Sick sick sick

Week 3 of being sick and the husband that doesn't believe in going to the doctor unless you're gushing blood or have a broken bone decided I must go. Apparently 3 week illness isn't normal. Not even for me.
I could write a whole blog on over the counter medicine but it would more or less be a million pictures and one caption.
"Doesn't work for people who get sick ALL THE TIME "
I get my immune system is the worst. Even as a kid I remember being sick a lot, but kids usually do catch everything and weird hybrids of sickness probably undiscovered and unclassified by science.  As an adult you're either unhealthy or a hypochondriac.  I am neither and treated as both. I know people mean well with their tips but seriously, staaaahhhhp.
Earlier this year I went to  the doctor for strep throat, it went a little something like this:

"What are we seeing you for today? "

"I think I have strep throat. "

"Oh. Well we'll see about that."

5 questions and one strep test later.

"Well, you tested positive for strep. "

Story of my life.
Today's diagnosis is a mad sinus infection with a side of bronchitis.  I think my new  doctor gets it.

Indentity crisis, Yo.

Okay so maybe working at the donut shop has given me things I never really thought about before. As far as I was concerned I:
A) hate checking off anything that says "Latino /Hispanic (not white )" and usually refuse to.
B) I have always  Identified myself not by the last name Martinez, but by my first name.
I am Zadie,  it was supposed to be Sadie. My parents didn't tell me til I was, like 12. I accepted this as the stage that set the majority of the mishaps that comprise my life.
Now,  being Mexican,  I thought meant being Catholic and having a quincenera (sp?)  and celebrating other holidays,  And being super fluent in Spanish. 
Well growing up a Jehovah's witness, you don't get holidays. Holidays make up a good portion of culture.  So That's out. Growing up in southern Indiana wasnt exactly the hub of diversity so needless to say there were multiple times I was asked "how do you say taco?" by my classmates. And no,  they didn't believe my answer. 
"Taco."
It was important we knew English and as long as when mom is pissed and speaking to us in Spanish is completely understood, That's all that mattered.  So now, my spoken Spanish sucks.

That's a beautiful childhood story, I know. We fast forward to now and all my presumably Mexican customers hate me. Women mostly, one imparticular talks quickly and orders things I have to make special, I swear It's to throw me off.  Her name is "Dulce " and I can't get over the contradiction of her bitchiness and her name. Old men dont like me either and the older kids kind of laugh at my spanish and switch to English.
The nicest are men with little girls between 4-13. I dont know if that means anything. 
Now if all these people are pleased to the max when the white man learns one word in Spanish, yet I learn a new word every day and remember how they take their coffee or go out of my way to make them something and still acceptance level stays at zero.
I Dont want to be accepted by a large group of people that have rejected me.  I guess I'd just like to know why.
I remember moving to Texas for the first time as a kid and other students trying to decide if I was Mexican or not. Then talking amongst themselves to see who would ask me what question in Spanish to see if I answered. This was the cherry on top of being an ugly, awkward kid.
Am I a bad person for being happy most of these people already have a litter of children?
Nah.
So aside from childhood trauma (ha!)
My looks aren't an obvious que to who I am. If there are pale skinned, brown/blond haired, big boobied actresses on Univison, freaking Premier Impacto station, then who is my short, dark and plump regular customer to ask me where I'm from?
"Indiana."

"No. What about your mom "

"Mexico "

"What part?"

"Monterrey "

"No...your dad? "

"Texas"

"No..."

The fuck?  Who made these people the damn "policia" on who's who? Get off my nutsack and go tend to your offspring. Trust me you and your daughter have enough kids to worry about, without questioning me about my lack of.
So now I'm obsessed with whats all up in my gene pool to make me and my siblings look the way we do. DNA testing isn't cheap so a lot of thought and research and a little soul searching is happening. And other than being irritated my whole life, its not that I particularly care any more about "being Mexican " than I did when I was a kid, I don't see anything has changed except the same type of kids that questioned me back then grew up to question me now, or I met their judgemental parents/cousins /aunts . 

I do care about finding out what makes a Zadie.
I'm sure it'll be much better than the story of how my drugged up mom wrote an "s" backwards and thus a "Z" was born.

