I left the ER, got in the car, left the hospital, pulled over and called my Godfather.  The closest thing I have to a father.  I broke down.  I was convinced she had gone insane.  He agreed.  Maybe we needed to face the fact that she had in fact lost her mind.  Maybe for the good of everyone involved the next stop, after the ER, was a psychiatrist.  After all, nothing was wrong with her.

The day after her 61st birthday, at about 3:20pm, I found out that her ovarian cancer had spread.

The doctor told me that my Mother had 13 brain tumors.

She died 7 months later.

I work hard to move past her death.  I make an effort to be positive.  To remember the good parts.  To move on and not let this moment in my life define who I am.  I am not entirely there yet.  Fuck, I don't even know that I am close to being there yet.  I do know that I know that I will always miss her.  I know that I loved her, and that she loved me.  I know that she is not suffering.  I know that I am alive.  I know that she would want me to live.  I know that she would want to know that I am not suffering.

Not today though.  Her 63rd birthday is still to close to her 61st.

I will go to the gym.  I will go to work.  I will go to that dinner meeting and talk art.  I will live.  But I will hurt.

I will hurt so fucking much.  A pain that I can't explain. A pain I don't wish on anyone.  A mix of headache and loneliness and body ache, and fuck, fuck, fuck, God Damn it I fucking miss my Mom.  There is no getting around it.  I am human.  This is how it works.

I will also remember though, in that pain, how much she loved me.  How much I loved her.  It wouldn't fucking hurt as much as it does if we didn't love each other as much as we did.

Feliz Cumpelanos, Madre.

Te quiero, tanto...

Tanto...

Tanto.

(If there are spelling error or grammatical mistakes, for give them.  I needed to get this out, I just can't go back and read it right now.)

Change In The House of The Chuy

You often hear, at least I do anyway, that saying, "People never change...".  

That idea terrified me.  No wait, that is a lie.  Not terrified.

Terrifies. 

Besides mice, nothing scares me more.  

Its a crutch that I have used my entire life to stop myself from developing myself .  I knew that, in my case, my life and the way that I looked, were a direct result of the choices I made and the attitudes I held about the world around me -- I just didn't want to admit it.  Instead of realizing I was the reason I was who I was, I chose to ignore that fact.  I made myself a victim.  Things happened to me, never because of me.

Whenever I would hear that saying, "People never change...", it would make me quiver.  Every time, what I heard was, "You live life how you live it because this is what you want.  You will never put the effort into being happy, into living the life you want.  You will always be this way because people never change."  For a fleeting second, that is what I would hear, regardless of the context it was said.  Like the flash on a camera, it would blind me for a second, and then I would dismiss it. 

You see,  I knew that it would take a lot of hard fucking work.  The hardest work I had ever done in my life, to correct the mistakes I had made which resulted in me being who I was.  I had to take responsibility for my actions and realize that I looked how I did, and felt how I did, because I wasn't willing to put in the work to be happy.  (For the record, being happy is hard fucking work.  For some of us anyway.  It doesn't come natural to me, and it is something that I have to develop, have been developing for quite some time now.)

"People never change..."  also left me hopeless, at times, when it came to how I dealt with people.  Understand that as a human, I have made mistakes.  Many mistakes.  Like a lot of stupid fucking stupid mistakes.  I have said and done things to people, that I care a great deal about, that I know were horrible, hurtful, mean things.

I am human.

Seemed like the right thing to do at the time'n'all that...

As I have grown and matured. Lived.  I have seen the mistakes of the past and learned from them.  Told myself that I needed to address certain things in a different manner.  Adjust my perception of certain situations.

Change.

Then I would remember...."People never change..." and I would get scared.  Frustrated.  What good was changing if people actually believed this.  If I changed, but no one else thought that I had, did I really?   Would people ever see me different.  I would know that I changed, but in the eyes of some else, I never would.  That sucked.  It didn't seem fair.

And then, one day, about 5 weeks ago...I changed.  Well started to change.  

For the better.

Forever.

And now "People never change..."  scares the shit out of me for a completely different reason.

Five weeks ago, when this all began, for the first time in my life, I decided that I was ready.  That I needed to take the reins of my life and take control and put in some hard fucking work and change things.  My mom was gone, there was nothing I could do about that.  I needed to move on.  I was severely out of shape.  I  could control that and I wasn't.  I needed to move on.  I was fucking broke.  I needed to put more effort into getting a better job, work more.  I needed to move on.

I needed to change all of those feelings and emotions.  I needed to channel those emotions into positive outlets, and work towards living the life I always thought was being deprived of.

I am doing that.  I can prove it. 

See that picture to the right?  I look pretty sharp, right?  (Well except for the face I am making.  For some reason, I hate my smile, so whenever I take a picture, I make this stupid face that is really just saying "Umm, I dunno what the fuck to do with my face here, so um, here is a stupid face instead.  Bah.)  But yea, I look sharp.

If you took a picture of me, 5 years ago, it would look exactly the same.  

I wore that shirt, and those pants, in that body, at that weight for three years.  I did.  Its what I wore when I was a property manager, and its what I weighed back then.

The thing is, while the body maybe the same.  The mind has changed.

I feel so different.  I feel so happy.  Not all of the time, mind you, but a lot of it. I looked at that picture and I was amazed.  The same image, taken 5 years apart can be completely different.  It can change. 

So now when I hear "People never change..." it scares me because if it is true, than this is just a flash in the pan.  Something that I am doing for now, but that eventually I will fuck up.  What if I haven't changed at all.

Today, at the weigh in, I found that I lost another 2 lbs.  That brings the total up to 24 lbs lost in the last 5 weeks.  I weighed 313 lbs.  I weigh 289 lbs.  

