HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Are you happy?
If you want to contribute to mami’s f’ing expensive ass mukbangs or Dollar Tree visits:
If anyone of Mami’s Maniacs would like to send Starbucks gift cards or trinkets to Mami, she now has a P.O.Box.
Mami Maisonet
5960 S Land Park #222
Sacramento, CA 95822
It’s 2021.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! How were the holidays for you? Things were quiet round’ these parts. 2020 seemed to be the year for coquito, so many people making it and selling it. Although my coquito recipe was published in 2019 with Wine Enthusiast, it had to be resurrected in 2020 because more people asked for it than when it was originally published! I cooked nana’s traditional Puerto Rican Christmas meal; pernil, arroz con gandules and pasteles. And I spent NYE at mami’s house watching old episodes of Victoria in front of a roaring fire.
Are you in a post new year funk? For some reason I was feeling so low the other day. Turns out, so was Padma Lakshmi. On the same day, serendipitously. A funk greater than any funk. A funk that would not release me from its clutches, no matter what I attempted to do around the house; converse with the plants, eat ice cold mandarins directly from the tree, sit on the toilet and cry. After failing to secure an emotional support Sour Cream and Chive Baked Potato at Wendy’s (how you gonna be out of papas on a Saturday?), I took to the streets. I went for a drive along Jackson Highway until I saw the city landscape turned to lush foothills dotted with mighty Oaks. Their bare and gnarly limbs erratically extended like floating strands of hair. They stand so tenacious and peaceful. But, even their beauty could not contain my tears. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw that the Bovinae seemed pretty pissed I was using their habitat to caterwaul, that I reached out to express that feeling via social media (something a lot of people would advise against).
I’m glad I did.
It appears several of you are in a funk! Misery loves company. But, it’s also nice to feel you’re not alone. That is what’s so important to me. Not feeling like you’re abnormal for feeling depleted. How do we find a cup big enough that can hydrate what has been dehydrated for 10 fucking months? I’d love to be working on the book in Key West or Puerto Rico or Ireland. Instead, I’m in my dark bedroom with Tio Bourdain voice’s haunting me from the television. Manifesting the money mami and I need to purchase a home in the Leonardville neighborhood of Alameda, Ca. Where I’ll eventually turn that home into my dream; Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City.
I never became a mother. However, maternal nurturing is something the wounded has always seen in me since I became of dating age. Even if I attempted to rebuff that characteristic. If I can’t be a mother to my own children, I hope that one day I can be a maternal figure to an all inclusive “logical family,” of those who need nurturing and support.
Would you live in my Maupinsian lodging house?
illyanna in the News
“100 Restaurants America Can't Afford to Lose”: I name two eateries that if they were to shutter, I would vomit.
If you want to contribute to mami’s f’ing expensive ass mukbangs or Dollar Tree visits:
I'm effing miserable, oddly relieved to see I'm not alone in that.
Also miserable. There are bright spots now and then. This letter!