Mia: Shaken Not Stirred


The true life stories of a NYC female.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Mother Mia Has Left the Building.


I’ve finally figured out one of my dearest friends is determined to drive me stark raving mad as a hatter crazy. Allow me to recap. She hooked up with a guy I wasn’t fond of at all and trust me I had good reason to be wary of him. After discussing my reasons for not liking the guy she chose him anyway. She called me the other day to tell me she was pregnant. I congratulated her and wished her luck. This seemed to shock her.


G: Aren’t you going to yell at me?

Mia: No. You know your situation you already have a 1 ½ year old and you’ve been dating this guy for a few months. You’re living at home in an over crowded apartment, with full time bills and a part time job. If you feel you’re in a position to have another kid who am I to dispute that?

G: His family is really happy, they’re all excited.

Mia: Of course they are this is his first child.

G: You don’t have to worry about me I’m going to be fine. Thanks to you and ma (she calls my mother ma) I’ve got a back bone now. I can stand up for myself. You taught me well. I learned a lot from you.

I hadn’t realized just how much like my mother I am. Whenever my mother is angry at someone and holding back she tends to become really, really polite. I’m talking about Miss Manners type of polite. Coldness creeps into her voice and she becomes all business. All traces of affection and her natural good humor are gone from her voice. Until that very moment I hadn’t realized I do the same exact thing.

Mia: I’m glad to have been of assistance in your endeavor to better yourself.

G: We’re getting our own apartment.

Mia: That’s wonderful. What about school?

G: I’m going to go back.

Mia: Okay

G: I guess it’s true, you don’t love me anymore. You don’t care about me at all.

That was a low blow.

Mia: Why do you say that?

G: Because the old Mia would have screamed and yelled at me and told me I was stupid and crazy for getting pregnant again. The old Mia would have yelled at me for not protecting myself. The old Mia would have thrown a shit fit.

Mother Mia has left the building. She’s given up her role as life coach to her friends. When they come to her now she smiles and says, “Do you, do whatever makes you happy.”

Mia: Is that what you want me to do or is that what you’re actually feeling and want me to be the voice of your conscience? Do you want me to project your fears and doubts back onto you?


G: I’m just saying it’s not like you to say nothing when you think I’m making a mistake.

Mia: Do you feel you’re making a mistake?

G: No

Mia: Alright then that’s all that matters. My opinion is irrelevant here.

G: Mia I care what you think. Tell me what you want to say. Yell at me, curse at me if you want I can take it.

Mia: I’m not mad at you. I’m done playing Mother Mia; we’re the same age you and I. I think you’re old enough to know what you want out of life. You don’t need me to guide you. Besides you’re going to do whatever it is you want to do anyway regardless of what I think. It’s your life. Just remember from here on whatever you do is going to affect you and two children.

G: Well I’m just saying you don’t have to worry about me and the baby. Thanks to you I’ve got a back bone now.


I’m sorry I’m a very blunt person there is only so much I can hold in before my head starts pounding.


Mia: You didn’t learn anything from me because if you’d been paying attention you would have known that I was trying to make you realize your potential. You’re an intelligent woman capable of standing on her own two feet and not be dependent on a man. What I tried to teach you was the value of you. I tried to teach you not to settle for the first guy that waved his penis at you. You don’t need a man to make you feel complete. I tried to teach you about the importance of an education and how it was important for your son’s future that you to return to school. Whatever man you take what you wish from what I tried to teach you.

G: Will you still be here for me and the new baby?


Mia: Always.


In one ear out the other. She got what she wanted; I kind of lost my temper. Maybe I should’ve thrown in some cuss words in there and really made her day.
I swear to God the female is trying to drive me nuts.







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4 comment from: Blogger christina/ohio, Anonymous tapsalteerie, Blogger Mia, Blogger Just Jane,


Monday, September 29, 2008

All Is Fair In Love and War


My father was trying to hug my mom last night when the family pit bull Kane ran up between them. Every time my dad attempted to touch my mother Kane would push him away with his body and demand my mother’s attention. This reminded my dad about a former rival and he joked that Kane better not go all Wally on him or he’d meet the same fate Wally had.


All is fair in love and war they say. Once upon a time my father had a rival for my mother’s affections. His name was “Wally.” As soon as he realized Wally was competition my father went out of his way to win Wally over but Wally wasn’t having it. Wally’s antagonistic attitude towards my father ultimately led to his death.

Wally had been my mother’s pet rabbit, a gift from my father actually. He was a little itty bitty thing when mom got him and for a couple of years Wally had mom to himself. When my parents set up house together jealousy reared its’ fugly head every time my father approached my mother Wally would make a loud thumping noise with his foot as a sign of aggression towards my father. Eventually it escalated to the point where Wally would ‘box’ dad with his front limbs and bite him. I guess I should mention Wally wasn’t exactly “Thumper” sized he weighed 18 lbs and stood at 3 ft on his hind legs. Wally was a Flemish Giant Rabbit the largest of all rabbit breeds Flemish Giant’s can weight over 20 lbs . Things got so bad between them that mom would have to cage Wally while dad was home.

One morning while pregnant with yours truly mom was in the loo with a killer case of morning sickness, as mom finished paying homage to the porcelain god Wally stood by her feet watching her. Wally never strayed far from mom whenever he was loose in the apartment. My dad unaware that Wally was loose went into the bathroom to check up on mom. As soon as he entered the bathroom Wally shrieked and then launched at him. He bit my father’s ankle and my father swears to this day that the rabbit growled at him. As my dad fled the bathroom he yanked my mom outside with him and slammed the door in Wally’s face. Wally retaliated by continously slamming his body against the door and trying to escape by chewing on the bathroom door.

