The Couch Chronicles...Continued

"I can't see Texas from here."  That's one of my all time favorite George Strait songs and before I became a transplant here in the Golden State, I enjoyed the catchy tune because after all, George is one of my all time favorite singers.   Well, I can't really see Texas from here but Texas is who I am and when I was asked, "Do you miss Texas?' I confidently said, "No, I don't miss Texas.  I miss people in Texas.  Not everyone, but there are a few I really miss." So here you have it...my "basket of deplorables." My dad...having breakfast with him and shooting the shit aka getting all the family chisme and talking a little sports. My mom...her big smile and warm embrace.  Her IDGAD attitude and her undying ability to help those around her. My Bestie Esmer...sitting at her kitchen table and laughing at pendejadas and tonteras...oh wait...we still do that but now it's on the phone. My Big Mijo Eduardo...coffee or Shiners...

Life has a funny way of bringing things back into your life until you have learned whatever it is you need to learn.  This I have found out, the hard way.  Too many times I have asked, "Why does this shit keep happening?"  Well my friends, it happens so you can wake up!  Snap out of it!  Get a grip!   Lately I've become painfully aware of some things I like to refer to as character flaws.  The first step is recognizing that they exist and for someone like me, a self-proclaimed badass, admitting that there might be some work to do is not easy.  I think I'm pretty great.  I think others would agree and if they don't agree they're probably too scared to admit it.  So what I know about the universe is that what you send out you get right back.  It is a daily struggle to send out happy, positive vibes because we all know I get fired up from time to time.  The fiery Texas girl wants to put people in check...imagine Yosemite S...

*a   rising   again,   as   from   decay,   disuse,   revival;  the act of causing something that had ended or been forgotten or lost to exist again, to be used again, etc. The title of this blog post is in no way meant to offend anyone and by no means is it a comparison to religious beliefs.  It is simply a word taken from the dictionary to best describe the return of my blog on a day in which many acknowledge Christ's Resurrection.   As I sit alone today, preparing to celebrate my first Easter in a new place, away from my kiddos, my parents, my siblings and close friends, I have time to reflect on the events of the last few years.  To say they have been challenging would be an understatement.   The Couch Chronicles was my escape, my outlet, a place to unplug from the world and let out my frustrations.  Once I had reached the place where I felt contentment and peace, I believed it was time to say farewell to my per...

A little over three years ago I embarked on creating an outlet, a place to let it all out, to rant, vent and release the storm stirring inside of me.  I was, to put it lightly, a Hot Ass Mess or as my good pal Charlene used to say, a HAM.   The Couch Chronicles became the one thing I had absolute control over.  It was mine, to do with as I pleased.  Many times it came under fire from people not willing to see passed their own nose, the chismosos who wanted to dissect it and read between the lines.  The blog was made public for a reason, I have nothing to hide.  There is no hidden agenda.  What you see is what you get.  Like it, don't like it.  If you want to know something, ask.  If I want to share something, I will.  If I want it kept private, I won't.   I've decided that 2016, although quite the ratchet year for ShowBiz, has not been my worst.  In fact, it's become one of the best in recent years.  So it's ...

A wise man (Eddie) once told me that we see what we want to see...I'd even take it a step further and say that we hear what we want to hear.  And with today's flood of posts and tweets it's easy to see how we've become obsessed with putting on a display.  After all, a glimpse into someone's reality might not go over as well.  For example, I like to post happy pictures of me and the biologicals.  I like to tweet articles on ways to be a great teacher.  I use my Instagram for silly memes and pictures of my favorite beverages; the images and thoughts of happy times because ultimately that's what I'm trying to send out into the world...positive, uplifting vibes.   But my reality can be a much darker place.  It can be filled with sorrow and angst, with a storm of thoughts swirling violently and the only way to silence the noise is to disconnect, to unplug, to tune out the world around me.  The challenge, of course, is delaying the storm o...

I have used the hashtag #pamf many times on social media and my network of friends, my inner circle, the people I secretly refer to as the Cynsters, they all know that #pamf is short for Pansy Ass Mutha Fucka!  Now, before you go trying to figure out who this refers to, let me stop you right there by stating it can refer to one or many individuals I have known or have yet to meet.  It's my hashtag and I will do with it as I please... So it's no secret I have had my fair share of #pamf experiences but recently, I stumbled upon something new...a rare finding, the #bamf or Bad Ass Mutha Fucka.  The Bamf is the complete opposite of the Pamf.  Hero v. Villain if you will.  Where as the pamf would work my last good nerve, the bamf tickles my funny bone.  Pamfs are condescending and inconsiderate, Bamfs are respectful and go the extra mile.   Allow me to illustrate the difference in an easy to read table.  (Tables and charts are some of my favorite t...

We met in 1997.  I was fresh out of college, a brand new teacher.  We bonded one evening in her classroom when we found out we had more in common than we knew.  We were both the youngest, had two sisters, short dads who worked their butts off to provide for their families and so many more things, too many to list.   She has been by my side through thick and thin, happy and sad, joy and tragedy.  She has seen me laugh hysterically and she is one, of the very few, that has seen me break down and cry the ugly cry.  I love her more than I can describe.  For lack of better words, she is my other half, my missing piece and even though our lives have kept us busy and we don't get to spend as much time with each other, sometimes just hearing her voice, her "I know sweetie, I know" is all I need.   We've had the pleasure of working at two different schools together, on the same team and dangerously, in the same hall.  She has rushed into my class...