"It's a black fly in your Chardonnay..."

Cracking up at this empty ass
pool in this empty ass spa.

...sang Alanis because she’s a prophet and could see my morning and The Most Annoying Couple in Existence, the flies in my pool. This comparison worked better when I was singing the song to myself as I tried to meditate them away.

9/13

Spaaaah Day!

My last day in Mexico deserves to be a spa day. La Gruta is a spa with thermal pools, a Temazcal, regular spa things and a restaurant. Based on Yelp reviews I decide I want to be there when it opens. At 7a. One would think that I would know better than to be anywhere in Mexico when it’s supposed to open, but I’m one stubborn optimistic idealist. Also, I’m willing to risk waiting for them to open if it means I get some peace and quiet before all the tourists show up after their leisurely breakfasts. 

The taxi gets me there at 720a. They’re open! I’m shocked. It’s still really dark outside because it’s cloudy and we’re closer to the equator. I take a staff member up on his offer to show me around. 

As he shows me around I realize he’s the only other staff member working besides the money lady. This place is open in name only. The locker person won’t arrive for another 45 minutes. I could swim and just leave my stuff out but, no, of course I can’t do that. I wait. 

Worth the wait

When I finally get into the pools 45 minutes later, there’s about 8 people already who clearly don’t care if all their shit gets stolen. I step into the water and forget everything because aaaaahhhhhhhhh...

The warm water feels incredible. It’s perfect melting temperature. I go straight for the grotto. 

The grotto is connected to the large, beautiful pool I’m in by a long stone underwater corridor that’s hip to chest deep on me. The pictures on the website made this cave-like entry look much bigger, but I really dig the cinematic aspect of the dark and lights, the moisture, the exposed rock. I walk the tunnel enchanted. Then perturbed. I hear voices...?

The biggest, best agua de guayaba ever

There is a couple having a close-to-yelling argument in THE ENTRYWAY of the grotto. It's 8am! I have to skirt past the woman to enter because she’s too pissed to move. 

That’s not relaxing. Here’s a public service announcement: if you’ve paid money to step into a spa, shut the fuck up. Don’t chat above a whisper. If you’re having an argument, LEAVE. This goes for any spa in the whole world. (I’m also looking you, packs-of-girls who go to Olympic Day Spa and chat like they’re at Sunday Funday Brunch... Shut. Up.)

I try to steer clear. They argue in the grotto and then in the bigger pretty pool for at least an hour. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

A pool that had been empty when I arrived  has been steadily filling with water cascading out from a pipe roughly six feet above the it. I, along with two other smart ladies, escape to this pool as soon as it’s over wading level. The torrent of water drowns out most of the couple’s volume and feels exquisite on my shoulders. WIN. 

Santuario de Atotonilco

I float, I sun, I try to buy my way into their Temazcal (What’s a girl gotta do to get into a sweat lodge? Come at high season apparently.) but it’s a Saturday thing. I’m too high strung to fully enjoy the experience, but I really do try to relax. 

After breakfast (quesadillas and beans and the best agua de guayaba I’ve ever tasted) I hear a child’s voice and know that is my cue to leave. Spas + children = Hard Pass. 

Thank God Schnauzer Parents Lynn & Don told me how close the Santuario de Atotonilco was. I walk an easy fifteen minutes to the church people describe as the Sistine Chapel of Mexico. 

I call this Mary's room

I’m glad I went because it’s impressive, but I’m not very connected to the moment. To be honest, I think I’ve got a touch of Little D(epression). I’m not feeling much unless it’s anxiety or exhaustion. Obviously, I’m well enough to feel annoyed, though. It makes sightseeing go quickly, anyway. 

Later I treat myself to a dinner of ceviche(!) and my favorite ginger margarita(!!) at El Manantial and a Los Rabeats set at the rooftop Luna bar at sunset. It’s stunning as always, and the music is great, but once my margarita buzz wears off, I can’t wait to get home. 

I know getting home to LA won’t solve all my problems, but at least I can establish a healthy routine so I can better take care of myself. I’m looking forward to putting all my energy into my well being in my lovely home with my own bed and my fierce kittens. I’m excited to get back to being healthy B instead of prickly, disconnected, unhealthy B. 

Talking to my dad for his birthday (Happy Birthday Daddy!) he asked me if I thought the trip had been worth it. My answer: Yes, of course. For two reasons:   

#goals, this baby girl was rad and knows her music.
Also LOS RABEATS!