My body has changed.  However, I dont think that my body would have changed, if I hadn't changed too.  I'll find out soon enough.  

After all, you know what they say...

Bridge

Some days I am not so sure what side I'll end up on.  

Then I remind myself that at the very least I am on the move.

Weigh In 4

I lost 5 more today.

That means 22 for the first month.

Kicking Ass.

Time for Sleep.

A day late...

Yesterday I didn't have enough time to write a post.

• 7:00am to 5:00pm - Getting up for work, and work.
• 5:00pm to 8:00pm - Getting to, and having dinner, with scientist Young Sharpless before Chicago Fusion Theatre's Proof.
• 8:00pm to 10:00pm - Proof.*
• 10:00pm to 5:00am - Getting to and working job two.

Oh well, these things happen.  Time to shake it off and keep going.  This a new attitude for me, by the way.

In the past, if I missed a deadline I had set for myself, I would take it as an opportunity to put myself down, tell myself I couldn't do something and quit.  (I know myself really well, trust me on this.)

Not quiting this time, can't do it.

I felt great at the end of the day, which is also new.

I have had a crazy schedule, working when I can with two jobs for a while now, so I have had days like this before.  In the past, during one of these 22 hour days, I would feel like the walking dead by 3:00am.  Not yesterday, though.  I was sleepy, yea, but physically I felt just fine.

That was great and encouraging. 

Back on schedule Monday, for weigh in #4.  Time to see how the first month went.  (Did you just read that?  The First Month... Its almost been a month.... Fucking. Sweet.)



*If you are in Chicago, consider seeing Chicago Fusion Theatre's production of Proof.  It plays in the super intimate gallery space at The Royal George Theatre (1641 N. Halsted), 5 more times.  Natalie DiCristofano gives one of the 3 best performances I have seen all year.  Totally worth it, just to see that Actor work.  Do it. 

In Flux

"It's a song about life, death, love, hate, wealth, poverty, racism... Just a few things been runnin' through my head..."

On Me:
Its been three weeks.  Things are still going really well, though, I can see myself starting to get bored with it.  I can see myself get frustrated.  I wont lie, only dropping 2lbs last week took the wind out of my sails.  That was to be expected though.  So I am trying not to think about it and just keep doing what I need to do.

Its getting harder to do, the colder it gets.  The new job means that it is best for me to go to the gym in the morning.  I actually enjoy it more, get it outta the way, feel great at work, win, win.   Getting up at 5:30 is a pain though.


On Politics:
These are scary times we live in.  We, as a people, can't seem to stop hating each other.  If this continues, I fear the next act of terrorism will be from within.  There is hope, there are good people.  They are out numbered, though.  I hope things get better before they get worse, I do.  There is no sign of that though.


On Love:
...I got nothing...Just been thinking about it...I always do though...It is what it is....



On Family:
Thanksgiving is coming up.  Its my favorite holiday.  Can't wait to see my Grand Ma, my Weelita.

I miss my Mom.  Yesterday was the Day of the Dead.  The 23rd is her Birthday.  She was diagnosed on the 24th.  I miss her, these days, more than most.



I'm going to bed...I've met this obligation...Tomorrow I have another at 5:30.



...Oh, wait!  One more thing...

Thank you, for reading this blog, for liking my Facebook status' about this blog or my experiment, for encouraging words, of advice, and support, and love.

Seriously, thank you all so much.

I...Its just...Well...

You know...

Goodnight.

I Shot The Stairs, But I Did Not Shoot The Deputy

Over the weekend, I helped a friend move.

Normally I am not a fan of helping people move.  I mean, I wouldn't mind doing it -- I'm always down to help a friend -- the actual moving of the things that friend owned, though,  that I hated.

Especially when flights of stairs are involved.

Stairs and I have never gotten along very well.  They always seemed like a necessary evil.  My ability to fly has not developed as well as I had hoped would happen when I was kid.  (Seriously, I could fly.  You can't prove that I couldn't.)  As such, I was developed a Love/Hate relationship with stairs -- the more stairs there were that had to be climbed, the more I hated them.  The only stairs I Loved, were escalators.  Normally, the very thought of climbing up and down flights of stairs, carrying heavy boxes over and over and over again would make me lose my breath.

I don't do normally anymore, though.

This time the prospect of helping a friend move, from a third floor apartment to a second floor apartment seem like a good challenge.  I was going to turn this move into a test.  I was curious to see how my body would respond to the task.

I am thrilled to report it was the greatest move I have ever been apart of.

The move itself was fairly simple.  There wasn't a lot of stuff to move and there were a lot of hands around to do it, so that was good.  In my mind, the most challenging part was going to be going up and down those three flights of stairs but it wasn't.  Not anymore.  I rarely ran out of breath.  I didn't really break to much of a sweat (certainly not like the buckets that would pour out of me in the past).  When we were done, my body hardly felt sore at all.

All of these things amazed me.  It was so refreshing and energizing to know I could know help someone move without fear that I might have a heart attack an hour into the move.  The more that I went up and down without feeling how I had in the past, the more that I wanted to keep going.  I would have moved 5 apartments yesterday.  I felt so great.  So, damn great!!!

I am starting to redefine the relationship I have with stairs, and everything else really.  Stairs are no longer the obstacle they once were.  Nothing is the obstacle it once was.  From here on out, I am going to run full speed at things that once gave me pause.

I can't explain how amazing that feels.

This is the thought that I am going to carry with me to this Monday's weigh in because regardless what the scale says, I know I won this week.

(I did and you can't prove otherwise.  You can't.)

I'll let ya know how it goes.