Mom thought it was hysterical and couldn’t stop laughing. It reminded her of the killer rabbit scene in Monty Python’s Holy Grail movie. My father was not amused. Once mom went back into the bathroom Wally calmed himself down and allowed mom to pick him up and cuddle him. Wally however had scared the pellets out of my father. It was finally decided by dad that Wally had to go. Mom refused to part with Wally and dug in her heels until my father pointed out that Wally’s possessiveness of my mother could prove to be dangerous to the baby once it was born. My father promised to find Wally a good home with a rabbit breeder friend of his. He even introduce mom to the breeder and was promised that Wally would live out his life happily with other rabbits.

Last night as my father told us the story of Wally he let it slip out that Wally had been actually slaughtered for stew several days after leaving my mom’s care. My mom was livid and refused to talk to him for the rest of the evening. This morning when he woke up for work there was a huge foam shaving cream “W” on the bathroom mirror. Something tells me that mom has declared war on the old man. I look forward to the pranks that are headed his way in the name of Wally.





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Posted by @ 12:59 PM
2 comment from: Blogger Tapsalteerie, Blogger Mia,


Friday, September 26, 2008

Beyond Grateful



For the past several years I’ve been watching my fellow students and friends start their professional lives while I remain in school working towards mine. There have been times through out my academic career where I have been anxious and impatient wanting my life to start already. I want… I want… I want…that seems to be my mantra for the last four years. I want to start my career, I want to use what I’ve learned to help people, I want to pack up and move.


Even though I love the security of my nest I am ready to leave it I want to spread my wings and fly across the Atlantic. I feel restless. Maybe it’s my ancestral roots calling me back home to where the seeds of me were first germinated but I’ve felt my destiny lies over seas for the longest time. My bf one of the sweetest and kindest souls I’ve ever met wants as well but he has never had anyone push him towards his goals. From the minute I was born my mother dreamt for me and pushed. When I lacked the confidence in myself or was ready to settle for less than my dream she metaphorically smacked me across the head and pushed me harder refusing to let me give up. The woman had faith in me when I lacked it.

Yesterday I found myself reviewing my patient’s medical file and transferring the notes I’d made during our session into the file. As I looked over the file and saw the letters stamped after my name noting my therapist status I shuddered. I felt “grown up” as if my professional life had finally started. The feeling was indescribable, I felt such joy I had to call my mother when my shift was over and shared what I felt. I am beyond grateful to the female.


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Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A glimpse


Here is a glimpse into some of the funnier moments of my day yesterday at my internship…

Bring back the change
There’s this one social worker who just irks me. Every single time we hold a group session I am the one asked to go out and get the snacks and sodas. I don’t mind, it’s what she always says after giving me the shopping list that irks me. “Make sure you bring back the change and the receipt.” You would have thought that between last semester and this one she would have figured out that I’m not a thief. Until today she’s never done this in front of people today she did it in front of my mentor but she acted as if she were joking around when she handed me the ten dollar bill. She was still standing with my mentor when I walked in from the store. “Good lord you don’t know,” I said as I handed her the store receipt and $3.30, “I was tempted to run away to Atlantic City and play the slot machines with all this money! You’re lucky my mama raised me right! Pheww that was a close call!” I finished with a sweet smile. My mentor laughed while she appeared to be stunned. See, I can act like I’m joking around too.



We already signed up for the Berlitz classes

Despite the fact that only the grad students are allowed to process intake patients one of the directors was desperate enough to bend the rules for me when she took note of my surname. She needed someone who was bilingual to work intake with one of the other students. None of the Latino students were ‘fessing up to being bilingual. We all know what happens to the bilingual students who get sucked into doing intakes. They never see the light of day again. They never get to work directly with patients instead they get stuck doing administrative work. “Mia can do it .” the director told the social worker. As I stammered my mentor jumped in to save me, “No she can’t she doesn’t speak Spanish.” He told her “Right Mia?” I nodded my head earnestly. The director sighed in frustration. “I’m sorry Mia I just assumed you spoke Spanish.” I felt bad. “I do speak Spanish but I wouldn’t feel comfortable translating I don’t think I’m fluent like that.” “Don’t feel bad Mia I don’t speak Spanish either!” my mentor joked. The director smiled at us and said, “I guess the both of you will be busy learning Spanish for the next couple of weeks.” “Sure thing, my mentor replied “We’ve already signed up for the Berlitz classes.”


Grasshopper and Sensei
I was part of a group of NYU grad students discussing the lecture that had just finished when my mentor approached me, “Are you ready to leave Mia?” he asked. One of the students I’d been talking to asked, “That’s your boss?” “Na I’m his grasshopper, he’s my sensei.” I replied. My mentor burst out into laughter at the look of confusion on the student’s face. “He’s my mentor.” I clarified. Another student laughed and asked, “How will you know when you’re ready to go into the world grasshopper?” “When I’m able to snatch the paper clip from his hand.” I teased as I walked towards my mentor. “C’mon my little grass hopper."Grass hopper?” “Yes sensei?” “Did I mention you’re getting your own office?” I shook my head, “No, they just told us that we’re all going to be sharing office space. I’m getting a cubicle.” “No, no my little grasshopper your sensei will not allow you to share space. I got you your own office.” “Seriously?” “Yeah." “Thank you.” “Grasshopper?” “Yes sensei?” “I think you’re going to like it. It’s a really groovy office.” “Groovy huh?” “Oh yeah, only the best for my little grasshopper.”

I’m going to have to teach this man some up to date slang.



I want to try something with you.
We’d just finished the group therapy session when my mentor asked me to follow him to his office. “Mia, sit down I want to try something with you.” He gave me some minimal details on a schizophrenic patient we’d just seen. “How do you think she feels Mia? Can you describe it for me?” “Dude, you’re doing a ‘ tuning in’ exercise aren’t you?” “Yes” “Home work?” “Kind of” “Testing the theory?” “Yes.”