The woo-woo reason is because I had FOUR separate deja vu moments here. These are scenes and moments I remembered from dreams I had in the past. I get deja vu once or twice a year if I’m lucky. To have four deja vus, two today(!), is super cool. I take it to mean I’m on the right track.

My actual reason is I couldn’t and would’t live my life any other way, even if it touches off my anxiety and depression. 

My bouts with anxiety & depression show me that I’m taking myself for granted in some way. They force me to face Stuff, which helps me shift perspective from the exterior to the guts. Then I can get the help I need. This is only me. I don’t know how it works for anyone else. 

So yeah, it’s always worth it. Every step. 

And as I finish this post waiting for my flight to LA at a Pappas Cantina in the Houston Airport over an million dollar root beer float, its strange that it’s this simple, but I feel really happy right now.

Last time I was Luna, I took a panorama that probably looked exactly like this, but I don't care.

from the pulpit

San Miguel rush hour traffic jam

frescos for days, view from the entrance

Me & the other retirees at El Manantial

Mexico likes their Jesus rare

Hasta Luego, San Miguel de Allende...

"Ella es un mujer fuerte!"

I went there. Pizza & fries.

...I explain to Luciano, the privada guard, when he asks why Usche barks her head off at him despite seeing him in her house hundreds of times.

9/11

I’m finding cecina tacos today. I had to ask myself, “Is this a big enough deal to go back to El Tianguis?” And then I backed off at my own arched eyebrow and was like, “Oookay psycho, get a taco.”

I get off the bus at El Tianguis with Terminator like focus. I get the first drink I see- it’s gross, like sweet tea, which I can't stand. None of the cell phones or heaps of clothes or Mexican flags are distracting me this time. I walk the circumference and round my way in. This takes a while. 

After a while, I wonder if I shouldn’t get some pizza and fries because that’s my other objective. Trust, says the voice in my head. I walk by people EATING CECINA TACOS. (This is not an exaggeration, I really looked down and there they were!)

As before I sit down next to them, look at the waitress and point, “Uno de esto, pie favor!”

I. EAT. That. Taco!

It’s okay. I mean, it’s a taco with fries and grilled onions. I enjoy it, but c’mon. It’s a taco. I don’t know what one random person on the Internet was so excited about. 

The lighting SUCKS in Tianguis. Cecina Taco. Fiji.

Pizza topped with fries on the other hand...? I’m not gonna lie, my first bite was disgusting. But then, I tried The Sauce. Pizza w fries tastes like what you cover the fries with. Obviously, first I tried ketchup. I happen to love ketchup on pizza (try it before you judge) but this ketchup was not good. The Sauce was gooood. Mixing the Sauce with ketchup was even better. I don’t know what The Sauce was, I just know it was creamy spicy with pepper flakes. 

I drink a righteous horchata on my way out and vomit burp my way home. 

9/12

I read in the paper about a weekly free lunch for the elderly where people can volunteer in the church atrium. I know helping people helps people so the church is my main plan today. And souvenir shopping. 

Post pizza & fries glow

I’ve been to the Artisan Market a few times, just wandering through. I don’t understand why I keep reading about it online because it’s just one block of little shops. Today I find the rest of the Artisan Market. It’s actually 4 blocks plus of stand after shop after person on the sidewalk. I don’t know how I missed it before, other than it’s got a Harry Potter entrance across the street from where I thought they ended. I’m happy I found them when I did so I could pay the artists directly for handmade crafts rather than pay a store for manufactured crap. 

I get to the church. I see a lot of well dressed people that don’t look like they’re ready to volunteer. A memorial service has just ended. I try to stay out of the way while still looking for other volunteer types. I’m early, México is late, so I wait. 

I go to the office and ask the staff. It’s in the atrium. I return to what I consider the atrium and then I look up “atrium” on my phone to make sure I’m right. I’m right. 

I almost missed this gem!

Finally I google “San Miguel” “volunteering” “Sept 12” and I read a notice that volunteers should meet at the atrium for a dinner 530-730. 

I eat my feelings for lunch in the form of pastries. IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE NEWSPAPER. I’d talked to people about it! I went to the office and asked the staff. 

I know it’s very American to rely on times and schedules and information. (Because times/schedules/information makes life easy, but whatever.) I know I need to surrender more to the winds of change instead of forcing time and space to my will. But the church thing really annoyed the crap out of me. 

I’m not saying I bought myself a pair of boots to make myself feel better, I’m just saying if I had been able to volunteer I wouldn’t have had time to buy the boots. 

Schnauzer Parents Lynn & Don are home! We get dinner at a locals Italian spot where I lose myself in Montepulciano and ragu. It’s an excellent meal with my excellent hosts. 

