Running will get you through life… So long as you run pretty!

I ran with my mother today. It was the first time we have run together in years… literally.

Growing up, runs around the neighborhood, on Braes Bayou and at Memorial Park with my mom were a regular occurrence. Every week at least 3 times a week we’d get dressed, put our running shoes on and Mom would make me run with her. It was never really my cup of tea… running until you’re hot, smelly and sweaty when you’re 9 years old isn’t all that exciting.

As I entered junior high school I started to play sports… running got me through that. As a matter of fact I was better than most of the other girls…so I’d run with the boys! When I tried out for cheerleader it helped me lose the extra pounds gained during puberty… running got me into my cheerleading uniform.

When I entered high school I wanted to play varsity soccer… and running got me on the team. When I switched schools and decided not to play sports running kept me trim and in my clothes.

All those years I spent running I never really enjoyed doing it. It was just something I had to do because my mom wanted me to or my coach wanted me to or my wardrobe insisted that I do.

But really, deep down inside, I guess it was for my mom. As an All American collegiate runner it was her passion. I would never be the runner she was. Not because I wasn’t an athlete, but because I didn’t think I had the drive or the talent as a runner. Not to mention after a half mile around the track my A.D.D. kicks in and I’m ready to go home.

I know you’re probably wondering why I’m writing about running today... well running has gotten me through life.

I remember being 19 years old, a freshman in college, living in Austin… it was my first time away from home. I spent a lot of time with my aunt and uncle that year, but it wasn’t like being home with my mother. So I ran… I’d get home from class when no one was home and I’d get dressed, put on my running shoes and hit the road. It was my way of being with my mom when I couldn’t. As I ran I could hear her voice in my head… “run pretty Phallynn”.

Elbows straight back… stand up straight… relax your jaw… breathe through your nose and mouth… now open up your stride… don’t let your feet hit hard…it all played through my head. When I ran I felt like my mom was right there with me. I could almost hear her running shoes hitting the pavement next to me. I was home.

When I was 20 years old I moved back home… for a boy (but I told everyone it was for my major). After 2 years he broke my heart. What did I do when I got home? I ran. I remember getting home and crying. I went upstairs, got dressed, put on my running shoes and hit the road with tears in my eyes. I ran a lot those next few months… running got me over my first love.

When I was 22 I lost one of my closest friends in an unexpected and tragic accident. He was like my brother and my heart mourned and I cried like never before. I hadn’t run regularly in a long time. But I thought I’d give it a shot and see how far I could go. So I went into my apartment got dressed, put on my running shoes and hit the road. It felt good… it wasn’t as fast as before, but it felt good. Running helped me to stop mourning.

From the age of 22 to 25 I worked as a “promotional model”… I still laugh at that title. Being in shape was key. No one wants to see a fat girl in a spaghetti strap top and hot pants. So I went back to what I knew. At least 4 times a week I got dressed, put on my running shoes and hit the road. Running helped me pay my bills and finish college.

At 26 years old I had surgery. It was a minor surgery, but I couldn’t run or workout for 3 months. The doctor told me I might bust my stitches… I thought my head might explode. After 3 months of not working out I dug out my running shoes… I dusted them off, got dressed, put on my running shoes and hit the road. It felt like home. Running helped me recover from surgery.

Now, at 28 years old, I run for me. I started to run for my mom. It was our bonding time…our mother daughter time. It was what we did as a 2 person family. Now I run 4 or 5 times a week. When I’m sick, hungover, tired, out of town, sad, broken hearted or just plain stressed out…I run. Running is my release and it gets me through life. Even though I log most of my miles on the treadmill I still hear my mom’s voice next to me…”run pretty Phallynn”.

So today, I got a call from my mom. We got dressed, put on our running shoes and hit the road…together. I was home… elbows straight back… stand up straight… relax your jaw… breathe through your nose and mouth… now open up your stride… don’t let your feet hit hard…

There we were mother and daughter running pretty through life together for the first time in years.