I took a deep breath and thought about the patient putting myself in her place I began to speak as if I were really her. When I was done my mentor sat back and his jaw dropped. “Shit Mia that was incredible. You nailed her dead on without even reading her file!” My mentor was impressed and I was proud of myself I can’t lie. “How did you do that?” I shrugged my shoulders. “ You can see it on her she has this aura of sadness it just seeps out of her pores. “Really?” “Yes” “She gives off this feeling that she feels she doesn’t believe she belongs anywhere. She’s happy just to sit in a room full of people and not be noticed. She doesn’t want to be noticed. A lot of the clients in the groups give off the same vibe.”

He asked me how I felt about her; he had seen us talking to each other before the start of the group therapy session. “ I like her, she’s very sweet.” He handed me her file and informed me that he had been treating her for 3 years and that as of today she was my patient as well. When he started the next group therapy session he looked at me and then at the patients sitting in a circle and asked “How many of you feel like you don’t belong anywhere? How many of you are happy not to be noticed?” Nearly all of the clients raised their hands. My mentor was taken aback. He looked over at me and winked, “the sensei learns from his grass hopper.” I smiled.





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Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Stupidity


I’d arrived on campus and had some time to kill before the start of class so I sat down on a bench and started reading. After awhile two African American guys came along and sat on a bench several feet away from me. They were talking so loud I could hear their conversation. They were bitching and moaning about what they felt was the lack of attractive black females on campus.


“The Latinas look good.”
“I wouldn’t talk to them.”
“Why not?
“They all look alike.”
“What?”
“You heard me son they all look alike. Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, South Americans, Mexicans, all of them mira mira bitches look alike.”

“Mexicans don’t look like the other ones. You can’t front you can spot those wetbacks a mile away.”

“True”

Ordinarily that type of stupidity would have made me laugh but the fact that it came from them out of all people pissed me off. I got up and left before I gave in to the temptation of bitch slapping them with my book bag.


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Saturday, September 20, 2008

I bet you wish you had used those a couple of years ago


The little guy was wailing, the passengers on the bus winced and some covered their ears. The kid had a great future as an opera singer; his cries had managed to be heard by me despite the music blasting in my ears.


His mom looked as if she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her up, not even the promise of watching Dora the Explorer was cutting her some slack with the kid. As temper tantrums go his was an impressive one. I had to give it at least an 8 on a scale of 1-10. His face was beet red, his body was twisting, his feet stomping, the kid looked like a mini flamenco dancer in the middle of a dance routine.

His mom grabbed him off the floor and sat him next to her. He slid off the seat and screamed. She then tried putting him in her lap; his arms and legs flew all over the place kicking and slapping at the Rite-Aid bag she held in her hand. The bag flew out of her hand all of its’ contents spilling out all over the floor, the little boy threw himself on the floor as well and screamed louder.

A bottle of Suave Strawberry Shampoo rolled under the seat, her Tussy roll- on deodorant rolled down the aisle. A box of Trojan condoms landed by the feet of the old woman sitting in front of her. The woman looked down at the box and then back up at the mother. The young mother’s face flushed with embarrassment, “Hmph,” the old woman said as she shot a glance at the screaming toddler, “I bet you wish you had used those a couple of years ago.” I stifled a laugh as I bent down and picked up the condoms and handed them to her.

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Friday, September 19, 2008

Ask Mia...



People have been googling me again in an effort to find answers to their most vexing questions. So I’ve decided to do a weekly “Ask Mia” post.


Athens, Attiki wants to know “ suitable ring for fat finger?”

I’m thinking an even fatter diamond. Not practical you say? Fine here ya go. A marquise diamond can make her hands and fingers look more elongated. Stay away from square diamonds; You can't go wrong with a round; and rectangular diamonds will add the appearance of length.



Tucson, Arizona wants to know ‘how can I stop the room from spinning when I’m drunk?”

As a proud member in good standing of The Drunken Fairy Coven I’ve been the victim of the spinning room more times than I care to admit 3 out of 5 times it ends up barf bad...really bad if you get my drift. Nothing and I do mean nada can make the room stop spinning. No matter how hard you grip onto something/someone or pray to sweet baby Jesus the room will not stop spinning. I know I’ve tried all of those methods and more.

Let me tell you why the room spins when you’re drunk. It won’t help you one bit but it’s good to know stuff like this. You never know when you’re going to appear on a game show or something. I had to look this up by the way: “Alcohol changes the density of some of the bits of your balance system. Your balance sensors are in each inner ear on each side of your head. There is a small blob of jelly, attached to the VIIIth Cranial Nerve.

The blob of jelly normally has exactly the same density as the liquid (endolymph) which surrounds it. So the little blob of jelly in the liquid will neither sink nor float - but it will move if there's any acceleration going on. When it moves it stimulates the VIIIth Cranial Nerve, which then sends signals to your balance centres in your brain.

When alcohol gets into the blood stream, it slowly diffuses into the endolymph, and makes it more dense. So the little blobs of jelly begins to float, and this stimulates the VIIIth Cranial Nerve, giving you the impression that your bed is spinning.

As the night wears on, the alcohol gradually diffuses into the blob of jelly as well, making it as dense as the liquid it floats in - so the spinning sensation lessens. After a few more hours, the alcohol begins to leave the endolymph, so now the blob of jelly is slightly denser, and you get the impression of spinning in the opposite direction. “


In other words Tucson there’s nothing you can do about it except sleep it off . Oh yeah and check this out you could go to sleep with the room spinning one way, and wake up with it spinning the other way. So pray to the great god of booze, Bacchus, I believe would be the head cheese in that department that you sleep through the entire night.



