I have an amazing life.  I’ve been places and done things that people only dream of.  I’m only 32. 

But . . . there it is . . that ugly word.  I have it all.  BUT. 

I want more. 

Is it greed?  Selfishness?  Idiocy?  Jealousy?  The grass is greener, and all that jazz.  It might be a little bit of all of that. 

I’ve lost 110 lbs.   I WANT MORE.  I still have a ways to go, and I’m currently struggling.  This shit is HARD.  A friend told me . . “no one said it would be easy.  It’ll just be worth it.”  Yeah super great thanks . . . I want it to be EASY.   I know I won’t appreciate it if it wasn’t difficult . . . but does it have to be SO difficult that I struggle daily?  That I drive myself into depression because my stomach isn’t flat and I feel I’m not worthy to live my own life?  (that’s the idiocy creeping in right there).  This is the funny part . . I *know* it’s dumb.  I know that it’s ridiculous to think that I’m not worth an amazing life because my stupid skin sticks out in places that I don’t like.  I know it’s useless and that I can also do something about it (which, I have so far).  But yet that part of me . . that girlie, emotional, socially susceptible part of me is in my head screaming “it’s not fair!”. 

(I keep expecting to see some old black and white movie star. Hair slicked back.  Cigarette between his lips.  He has a small chuckle at my brains outburst and, removing the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers, says “no shit honey.  Life sure ain’t fair.  Not one bit.” . . . and chuckles again while sticking the cigarette between his lips again.)

I’ll continue trudging on.  It’s not in me to give up.  I just wish I could catch a break with this weight loss. 

It’s not that I’m not thankful for everything I have.  Trust me.  I am.  I earned a lot of it all on my own.  Hard work pays off, etc.  And I’m not expecting my life to get miraculously better once I reach my goal weight … but I know, for certain, that I’ll be able to life my life more freely.  Enjoy it more.  The albatross might still hang around my neck . . .

but he’ll weigh a LOT less than he used to. 

Cake. 

No seriously.  Entirely edible.  Two. Hundred. Pounds. of. Cake. 

I’m completely blown away. It’s from this amazing bakery:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/9438541@N04/4058859283/in/photostream/

* I’m crushing on Christina Perri

* She needs to come out with MOAR

* It’s 92 degrees today and I’m not melting.

* wait till it’s 102

* I’m having a lazy day

* and loving it

* I’m planning on getting back into crochet

* I need SOMETHING to do here that doesn’t cost the earth and will be somewhat constructive

* coffee = life

* strawberries > coffee

* I’m happy today

So Saturday afternoon I was happily puttering around my room … doing a whole lot of nothing . . . and I noticed some water near the toilet. No biggie . . . the cleaning lady had been here . . that’s normal. So I continued to putter. We went to the store, did your normal Saturday things (well. . practicing isn’t normal for anyone but us but hey . . . we’re special people) . . .

went in the bathroom in the afternoon (you know how these things go) . . . and I noticed the water was still there. hmm. So I used said toilet  . . . and noticed that there was actually water RUNNING down the side of the pot now.

RUH ROH RORGE!

Sooo I head over to the neighbors who handles all the repairs and things (and manage to stub my toe SO HARD that half of my toenail flies off into his garden. . . . dagnabit) . . . rang the doorbell, and was told that he was asleep. GRAND. It’s 3:00 in the afternoon . . . WTF!!! So I come back . . . put a towel on the floor (it’s the water intake that’s leaking, so at least it’s not poo all over my floor, just clean water). . .

he eventually shows up, takes a look and says OK! I’ll call the plumber. But he probably won’t be able to get here till Monday.

o_0

Viva Me-hee-ko.

So I leave the towel down, and sit down to practice . . . and about an hour later, the doorbell rings. And it’s the plumber! Great . . . wasn’t expecting you. It’s 4:00. My bathroom is attached to my bedroom so now I’m going to have some strange Mexican guy in my room for at least 2 hours (TWO HOURS?!?! To change a leaky connection? yeah ok) . .. so I grab my computer and settle down to watch a few shows while he does his thing.

He takes a look at the SITCH . . . and decides he doesn’t have enough STUFF . . . so he takes off in his little broken down mexican truck to go get more THINGS. Comes back . . and I hear him start sawing into the pipe.

why is he sawing. wtf is going on in there? But I know nothing about plumbing so I’m going to keep my mouth shut.

Then he comes out and asks me if he can take a look at the gas tank on the roof.

WHY does he want to look at our gas? What does that have to do WITH MY TOILET?

Next thing I know he’s got the entire gas canister (this thing is pretty darn big) . . . and he’s unhooked it, rolled it across the roof, down the stairs, rolled it THROUGH OUR HOUSE AND INTO MY BATHROOM.

Oh. My. God . . . .

Now mind you . . . they put an additive in the gas to make it smell . . . so you know when you have a gas leak. Well . . the stuff they use here? Makes it smell like rancid garlic. So now my entire house smells like rancid garlic. WOOHOO. Anyone got a match?

OH . . . NO NO NO no need for a match! My little wrinkled mexican friend puts a little hose attachment on the gas canister and guess what??!?! NOW IT’S A BLOWTORCH. Seriously I should have been running for my life at this point. Especially when he came out to ask me for an ‘incinerador’. Oooh yeah great. . . lets combine a huge gas tank, a blowtorch ATTACHMENT??? (wtf) AND A FLAME!! Sounds like a party!!!!!!!