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I was thankful for stickers this Thanksgiving… among other things…

It’s that time of year again… the time of year that most of us dread, but once it’s all said and done we’re glad we experienced it. It’s the time of year for friends, family, stress, traveling and … stickers for stuff. I know these stickers for stuff sounds weird, but its a reminder of where I’m from, where I’m going and what you can do if you keep up with 100 stickers.

Let’s start off with family, traveling and stress… and going back to where I’m from…I’m from small town west Texas and I usually dread going back. Fortunately and unfortunately I was raised in Houston. So, I’m one of those lucky people who actually knows what it’s like in both worlds… and let me tell ya it’s different!

I have to address the drive to my hometown. I usually pile in the car with my parents and my dog (which I only have visitation with now) and we make the 8 hour trek. Apparently, airports aren’t open on holiday weekends in small towns.  I’m thankful for the time I get to spend with my parents on the way there, but I’m not thankful for the regular “discussions” on the way or arguing over who is going to drive. No matter where we’re going, if we’re in the car longer than 2 hours someone is gonna be pissed before we arrive at our destination. I guess it is what it is, but I can at least be thankful for the fact that we have always managed to arrive in one piece…surprisingly.

Once we make it to my hometown we have the family portion of the holidays. As I’ve mentioned before there is nothing like my grandmother’s cooking. It makes you forget about your healthy eating habits and that bridesmaid dress you have to fit into. I crave her cooking and I can say there are days I wish I lived in this town so I could have regular access to it. Needless to say at the end of the holiday weekend the fat girl inside of me was very happy!

Sometimes I forget my family is more than my grandmother and her cooking. There’s my grandfather and his comments on how all the girls in the family are bigger than the last time he saw us. It can be frustrating, but Grandpa J is old and when I’m 80 something I’ll probably tell my grandchildren what I think too.

Then there are the aunts, uncles and cousins. Oh if I could bottle up joy and pass it out to everyone I know… It would be them…if you didn’t catch the sarcasm please stop reading now. Let me rephrase… it’s not all of the aunts, uncles and cousins that embody the pure joy of a needle going through my eyeball, however, I can say there are enough of them to make me start drinking Jack around noon. Because of them I am thankful for two things… 1. The holidays are only once a year and 2. Thank God we don’t have to live together.

Gone are the days when my family used to play “touch” football in my grandparent’s backyard until one of us kids got the wind knocked-out of us and started crying. We don’t tell ghost stories outside at night anymore either. Instead, we talk about who is getting married, why some of us aren’t married, traveling for work, why people don’t pick up the dog poo in their yards, where you’re going on your next vacation, etc.... I guess because that’s who we’ve all become… grown-ups.

I feel like I came from a family of close-knit, touch football players and ghost story tellers and went to a family who is now more concerned about work, money and how people view them. I will admit I’m guilty of it too… especially when telling my younger cousins what I think about where they’re going. The freakish punk make-up isn’t cute, having a baby at 17 is stupid, your muffin top is way too much for those jeans… So where my family & I are heading is partly my fault too.

As the oldest granddaughter and the second oldest grandchild, I should probably set an example for the younger ones… but it’s hard when they refuse to listen. It’s weird seeing a different family than where I came from. It makes me long for the holidays of my childhood.

One thing I can say has never changed is my grandmother’s need for a great deal… that being her stickers for stuff. My mom and I went to the local grocery store to pick up a few last minute items for the Thanksgiving meal. When we checked out the cashier gave us 10 stickers.

“What are these for?” we asked.

“When you get enough stickers you get free stuff” the cashier told us.

“Oh” I said. “Stickers for stuff!”

 A little redneck if you ask me, but then my mother told me to save them for Momo… and then that’s when it hit me! I remember staying with my grandmother for a little while when my parents were separating. I remember going to the grocery store and getting stickers. When we returned home she had a little envelope where she kept her sticker stash. Her stickers for stuff envelope…

We took the stickers home and gave them to Momo. Her reaction was priceless! It was the same as when I play Monopoly from McDonalds hoping to win a million dollars, except she actually “wins” in the end and gets stuff for her stickers. She had her brochure out and added her new stickers to the rows she already had. That’s when I knew some things never change in our family.