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Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Mia For President in '08



My fellow Americans I don’t know about you but I am damn tired of the way our country is being run, therefore I am throwing my sneakers into the presidential arena. I say it’s time for change never mind that I am young, never mind that I am still a student living at home, never mind that I have absolutely no political clout or experience. It is because of these exact reasons that I would make the perfect president. Allow me to explain…


  • The fact that I am young and inexperienced works in my favor because c’mon let’s face facts the older generation had their chance and all they’ve done is run our country into the ground. What that tells me that when it comes to running this country experience means shit. Unlike the current candidates I am a true maverick. I owe no political favors to no one therefore I can’t be brought or rented.


  • As a struggling student living at home I know how tight money is and how to budget. No spending a million bucks for a simple Phillips head screw driver here buddy. I shop at Cosco. I know a deal when I see one.


  • My platform:
  • No wars…ever:
  • Unless we are threatened on our own turf I don’t want to hear it. You want democracy in your country then you fight for it don’t be calling me for help. I’ve got my own peeps to take care of.

  • Critics:
  • You know who you are. You talk le smack about us yet at the slightest hint of trouble want us to back you up or want to know what we're going to do about said trouble. If we get involved we are called bullies intent on ruling the world. If we ignore it then we are cowards who don't give a crap. We just can't win. My solution to this is as follows next time you talk smack about my country rest assured I’m rolling up in your capital with my vice-president Jackie sans her daily caffeine fix , trust me you don't know what terror is unless you've faced Jackie without her daily java. We will storm your capital posse in tow, cameras running, and beat the snot out of your leader and their cabinet. You want to talk crap then we’re going to handle this the thug way. And once I am done on beating on your ass it will be posted on youtube as a warning to anyone who is tempted to mess with us.

  • Religion:
  • I'm all for it. I believe in a higher power she may differ from yours but I still believe. I will not impose my own religious views on the country. Go on live your life by your own code but do not expect me to make it into law or force it down the throats of other Americans. That means I am pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-equal rights, sex education, and birth control.

  • Drugs:
  • Marijuana will be legalized, taxed, and available anywhere cigarettes are sold. The taxes generated can save the social security system. ‘cause you know damn well there are a lot of heads that smoke out there (raises hand). Yes I admit to inhaling, giggling and the munchies.

    In conclusion BBQ at the White House every weekend, B.Y.O.B !

    I’m Mia and this message has been approved by Mia:Shaken,Not Stirred For President in ’08 Because I Can’t Do Anyworse.



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    Tuesday, September 16, 2008

    Psycho Chick Strikes Again


    A group of us were sitting in class during a break discussing the lack of adequate lightning on our little house on the prairie campus and the town it’s located in. The town is straight out of a horror movie. The streets are dimly lit, the streets seem to be deserted once the sun sets and other than students jogging on campus I have yet to see any residents walking around in the town. Hand to god this is the sort of town where Jason and all of the other horror movie icons always seem to reside in.

    Frankly it was creeping us out especially the women who had to make the long walk from the bus stop into the campus and back. The campus seems safe, cops are posted at the entrance however a person can get clipped by a speeding car and they wouldn’t even know they hit you until they hear the impact. I brought up my idea of carrying flash lights with us for safety reasons when one of my favorite classmates ‘Psycho Chick’ said “This is what I carry for safety!” and with great dramatic flourish whipped out the biggest hunting knife I’d ever seen in my life. The edges were serrated halfway down the knife, the tip was ultra pointy and curved at the end perfect for hooking into flesh and ripping it open. It was a thing of deadly beauty.

    Several of the students jumped back when they saw the knife. “That bitch is crazy!” one of the guys exclaimed. Psycho chick grinned at him twisting her wrist around to show the knife off from different angles. “Yo’ Psycho Chick put the knife away before you get in trouble.” I told her. She’d just made eye contact with me when one of the women in class leaned over to me and said, “she really is psycho isn’t she?” I couldn’t help but chuckle and shake my head as Psycho Chick smiled at me, “God I love that female.” I said.


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    Monday, September 15, 2008

    IT’S NATIONAL HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH…WEPAAAA!



    Today, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, more than 44 million people in the United States are of Hispanic origin. That's about 14 percent of us! Many Hispanic Americans trace their roots to the cultures of the indigenous peoples of the Americas -- including the Arawaks (Puerto Rico), the Aztecs (Mexico), the Incas (South America), the Maya (Central America), and the Tainos (in Cuba, Puerto Rico and other places). Some trace their roots to the Spanish explorers -- who in the 1400s set out to find an easier and less costly way to trade with the Indies. Other Latinos trace their roots to the Africans who were brought as slaves to the New World. For purposes of the U.S. Census, Hispanic Americans today are identified according to the parts of the world that they or their ancestors came from, including Mexico, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Spain, or the nations of Central or South America.


    Here's a post full of knowledge for you all about Hispanic firsts...


    Famous Firsts by Hispanic Americans:


    Government
    •Member of U.S. Congress: Joseph Marion Hernández, 1822, delegate from the Florida territory.

    •U.S. Representative: Romualdo Pacheco, a representative from California, was elected in 1876 by a one-vote margin. He served for four months before his opponent succeeded in contesting the results. In 1879 he was again elected to Congress, where he served for two terms.

    •U.S. Senator: Octaviano Larrazolo was elected in 1928 to finish the term of New Mexico senator Andieus Jones, who had died in office. He served for six months before falling ill and stepping down; he died in 1930. The first Hispanic senator to serve an entire term (and then some) was Dennis Chávez, of New Mexico, who served from 1935 through 1962.

    •Administrator of the Federal Aviation Agency: General Elwood "Pete" Quesada helped create this agency to manage the growing aviation field and improve airline safety. He served in this position from 1958 to 1961. The agency became the Federal Aviation Administration in 1966.

    •U.S. Treasurer: Romana Acosta Bañuelos, 1971–1974.
    •U.S. cabinet member: Lauro F. Cavazos, 1988–1990, Secretary of Education.
    •U.S. Surgeon General: Antonia Coello Novello, 1990–1993. She was also the first woman ever to hold the position.