Still adjusting...

...to the new work schedule.

I just got home from the gym and I need a quick nap before work so another short post will have to do.

I must say that I am proud of myself for adjusting to the new work schedule and still hitting the gym.  I am still eating right, and everything is progressing as it should.

Next week, once I am a bit more settled, I hope to have more interesting things to say.

Today is just about keeping the routine going.

Friday post. Done. 

Better Late Than Never

Today was one of those days where everything got flipped in a second.  I was working on the post when I got word of a job that starts tomorrow.

I spent the rest of the day, before my current job, prepping for tomorrow.  A deal is a deal though, and I owe myself a post, so here it is.

Everything is going well.  The new job means I'll have to make some adjustments to the schedule, but I will press on.

Now I need to pass out.

Peace. 

Two Smiles

This smile, I don't remember...

Like you told yourself in the beginning... Do this right... Be honest...

Welcome back.

I believe that the way that you look on the outside, in some part, for some people, is directly proportional to the way you feel about your self on the  inside. If you are not a big fan of yourself, you are not going to give much importance to maintaining your physical well being.  If you don't really care FOR yourself, its very easy not to take care OF yourself.  I understand that obesity is a disease and I understand that I do not know nearly enough about that subject to speak on it.  The only proof that I can offer in support of my theory is that I know that the way that I look on the outside is directly proportional to the way that I feel on the inside.

Two Pictures

As you can see from the picture above and to the right, at one point in my life I was fairly thin (and quite the sharp dresser).  

I have never really liked that picture.  For one, I don't remember taking that picture.  I don't remember what made me smile that big.  Hell, I don't remember being so happy that ANYTHING would make me smile that big.  My face can't recall what smiling like that feels like.  I don't remember being in that room, standing in front of those EPIC mountains.  I don't know who the fuck that kid is.

For second, the only thing that it does remind me of is the hundreds of conversations that I have had, with people that knew me then, about how thin I was...then. (Again with the awkward sentences, I'll get that sorted out.  Let's keep going.)  

There are certain people, about 4 or 5,  where the conversation would always end with the other person letting out a long sigh as they stared at me, trying their damnedest to figure out where it all went wrong, what I would have been like growing up if I were thin, and trying to imagine what the hell I would look like right there and...then.  (Damn. Sorry.)  It was always this way whenever my mom and I talked about my weight.  That sucked.  A lot.  

(Did I mention that I have never really like that picture...)

Lets look at another picture I have never really liked.  

...this smile, I do.

This one to the left here -- I am not a big fan of either.  Unlike the first picture, I remember this one perfectly.  I remember being in that backyard.  I remember what made me smile the way that I did.  My face can recall what that smile feels like.  I know exactly who the fuck that kid is. 

That picture was taken in my Tia Teresa's backyard.  In case you couldn't tell, I am the tallest person in the picture. The other kids are five of my amazing cousins.   (Clockwise, starting with me, there is Jorge, Oscar, Saul, Juan Carlos, and Denise.  They are great people.  I count myself lucky, being able to call them family.)

In this picture, I am very self conscious and embarrassed about the way that I look -- something that would continue for most of my life.  (Though not embarrassed enough to leave on a shirt, apparently.)  I can see that I know that I look different from everyone and that it is not a good thing and I don't like it.  

Notice how I am the only one not starting at the camera.  I hated having my picture taken (still do, sometimes).  Also notice the look on my face.  Isn't that one of the most awkward, uncomfortable smiles that you have ever seen?  

That is the way you smile when you hate what you look like.  That is the way you smile when you don't have any self confidence.  That is the way you smile when you feel like everyone is watching, and you are just not good enough, and you really don't want to be in that place, or any place, because you are just the fat kid that everyone is judging.  

That is the way you smile when you know you have to smile and you don't want to.

The Night Before Today

I am writing this on Sunday Night.  Tomorrow afternoon,  I will be going to the gym for my second weigh in.  Last week I lost 4.6 lbs.  This week, I hope to have lost at least 2 lbs.  That is an achievable goal.  I did the things I need to do to make it happen.  If it does not happen though, that will be ok.

I need to remember that part of the way this works, at least for me, from the photographic evidence that I have provided, is that how I feel about myself on the inside is directly proportional to the way I look on the outside.  If I am to excel in this endeavor, I need to continue to improve not just my body, but my mind.  I can not let what the scale says tomorrow derail all of the work that I have done, or will do.

Tomorrow I weigh in the body -- only the body.  There is no scale for the mind.  

I'll let you know how it goes.

UPDATE:

I lost 10.2 lbs this week.  That brings the total to 14.8 lbs.

55.2 lbs left to go.

Game On. 

The Body and The Brain

The Body

Soreness doesn't photograph well.

My body, from the waist down, is extremely sore.  Before Wednesday, I had never done work outs for my legs, so they are experiencing a level of pain and discomfort that I have never felt before.  I am not injured or hurt -- I can tell the difference between the two.  However, the lack of excercise to those muscles meant that I had never felt this.  It knocked me on my ass yesterday.

I recovered well enough.  Today, I still felt sore.  Though, not nearly as much as yesterday, so I went back to the gym, after taking the day off yesterday.  My body needed the break.  As far as the work outs go, and the diet plan, I am still on track.

I can understand the changes in my body.  I know why it hurts, wherever it may hurt, whenever it may hurt.  I know why it feels really good when things don't hurt.  I know why they feel better than they did before.  It is that understanding that helps me get through the pain.

Its a different story with my brian, though.

The Brain
Something is going on with my brain.  It too is changing.