I may not always get along with my family. I may not always agree with what they do. We may not play touch football in Momo’s backyard anymore. We may not tell ghost stories when it gets dark. We may not do all of those things anymore, but we do still have those memories. The memories for which I am very thankful.

We were those kids and it is our job to let our kids be those kids too. Someday, in the future when my cousins and I have our own families and our parents are grandparents and our grandparents are great grandparents we will play touch football and tell ghost stories with our children. But most importantly we will teach our kids to always bring grandma stickers for stuff… Not for the free stuff, but to remember family is not just where we came from, it’s where we’re going and some things will never change.  

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It’s because I’m brown…

I’m never a proponent of pulling the “race card”, but I do think there are some things that warrant a race reference…as an American of Latino/Hispanic decent there are some things only people of the same background would understand. What would that be you ask???

 Well, as a “Latina” I have a weird obsession with all things bright and glittery… and not just diamonds, but sequins dresses, satin red shoes with flowers, glitter shoes, gaudy rings… My list of obnoxious and gaudy attire goes on and on.  But I can’t help it! It’s because I’m brown! Like a moth drawn to a fire I can’t turn down a sparkly dress or shoes… I must buy… even if it sits in my closet for a year before I wear it.

My insane cravings for tamales fresh out of the husk and homemade corn tortillas are something that only a person with a grandmother like mine can appreciate. Every time we go visit “Momo” she has brisket, homemade salsa, tamales and homemade corn tortillas waiting for me. It makes the 8 hour drive to the small town in west Texas well worth it! Regular cravings for chalula sauce, tamales, fresh corn tortillas, jalapeños, salsa and cheese are probably eating me to a slightly earlier death, but I’m brown… it’s in my blood.

In addition to my closet full of glitter and bottles of chalula sauce I have vowed to never leave the house without make-up. Ever since I was young, I can remember my mom and "mis tias" never leaving the house without their make-up on. Now, as a 28 year old single female in the big city I wouldn’t dare leave the house without my concealer, foundation, powder, bronzer, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara and highlighter. Who knows who you might run into… I might meet a single, catholic, attorney who wants to have 5 kids and loves a girl with a glitter & chalula sauce obsession… It may seem farfetched, but so are Santa and the Easter bunny. I can’t help always looking like I may run into my future husband…I’m brown and that’s how we roll.

My list of what some people may call crazy, weird or odd practices is never ending… I don’t notice them until I’m around someone who isn’t brown like me. I don’t expect someone who is of a different background to understand my weird obsession with Selena, dodging a flying chancla, my wall of crosses and wanting my grandmother’s wall sized portrait (aka “Lupita”) of the Virgen de Guadalupe.

These are all things that are related to my background… and there are Latinos who are different from me… it’s who we are. We are all different and unique in our own way. Every race and religion is different. It’s what makes us who we are as a country. We are a melting pot of diversity and it’s amazing to say I live in a country that embraces diversity.

Even though I love my country and its diversity I don’t love people who use their diversity as an excuse…an excuse to perform at a lower level, to not work, to not speak English, to not pay taxes or to be hateful to other people. One of my biggest pet peeves is people who make excuses for not doing their best. And on top of it using race as the excuse to not do their best.

As a Latina I have always been caught in “limbo”. As a product of private school and a predominately white public high school I was always a little different. I was never white enough for the white people and never brown enough for the brown people. I didn’t fit the stereotype… and I’m damn proud I didn’t! Not every Latina has to look like they just had a run in with a black sharpie, have an accent or have crispy curly hair. Even though I have encountered some uncomfortable situations I never let it get to me. I never used race as an excuse to not push forward. I never let my race limit who I was around or dictate what I believed.

I recently heard something at a “Latinos of the GOP” forum that disturbed me. I heard people complain about not wanting to play the race card yet they said they wanted someone in office who was “Hispanic to the core”. This was a complete contradiction and it boggled my mind. These are the kind of people who keep a community, country and most importantly a race from performing at its best. Instead of putting emphasis on a person’s morals, values and beliefs they are putting emphasis on their race.