    •U.S. Secretary of Transportation: Federico Peña, 1993.
    •U.S. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development: Henry Cisneros, 1993.
    •U.S. Attorney General: Alberto Gonzales, 2005.

    Military
    •Flying ace: Col. Manuel J. Fernández, Jr., who flew 125 combat missions in the Korean War.

    •Medal of Honor recipient: Philip Bazaar, a Chilean member of the U.S. Navy, for bravery during the Civil War. He received his Congressional Medal of Honor in 1865.

    •Admiral, U.S. Navy: David G. Farragut. In 1866, he became the first U.S. naval officer ever to be awarded the rank of admiral. The first Hispanic American to become a four-star admiral was Horacio Rivero of Puerto Rico, in 1964.

    •General, U.S. Army: Richard E. Cavazos, 1976. In 1982, he became the army's first Hispanic four-star general.
    •Secretary of the Navy: Edward Hidalgo, 1979.

    Science and Medicine

    •Astronaut: Franklin Chang-Dìaz, 1986. He flew on a total of seven space-shuttle missions.

    •The first female Hispanic astronaut was Ellen Ochoa, whose first of four shuttle missions was in 1991.

    •Nobel Prize in Physics: Luiz Walter Alvarez, 1968, for discoveries about subatomic particles. Later, he and his son proposed the now-accepted theory that the mass dinosaur extinction was caused by a meteor impact.

    •Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine: Severo Ochoa, 1959, for the synthesis of ribonucleic acid (RNA).

    Literature

    •Novel in English, written and published in U.S.: María Amparo Ruiz de Burton, Who Would Have Thought It? (1872). She's better known for her 1885 second novel, The Squatter and the Don.

    •Pulitzer Prize for Fiction: Oscar Hijuelos, 1990, for his novel The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love.

    •Pulitzer Prize for Drama: Nilo Cruz, 2003, for his play Anna in the Tropics.

    Music

    •Opera diva: Lucrezia Bori, who debuted at the Metropolitan Opera in 1912.
    •Rock star: Richie Valens, 1958.
    •Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee: Carlos Santana, 1998.

    Film

    •Oscar, Best Actor: José Ferrer, 1950, Cyrano de Bergerac.
    •Oscar, Best Supporting Actress: Rita Moreno, 1961, West Side Story.
    •Oscar, Best Supporting Actor: Anthony Quinn, 1952, Viva Zapata!.
    •Hollywood director: Raoul Walsh, 1914, The Life of General Villa.
    •Matinee idol: Ramón Navarro, 1923, The Prisoner of Zenda.
    •Leading lady: Dolores del Río, 1925, Joanne.


    Drama


    •Tony, Best Director: José Quintero, 1973.
    •Tony, Best Supporting Actress: Rita Moreno, 1975, The Ritz. In 1977, Moreno became the first Hispanic American (and the second person ever) to have won an Oscar, a Grammy, a Tony, and an Emmy, picking up the last of those for her performance as guest host on The Muppet Show.

    Television
    •Star of a network television show: Desi Arnaz, 1952, I Love Lucy.
    •Broadcaster of the Year: Geraldo Rivera, 1971.

    Baseball

    •Major league player: Esteban Bellán, 1871, Troy Haymakers.
    •World Series player: Adolfo “Dolf” Luque, 1919, relief pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds, against the infamous “Black Sox.” (He later pitched for the New York Giants in the 1933 Series and was credited with the win in the final game.)

    •All-Star Game player: Alfonso “Chico” Carrasquel, 1951, starting shortstop for the American League.

    •Rookie of the Year: Luis Aparicio, 1956, shortstop, Chicago White Sox.

    •No-hitter: Juan Marichal, June 15, 1963, for the San Francisco Giants, against the Houston Colt .45s.

    •Hall of Fame inductee: Roberto Clemente, 1973. He was also the first Hispanic player to serve on the Players Association Board and to reach 3,000 hits.

    •Team owner: Arturo “Arte” Moreno bought the Anaheim Angels in 2003, becoming the first Hispanic owner of any major U.S. sports franchise. In 2005, he renamed it the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

    Football

    •NFL player: Ignacio “Lou” Molinet, 1927.
    •NFL draft pick: Joe Aguirre, 1941.
    •Starting NFL quarterback: Tom Flores, 1960.
    •#1 NFL draft pick: Jim Plunkett, 1971.
    •Football Hall of Fame inductee: Tom Fears, 1970. He also became the first Hispanic American head coach in 1967.

    Other Sports

    •Grand Slam championship winner: Richard “Pancho” González, 1948.
    •LPGA Hall of Fame inductee: Nancy López, 1987. In 1978, she became the first player to have won the the Rookie of the Year Award, Player of the Year Award, and Vare Trophy in the same season.

    •Heavyweight boxing champ: John Ruiz, 2001, defeating Evander Holyfield.
    •NHL 1st-round draft pick: Scott Gomez, 1998.

    Other Hispanic-American Firsts

    •Supermodel: Christy Turlington.
    •Labor leader: Juan Gómez, 1883. The first female Hispanic labor leader of note was Lucy González Parsons, 1886.
    •Entertainer on the cover of TIME magazine: Joan Baez, 1962.



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    Posted by @ 5:36 PM
    5 comment from: Blogger FrumiousBandersnatch, Blogger Ritardo Garsiferis Anvil(Gar's Evil Twin by the way just so you know), Blogger Mia, Blogger Mia, Blogger Ritardo Garsiferis Anvil(Gar's Evil Twin by the way just so you know),


    Saturday, September 13, 2008

    Pen Pals


    As my friends well know I love playing jokes on them, and messing with their heads.
    My boyfriend never knew this about me.