He lit that sucker up and it sounded like an F16 jet was taking off in my bathroom.

I’m just glad we didn’t all blow up.

He was in my bathroom from 4pm to 8:30pm. HOW IN THE HELL IS THAT 2 HOURS?!? I couldn’t do anything. I was stuck. . . . at the dining room table . . . going through my saved up tv shows like they were water. The house smelled amazing. The roommates were practicing. My behind was getting sore just from sitting on these hard chairs. (Not to mention that he probably used our entire months worth of gas blowtorching my bathroom).

FINALLY finally he started packing up. He muscled that gas canister up the stairs and hooked it back up (but the jerk didn’t light our water heater again . . . I’m really hating the whole gas situation here) and ‘swept up’. BAHAHA yeah. It looks like I had 2 mud wrestlers in my bathroom. It’s a travesty in there.

Not only is there a mess all over the floor . . . his blowtorch flame was so big? THAT HE MELTED THE SEAT LID AND THE FLUSH HANDLE ON MY TOILET.

nice. real nice. Just fantastic. Not like it was anything special to begin with (I mean this is Mexico after all) but now?!?!?!?! Now it’s like . . the wilted, charred version of what I had. SO MUCH BETTER. :facepalm:

OH. . . oh. And not only do we have the great melt of the weekend . . . . guess what. HE’S NOT DONE. How do I know this? The pipe connected to the toilet . . . a. is wrapped up in black electrical tape. 2. IS STILL LEAKING.

WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO

he looks at me and says (in spanish of course) . . . “I’ll be back monday at 8:00″ (oh great) . . me: “8:00???” . . . him: “ok maybe 8:30″ . . . me “uh huh, ok” (we’ll see about that)

He showed up at 9 this morning. (figured) OH and guess what. . .

HE BROUGHT TWO PLUMBER FRIENDS WITH HIM!!

So now all 3 of them are squeezed into my tiny little bathroom which happens to be in my bedroom . . contemplating my toilet. They just asked for acid (the cleaning type that they use here in Mexico . . . that stuff is CRAZY) . . I’m afraid. I’m very, very afraid.

A few years ago now, I wrote a blog about turning 30.  And how I had imagined what 30 would be like . . .  that I would be somewhere amazing, being a musician, building a life. 

Never, in a million years, would I have guessed I would be here. 

I am proof . . living proof. . .that if you work hard enough, and have determination . . you CAN get what you want. 

July 26, 2010 . . it was a normal day in the life of me.  Office job, freelance musician gigs in the evenings . . . lovely apartment . . lonely life.  2 cats.  All the trimmings.  Then . . I received an email.  Just a short email . . .  “hey Meredith, we’re holding auditions . . . send in a video”.  I knew the person who was emailing . . he and I had gone to school together.  I hadn’t seen him since.  But, an opportunity is an opportunity.  I only had one week to prepare.  (absolutely not enough time) . . but I gathered my wits, and sent in the tape.  It was due August 1st.  I sent it off August 1st. 

August 3, 2010 . . . I was on a plane to Ireland for my cousins wedding.  I briefly thought about the audition, but figured that if anything happened he would email me.  I didn’t give it another thought. The wedding was beautiful  . . it was SO cold there . . . I finally got to meet my cousins son.  It was a wonderful few weeks. 

August 15, 2010 . . I returned back to the US . . . once again thought about the audition.  I hadn’t heard a thing . . . shrugged it off as usual . . . just another audition in the books.  Time to keep on keepin’ on. 

August 22, 2010 . . . I’m driving to my parents house for a Sunday visit.  Sunshiney day . . . I was singing along to the radio . . . my life was routine, but I was finding the best in it.  My phone goes off letting me know I have a text message.  I glance at it, but don’t know the number . . so keep driving.  Upon arrival, I grab the phone as an afterthought . . . better check it before I go inside in case it’s something important. 

“Mere . . things look good . . . contact me ASAP.”

o_0

Right there.  Right there in that moment, my life was thrown into a whole other dimension.  I had won.  I won. *I* won an audition.  I *won* an *audition!* . . I did a victory dance in the driveway.  I danced into the house . . . . I stood there staring at my parents . . . how do I tell them?  How do I break this incredible news to them?  How will they take it?

Not only did their daughter achieve something she’s been working for since she was 9 years old . . (here will be joy! excitement!) . . . but this job will take her further away from them than she’s ever been before in her entire life. 

My mother didn’t even bother with the happy.  She glared at me.  “you can’t go” she says.  Her bottom lip is threatening to poke out of her mouth like a defiant child.  My father just looks shocked.  Slightly unsure of what to say.  He looks worried. 

You see . . . I didn’t move across the US.  I didn’t get a job in Europe, or Asia. 

I won an audition for an orchestra in Mexico.   And the season started in 2 weeks. 

Panic ensued, lives were turned upside down, my bosses were crestfallen yet joyful for me.  In a whirlwind of activity, I left behind my old, easy, routine for an adventure.

I’ve been living in The Yucatan Peninsula since September 6, 2010.  And starting today, I’m back to Xanga.  This is where I’ll share all the deep, dark, scary bits . . . and the hopeful bits . . . the worried bits . . . the stuff I can’t share on the public, family blog.  This is where the real me will be.  The whole picture.