The emotions and feelings that come with bettering your physical condition are something that I am not sure I was prepared for, nor something that I fully understand.  I feel happier, more confident, less anxious.  It stands to reason that physical health improvements could lead to better mental health, of course -- I understand that.  But to experience it is a whole new thing.

The feeling of self confidence that you can gain when you move your body thru the world in a new way I can only compare to the feeling I had when I learned to ride a two wheel bike.  Knowing that I was now able to move thru the world in a way I had never been able to before was an amazing feeling.  When you only know how to walk or run, riding a bike, without your sister holding the seat and running behind you feels like flying.

I feel like I am flying again.

I'll give you an example:

I stand differently than I did before, because I feel stronger.  I am carrying less weight, on a stronger frame.  Because of that, when I stand, waiting for a bus, or on a trian, I feel like I am standing more comfortably, more relaxed.  Because I feel comfortable and relaxed, I stand a bit straighter, a bit taller.  Standing tall, maybe a metaphor, but when you are ACTUALLY standing tall, you feel tall.  You feel strong.  You feel confident.  You feel powerful.  That feels great.

All of those feelings just from standing!  There are so many new experiences and feelings that I have now, that I couldn't possibly explain them all on here.  

I wasn't expecting this from my brain but man am I enjoying it.

Seeya, Monday for Weigh In #2!

Real Men Use Weights

I signed up for a gym membership.

That free trial that they were offering at the XSports I was going to had ended and I needed to make a decision.  I told the guy about the offer at the Park District and all of a sudden all sorts of fees got waved, and for $35.00 a month and NO sign up fees, I now have a gym.  (In the long run it may be more expensive but the equipment and hours of operation are just too good to pass up at XSports -- especially if you go and get your money's worth.)

The membership includes a free hour with a personal trainer that you HAVE to use.  I didn't want to but part of the deal meant I HAD to do it.  I was apprehensive because I hate having someone, that is not a friend I know and trust, watch me work out.  I know everyone can see me work out, but to have someone focus on me, watch ME, that just fucking sucks.  Also, from past experiences, I know these guys are trying to sell themselves, their services, make a sales pitch AND they made me do this once before, when I signed up for the free trial and I didn't want to have to do it again.  It is frustrating and I don't like it.

I had to do it, though, so I did.

The trainer I worked out with was named Jon.  (Well, to be honest, I was so nervous at first I didn't catch his name, and after that I felt like an idiot asking. So we are just gonna call him Jon.)  Because this was the second time I had to do this in 10 days, I knew what would happen.  Some questions, and then we would hit the floor.

There is nothing more embarrassing to me than walking the gym with a trainer.  I feel like I stick out enough, amongst the hard bodied, having one of their own lead you around the gym, in his bright ass red shirt, that just feels like hes walking around the next fatty that will be here for a week then leave.  (I asked the trainers what the percentages were regarding people attempting what I am, how many stuck it out.  According to them 10% are left after the first month, 2% actually accomplish their goals.  I mean, I know they have to sell their services and that could be a ploy, however... I dunno why, but I believe'um, Yo.)

Jon takes me through some things and I have to say that I am glad that he did.  Though at first I wasn't.

He questioned the way I was doing things -- another reason I didn't want to do this.

He criticized my diet.  Jon used to weigh 300lbs himself, so he knew what he was talking about.  (Showed me a picture at the end, great part of the pitch, and he actually was HUGE.  What a fatty! -- Go a head, laugh, you know you want to.)  I see his points but I just disagreed with him.  I like bacon and he is not a fan.  We agreed to disagree.  We ran into problems when I told him what my work out routine was.

Jon did not have a problem with what muscles I would exercise on what days, but he hated that I used machines and not free weights.

"Real men use weights."

When he said that, it was like everything that I had been working for was bullshit.  I felt shamed.  I felt like an idiot.  I started to shut down, and not pay attention.  My worst fear had just been realized.  I was standing in a room with dumb bells and this muscled up dick head was telling me what it was that "Real Men" did.  Normally this is the part where I just shut down, quit, take my ball and go home.

I am very lucky for many reason, but I feel the luckiest because of the people I have in my life.  In the past few days, I have had two conversations, with great friends, that helped change the way the rest of my work out with Jon went.


Normally wasn't gonna win this time.

I need to make myself accountable for my decisions in ALL aspects of life.  It was over a cup of coffee and a chat about something else that one of my friends helped me see that I needed to surround myself with good people and be responsible for the decisions and choices I make about my happiness.

I needed to listen to Jon, right here, right now.  He was trying to help.  He was showing me what he thought were more effective ways of using my body to achieve the goal I have set.  I paid attention.  I tried to learn as much as I could.  Once I was open to what he was saying, I saw that what Jon ended up doing was showing me what tools I could use in the gym, to make myself get healthier.  That was worth the hour.  (Looking back, I think he said the "Real Men" use weights thing because he had to, not because he wanted to.)

After the work out, I was happy to learn all of these things and understand how to do things better now, but I was also filled with doubt.  What else was I doing wrong?  Why am I even trying this, I have no idea what I am doing?  What way do I do this?  Over and over, I was asking myself this... I made my lunch, sat down to write this post, and I was filled with doubt and worry.

It was then that friend two came in and shut all that doubt down.  In an email about something else, my friend says:

"The bottom line is to do what you think is important. What your gut or soul or instincts or whatever tell you needs to be done. But DO it, don't just talk about it or talk about doing it."

So that is what I am gonna do.

Seeya, Friday.

309.0

The Battle of Little Big Chuy
As of this morning, I weigh 309.0lbs -- meaning I lost 4.6 pounds this last week.

Let that sink in, I know I did.