    My sister Caitlin has been studying forensics at school. This week they’ve been working on serial killers and Caity was assigned a project on Ted Bundy. Because one of my degrees happens to be in forensic psychology she came to me for help. I explained to her the mind set of a serial killer and the different theories as to how they become the twisted individuals that they are. To prove my point I started looking up serial killers and showing her what they had in common for example, troubled childhoods. She was like a little sponge soaking it all up, writing everything I told her down.

    When she finally left to her room I glanced at computer and noticed that the there was a pen pal link for the killer I had been reading about, that intrigued me. I clicked on the link and found a website dedicated to finding pen pals for inmates on death row. The site had pictures of the inmates along with a profile, “I’m fun, easy going…” one of them said. I googled the guys name and found that he was in prison for rape and murder. He’d been caught while attempting to burn his victim’s body. “Whoa yeah you’re real easy going.” I thought. Then I began to wonder what kind of woman would actually contact someone like this. I happened to be chatting with Jackie online and mentioned the site to her. Jackie having nothing to do asked me for the link and began looking over it instant messaging me names and I’d google it to find out the death row inmates crime.

    When my bf arrived he found me sitting reading several inmates profiles and discussing their cases with Jackie and the joker in me took over.

    -What are you doing?

    --Reading some serial killer profiles with Jackie on this pen pal sit for inmates.

    -Why?

    --I’m looking for a pen pal.

    His eyes bugged out, and he gasped. His voice even pitched an octave or two higher. I had only been joking but seeing his reaction I thought to myself, oh yeah man this was so on.

    -Are you crazy?! Those people are dangerous!

    --Na, they’re locked up. Besides they are lonely.

    -Mia, are you serious?!

    I opened up my email and began composing a letter.

    Hi, my name is Mia!

    I’m 25 years old and a student living in New York City. If you’re interested in being my pen pal hit me back at this email address. My photo is on my blog http://marialsuarez.blogspot.com

    I look forward to hearing from you.

    Peace…Mia


    My bf looked over my shoulder.

    -Mia you’re NOT serious! Don’t you dare send that email!

    I smiled as sweetly as I could at him and hit the ‘send’ button. Fortunately he never noticed I was actually emailing myself at another email address.

    -Mia, noooo!

    --What?

    -Are you crazy?

    I shrugged my shoulders and began composing another email.

    -I can’t believe you would do this! They can stalk Mia. Aren’t you thinking?

    --Psshaw. Dude, they’re on death row and I don’t mean the record label. They can’t do anything to me. Besides what kind of shrink would I be if I can’t show some empathy for an inmate? Besides you do know that I will be working with inmates in grad school right?

    His face turned several shades of red; I’m pretty sure his blood pressure shot up as well. He began sputtering all types of nonsense. I was crazy, I never listened to him..yadda yadda blah blah. I finally had to leave my room in order to be able to laugh. When I returned several minutes later he was glowering at me. I walked past him and sat back down at my computer.

    --Oh look I got a response (I lied) that was quick!

    -Don’t answer it.

    --I can’t just ignore it. That would be rude!

    -Mia!

    I composed another fake email and sent it off.

    -God you’re so stubborn!

    I started to laugh I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

    -Why are you laughing? This is not funny Mia! You’re emailing convicted murderers!

    --Are you mad at me Joshy washy Liberace?

    -Mia

    I shrugged my shoulders and laughed again, pointing to my screen.

    --They’re not all guilty Josh. Look at this guy he swears he is innocent!

    Josh glared at me.

    I think I’ll clue him on the prank later on.


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    Posted by @ 12:23 PM
    4 comment from: Blogger Tapsalteerie, Anonymous frum, Blogger Mia, Anonymous Anonymous,


    Thursday, September 11, 2008

    Seven Years Later


    Seven years ago today 2,966 people were murdered during one stunningly beautiful morning in New York City. Two of the victims, a fireman and a police officer ran into the towers with the hopes of saving lives but unaware that as a result of their heroic actions my own family would become smaller by two.


    So today I will listen for their names just as I have done in the past. I will be looking towards where the towers once stood and feel the ache and sadness within my heart that I always do when I look at the empty spot in the skyline. Today I will pray. I will pray for understanding, and for peace. I will pray for the future of this world and its children. I will pray that this evil never happens again. I will pray that my heart never hardens to the point where I can’t forgive. Today I will grieve for my lost family members and I will grieve for the other 2, 964 victims as well who were also a part of someone’s family. I will also grieve for the bit of innocence that my city lost that day. Seven years later I still grieve for what was lost. Seven years later I still cry.



    According to the stats on the September 11th attacks at least 2,985 people died, including:
    •19 terrorists
    •2,966 victims
    All but 13 people died on that day. Thirteen died of their wounds. One person has died since the attacks, of lung cancer. It is suspected to have been caused by all the debris from the Twin Towers.

    There were 266 people on the four planes:
    •American Airlines Flight 11 (crashed into the WTC): 92 (including five terrorists)
    •United Airlines Flight 175 (crashed into the WTC): 65 (including five terrorists)
    •American Airlines Flight 77 (crashed into the Pentagon: 64 (including five terrorists)

    •United Flight 93 (downed in Shanksville, PA): 45 (including four terrorists)
    There were 2,595 people in the World Trade Center and near it, including:
    •343 NYFD firefighters and paramedics
    •23 NYPD police officers
    •37 Port Authority police officers
    •1,402 people in Tower 1
    •614 people in Tower 2
    •658 people at one company, Cantor Fitzgerald
    •1,762 New York residents
    •674 New Jersey residents
    1 NYFD firefighter killed by a man jumping off the top floors of the twin towers
    There were 125 civilians and military personnel at the Pentagon.