This is a train wreck I couldn't help capturing. I can't tell, but I think it's a pig dressed as a longhorn?

Pretty, but gross. I drank it anyway bc chili rim.

Cecina taco deconstructed

Winner, winner!

This is the REAL end of the Artisan Market, more than three blocks away from what I thought.

'Losing yourself happens one no at a time,'

...writes Shonda Rhimes, my nomination for Oprah once Oprah retires.

9/9, EARLY

Snake slide!

It sounds like a war cannon. The dogs burrow into me. It’s La Virgin de Loreto’s celebration day. I’d read there were going to be fireworks at 5am. (Thank God it’s 6am. I guess even saint celebrations happen on languid Mexico time.)

These fireworks aren’t the fun ones. It’s a flash of light with a BOOM. It’s not like there is an awe inspiring show to make up for the noise. It’s just BOOOM!!

The dogs and I watch TV for a while. Schnauzer Mom Lynn said CNN soothes them in the face of fireworks or thunder. I can’t stand the news for longer than 10 minutes so we flip until we get to Mariachi music videos. Lotsa machismo and lotsa cheating.

Cuddling and caring for the dogs takes my mind of myself. My anxiety is 1000% self centered. I’m not saying I enjoyed cannon sounds every couple minutes from 6 to 7am, but I’m grateful for them. 

This morning there is a Temezcal (a sweat lodge) for the new moon scheduled at the botanical garden. I’m looking forward to it, convinced it’ll Purge any lingering Stuff.

Is this cool or what? They're rattlesnakes.

I decide to walk the mile and a half to the gardens, but halfway up - up because it is steeeeeeeeep - I make a wrong turn and a taxi appears. I don’t think, I just wave. I’m so tired, I don’t have time to be too scared to talk to a stranger. 

9am

The Temezcal is cancelled because not enough people reserved ahead of time. I’m not a disappointed as I thought I’d be. The view and vibe of El Charco del Ingenio Jardín Botánico has me psyched to just hike the grounds.

It’s early enough to walk the natural reserve in relative silence. I see a group on the trail before me and go the opposite way. The walking trails are a loop(ish), so I’ve just bought myself some nice alone time. In quick succession, I find the Pollinator Garden, I see a blue butterfly the size of my outspread hand(!!!!), and I slide down a rattlesnake slide :) This place is healing AF. (Note for Grandma H, “AF” = “as all get out”)

South (water) from the Sun?Moon center

I wander onto the Four Winds Plaza, a vast ritual space honoring the 1991 solar eclipse. I’ve seen The Craft, so I know I’ve wandered onto sacred ground. Different colored rocks make the pattern of the moon and sun and the four points with their corresponding natural resources. (FYI, North is earth, South is water, East is Flora, West is Fauna. I didn’t know any of this and was thrilled to learn. PS The Craft doesn't use the same corners :/ ) 

I meditate in the middle of the moon and sun. I journal. I cry, of course. When people show up, I fight the urge to collect my stuff and not be That Lady. After two seconds the urge fades. I’m not ready to leave yet. I don’t care that I’m That Lady. This feels good. I’m gonna do it as long as I need.

The rest of the nature walk is lovely. There is a random swing in the middle of a path that I play on for a minute, lest I break it. It’s clear this rope-on-branch swing was made for smaller people 100 lbs lighter than me. There is a kickass biome housing, among other things, some rare and endangered species of plants native to Mexico.

Native dancers

On my way home, I hear a parade. Something I’ve discovered in Mexico: when you hear a parade, you go toward the parade. I abandon my route home and witness the most random collection of groups honoring the Virgin. First a military type brass band, followed by native dancers performing to drum beats (my FAVORITE), followed by people dressed in horrifying Halloween costumes dancing to loud techno. 

I do some research, and the scary people are called Locos (crazies). They have their own parade and celebration that started when San Miguel was mostly orchards. (I’m massively truncating this story.) The dancing was an offering to the saints and farmers started dressing in costume to scare away curious people and let the offering of dance take place in peace. In time, the scary costume and dance merged and the Locos got organized into their own parade and day of celebration in the Spring.

Locos!

I spend the rest of the day listening to Shonda Rhimes' “Year of Yes” and trying to make the half raw chicken I poorly cooked into something. (Chicken & broccoli. It’s not great.) 

Whereas the first half of Shonda Rhimes’ book made me feel terrible; (I started it before the Purge, so let’s assume Shonda Rhimes was the straw that broke my Saturday) post-Purge, I’m getting the

Being That Lady

message. Now, I love the book. I love Shonda. Part of me considers watching the first 10 (11?) seasons of Gray’s Anatomy so I can have Christina Yang as a best friend, too. Maybe next time I have the flu. 