Now, I understand that is a lot of weight to lose in one week -- around a half a pound a day.  Consider though the following things:

• I have been eating right and working out, consistently, for the first time in my life, really.
• I know from previous experience when to stop, when I am working out.  I'm not trying to be a hero, or hurt myself.
• Its always easy to lose weight when you beginning a work out plan, especially if you are over weight to begin with.  This is probably water weight, and not much fat, that I am dropping.
• It will get harder and not every week will yield such results. 

The most important thing to me is that I feel fucking great.  Let me say that once more, on its own line, in all caps, and bold, with three exclamation points, so you know how great I feel:

I FEEL FUCKING GREAT!!!

Seriously, though, regardless of how much weight I lost this week, or will lose week to week, in the weeks to come, (say that three times fast), I feel great.

My body feels strong.  My lungs don't try to break out of my body climbing stairs.  My sleep is the sleep of people that sleep really fucking well.  I am not as tired at work.  My work outs are yielding real results that I can measure and feel in way that a scale can't show. 

All of that said:

Time to move on.  I can't get complacent. 4.6 lbs lost this week means fuck all if I don't keep it up.  The goal is to lose 70, remember, we still have 65.4 lbs to go.  

We will enjoy today for what it was, winning the battle of week one.  That is cool and all, winning battles.

I want to win the War.

Who is Whitney

Whitney is a friend from high school that is a personal trainer in Virgina these days.  She was one of the people that I started talking to about this project of mine, before it started.  It was Whitney that first suggested I keep a blog about the process.  That was a great idea and a key reason I am doing what I am doing.

Thank you so much, Whitney. Fo'reals.

If you have a friend in the Virginia area in need of a trainer, please consider Whintey's company Fit by Whit.  She can be reached via email at: wcerullo2000@yahoo.com 

 

Renaming the Blog

The name of this Blog does not feel right to me anymore.  I need to change it.  If you have an suggestions, please leave them in the comments, or send them to my email at: heyzeuscontreras@gmail.com

See ya Wednesday!

  

The Greatest BBQ Potato Chip I've Ever Had

Love, thy name is BBQ Chip

I just had the greatest BBQ Potato Chip I have ever eaten in my life.  

It was from a bag of Jimmy Chips, the kind you get at Jimmy Johns.  It was sweet, salty, a bit tangy, and crunchy.  After that chip, I ate the shit out of the rest of the bag.  MAX'd um.  I savored every one of those damn chips. 

Every. Last. One. 

I earned that bag of chips.  

I went to the gym 5 days this week.  I drank more water those five days than I have in the last 10 years.  (I could be wrong here, but I don't think I am.)  I ate good breakfasts, everyday. I ate smart and healthy, everyday.  I didn't eat 5 hours before bed.  I snacked on fruits and nuts.  I deprived myself.  (I had no brownies this week.  None.  That's right -- I am a bad ass.)  I took the stairs to the train every time.  (Yo, escalators at the Western stop of the Brown Line -- Where you at now, punks?) I did my part.

And you know what...

I feel fucking GREAT.

Its only been a week in and while I may not look different, I feel different.  

I have more energy.  See, you work out, your body gets stronger, you do the shit you always do, with a stronger body and you get less tired. Less tired = More Energy.  I work a physical job, in a hot kitchen, tossing around boxes, pans, and pots, all night long.  Usually when I get out of work, I feel sore, and tired all over.  My body is a bit stronger this week than last, and I can totally feel the difference.  Not as sore, not as tired.  Its a dream.

I sleep so well.  Apparently, your body can't  focus as well on rest when you are sleeping if it is trying to digest 3 cans of Coke, a Whopper, some fries, and a brownie.  (Yes, I have eaten that before bed before.  I know, I know... I think its fucking ridiculous now too.)  If, on the other hand, your tummy is empty and at rest, your body which -- doesn't need as much energy because you are fucking sleeping -- can just rest.  You wake up so happy, so refreshed.  Really, you do.

I am confident.  I am going to do this.  I feel too good, and put in too much work this week to piss it all away on a brownie, with ice cream, and whipped cream, and sprinkles, and a cherry, and chocolate sauce.... (NO!!! Fuck!  See how it happens.  Must focus.)  

I am confident that I will do this, I have a new relationship with food and exercise.  Food is the energy I require to live my daily life, nothing more.  Exercise is the method by which I will ensure that my body is as strong and healthy as I need it to be so that I can live my daily life, nothing more.  Let's be pragmatic, not dramatic.

Wait, that is not entirely true...

Some days, probably once a week, I will allow food to be just a little bit more.  A treat.  A little reward for taking care of myself.  Not as an incentive for this year, but for the rest of my life.  If I am going to lose weight and keep it off, its not just about this year, but every year after that as well.  So, yea, from time to time, I will indulge, especially if I put in the work to earn it.

This week, it was a bag of BBQ Jimmy Chips and man let me tell you...  

That was the greatest potato chip I ever had.

For Monday

Weigh In #1, Renaming The Blog, and Who is Whitney 

Stay tuned...

   

No News Is Good News

I wrote a post yesterday, so there really is nothing new to report here.  I just told myself that I would post M-W-F, and well... Today is Wednesday.

I went to the gym earlier.  My upper body still felt really sore from the first two days.  I'm easing back into things so I just stretched out and went on a 45 min stationary bike ride.  Love a good sweat, so that was fun.

One thing I will say, though, since we are here anyway:  Today was boring and felt tough.

I woke up sore, and it was rainy -- Gloom does not inspire one to workout.  I knew this would happen, so I didn't let it stop me, just kind of ignored the old me saying "Bah, sit down, its raining.  Fuck that."  I knew the initial excitement of the blog, and the decision to do this would wear off and that the realization that I signed up for something really fucking difficult would hit me.  I didnt think it would come this quick, though.

