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Rules For White Boys Dating Latinas

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Written by another divorced and damaged expat living in Mexico. He asked it be published anonymously if only because he desires to live a little longer. There are not many rules when it comes to dating Latinas but here are three of the Big Ones: No machismo bullshit. Latin women, especially Mexican women, have seen, and felt, all the aggression, manly moves and heard all the bragdocio they can tolderate. That’s why they are going out with you, gringo. Acting like Billy Bad Ass will do nothing but insure you go home with the same hard-on you showed up with. If you can’t quite grasp this concept, pretend your mama is in the backseat or at the table watching it all. Act like that. 
And don’t talk so much. Listen. In many, if not most, cases you will learn what a tough life really looks like, feels like, and you will humbled. Humility is attractive. “Te quero” and “Te amo.” Know the difference. They both technically mean “I love you,” but you get no credit for mincing or confusi
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I did nothing today

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From the patio . . . I did nothing today. I breathed. I sat. I made lunch. I walked my dogs. I looked at the sky. I scribbled. I guess that is not nothing, but none of what I did today was on a “to do” list, a calendar, or, in any way, planned. What I did today was exactly what I wanted to do at the moment I wanted to do it. It was life in stream of consciousness. What I did was slow. And present. For the first time in my remembered life, I was not focused on a goal. I was not trying to accomplish anything. I was not trying to change, judge, criticize, alter, control, or manipulate anyone or any circumstance. I have been aware for some time that life has no interest in my plans or dreams and so I dispensed with them. At least for today. I did not try to impress anyone or be worthy of praise or even acknowledgement. I did not try to justify my lack of productivity to anyone, including myself. I ignored my frightened ego. Indeed, I did not try t
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On Being A Loner

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“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.” - Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900 ) The term pack animal is used to describe a beast of burden used to carry heavy loads over long distances such as donkeys and mules. The term also refers to animals that live and hunt in packs such as wolves and hyenas, The best example of both types of pack animals is the human. Like mules, most of us put on blinders each morning and carry the load, doomed to spend a large majority of our lives compulsively working at jobs we despise and where success only breeds more work. Ironically, most work so that one day they don’t have to work anymore. When not laboring, the pack gathers at designated times and places, e.g., parties, meetings, to recite long worn out aphorisms, nod, agree, and seek approval and validation in t
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Fifteen Months, Fifteen Days

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Fifteen months and fifteen days ago my life ended. Or, I thought it had. The woman I loved, Lorena Alcala, died of leukemia. It was only then that I understood Camus’ admonition: “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering that fundamental question of philosophy.” I pondered that problem for months. I read innumerable books and articles on grief, all of which assured me that I was not insane to think about such things, but rather, normal, that grief is a “process” and that while I would never “move on,” I would, one day, learn to live again, that I would decide life is, indeed, worth living. Today is that day. Just as Lorena taught me what mature love means, the pain that has tracked me like a wounded animal since her death has taught me that life is worth living, that there are people who care that seem to come out of nowhere, people who have helped me selflessly along this mo
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No Way Back To Eden

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It has been a year since Lorena, my love, my partner, my hopes and my dreams, died. It seems like yesterday and an eternity. I have grieved. My sadness, punctuated by hopelessness and anger, has been unrelenting. Friends ask whether anything has changed in the year since leukemia ended her life and our future together. Nothing really, except that I have gotten used to being alone, really alone. I cry daily, often in public, and am no longer ashamed. Tears and regrets have become somehow normal, another example of man’s inexorable ability to habituate to any circumstance, no matter how wonderful or terrible it may be. I spend most of my time at home, the one I bought to live in with Lorena for the rest of our lives, a home filled with photographs, shadow boxes, her things, our memories. She is my first thought every morning and my last thought every night. I do not will my circumstance, but accept it without self-pity. It is simply the way it is. A wise friend, who also
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RIP Milo

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Merry Christmas From The “Greatest Nation”

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I will keep this short. I had planned to spend Christmas with my one true love, Lorena. Death intervened. It has been six months now. Lorena died too young and was deprived of a beautiful life. And I was deprived of the life I dreamt of. And I have cried a million tears. This year my parents invited me for Christmas. Hard to believe, I know. My parents are still alive. 90 and 99. And so I am here. Back in what they, and so many Americans, call the “greatest nation.” A couple of hours ago I went to get them a sandwich at Subway. Standing in below freezing weather was this woman. I sat in my car and watched as people came and went from the sandwich and neighboring shops with not one giving her a dime. I approached her and handed her some money. She asked God to bless me and I smiled and thanked her. And then the tears began. Not hers. Mine. I heard myself say, “I am so sorry. No one should have to live this way, to do what you are doing. Not here.” She put her sign
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