(Okay I was born first and then ^ that happened. Same difference, right? )

Gee gee gee

Once upon a time, I used to want to build things with my bare mitts.  With power tools. But upon realizing I have zero depth perception (thank you eyes. For. Nothing T__T) And my inability to draw, walk, or anything else in a straight line, the realization I'd forever be a less than handy woman,  set in.
I mean, I know how to change a tire and jump a car. In theory of course, not practice. And I hope if I have to do either, I'm not alone. I cringe to think I'll more than likely draw a blank under pressure and be teary eyed watching "How to " YouTube videos and texting for help.

Anyway...
Me attempting to fix anything with tools usually ends in me breaking and /or hurting myself.  My pride is usually in worse shape because I'm surrounded by what I made worse and wait for my Knight in shining armor to fix it. Always fixing it faster than I can blink and making everything look so simple I have no choice but to question my intelligence and basic motor skills. Ultimately I  take no responsibility and blame everyone else so I can sleep at night without thinking "Oh Gawd,  I'm Peter Griffin level re-tah-ded "

Under direct supervision I'm allowed to play with the power tools.

Not so good at anything.

Whenever  anyone has ever asked me what im good at, I have never come up with a solid, definitive answer. All in all,  I think I'm only good at contracting contagious diseases from grubby children, and inconsiderate and equally grubby adults.
"Well what do you like to do?"
*Binge eat and binge watch Korean dramas or full seasons of shows I never got to watch when they were popular
*Give my cats some gato crack.
*Online window shop
*Google random questions -
ex. "How do you.. "  and then get sidetracked looking up whats suggested.
  That answer, as true as it may be, doesn't really make me feel great.
Reality sets in, especially in group conversation,  which should be a special skill and talent on its own. This socially awkward penguin thinks it should be worth at least a trophy, or trinket to be fully socially functional without scaring anyone away or giving off second hand embarrassment.

A n y w a y...

  I'm a closet cry baby, I'm clumsy,  scatterbrained , usually asleep, and I tend to talk a big game when I'm pissed off only to end it with "Yeah I probably won't do any of that. "

So, here is to all the things I've tried and failed at, but will continue to pursue. We do things that interest us, and make us happy, not necessarily because we are good at them.

And because some people,  might be going through their 20-something panic years and this is my way of avoiding a pre midlife crisis. 

Nice balls, are they new?

Do people just go around hating life?  Look, my deepest empathy goes out to you;  I'm sure it isn't easy having three baby mamas, or that your daughter got a classy neck tattoo to go along with her teen mom image, or whatever you're pissed off about.  Tell me, Why is the guy that needed a new kidney happier and nicer than you?  Yeah I don't know either,  and in case you're wondering,  no he's not dead,  Yes he got a new kidney. 
I like to laugh.  I have enough problems without having to dwell on them and let them ruin my day. All day, every day.
F o r e v e r! 
Plus mean people age terribly and Im not even about to have adult acne AND wrinkles. Then I would absolutely hate life and try to suffocate in a bag of chips. 

Back to Basics

There's a few things I've been working on in between being at work and being asleep. Advice from a friend was to write every day. Probably best simplest advice I've been given about something I've always had a passion for. I feel as though some posts should and will be kept private due to subject matter I'm not ready to share with everyone. But I will at least write something. Every day.
That aside, writing in general has always been something I want to do. I may not be incredibly clever, or profound, or have the vast knowledge of any particular subject, or confidence of a Greek god of blogging...was this a pep talk?
I'm quite rusty to boot. I have to favorite my favorite words on my dictionary app because not only do I not get a chance to use my former extended vocabulary, but these days I can't remember much. Some days, I'm surprised I remember how to use the microwave. And shoes.
I'm more or less confident that the (at least) four people I know are mildly enthused to read my contingent occurrences, so at least clicky click some kudos for me or write a comment/criticism here. It would be super encouraging.

Here's a bonus cat picture :D

I don't like you Part 2

Illiteracy is a big issue with me, considering I can't spell very well, I understand it's kind of hypocritical. I can admit that. Now, as much as people complain they can't understand my English speaking challenged co-workers, I must say the complainers aren't very good at speaking the ONLY language they know. I get second hand embarrassment all the time when I repeat an order only to be corrected.

Me: okay, donut hole(s) and a cinnamon roll?

trailer trash tina: NO donut hoe and cinnamon ROW!

Please go put shoes on your baby and start watching those nick jr. shows. You might just learn all the letters of the alphabet, there's lots of bright colors, songs, and puzzles, you'll have so much fun you won't even realize some of your brain synapses are awakening. Plus, if it scares you too much, you can always kill them with Mountain Dew.

I can't stress how much I get corrected on the two words "roll" and "hole(s)" the "s" is always optional.