I don't think it has, actually.  Maybe I am just in a bad mood, maybe my body is adjusting, maybe I just want to be lazy.

Whatever the case, I still did what I had to do.  (I got the last 12 minutes in.)

So if anything, there is that.  

313.6

And we're back....

313.6

That number represents my weight.

That's right, I weigh 313.6 pounds and I have 49.3% body fat.  Go ahead, let that sink in.  I know it took me a second to process that when I was at the gym.  (More on gyms in a minute.)

Ok, ready?  Great.

So then, minus 70, that means that my goal weight is 243.6 which would leave my body fat at a healthy 19%.  Now that we know what the numbers are and have some goals set, the trick is how to get there.  

The Plan
Its a very simple three step plan:

1. Workout 3 to 5 days a week
2. Eat Right
3. Repeat

1.  Working out is critical.  Eating right is good for maintaining a healthy weight but if I am going to lose weight, I must work out -- at least three days a week, but I am going to shoot for 5.  The work outs are simple,  work out a different set of muscle groups everyday -- to build lean muscle, and then get on a cardio machine (bike, stair master, treadmill) for at least 30 minutes to burn fat.  Its easy, I just have to do it.

For this week, because I wanted to start right away, and I couldn't afford a gym membership til this weekend, I am using a free one week trial to XSport Gym in Lakeview.  You have to sit thru a sales pitch and do a tour of the gym, but if you want to start again, right away, its the only way to go (this was worth it too, because this is how I found out what my exact weight is, what my percentage of body fat is, and what my target heart rate for burning fat is - 138).  This weekend, I will probably go to the Chicago Park District Gym at Welles Park.  ($60.00 for 3 months, no contract, 2 blocks from my house, perfect.)

2.  Eating Right will probably be the hardest part of all of this.  I eat like crap.  I never eat breakfast.  I usually only eat one big meal a day, and supplement the rest of the hunger with 2 Cokes, and a brownie.  Well, I did anyway.  No more soft drinks.  Bye, bye Coke.  No more brrrr.... brrrooowww..... BROWNIES. No. More. Brownies.  (At least not for a while...)  

Over and above that, I am not going to go on some sort of crazy diet.  Its gonna be simple here too -- water, tea, natural juices, healthy meals, fruits, veggies, breakfast everyday.  You know, a sensible well balanced diet.  No more Red Barron Pizza's for dinner at 2am.  (I work nights, so this will be hard to adjust to, but Ill figure it out.) Shit that reminds me, no more Red Bull.  

Bah, it'll be worth it.  It will.

3.  Repeat.  A workout and diet plan mean fuck all if you don't stick to them, EVERY. DAY.  Everyday I need to remind myself that I have a goal to meet.  Everyday, I need to be disciplined and patient.  There is no magic bullet.  I took 29 years getting myself here, I can hardly expect to get out in 3 months.  Even a year is a lofty goal, but its doable.  If I stick to it.  

Which reminds me:

The Blog & Inter-webs 

This blog will now serve the purpose of keeping me on task.  I will blog three days a week.  M - W - F.  There will be a weekly weigh in, just to keep myself on track, and to keep myself accountable.  (Its gonna be harder to sneak a brownie if I know I have a weigh in coming at weeks end.)  There will be lists of goals, stories about how its going, and how I am feeling, and a whole set of other posts that I can't know about yet, because I have no idea how this thing is gonna go. 

I'd also like to hear from you.  In the comments or by email, or Facebook, twitter, or my phone.  If you have any advice, or words of encouragement, or exercise tips, anything you can think of that would help, lemme know. 

I am going to do the heavy lifting, but I know I am not going to do this alone. 

Independent from the Blog, I will also be using DailyBurn.com.  I have a few friends that showed me the website.  Its like Facebook for weight loss.  It helps you keep track of food intake, exercise plans, and connects you with others that are going through the same thing.  I have just started playing around with it so I am sure that I am not using it right, but I will.

Thats It

Thats the plan.  So far, I have stuck to it.  Two days in a row at the gym.  I've been eating great.  Everything seems to be on track.  I just have to keep it up.

243.6, Here I Come!!!

Game On

Oh, Hi there... Be with you in just one second...

Flay the flesh... flay the flesh... flay the flesh... Deep Breath... And Go....


Alright, where was I? Ah, Right...

So, yesterday on my facebook page, I made the following status update:

Jesus Contreras made a decision yesterday that's gonna affect the rest of his life. Putting this out there to hold myself to it. By 10-10-11, I WILL be at least 70lbs lighter. Blog with details tomorrow. Game on, Bitches. (Bitches being the lbs, I'm gonna lose.)

In this post, I'd like to give that statement some context.  Partially to explain what the hell something like that actually means, but mainly so that I can set a few things straight for myself.  If I am actually going to do what I said I was planning to do, then I need to understand why the hell I am doing this.  You know, if anything, so that I have a base to return to if I get lost along way.

(Tomorrow I will go into some detail about how I plan to lose the weight and how the blog is going to be involved.  For now though, I just want to explain how we got here.)

I'd been thinking about starting to work out again for a long, long time.  My previous attempt at weight loss was a few years back.  Membership at a Bally's, went like 5 days a week for a couple of months, got lazy, lost track, never made time for it again, wasted money.  If I would have stuck with that program, I know I could have gone far.  I lost 30 lbs. then.

So, I know how to work out, I can do it.  I HAVE done it.  Just not enough. I kept thinking about going back.  I made excuses to myself about life getting in the way, and then life actually did get in the way.  My mom got sick, that was my focus. She died, that became my focus -- the grief.

