Unexpected wisdom from a taxi driver. Part 1

I felt I needed to share this. This conversation I had with a taxi driver left me inspired, touched, amazed and heartbroken. Gave me hope, awareness and wisdom.

In about 30 mins, we spoke of religion, politics, race and culture. Basically everything “they” tell you not to talk about.

First, I noticed he had an accent. A familiar one, so I asked him where he was from, instead of making any assumptions but as I thought, he answered “Africa”. He was very kind and talkative. His accent wasn’t so heavy that I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He asked me where I was from, I answered that I grew up here in Minnesota, moved to Florida and came back to Minnesota after I had my son.

Everyone always looks at me like I’m crazy when I tell them I left beaches and palm trees and returned to the frozen tundra that Minnesota is for much of the year; and that was exactly what he asked next. I explained that my son has autism and that there is better care and services here than in Florida.

Then the topic moved onto autism. He spoke of his country. He said they don’t see that much over there. I took my medication because i felt my mind drifting and my eyes were locking, fixed on nothing in particular. and he asked if I was sick. I explained I have adhd and take meds to help manage it. He told me that when kids have Adhd in Africa, they don’t take medication, they put them in sports and activities but he had never seen the way people zone in and out like they do here. Adhd is different there.

He told me that he grew up in what is considered middle class over there. He attended university, their meals were provided but often, are what we would consider inadequate at best. He described one meal what they call “water sandwiches” in which they dunk bread in water because it is so stale and dry that it’s impossible to chew if they didn’t.

This is considered to be “well off”. I thought to myself, “shit. I have always had (for the most part) something to eat…we have no right to complain and I’m fucking lucky to have been born here.” Of course I replied politely careful not to sound braggy, but grateful, in which was how I was feeling.

Then, he told me about himself, with group of guys that are all from Africa, sponsor 20 children over there to take care of any medical expenses, food, and school. They send $1000 every month.

Think about that for a moment… He drives a taxi. He isn’t rolling in cash. He’s struggling just like the lot of us. Yet, he sacrifices probably close to half of his salary to children that otherwise aren’t given a chance at having a future.

To be continued…



Emotions run parallel as you speak of the past. I swiftly brush the dew from my cheeks, swallow the stone in my throat forget and hope the feeling won’t last.

I can’t help but wonder, whose hand you’d let loose, to plummet to boulders beneath, if ever faced with a situation to choose whom you’d pull to their feet.

Trying to understand, small things are easy to lose track But to me these small things are big things time passes and we can’t go back.

For everyday is someone’s birthday, death day, and anniversary. So it must silly to want one of those days just for me.

I can’t help but compare myself to another and can’t help but compete. I can’t do one without the other.

I can’t help but want to be more a lover or paramour when someone else was your wife then became a mother.

The scales are tipping but not in my favor. And I’ll keep on sipping because pain is my flavor.

The bittersweet taste nips at the tip of my tongue, I lick my lips and reminenice of the days we were young. Try not to dwell in the hell in my head, forget the fact I’ll never be wed. Shrug off the sting of 35, and that day that he forgot in July, but again, I say, I can’t help but compete, and still wonder who he would pull to their feet, I wonder if he ever forgot that day in April when life was with her was simple and stable.

I try not to cry over that day in July. When the only thing I wanted was the thing denied. Try not to weep because he doesn’t tell me “I love you” because it’s not what, but, how you speak and what you do.

I know it seems dramatic but that’s always been me, with a shot of cheap whiskey, and the need to compete.

I’ve never been good at finishing things they I’ve started but I can wet my lips until the sadness has been thwarted.

Just take a deep breath and swallow that stone and remember with him, I’m never alone.

Gifts are just gifts, unless it’s a life. And a bride is just a lover whom has been made a wife.


365 days have gone by since I heard the chime that brought you back into my life.  

I have never been so grateful to hear what was a mere annoyance before it was you that triggered the sound. 

I remember looking down at the screen seeing your mother’s picture in the tiny circle that displayed the number one in red.  

My heartbeat quickened, uncertain of what the response could be.  Nobody had heard from you, you’d deleted your facebook account, your wife no longer had pictures of you in hers but another man instead.  I had no idea what to expect.  The feeling of  but what should’ve been relief swept over me. Thinking something horrible had happened.  It had,  but not what i was thinking and hoping not be true.  I hesitated to open that message on fear of what it might say. I swallowed my glass of wine and released the glass from my grip as I lazily poured another glass splashing little droplets onto the table and used my oversized t-shirt to wipe off the glass and pressed it to my lips filling my mouth with the courage I needed to convince myself everything was okay and to open the message.  
It was from you.  You sent me your number in which I promptly texted.  My stomach was swimming with butterflies and my trembling hands were clumsily sweeping across the screen. Then you called. It had been ages since I had heard your voice. The butterflies multiplied.  You told me What I had found out from an old friend of ours,  you and your wife were now divorced.  Knowing you, I knew you would view this as a failure,  I knew you’d blame yourself, which was one reason I feared the worst.  