9/10, 7am

I do yoga. I don’t cry, but I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted. I’m craving structure. I realize I haven’t had a solid routine since late July before all the fun and craziness of visitors and travel took over my life. 

I change my flight. Originally, my plan was to leave in 10 days. Now, I’m leaving on Friday. For a hot 48 hours or so, I’d talked myself into going to Mexico City for Diez y Seis de Septiembre, because Independence Day, wooo!! I’ve been told it’s an insane party! I’m here anyway, aren’t I?!

I’m wary in a crowd on a good day. The thought of scuttling through a citywide party trying not to get raped or vomited on (I’m terrified of rape & vomit in the US, too. More so, to be honest.) makes me want to hide. So I’m coming home. 

I was raised with the belief that plans are PLANS. When I was an assistant and my boss

Swing 'em if ya got 'em!

would have me change his flights, I would ask the travel agent to do this like I was asking for a personal loan. Canceling my Mexico City Air BnB and changing my flight feels revolutionary.

I’m all over the place about my decision to leave early. I’m sad that I feel too fragile to stay. I’m glad I’m taking care of myself. I feel guilty that I can’t make use of such a great opportunity (“There are starving children in America, Bianca!” has been my mental reprimand since I got here.) I’m proud I’m making my health a priority.  

My whole life I've muscled through jobs, relationships, even nights out despite how my body reacted. This feels cheesy to say, but whatever: This time I'm saying YES to my health and my needs. Thank you, Shonda. I forgive you for ruining my vacation.  

BioDome!!

View from the eclipse

My favorite cactus looks like BRAAAINS! ("Cerebro" = brains)

"Omigawd!"

...said Pancho the Parrot and made me laugh til I cried.

Pancho's effect on me

745a

I sleep in! I yoga without crying again. I’m concerned. Where’s the release? Did I just spend 75 minutes doing surface yoga??

3p

I write in the library. I take more pictures of murals. (scroll to the bottom for these) On my way home, I can’t help stopping by Jardín Rama again. I love this place. As I wait for my tacos I hear a scratchy “Hola!!” from the garage behind the restaurant. That’s how I meet Pancho the Parrot. 

He’s gorgeous. Just my type. Loud and obnoxious from afar, but when you get to know him better you discover he’s shy and sweet. He put on quite a show, trying to mate with me. Every time he says “Hola!”, I laugh and cry at the same time, like I do when Stella (dog, not bestie) shows me her toothy grin. Animals, y’all. They’re so much better than people.

When I get home Martha asks me about my weekend plans. Home is the main plan. She asks me about friends or going out…? Nah, I like home. She suggests El Jardín Principal (the main garden, the city's social center) because Friday nights there’s all kind of revelry, mariachis, huge dancing monos (dolls)…

Sunset fm El Jardín

I haven’t been out later than 8p the whole time I’ve been here. I should see what Martha’s talking about, right? Huge dancing dolls? Sounds terrifying and spectacular!

645p

El Jardín is packed with people. I soak up the scene. It’s a beautiful sunset. I sit down on a low wall and people watch. I write, because I don’t know what else to do with myself.

There are kindergarteners with begging cups. They approach the couple next to me. I don’t have any money to give them, and I don't want to tell 6 year olds, “No.” There’s a chicken I need to cook at home. Altogether, I last about fifteen minutes out in El Jardín.

On my way home, I get caught up in a wedding parade featuring mariachis and HUGE, DANCING DOLLS. I weave in and out of a crowd of beautiful people. This is a much better party than El Jardín. Once the parade arrives to the park, I watch the bride and groom dance, flanked by huge dolls that have stopped their dancing to make way for the real stars of the show. 

Felicidades!

1a

I finally get to bed after trying an atrocious roasted chicken recipe that I undercook because I’m too tired to put it back in the oven. Seriously. 

9/8, 830a

ZUMBAAA! 

Last Saturday morning, while I was walking the dogs, I heard a party. That party was ZUMBA in the park. I vowed, HELL YES, I’ll be there next Saturday.

It's a large crowd, equal parts Mexican and Anglo, a huge age range. The instructor (Cesar Espinosa Camarillo!) is fantastic: sexy dancer, great personality and impeccable rhythm. BONUS: he uses hand signals to teach. (I could never ever master teaching dance fitness with hand signals, and always envied the badass teachers that could.) His signaling is so precise, my body understands them before my brain does and I move without having to think which is AMAZING. The class is FUN and I highly recommend it, should you find yourself in SMA on a Saturday morning. 