What we, as a country, need to start doing is following the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. and be a country that does not allow people to “be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character”, and most importantly we also need to be sure we are a country that does not use the color of our skin to be an excuse for a lack of character. Even though I was fairly sheltered growing up I’ve always worked in places where I came across a lot of different races, religions, ages and social classes… I feel that excuses, not race, are the biggest issue we have as a country.

We have become a country of excuses. The people who break the stereotypes are looked at as “lucky” or at the right place at the right time. Not that they didn’t make excuses for where they were from or who they were and just worked. People who broke the mold are the people I look up to. They have inspired me to not try to be white enough or brown enough… they’ve inspired me to be me.

Many people may not get dodging a chancla, Selena, my attraction to glitter and my cravings for home made tortillas. But they can understand me never using it as an excuse to not perform. They can respect my decision to never make excuses and to never be white enough or brown enough, but to just be me. To be a 28 year old, American female who wears glittery shoes, doesn’t use race as a reason to not be all I can be and who does some things just because I’m brown.

Occupy my a**!

Yea… I said it! Occupy my a**! That’s how I feel about the “Occupy Wall Street” protests and its protesters.  I normally wouldn’t make such a strong politically incorrect statement about something, but this is the exception. Actually, that’s a bit of a lie… I would make a politically incorrect comment I would just keep it between my friends and family, but I’ve kept my views on OWS to myself until a recent conversation with a friend.

            We were having our weekly political conversation when we started talking about how this isn’t the “spontaneous” protest they would like us to think it is. In fact my sister-in-law passed on a link from craigslist offering to pay people to become OWS protesters. When I think of spontaneous I don’t think someone being paid to do something. In fact I think of the opposite. Someone who is so passionate and informed on an issue that they would “protest” for free!

I’m a strong believer in the First Amendment and as my friends and family can tell you I am great at exercising it. What I have a problem with are people who are falsely advertising what they’re doing. The “occupy” diaper, as I will call it because it’s full of you know what, is doing just that. Many of the people who are protesting have no clue what the movement and the people who are funding it really stand for. Not to mention many of the protesters are college students who are fresh out of college and have forgotten how their college was paid for.

These young adults claim to be passionate about their cause, but they don’t know what their cause is. Many of these grads (and there are many ivy leaguers there) are saying down with big business, banks and rich people. I’m sorry, but most of our parents saved money and invested to pay for college… and how did they do that? Through banks, Wall Street and their jobs with big business paid them the money to do so.

I understand the frustration of not having a job. It’s something most people go through after graduating college, but it is not an excuse to form a meaningless protest against the institutions that employ more than a third of our country. Instead, not having a job should motivate people to hit the pavement handing out resumes door to door, network, or get a job waiting tables to pay the bills. Getting paid to protest a cause you don’t understand is not the way to get the dream job you complain about not having.

Not to mention the hypocrisy of it all… I can’t imagine trying to bring down the very people who are providing jobs. Even if we left out the approximately 35% of jobs created by big business we still have the other 65% of small business owners or the so-called “rich people”. I came across an interview with an OWS bulls***er and they said they didn’t like rich people, but they couldn’t explain who rich people were… I wonder if they consider Kanye, Russell Simmons, “Fat Bastard” aka Michael Moore and Susan Sarandon rich? I sure do!

If these protesters were as smart as they claim they would have jacked Kanye for his Gucci shoes, stolen Russell’s limo and moved their protests into Michael Moore’s house. These are the real people we need to be after. They are biggest hypocrites and they don’t deserve the million dollar checks they get… right? Isn’t that what OWS is all about? The Robin Hood way of doing things? Oh wait… celebrities don’t count? Hypocrisy at its finest.

Another thing these protesters do not understand is basic world history. The promises they want the government to make of spreading the wealth except for a select few (i.e. celebrities & government officials), providing everything for its people and being omnipresent is called a communist society. Making everyone equal no matter how hard you work and making government present everywhere and giving them control over everything. If that’s what they want send the protesters and their celeb supporters to Cuba, China, Vietnam, Korea or Laos… I’m sure we can find millions of people who would trade with them to come to America and work hard to earn their keep and try their hand at the American dream. After we send them away, we’ll check back in a year and see how things are going… You want to come back to America? Sorry you’re SOL buddy. Call Soros and see if he’ll pay for you to come back.