    1,609 people lost a spouse or partner on 9/11. More than 3,051 children lost parents. While there were mostly Americans killed in this horrific attack one must mention (how ever small the group) that non survivors were from other countries:
    327 foreign nationals also perished.
    Argentina: 4 [1] Australia: 11 Bangladesh: 6 Belarus: 1 [2] Belgium: 1 Bermuda: 1 Brazil: 3 Canada: 27 [3][4] Chile: 2 China: 4 Cte d'Ivoire: 1 Colombia: 17 Democratic Republic of the Congo: 2 Dominican Republic: 1 El Salvador: 1 Ecuador: 3 France: 1 Germany: 11 Ghana: 2 Guyana: 3 Haiti: 2 Honduras:1 India: 1 Indonesia: 1 Ireland: 6 [5] Israel: 5 Italy: 4 Jamaica: 16 Japan: 26 Jordan: 2 [6][7][8] Lebanon: 3 Lithuania: 1 Malaysia: 7 Mexico: 16 Moldova: 1 Netherlands: 1 New Zealand: 2 Nigeria: 1 Panama: 2 [9] Peru: 5 Philippines: 16 Portugal: 3 [10] Poland: 1 Russia: 1 South Africa: 2 South Korea: 28 Spain: 1 Sweden: 1 Taiwan: 1 Ukraine: 1 Uzbekistan: 1 [11] United Kingdom: 67 [12] Venezuela: 1

    Posts I’ve written in the past about 9.11:
    My memories of 9.11
    Five Years Later
    Ghosts of 9.11




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    Wednesday, September 10, 2008

    Umbrella


    There was a torrential down pour of rain going on when I left for school today. The umbrella vendors stationed by the train station and bus stop were making a killing; almost all of their umbrellas had sold out. A large Jamaican lady approached one of the vendors, a small Asian woman; she could’ve Korean, Cambodian, or Vietnamese for all I know. I’m not good at distinguishing races. Even among my own people I am totally clueles,it’s a talent that has eluded me all my life. Which I’m sure has you thinking right now Mia, then how do you know she was Jamaican?” I could tell by her accent well that and the Jamaican flag imprinted on the front of her canvas tote.


    The Jamaican woman looked over the small Asian woman’s umbrella selection. All the compact umbrellas had been snatched up leaving a dozen or so large umbrellas for sale. “Where are the small umbrellas?” the woman asked. “No more, all gone. So sorry.” The Asian vendor replied as she smiled at the Jamaican woman. The Jamaican woman rolled her eyes, “what the hell, did your relatives in China stop making little umbrellas?” she said to the woman as she gestured towards the remaining umbrellas. The vendor looked confused, “What?” she asked. The Jamaican woman put her hand on her hip and spoke slowly enunciating every word as if the vendor didn’t understand English, “I said what the hell… did your relatives in China stop making little umbrellas?”Oh no she didnt just repeat it again. The vendor looked stunned her face flushed in embarrassment. “Miss, I Cambodian, not Chinese.” “Whatever, you all look alike to me anyway.”

    Something about that just pissed me off. oh this is just too good to pass up. I thought to myself. I smiled at the vendor and winked. “I got this.” I told her as I pulled out my cell phone. ‘You got what?” the Jamaican woman asked. I held up my finger to silence her as I pretended to go through my phone book. “I’m calling China and letting my friend at the umbrella factory know that a Haitian woman in New York wants know what’s the deal with the compact umbrellas."

    Now it was the Jamaican’s woman turned to be insulted and stunned. “I am not Haitian, I am Jamaican.” I waved my hand at her dismissively an obvious imitation of what she’d just done, “What ever “ I said as the vendor hid her laughter behind her hand. The woman attempted to stare me down I stared right back at grateful for once that I’d been gifted with what my friends call intimidating eyes. She looked away first and I smiled in victory. She stomped off using really colorful adjectives to describe me finally ending with “Fucking Dominican bitch!” as she started to go down the stairs into the subway. I called after her, “Hey, hey lady I’m Puerto Rican, not Dominican!”

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    Posted by @ 12:13 AM
    3 comment from: Blogger Mia, Blogger FrumiousBandersnatch, Blogger Mia,


    Tuesday, September 09, 2008

    Dead


    My sister was the first to spot it and ran from the room screaming like a banshee, she has a tendency to be overly dramatic. My brother just circled the dam thing studying it from a distance. “Ew, what the hell is that?” I said as ‘the take me to your leader’ alien looking bug crawled across our living room floor.


    My family lives in a densely tree populated neighborhood close by the river. We have all sorts of shrubbery, and flowers growing around here, it’s a regular cornucopia of floral scents and colors. As a result of all of this lush greenery we get all sorts of insects flying and otherwise passing through my house. Our neighborhood is an entomologist’s idea of heaven. “What’s what?” my father asked as he entered the room. “That. What kind of bug is that?” I asked pointing to the bug that had just reached the center of the living room. My father approached the insect and promptly stomped on it with his heavy boot. “Dead.” My father is a man of few words.


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    Posted by @ 12:25 AM
    3 comment from: Blogger Tapsalteerie, Blogger Ritardo Garsiferis Anvil, Blogger Mia,


    Monday, September 08, 2008

    My wife, she still gets jealous


    My father bumped into a friend of a business associate this weekend at our neighborhood flower shop. As he talked to the owner of the shop he noticed an old man staring at him. My father recognized the man but wasn’t sure the man had recognized him it had been over a decade since they had last met. Despite his age he carried himself like a much younger man. “You’re Pompa’s boy aren’t you? he asked my father. “I’m no one’s ‘boy’ but yeah I know Sam" dad replied. The old man had a memory like a hawk he remembered everything about my dad, Sam had always spoken very highly of my father he told him.