Cesar bombs my Instastory

The class kicks my ass. I’m in excellent shape, and I’m exhausted. I want to go straight back to bed after, except I have breakfast plans with Melissa. 

After breakfast (tamale plate at the market, EXCELLENT), I’m still exhausted and not feeling great. I’m hyper sensitive to every sound and smell. I keep imagining the undercooked chicken I tasted last night and wait for the food poisoning to erupt.

I arrive home and go straight to sleep. After a few hours of bed, and zero gross signs of food poisoning besides no appetite, I find a yoga class online that is supposed to rejuvenate me. (I’m rolling my eyes at MYSELF, so you don’t have to.) I feel better I guess, but I don't know what to do. I feel like I have tons of stuff to take care of, but I stand in the kitchen and stare at the dog food.

~Trigger alert: If you suffer from anxiety, this is about anxiety~

I wasn’t sure how or if I should address the rest of my afternoon/evening, but why not? I could pretend travel is the answer to everything and my life is all tacos and tequila, or I could tell the truth.

Tamale breakfast plate

The truth is, I don’t feel well because of my head not my gut. I’ve been distracting myself from facing Stuff because Stuff scares me. I'm calling it Stuff because I don't exactly know a better word that isn't loaded with judgmental BS like "issues" or "my Shadow Self".  My Stuff comes to the surface a few times a year. Sometimes it’s activated by a specific failure or trauma, sometimes I walk into it like a cloud of summer flies.

This Stuff is summer flies. I’m rave-texting a friend about the benefits of facing your deep down, dark, awful Junk when I feel a wash of anxiety so alarming, it’s like my skin is being peeled from my body. 

I try to convince myself: No. I’m talking about their Junk, not my Stuff. My Stuff is great, I’m in Mexico for crying out loud, I’m GIVING advice, I don’t need to feel this… I take the dogs for a walk to escape the sudden claustrophobia of this giant house. The air against my skin feels like ice and sand. Outside feels terrifying.

My panic is familiar, but it doesn’t make it less scary. I realize if I don’t allow myself to Purge now, the next time Stuff hits me I may not be alone, and I’ll make a fool out of myself and then what will people think?

Pretty proud of my quesadilla flatbread

So that’s my Saturday night. I Purge Stuff for a couple hours and come out the other side with swollen eyes and pages of journal scribble mental vomit, exhausted. It wasn’t the chicken, it turns out. I don't feel great, but feel better than I did. I can even eat a little dinner.

As I write this, I feel exposed. I don’t have to address my anxiety, but then I’d be lying to you and, by extension, myself. When I write, I write truth. It’s easy for me to speak lies, but it’s next to impossible for me to write them.

Maybe that’s why I don’t talk to my closest loves about my anxiety episode, even though I speak with or text all of them within 24 hours of the Purge. I’m afraid they’ll worry or want to fix me. I don’t want any of that. I just want to be honest. I’ve been told I come off as hyper capable and in control. I am both, and sometimes I’m also an anxious mess of doubt, shame, unworthiness, etc. 

One last thought before I end this torture: This story doesn’t feel good enough. It was just anxiety, I’m not Sybil or anything. 

(You notice I say I had an "anxiety episode"? That's because anxiety attacks go to the hospital. People think they're having a heart attack; I never thought it was a heart attack, so I can control my own narrative. 

Note: this is hiding because of stigma and shame. Honestly, I don't know what it was, I just know I needed to stop ignoring it before it took me down.)  

My fierce friend, Jordyn (@jordynrwagner on IG), is a passionate advocate for mental health awareness. When she shares about her journey, I feel less alone. Even though my story isn’t as dramatic as my ego would like it to be to earn a spot on my sacred blog, I’m making myself share it. Maybe if you find yourself feeling really shitty on the inside even though you look like you’ve got it all handled on the outside, you’ll feel less alone, too.

Some of Pancho's pick-up-artist moves

"Roadkill" by Himed&Reiben is my #1 favorite of all the murals I've seen. PS, it was painted using stencil

This is my #2 favorite, by Vivograff (@vivograff on Instagram)

This one is gigantic. Probably the length of 7-ish parking spaces.

"Water Coyote"by Meikwon (@meikwon on Instagram)

by Magda Love (find more at #madgalove on Instagram)

UUuuuugh, I didn't take notes and don't see the signature. 

I think the tag says MeRle

Mosaic is the next frontier for the Arts District. Colleen's handiwork is around the Virgin