We arranged to meet the following day and I’ll never forget the feeling of instant relief when you greeted me by taking me in your arms.  I felt like a beaten soldier that had just returned home from war… and from then on, we were inseparable. When we weren’t physically together, we were in constant communication with each other.  We fell in love again instantly.  

If someone were to ask me 367 days ago if I’d end up with my first love after 20 years, the response would have been much different than the actual outcome. 

Everyday,  I’m so grateful for this second chance to be in your arms, feel you next to me as you sleep, to hear your voice say the sweetest things to me as you hold me tight and kiss me goodbye as you rush off to work. No matter what, you always say goodbye.  Tell me you’re so happy to be back in your life.  

I love you, Joel Mesaros.  I always have, and I always will. No matter what. 

role reversal

I don’t like to think that genders have roles but the fact of the matter is, they do. Socially, culturally…we fit into the slot the best we know how and live our lives as we feel comfortable. There are plenty of stereotypes that happen to be true… not for everyone, but often enough it is the reality.

I like to think of myself as progressive and open minded But I have expectations of myself that fall into what some people look at as outdated. I have a special needs child and because of this, I am a stay at home parent. I have expectations of myself. those expectations are to make sure the house is clean and safe, do the laundry and i do the cooking. Much of the time, I fail to keep up with these things because of superficial shit that 99% of us are guilty of. Facebook, E-mails, Pintrest…whatever. Social networking and the internet is a real problem for me as it is for most people.

I am in a great relationship. We both are damaged but for the most part, functional and productive. I hold these standards for myself. He does not hold the same standards for me as I do for myself but I’m used to being the “woman” in the sense that I should assume these responsibilities because I am in the home more often than he is. but because of this, I have inadvertently, subconsciously, developed expectations for him.

I’m used to men being sexually driven and being with one that is not, even though we had experienced one another long ago, is tiresome. I dont think its an attraction issue. I don’t think it has to do with skill or keeping things interesting. It’s just not a favorite thing to do for him. My memory sparks up and I remember, hes always been this way. I was his first and still, not his favorite thing to do. He enjoys the cuddling, talking, etc. Its the emotional intimacy that he loves. Don’t get me wrong…I LOVE that. Its great. but the thrill is gone when it comes to the passion, getting tangled in the sheets, pouring sweat, that thirst for one another that is animalistic. Unshakable. Now…it really doesn’t take much to “punch a hole in the raft” so to speak.I’m not innocent. I’m not always tactful. I speak before I think. I have no filter.

Sometimes I wish it were easier to flip it back on. I miss being thrown down and being devoured. I miss the beginning even though our relationship has grown so much. Maybe it was too soon for him. Maybe the wounds from his divorce haven’t healed… I love him anyway. I love all of him but I cant help but think that it has something to do with me.
Continue reading role reversal

Lucky girl

I’m just the luckiest girl in the world. My boyfriend watched my son overnight  so I could go hang out with my mom and sister, I have to get a procedure done and he texts me to say that he got the days off and approved by management within an hr or 2 of me telling him when it was scheduled, he buys me pickles every time he goes to the grocery store, he goes to all of my son’s IEP meetings, tells me I’m pretty everyday and never makes me feel badly for feeling upset or crying. I never feel like I can’t tell him if something is bothering me,  I can talk to him about anything, we sing System of a down together in the car, play guitar hero, I feel valued and appreciated and he makes me laugh. 

He’s smart, observant, intuitive, compassionate,  affectionate, loving,  witty, empathetic and perceptive.

He’s my best friend. 

You tried to beat me down. 

You lifted me up so I would fall harder. 

And I fell. 

It hurt. 

Though I was bleeding and bruised, 

I staggered to my feet. 

You said I was your everything. 

You claimed to love me. 

But then you’d see a loose thread on my sweater and pull. 

Pull me apart and watch me unravel on the floor. 

Then with your tongue to lash at my flesh. 

Your words leaving welts on my heart.

Again, bruised and bleeding, you help me to my feet, clean me up.

Only to push me down again. 

I became numb. 

I couldn’t feel the pain but in turn,

I could no longer feel the tenderness of love. 

I was a machine. I was a game. I was a game you were losing.

 And you lost. 

But someone else came along and found the reset button. 

Tuned me up and I’m as good as new. 

I can feel. I was wrong. 

I’m no machine. 

I’m real. He’s real. WE’RE REAL. 

Acceptance and understanding brought me back to life. 

I can breathe and there is no heaviness on my chest. Suffocating me. Smothering me. 

He knows me. All of me. Every me that ever was. 

This is what love is. 

And it’s bliss. 

Help! I ran out of laundry detergent! Don’t worry… I’ve got you…

So I ran out of laundry detergent… don’t act like it’s never happened to you  otherwise why the fuck would you be here reading my stupid blog about it? Yeah. That’s what I thought. Now wipe that smug look off your face and read on, bitches… because this shit GOLD!