Now… off of my soap box. I will say this… I am frustrated about the fees banks charge and no longer getting frequent flyer miles when I use my Chase debit card, but I would never spend a month in a public park without showering throwing a fit about it. Instead of getting paid to cause trouble, becoming friends with the homeless and not showering for a month these people should be motivated to change things. Not Obama diaper kind of change, but the get out in the world and make something of yourself change. Truly live the American dream!

And the last time I checked living the American dream wasn’t sleeping in a park with the homeless and eating PB & J sandwiches.



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5.9 million people isn’t all that much… when you’re single…

I recently visited with one of my favorite couples. They’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever met and have a wonderful family. I always enjoy whining to them about being single and they (for some odd reason) enjoy living vicariously through me. Needless to say we all have interesting stories when we get together.

            During my latest visit I mentioned how I always run into my exes or friends of my exes. It always seems to be the ex that trampled my heart the worst. I will admit that I’m horrible at picking them… There was the prominent attorney who “forgot” he was still legally married & had 4 kids; the 40 year old who had never been married, no kids with commitment issues; the smoking hot Jewish drunk (dialer);  the Australian who “surprised” me with 2 kids under the age of 7… my list goes on and on…

            After re-hashing the horrible decisions of my past, my friends iced my pity party cake with “We never run into our exes.”

 What?! This has got to be a cruel joke… Apparently, once you’re married the woodwork that spits out exes and all of their gossipy friends closes up shop and moves on to the next poor single soul.  

Why is this I wondered? I have another single friend who runs a little on the desperate side who thinks if you run into someone enough y’all should get back together. I on the other hand feel if you run into someone enough you should reconsider the places you’re running around.

Although, my desperate 30 something friend may have a point… When are you defying fate? I know you’re supposed leave it all to the love gods, but what if you’re a stubborn, hard headed, know-it-all, single, female like me?

Is the Houston metro area with a population of 5.9 million really that small or is “fate” working its magic to get you and the stubborn 40 year old with commitment issues to see that you’re really meant to be together? How do you know which is which? And why doesn’t fate send a single, non-commitment phobe, 6’4”, green eyed, good looking, successful, guy your way?

Even though my 30-something friend may have good intentions I choose to think it has everything to do with strategic placement. 5.9 million is only small if you make it small. It’s all about where you put yourself. If I put myself in a place, even if I was there first, where my ex and/or his gossipy friends may be there it’s my fault… I placed myself there.

So, now when my “optimistically” desperate friend says to leave it to fate I’ll correct her.  We should leave it to strategic placement! Because if you put yourself in the right places 5.9 million doesn’t have to be small… it can actually be the 4^th largest city in the nation.




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Are Americans a bunch of bandwagon patriots?

Nothing is more “American” than Sunday night football. Growing up I remember watching football with my family. I never realized what it was we were taking part in, until today.

Here we are 3 full weeks after 9/11 and seems almost as if we have all forgotten. Not just about the tragic events of that day, but about just how amazing this country truly is. That is why I ask the question, are Americans a bunch of bandwagon patriots?

I remember 9/11 vividly… It was my 18^th birthday and I remember how my world changed. Not just because legally I was allowed to fight for my country, vote, get my first bank account without my parents, rent a car and buy cigarettes… but because for the first time in my short life I felt the wonderful feeling of being a citizen of a truly united country. It was the America I studied in history class and went on to study while getting a bachelors degree in history. Now let me be clear... I have always been proud of my country. I just never felt unity like I did then.

Now, I look at my younger family members and they don’t see America as I see America. When I think of America I think of the pledge of allegiance, bald eagles, stars & stripes, public prayers, hard work pays off and one nation under God. I think of being proud of being “American”… Not “Mexican- American” or “African-American” or “Asian-American”. We used to all be AMERICANS and we were all working to live the American dream… the idea that if you work hard, do what’s right and pray every night you too can live the dream.

