There is a lot that doesn’t make sense about me until you meet me. But I guess if you’re reading my blog, you’re kind of taking that chance.
My name is a good place to start. It’s Maritza Amanda, but most people call me Ritz. “Ritz” means glitzy, glamorous, ostentatious or pretentious, which is a very surface-level, “sure I wear bright colors and laugh too loud” kind of “accurate” description. But Martiza means “little blessed one” and Amanda means “beloved, worthy of love.” Which, if you spend enough time knowing my story, makes a much bolder, truer statement of who I really am.
In statistics I’m a bi-racial, mid-twenties, romantically-single female with an ever growing number of colors in my hair and tattoos and peircings living in Austin, Texas. Well-tanned, mediumly-traveled, and poorly-read. I have trouble eating gluten and dairy and avoid them with ninja-like vigilence and a slight, shirking effort, respectively. I drive a non descript 4 banger that I named Bruce, because I name everything. Including the three toys that live on my dashboard (Ragnarock, Li Mei, and Heather). I like to sing, dance, and communicate love to people. If I can do all of these things simultaneously I sleep better at night. I do not usually sleep well at night. Those two last sentances are not intentionally related.
I love warm.
I’m currently in nineteenth grade, otherwise known as my second year of grad school attempting to get my master’s in professional counseling, so that some day (maybe by the time I’m thirty) the state of Texas will liscence me to get paid for doing what I spend a lot of my time doing anyway for free. I ask a lot of questions and while clinging to Biblical/Gospel truth, I try to embrace that there are often multiple right ways of doing a thing. (yes, persisters, i did just hear your brain break at me.)
I love to read and write and spend many moments thanking God that my dyslexia isn’t worse than it is, but chances are pretty good that at some point, I’ll say something that doesn’t mean to you what it means to me. I apologize in advance. Also, you’re welcome, because sometimes it’s pretty funny. Case in point, when I meant what most people mean when they say “I don’t want to be a party pooper.” But I instead said, “I don’t want to poop on your party.” Yes, I am very comfortable mentioning poop.
Subtleties, people, appreciate them.
Sometimes I’m funny. Sometimes I’m just trying to be funny but fail. But generally, I go through life with a smile on my face appreciating the ridiculous, odd, and even “insane” for whatever entertainment value they possess. And that probably shows through in my writing.
Yes. i DO actually talk like this, even out loud. My peers are gracious and (mostly) don’t say anything when I sound too much like a textbook, a Jane Austen novel, or the under-the-breath commentary that we’re all thinking (but rarely say) in whatever accent I have at the moment. My brother takes every opportunity to say, “Maritza, you use these words, like I have any clue what you’re talking about.” I love you too, bubby.
If you haven’t caught on by now, I’m a Christian. Which for me means that I believe in my heart and head and try to proclaim with my hands (a eupahmistic way to say i think and want to act out) ALL the truths of the Bible, the penultimate of which is that I am a sinner saved by the grace and sacrifice of a savior who died for me, but came back to life and now lives through me. It’s complex, but above all things, it’s WORTH IT. Jesus will come back some day and fully redeem and restore all of his people and creation to the order of his perfection. Until then I want to love him more an more each moment, and help others to do the same.
Writing that last paragraph reminds me why I love and hate writing. I love communicating the story of God’s goodness. I hate always have not-quite-just-the-right words to say.
Which means I give this “about me” approximately 30 seconds before I trade my view of it from beautiful and poetically jumbled to an insane, useless mess….and about three years until I change it.