All I did was theatre and work two part time jobs.  Keeping myself busy, trying to hold it together.  To give myself some focus.  To just get by.  I was too busy trying to process what the fuck just happened to really worry about anything other than surviving.  I didn't do a very good job at times. I did an EXTREMELY HORRIBLE job at times.  But...I survived.

With the help of too many people to mention, I survived.

So, three weeks ago, I started working full time The Taco & Burrito House for my Uncle.  I knew that I could finally afford to get into a gym. (Now, that is not to say one NEEDS a gym.  But for the plan I have, I do.  Its the only way.  The Chicago Park District has Gyms.  You can get a membership for amazingly cheap.  Its not Bally's but they have equipment and thats what I care about.)

Working full time at the Burrito House, though, meant I had to quit Loose Leaf Lounge.  The money was just better, I needed to take the job.  I had to make the move.  So, there was this air of change...in the air. (I know, weird sentence, lets keep going.)

In retrospect, it was something that I should have done a while ago.  I didn't really understand how much I had associated with that place.  I had to physically move on, not be in the shop, not take that train, switch that routine up.

I found out about my Mom's cancer a block away from Loose Leaf.  Phil was the first person I KNEW that I told.  That was in the back room, in front of the fridge, tackled him with a hug so I wouldnt fall to the ground.  That was the place I knew I was telling a friend, that my mom was going to die.  I felt connected to it, like, I had to hold on, only I didn't know that. I didn't understand that until I left.

I didn't want to close that chapter.  I needed to, though.  To move on mentally, it was good to move on physically.

I got a fresh start.

A fresh start, a new routine, MONEY!!!  I saw being able to catch up on some bills, and having a set, full time schedule as liberating. (D'uh.)  I wasn't as stressed about where my loot was gonna come from. I eased up, I could breathe for a second.  Entertain new ideas, new possibilities.

Not just survive, but live.  Live, again.

Then yesterday, three things happened.

1. I went to the store to find pants in my size.  Depending on the maker, I wear between a 40 to 42.  (You read that right.)  I got two pants one in each size, tried both on and they didn't fit.  That's bullshit.  I was wearing a pair of 40's.  I have like 4 pairs of pants, they are all 40 to 42, so I know it was the make, but it shook me.  I will not buy a pair of pants that are 44.

Nope. Fuck. That.

2.  I saw a play, 1001.  Something about that show...  At its heart, to me, its a Love Story.  One that goes south.  I started to think about my relationships with women.  What parts I have played to make them go south. What parts I have played to kill them before they start.

I was already in a weird mood because of the pants, and the two issues started playing off each other in my head.  Maybe it was the way that I looked?  "Its about confidence! It doesn't matter what you look like!" you may be thinking.  Yes and No.


If you hate the way you look you don't have the self confidence to believe that it doesn't matter what you look like.

That is fair, and that is on me.  Completely and totally on me.  I control the way I look.

3.  I got to work, and said Hello to the three guys I work with.  The three guys that I work with are all originally from Mexico -- where it is still OK for people to tease overweight people.  If you are fat, you are fair game.  Here, in America, people still do it, but its considered rude, and usually only little kids get away with making a joke -- they do say the darnedest things.  These cats being from there though, I get teased and just roll with the it -- it is what is.

One of the guys likes to say hello to me, and my belly.  He high fives me, then he high fives my tummy, laughs as he walks away.  Its the way it is.  Its been like this, for me, around Mexican people my entire life really -- not my family as much anymore, mind you, but it happens.  It is what it is.

Or was anyway.  That shit stops now.

I walked into the kitchen, as usual.  And, as usual, the guy high five'd me, and then guy high five'd my stomach and now somewhere in the world there is a paralyzed camel being put down.

The second he did that,  the show, the pants, his pound to my pounds just bubbled over.

Nope. Fuck that.  I am done.

I will not deal with this anymore.  I have the power to change it.  I am going to.  The time for grieving is over.  It is time to live.  And if I am going to live, I am going to be healthy while I fucking do it.

I am done being sad.  I am done wallowing in the sorrow of losing my mother to brain cancer.  I will always miss her, and I will always hurt, but thats not gonna stop me anymore.

First thing is first, I need to get my health right.

This blog is gonna be part of how that happens.  I'll explain that next time.  For now, just remember.  

Jesus Contreras made a decision yesterday that's gonna affect the rest of his life. By 10-10-11, I WILL be at least 70lbs lighter. Game on, Bitches.

September 11th, 2001

Today we should take a moment to remember just how insane, painful, and scary life can be.  We need to remind ourselves how our actions against each other can lead to indescribable sadness and confusion.  

That day, I was sitting at my computer, watching the Today Show -- No, actually, it was just on in the back ground I was about to smoke a bowl because I had an accounting class to go to and that was the only way I ever got through that damn class.  As I was breaking shit up, I heard Matt start talking about a plane had hit a tower, some where in New York that I had never really heard about. No one knew what was going on... I looked up, still not paying attention really, and all i saw was smoke from a building.  "That's interesting."


I started packing this cool little Cartman bowl I had, when all of a sudden Katie yells out something like "Oh, God!" or "Oh, No!".  I look up and Matt and Katie are staring back at me, stunned, wide eyed, silent -- the news anchor equivalent of freaking the fuck out.  


After about 10 seconds of that, they cut back to the building and a replay of what happened.  Both images are just as haunting in my head.  Anchors, especially Matt and Katie, NEVER freak the fuck out.   I packed up my bag, pocketed my bowl, got in the car, and drove to school.


That drive was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.  