I needed to get the kids clothes clean quickly… my car isn’t running so I was left to my own devices. I remember making laundry detergent before by using a recipe on pintrest but I wasn’t a huge fan. It didn’t rinse well and I just liked the store bought stuff better. 

Well that wasn’t an option for me yesterday. I remember needing washing soda, borax and some kind of bar soap I’d never heard of but I didn’t have any of that shit. I like to bake and I also use baking soda for lots of other things so I had tons of it on hand. What did I do? No… I didn’t just use baking soda because I’m pretty sure that was my mistake the first time. I made my own. I threw a bunch of baking soda onto a cookie sheet and baked that shit on 400° for  .. well I don’t exactly know. I have ADHD so I just went off and mixed yhe other shit together, made a phone call or two fucked around online, then remembered it was in the oven. From what I’ve read, it supposed to take anywhere from 15-30 mins… who knows. I just know that I can tell when it’s done by looking at it.When it changes its chemical composition from sodium bicarbonate into sodium carbonate it takes on a finer, duller and almost dusty quality rather than the brighter, crystallized and clumpier appearance it has before being heated. It’s much finer. So much so, that when I was dumping it into the container, it made me sneeze. It kinda floats in the air creating a dust cloud if you’re not careful. I’d say that I used about 1 cup? Not sure just dumped what was left in the box onto the cookie sheet. 

I didn’t have any of that weird hippie soap or stuff that only old people buy (that I had never seen or heard of until I saw it on pintrest)  but lucky for me, my boyfriend only uses dove bar soap ( and just happened to try the store brand for the first time) (because he doesn’t like feeling residue or having his skin dried out or having any heavy Cologne or perfume scents left behind) I didn’t have liquid Castille soap (whatever the fuck that is) but I did have other ingredients that I frequently use for stain removal and brightening up dingy clothes. 

So I spent about an hr on thus project which is fine because I FUCKING LOVE CRAFTING AND DIY PROJECTS! So here goes my desperate homemade detergent recipe. 

  • First, as formentioned, I didn’t have Washing soda so I turned on the oven to 400° and emptied the rest of my baking soda out onto a cookie sheet (ended up being about 1 cup) and threw that bitch i the oven 
  • Then,  I grated the fuck out of a bar of that generic dove soap. I didn’t even have a grater. I used an old ass strainer/sifter thing that has probably been in my family since they were  undoubtedly dragged over here from Ireland and made someone’s bitch for awhile… knowing my family, they probably stole it from their Massa’s kitchen just as a subtle way of saying “fuck you”to the man and that’s why it’s lasted so long. But it worked well. 
  • After that was done in added 1 cup of hydrogen peroxide 
  • Then about 1/4 cup of dawn dish soap
  • And 1/2 cup vinegar 
  • Then I mixed the shit out of it with a spoon. It was kinda foamy-ish 

Then my landlord contacted me about a text I had sent inquiring about installing a lycra swing in the ceiling of basement play area for my son and ended up bullshitting for roughly 30-45 mins

  • Then by then i knew my baking soda turned to washing soda, I added that to the rest of the ingredients. I sneezed a couple of times then mixed that in too. 

Then my son’s grandmother called and I forgot what I was doing because I talked to her for about 45 mins

  • About halfway through that phonecall I remembered that I was making laundry soap and spread it out onto a cookie sheet again. It was weird Like a cross between shaving gel and liquid cascade. 
  • Because i had made a small amount of it yesterday and through the day it had dried and was in a clumped powdery substance that i just smashed with the bottom of a glass and it looked just like store bought powdered laundry detergent.

I still used it prior to it drying out because I didn’t know that it would and I’m impatient af even though I’d find out later that it dissolved much faster once it was powdery again.

I tested it out on a medium load of the kids clothes and then again on a blanket that is used with a duvet cover. Both washed in hot water because boys = germs and germs are icky. 

Both times, the water came out looking so dirty when it drained before the rinse cycle the rinse cycle water was pretty clear and the clothes and blanket came out soft even though I forgot to add dryer sheets. 

I would say this is an overall win for a half-assed recipe that I threw together just using what I had. I will probably use this recipe for awhile and then switch to another soap that doesn’t have conditioners to prevent any build-up or dingy-ness. But it’s working out nicely thus far. 

I know the other stuff is fine because I used that combo on some serious stains on my son’s hand-me-down coat that he got from my boyfriend’s son. My boyfriend said “you’ll never get those stains out but other than that it’s perfect” the thing looked like it had been dragged in mud for a mile then washed again and again leaving it still  dirty looking. Mostpeople would’ve said ” fuck that drama” and threw it away, but because he said I’d never get the stains out, I had to prove that I could because I saw it as a challenge. 

Spoiler alert

I got them all out. 

Ha ha! I win!