Life has really changed!

I am now married!

I got married on October 4, 2010. 10.4.10 to be exact. I am quite happy with the results. :)

I currently live in the Bay Area on the border of Oakland and Berkeley and I am living a new life with my dear Andy.

In light of this happy union, Andy and I have been thinking about out future and where we are ultimately going to settle down. Since having been without medical insurance for a few years in addition to having visited LAC USC multiple times during to treat chronic conditions, I have really been rethinking living in this country. The other day my dear husband got me to watch the movie SiCKO, by a favorite filmmaker of mine (I am sure you can all guess who) and it has only solidified my decision to not continue to swallow the crap this greedy country has to offer, which included paying $200 last week for ONE MEDICATION!

 So, I am applying to become an Irish citizen. As you might have guessed by my last name (Sullivan), I am of Irish ancestry. In fact, I am half Irish, half Mexican. For many years my mother has wanted to me to complete my Mexican citizenship, because she was born there and our family is there. Though I am totally in love with the culture and our rich history, in addition, to missing my family very, very much, I feel that I could not in good conscience bring a child of mine to a country that seems so very close to uprising.

Instead, I will go to another country (one of many!) where university is free and medical is as well. My children will never have to know what it is like to choose education over food the way I did during my last year of college, when supporting myself and paying for college became the very hardest.

Since both my grandparents and my recently deceased uncle were Irish citizens (my grandparents were natives), I have the right to apply for citizenship. In addition, the Irish consulate is right up in the Bay Area and I am going to begin the process right away!

PS. Check out this movie right away if you have not! It helped verbalize in a coherent, funny and touching way, the frustrations and pain that I have been experiencing for many years in this extremely broken medical system that we have.

My Little Sister

I've never really blogged before...I am sure everyone says that. Its like some virginal stipulation someone makes when they are in the heat of a passionate fumble of their elbow into their lover's crotch.

Keeping that confession in mind, I was trying to figure out what people write about in their blogging maiden voyage. So as a first time writer, I of course, wanted to write about something that would draw people of all shapes, sizes and colors, and when someone read it they would be charmed off their asses and pontificate on how such a witty, well-written woman could possibly exist after only 22 years on this planet! Buahahahahaha!

That being the goal, I thought and paced, and thought some more, but I realized that if being myself doesn't draw you in, then no preponderance of witty repartee will do the trick. So that's when I stormed away from this freaking computer...and(!).... called my sister.

My sister is a 12-year old girl and she is about to turn 13 on the same day John Lennon celebrated his years on Earth. I tend to think that means she is a very special person. I had been thinking about her a lot lately, but when I spoke to this "tween" of my heart (who'da thunk I'd ever say that one?!), I got the usual responses of "uh-huhs" and "okays" that comes from the general malaise of having too many hormonal stimuli and not enough doors in the world to slam.

I guess I can't blame her. We rarely speak anymore. The charming man that is my stepfather nipped that one in the bud! Nice going John. Way to be awesome!

Since I went off to college four years ago, and moved out of their house (by his not-so-nice request), he's not allowed me to spend more than a few minutes at a time with her and only in the presence of my mother. I have gotten the feeling, or rather the direct gossip from my mother, that my sister thinks I care for her less than all my twitty little friends. But what can I do? How can you ever tell someone that the only father they have ever known is a controlling, neanderthal, prick?

All bitterness aside, I miss my little sister. I remember when she started walking holding our Dad's hands as she toddled in her little pink onesie, with little purple flowers. I remember when my alcoholically-debilitated, recently divorced father, charged me with quitting school and taking care of their "marriage saver" child.

I still regret how impatient I was with her.

Yet, I cannot forget how I was the only one there when she said her first words: "agua" and "blue." I will never regret the hours spent at her crib hoping I would be the one graced with such an honor. 

Really though, not much has changed. I am still waiting around, hoping she say something to me that isn't just thoughtless gibberish. The only difference is back then, I knew how to encourage: I would stand there, faced pressed against the bars, talking to her and giving her the time she needed to form the words. Now, I have no idea. She is a stranger to me, and I have no recourse. I long to hear her secrets, and impart words of wisdom to which she might possibly, maybe, kind of listen. I want to kick the ass of the first boy that breaks her heart, and not just hear about it from our sportscaster of a mother.

Even more disheartening, is that I met the man with whom I want to spend my life, and I don't know how to introduce him to my baby sister, because....I don't know her.