Sundays Are For Spanish: Snakes in the Kitchen

So, let me start with a somewhat personal question or two. When was the last time you cleaned out your fridge? Do you clean it often? If you were to ask my husband the same questions of me he would answer “Two months ago,” and “Never,” respectively.

I would have to jump in with “Mentiras! Lies!” because his answers would not be true. “I just cleaned it!” I would probably reply, though in reality its been two weeks.

My husband and I have been married four years now and the chore that I hate the most is often a sore subject around here.

El matrimonio (marriage) is difficult and we’ve had some rough patches. The argument that I’m about to tell you about happened in the first year, while I was pregnant with Sergito.

The fridge, el refrigerador, was a mess: full of leftovers, some old meat, many rotting vegetables. This was before I began composting, so there was plenty of green material in the fridge.

Alejandra,” began my husband, standing in front of the open fridge and staring at me unbelieving. “What did you do all week?” he said, as usual.

“S., I’m not talking about this right now,” I answered, trying to evade any conversation requiring work, as usual when it comes to the fridge.

That’s how this argument started and continued until he said this.

Van a estar los serpientes en todas partes!” S. said, gesturing towards the countertops (“There’s going to be snakes everywhere”). As if I would allow snakes to lay coiled in my kitchen for anyone to see. As if the dirty fridge was a beacon to them.

“Snakes?!” said I with laughter in my mouth. It was ridiculous! I’d never had a snake in my house and didn’t have plans to!

“Yes, snakes,” S. replied, sheepishly trying to hide a grin.

Piensa en lo que dices S. No vamos a tener los serpientes en la cocina,” I said with a hand on my hip. (“Think about what you’re saying S. We’re not going to have snakes in the kitchen.”)

Pero sí es posible,” S. said, though I was already laughing and moving forward to clean out the fridge.

I believe that confrontation can bring people together, or drive them apart. Shared laughter can sometimes help, too. Fortunately, we were both able to laugh it off in that moment.

Now the inside joke is part of our family lore, something to tell los niños one day.

Explicit Warning

I cannot read the Bible. I literally can’t (I’m taking that word back for myself ‘cuz there was nothing wrong with it. Try one pumpkin spice and everyone’s throwing up the same sentences – vague warning!). The Bible is in a language I don’t want to learn and uses archaic words.

Personally, Bible quotes can represent a slur to me – not callin’ anyone out. I’ll let you know. Remember who’s got the fucking wheel. And I hate slurs. Slurs are of a class of words to be shunned. The only class to be looked down upon.

Have I used a slur before? What do you think? Does it matter? I will tell you, I try not to use them now. I have felt guilt before. Many times. But I don’t go to confession. I don’t lay my heart bare if I don’t want to. You never know who could steal it.

Remember reality? Yes, there is one here, on the blogverse, and there is one where you’re typing your posts from. Which one matters more? Which one has more of an effect?

Life, and the blog, need explicit language. Not everyone understands implicitly. We don’t even speak the same language. Which is what I hope for my children: to speak one language with all – full of many parts of each.

I know, I’m writing too much, reading too much of my own stuff. But it’s really getting hot in here, and I have to take this shit off.

A Scientist is a Sinner. Or Is It?

Can you be so full of yourself? To believe in science? Can you be so arrogant? Sure, anyone can. Who owns the trademark on a moral? A value? An idea? A word? I don’t. But my thoughts are copyrighted because they’re original. Yep – there’s that arrogance again. But I never said I was a scientist. I said I invented things.

An inventor uses the scientific process: what profession doesn’t? Do you know the process well?

But is this an experiment? Are you my test subjects? Absolutely not. I’m not even doing anything. Life wrote this shit. She can spit words better than any rapper, singer, writer. She can dance, as well. Something that she and I are still struggling to learn to do together.

And other people are doing most of the work, too. I said I listened didn’t I? A fog has rolled into my mind, and I’m freaked out by ideals. I don’t like them. I like dirt.

This is not an experiment in expressing my beliefs about atheism. But it is a huge part of me. I have to be upfront. And did you come here for blessings? Or pictures of flowers and silly, rhyming words? Don’t we all like the same things? Laughing children, a blooming garden, jokes that are (hopefully) for all?

Listen, wild out. This is all for you in the end. Contrary to popular belief, an atheist is always quieted and my vision is full of red flags. People show them to me because I belong to the most hated group. Is it? I don’t think that it is – I have a lot of privilege. That’s how these words are borne – the privilege to sit around and think, write big words, dream about philosophy. But is it a privilege? Do you want to think all this dumb shit? Probably not. I’d rather be a bank teller.

Honestly, I’m just pushing the envelope (what all atheists do) and you can toss the junk mail if you so choose. And be a troll if you wish. What do you think I am?

I’m Planning a Road Trip

I’m going to take you on a trip. To literary wonderlands of thought-provoking, question-inducing blurbs of the reality I’ve invented, and am still working on.

My philosophy comes from thoughts that roll, evolve, and rot in the metaphorical compost pile of my mind. I try to make the accidental seedlings grow. I listen to the Master Gardeners, and envy the green thumbs of others. You can always weed the garden. Or, fuck it. What’s wrong with weed(s)?

Don’t let language control you. Fuck is just a word. To be offended is your perception, and never my intention. See what I did there? #teachingmoment.