I was going to Wright College at the time, which is about a 20 minutes drive, straight west on Irving Park, from where I lived.  The radio stations, every single one, had turned to some sort of news coverage.  Watching people in their cars as they heard the scattered reports that were flying in through the speakers was unnerving.  Every other person I made eye contact with would just give me the same blank stare I was giving them.  "Dude, What the fuck is going on, Man?"  


Wright College is made up of 4 buildings.  There is a small building that connects the four, imagine the spokes on wheel.  There is security desk in that building, at the very center, were the axel would be.  There must have been about forty people gathered around that desk by the time I got there.  Everyone was watching coverage on the t.v.'s the guards had.  People would keep passing by and get sucked into the mass of people watching the reports of terrorists ("What the fuck are those?"), Bin Laden ("Who the fuck is he?") and watching these horrifying images of people running from these two burning buildings.


It was in the midst of all of these people that I saw the World Trade Centers fall.


There were no gasps, no woah's, no ohshitwhaththefuckdidyoujustseethat's.  No one said anything.  At least I don't remember anyone saying anything.  All I remember is everyone looking at each other.  Frozen in time for what seemed like 10 minutes.  Slowly, people started to leave.  I don't remember what I did, nor where I went after that.  


What I do remember is being scared. Not of the terrorists though.


As you may or may not know, Chicago was(is?) one of the most segregated in America.


That day, and that first week after, I was afraid that there would be a seige on Devon.  I grew up in Logan Square, thats where the Latinos lived.  I didn't think that the white people in Lincoln Park would be a danger, but I thought the Black People on the West Side, the Polish People over on Milwaukee, and my Latino people would all mobilize and storm up Western, breaking off east and west from there.  That never happened, of course.  I mean, there were some tensions and some broken windows at some mosques in the burbs, but nothing approaching the level of what I imagined could happen. 


If we are not careful we will end up there again.


People are not listening to each other.  I am just as guilty as everyone of demoninzing those that have differing views than on I things like Gay Marriage and whether our President is a Muslim.  I am not perfect, I need to try to listen harder.  To try to understand how people think so we can work towards a better world.  One that includes everyone.


Its been nine years and still people want to burn Qur'ans.  >sigh<

I will never forget that day, I mean how could I.  So long as I live, I will make myself remember.  As painful and scary as it is to remember, I will always make sure that I do.  If things are ever going to get better, we need to remember how fucking horrible they can be.  Stupidly, senselessly, maddenlingly, tragically horrible.

Be Gentle, It's My First Time...

I wonder how many times a blog has started with that as the title of the first post.  Anyways, it's true.  This IS my first attempt at writing a blog.

Over the past few years I have spent a lot of time reading blogs, mostly those that focus on the Chicago Theatre Scene.  The title of this blog, for example, is a complete rip off of Don Hall's blog An Angry White Guy in Chicago.  Actually, Don is a friend and one day on facebook, after a status update where I said I was starting to feel like An Angry Mexican Guy in Chicago, he told me to "Start that blog!"  


So, I did!  

No, wait.  That is not entirely true.  I have been toying with the idea of starting a blog for a long time, that was just the straw that broke.  

Before we get into why I am writing this blog, though, I want to fill you in on the source.

Who am I? Why does that matter?

There are few things from my days at St. Ignatius College Prep that I remember.  One lesson that has always stuck with me is to consider the source.  When gathering information, one must always consider the source and then weigh the information gathered accordingly. 

If you are going to take the time to read what I write, you should know who I am. 

I was born and raised in Chicago.  Expect for 3 semesters at Michigan State University I have lived in Chicago all of my life.  I love this city with every fiber of my being.  It has molded me and shaped me into the person that I am.  Outside of my family and my friends nothing means more to me than this place.

I am a first generation Mexican-American (Spoiler Alert: I prefer American of Mexican decent, but we will get into that in a later post).  

I was raised by a single parent. 

I am a theatre artist.  Chicago Storefront, to be exact.

I love music.  Chicago House, to be exact. 

Politically, I am best described as a Liberal.  I voted for Obama, think women have a right to Choose, believe that Gay people deserve equal rights under the law, and that Racism is alive and kicking.

I am an atheist.  

I over use commas and I confuse they're/there/their all the time.

I contradict myself, from time to time.

What is this blog going to be about:

Mainly theatre, Chicago, music, religion, art, politics, my friends, my family.  Basically anything that interests me at the time I am writing.

Also, I really want to do interviews,

Back to the why.

Why I am writing this blog:

I've been thinking about starting a blog, for a while now, because I feel that within the blogosphere I see myself as a part of, I think there is a voice missing.  That is not to say that I think that anything that I have to say is more important than what anyone else has to say, I just know there are not very many Mexican guys, from Chicago, writing blogs about theatre.  So there is that.

Also, I am opinionated as fuck (and I swear).  I see the world around me and I have opinions about what I see and I want to share them with people.  I am not trying to change minds.  I just want to be a part of the debate.  I think that we have gotten to a point in this country where people have stopped listening, stopped considering each other's points of view -- in theatre, politics, society, etc.  I want people to listen to me and I want to listen to people.  Nothing is black and white, lets dive into the grey. 

Finally, I want to become a better writer.  I think, as I am sure many other bloggers do, that if I force myself to have a place to write for, then I will write more things.  Writing more things, hopefully, will allow me to become a better writer.  At least that is the idea.

Lets wrap it up:

How is that for an origin story?  Not as good as the first Iron Man, but definitely better than that crap Wolverine:Origins movie.  That was a real piece of shit.

Anyways, in the days, weeks, and months to come I am sure the blog will go thru many changes, eventually hitting a stride that I, as yet, can not see.  Until then...

...be gentle, it's my first time.