Friday, June 28, 2013

Delilah made me cry, that weiner-head



she knows she did, too. 




It happened kind of slowly and quickly at the same time.

I was just driving home, late at night along the terrible, Godeforesaken 405. Like, really, I think the 405's only purpose is to serve us a reminder of how shitty the world can get. Like, 405, get your ish together! Get fixed already! My goodness.

But anyway, I was driving home. It was well after 11pm. And then somehow - we really don't know how these things happen - the radio station turned to 95.9. LA's Christian radio. And so yeah, MAYBE I don't hate corny worship songs. MAYBE I actually sometimes find them oddly comforting, the way you see an old picture of yourself from middle school and you're all like 'I'm so glad that part of my life is over' but there's a familiar little warmth, a sweetness about it. 

Anyway, Delilah hosts her famous Delilah radio show late at night and so much of my blackened, cynical heart hates listening to it. Because duh! I live in Los Angeles. The cool-of-the-cool. Where people juice fast and eat kale like it's made out of something other than kale (barf). Where people have nifty bangs and can get away with an exposed bra because it's really in right now. 

So why would I listen to Delilah? A radio show where people call in love-sick and heart-sick and home-sick, where people call in from states in the middle of nowhere America and the south and the north, states where people eat white bread and poop cornhusks. A radio show which website literally just made my eyes hurt when I just googled it.

Well the other night I listened to it, like I do most nights. I listened and I cried. Big, crocodile tears streaming down my face. A woman called in and told Delilah her husband was recently diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and she missed him because he wasn't getting help and they were distant and she missed her best friend.

And yup, I wept. I drove down the hellhole of a freeway that the 405 is and I wept. Because strangely, I felt stupidity crawling through my mind. Stupidity and deep conviction.

How dare I think I'm better than anyone - how dare I think because of my geographical context that I'm "cooler" than anyone. That we aren't all just stupid ass humans messing up and trying to get this whole "life" thing. 

I listened to this woman - this woman who God is wildly in love with - and I just felt so awful. And at the same time I felt a reassurance about the existence of God. 

How great is it that God loves not only this woman from Nebraska who misses her husband but also me and you and that hipster writing a webseries at Urth Cafe and also that homeless man that wears that suit on Wilshire Blvd and how about your boss and your friend and that comedian over there and that little baby in his momma's arm and oh yeah your dog and the flowers and sparrows and EVERYTHING.

It was cool and it made me cry listening to Delilah. Who would have ever thought a radio show like that could cause a 23 year old gal to have an existential crisis, LOL AM I RIGHT?!?! 

And you know what, I'm grateful for cheesy gumball radio shows. Because that woman was comforted that night. And I'm grateful for the crazy, wild, strange, weird, beautiful people of Los Angeles - I'm grateful for this effed up city. I'm grateful that I live in a vibrant, diverse place. And I'm grateful God loves this city and this world. 

And you know what? God loves the damn 405 too. And that is the biggest testament of love, like, ever. 

- - - 


 

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

i can't remember the last time i cried


Does that mean I'm turning into a dude? I'M KIDDING I'M KIDDING, I'M NOT TRYING TO CONFORM TO SOCIETAL PRESSURES THAT SAY MEN CAN'T CRY.

Have you seen Benedict Cumberbatch cry?

 So hot. One day when I'm married to Benny Cumberbunz we can call ourselves the Cumberbunch and everyone will be jealous. (You're welcome for that mental image of me and Benedict Cumberbatch and a minivan of Cumberbabies.)

Anyway.

Right, back to my current lack of tear-ducts. Now I understand this is normal for some people. Some regular, even-tempered human beings. But for a half Puerto Rican, half Italian 23 year old woman who already has too many feels in this twisted little brain of hers?

IT IS NOT NORMAL.

Am I turning into a robot? The thing is ya lugs, I usually cry like, every half hour. It could be because the Gin Blossoms started playing on my playlist and it reminds me of driving around the summer before I moved to LA. It could be because someone on Facebook posts a stupidly perfect video of their toddlers being stupidly adorable. It could be because my sister texts me a picture of our cat cuddling her. It could be because all of a sudden I'm youtubing clips from that one episode of Home Improvement where Tim and Jill think Randy (JTT, duh) could have cancer and there's like a montage of him and I'm all sitting at my desk WEEPING BECAUSE DAMMIT IT IS TOUCHING, DAMN YOU TIM ALLEN.

Okay, my point is I'm an emotional, twerking ball of hormonal woman.

SIDENOTE: Is anyone as amazed at how WELL Miley Cyrus can twerk?





Like homegirl can move that white booty! Cray!

Again, I digress.

So yeah, it's been about two months since I've actually cried. Tearing up, sure. A little snivel? Definitely. But an actual flow of tears? Nope.....nothing. Might as well be Cameron Diaz in the Holiday (okay, where's my British man...where?)


The sick part about all of this is that I've actually been trying to cry. I sit in church at Reality LA and I try....Lord knows (literally He does) that I try to cry. I try to be moved by the worship songs, try to be moved by the pastor. I hear the girl behind me sniff and immediately I'm like DAMMIT!!!! SHE'S SO MUCH CLOSER TO GOD THAN ME BECAUSE SHE'S CRYING. 

And it's stupid. Because everyone has a different relationship with God, and do tears prove anything? No. And I can't force myself to feel anything. Just because for the past few months I don't cry in church doesn't mean I don't believe God is there with me.

I was lamenting over my lack of tears today on the phone with my mom and sister (we're one of those weirdly close families where the phone just gets passed back and forth between mom and sisters and everyone's yelling and laughing and crying and it's spectacular).

"I haven't cried in months and I don't feel anything when I'm in church," I said to my mom and Christina on the phone.

"God's real no matter how you feel," came my mom's replay and Christina hopped on the phone.

"Nina, just because you don't cry at church....okay that doesn't even make sense why you think you HAVE to cry at church, but seriously. Just being there, sitting in church...that's good. God is always there, everywhere."

And both of their responses hit me. First of all, because no matter where I am emotionally, God is a constant in my life. He's real. He's real no matter HOW I feel, as my mother stated. I don't care if that's the cheesiest mccheeseball saying of all time. It's true. 

So yeah, I haven't cried in awhile. So yeah, I don't feel overly emotional and I'm in this weird, dry place in my life. But God works through every single moment of our lives. Why is it so easy to forget that?

I don't want to forget it. And I don't think I will. 





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