I watched the 9/11 coverage this year and felt so proud to be a part of this country. I was moved to tears. I admit I tear up a little every time I hear the national anthem… It gives me chills. I think of all of the opportunities I’ve been given and have taken advantage of, all because I was lucky enough to be born an American. I thought of all of the brave men and women, including my step-brother, who fought for me to live the wonderful life I live.

Then I thought about all the people who are trying to change this beautiful country. They don’t believe in hard work paying off, they don’t believe in following the rules or being an American. They feel we should all be hyphenated Americans. And this frustrates me because I tell everyone “I’m an American first, a Texan second, Christian third and I just happen to be a “Latina”.

With all of that being said… I still feel there is hope. While doing one of the most American things I can do, watching Sunday night football, I saw a glimmer of hope. The Baltimore Ravens and New York Jets were about to play and Martina McBride was singing our national anthem and there they were… professional athletes who are trained to be rough and tough… grown men in full football pads singing our national anthem. Not only were they singing our national anthem but they had tears in their eyes. I would like to think and will continue to think until I’m told differently that they were thankful for the men and women who fight for our freedoms and their right to be paid millions to play the game they love. I would like to think that they aren’t bandwagon patriots but that they are truly proud to be Americans...

If they can cry for this country on national television the rest of us should cry for this country. We should remember the America that was and that can still be. We need to be proud to wave old glory, say the pledge of allegiance in schools, pray before public events, teach our kids about the history of this country and most importantly teach our kids to be proud to be Americans!




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Avocado Themed Story

I recently traveled to Ft. Lauderdale, FL for work. I get to meet and work with so many “different” people and this trip wasn’t any different. At the end of the third day I visited a very nice doctor. He ordered some of my product and we sat and talked over Cuban coffee. Needless to say I was bouncing off the walls about 30 minutes later. At the end of our meeting he offered me an avocado.  Not being a fan of avocados but not wanting to be rude I accepted it and decided to bring it home to Texas and take it to my parents. They LOVE avocados!

The next day I carried the avocado into every doctor’s office I visited. I didn’t want to leave it in the hot rental car. – that’s right…”Have avocado will travel”…my mom loves westerns-what can I say! Finally, it was time to go to the airport. I checked my bags, but decided to keep the avocado in my purse. As I was going through airport security I all but forgot about the avocado…

As I’m standing at the end of the conveyor belt waiting for my shoes, laptops and my purse with the avocado; the TSA agents at the screen kept staring at me.

Panic set in… Did I forget to put all my liquids in a baggie; was there a bottle of liquids over the 3oz??? I consider myself a pro when it comes to traveling because I travel at least once a month for work and there was no way I made an amateur mistake. All I could picture was getting violated by a “female” TSA agent with a beard named Bertha.

Finally, the two men standing at the screen asked, “Do you have an avocado in your purse?” Oh craps! They got me!  “Yes, I have an avocado.” 

“Did you leave the country?”

“No. I promise the avocado is legal and from here.”

“Are you going to share it?”

“Huh? No… I’m hungry.”

“Ok… Have a good day. Enjoy your avocado.”

Wait… really! Did this just happen to me? “Enjoy your avocado”… As much as I dislike the fact that the TSA already gets to violate people at their choosing and I hate the new scanners at the airports…Especially, when there’s some perverted guy working it who probably has never seen a real live girl naked and he gets a little excited at the outline of the female form… I was a little shocked at how easy it was for me to get past security.

As a Texan I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. I see “illegal avocados” who have snuck across the border from Mexico every day… And as the grandchild of a legal avocado from Mexico it’s a little frustrating...to say the least!




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What are The Avocado Chronicles?

The Avocado Chronicles is a place for me to share my experiences with friends, family and the world. Writing and sharing stories has always been a passion of mine and I’ve finally decided to put them all down in one place.


Why avocado and not something else? Avocados, when at their best, are soft on the outside but deep inside there’s a hard core. Many of my experiences are entertaining and fun, but usually there’s an underlying message.

I’ll touch on everything from funny or embarrassing experiences, politics, love, friendships, family, grammar and karma.

Some names will be changed to protect the guilty! 




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