    “You still with married to that Spanish girl?” the old man asked as he glanced at me. My father nodded his head, “Yeah we’re coming up on our 27th wedding anniversary in few weeks.” My dad put his hand on my shoulder, “This is our oldest daughter, Mia.” “Cheaper to keep her right?” the old man joked. My dad nodded his head in agreement. “I spoke to your wife a couple of times when you weren’t around. Sweet girl, a real looker too you done good there kid.” My dad thanked him. He stared at my father, “You know I always thought you were Italian. Even though Sam told us you were Puerto Rican we all felt you had to have a little bit of Italian blood in you. You don’t look Hispanic at all, you know that?” My dad laughed, “Yeah I hear that all the time but like my daughter says we’re like skittles we come in all colors of the rainbow.” The old man laughed at that but he had to ask the question anyway he couldn’t help himself. “You sure you’re not Guido or have some Italian in you?” My dad laughed, “Not a drop, pure Puerto Rican here” “My wife’s Puerto Rican she’s a little thing like your daughter there. God love those women they are something else aren’t they? I’ve been married for 56 years now and I wouldn’t trade my wife for nothing in the world. Though I gotta admit the minute she puts her fists on her hips and starts shaking her head I run out the house. I find something to do even if I don’t have anything to do!” he laughed. “Those women have a temper on them.”

    As to illustrate his point his phone rang his wife was on the other line demanding to know where he was. “I’m talking to a friend here Lydia and when I’m done I’m going to go put gas in the car. His nodded his head and started to blush as his wife continued to berate him on the phone. “But honey I’m 76 years old who the hell is going to let me put my nozzle in their tank?” After a few seconds he hung up, grinned like a newlywed, and shrugged his shoulders. “My wife, she still gets jealous"



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    Posted by @ 8:34 AM
    3 comment from: Blogger FrumiousBandersnatch, Blogger Tapsalteerie, Blogger Mia,


    Thursday, September 04, 2008

    Looking Out For Pa Ingalls and Half-Pint


    I’m a city girl through and through hiking is something done for fun not for survival and certainly not in the quest for an education. Yeah, yeah I’ve heard elderly people talk about how in their day they had to walk 20 miles to the school, uphill (both ways)…in the pouring rain…snow storm…sand storm…(take your pick) looking out for bears… yetis… wild boars… chupa cabras (again take your pick) all in the name of getting an education. Today’s youth has it so easy they always say. All my life I have walked a few blocks or ridden New York City’s mass transit system to get me to school yeah I must admit I’ve had it easy. It seems those days are coming to an end this semester.


    My academic advisor has deemed it necessary for me to take a research class despite the fact that I took the class when I got my first BA. “I’m sure you’ll have to take it again when you go to grad school next year so it’s better if you do it here instead.” she informed me. The class is not offered on the Bronx campus, or on the Manhattan campus oh no, no why make it easy for the urban dwelling students? The class is offered at night on the main campus in Dobbs Fairy, NY which is exactly 2 hours and 15 minutes away from my home, and 2 hours and 45 minutes from my internship. I know I did a test run yesterday. “It’s only a short walk from the train to the campus.” She’d said. The woman is a goddamn liar makes me wonder what else she’s been lying to me about. So help me Mary Poppins if I have to take this damn class again in grad school I’m coming after her with a shovel sized spoonful of sugar and ramming it up her ass.

    Taking my car is not a viable option my internship is in Manhattan a residential area with no parking or parking lots. Unless I can fold my Holy Monkeymobile origami style and put it in my bag the car has to stay home and I’m going to have to use the mass transit system to get to my evening class. Luckily my father has informed me that he’ll pick me up from class. Gosh I love that man!

    As I was saying I did a test run yesterday my friend Monica came along because she’s going to have to make the trek up there during the winter semester. Obviously my advisor and I have different concepts as to what constitutes a short walk. The campus was a mile away from the station mostly uphill. The campus is beautiful surrounded my mountains and lots and lots of majestic trees. I’m sure there was a babbling brook somewhere. As soon as we arrived Monica’s chest tingled, “The air feels funny here” she said. “It’s clean air. You’ll get used to it.” I replied.


    Once we reached the campus we took a look at the “you are here” sign and studied the map below it. I took a sip from my water bottled and informed Monica that our class was located more or less in the center of the campus. We hiked for about 20 minutes before we reached our destination. Yeah I said hiked we were walking on a trails populated with nothing but trees and shrubbery which then morph into a dirt path through the college campus. I also noticed that there weren’t that many lamp posts on the trail. I told Monica that we definitely needed to invest in some flash lights seeing how it got dark earlier in the winter, better safe than sorry. Several feet ahead of us we were spotted by a professor walking across campus. “Good morning ladies,” he called out welcome back to school!” “Good morning sir and thank you!” I called back as I waved. “Do you know him?” Monica asked. “Nope but for all we know he might be one of our teachers.” “Morning!” Monica shouted over her shoulder.

    “Mia I think we’re lost."“No we’re not the directions were easy. Walk straight on the trail to the end. That’s what we did.” “I don’t see any buildings. So where is our class room?” she asked. My eyes swept the area and I laughed. She was right there were no buildings instead there was what appeared to be a school house several feet from us. I read the sign on the house and pointed to it.“There’s our class.” “That’s a house!” she said as she followed me. “Nope it’s our class room.” Monica stood in front of our class shaking her head incredulously as I continued my visual sweep of the area. I cupped my hand over my eyebrows and craned my neck as if I were looking for something on the horizon. “What are you doing?” she asked. “ Looking out for Pa Ingalls and half-pint” I replied.





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    Posted by @ 10:55 AM
    3 comment from: Anonymous Darla, Blogger Tapsalteerie, Blogger Mia,


    Wednesday, September 03, 2008

    Ain't No Mountain High Enough


    Mom was volunteering at an outreach center for teens and barely older than Nora when they first met nearly 20 years ago. The girl was malnourished, homeless, and pregnant. Unable to get her out of her thoughts mom brought her home to live with us. My aunt Nora stayed with us for five years and always says that those were the happiest years of her life. Eventually she would reunite with her family, marry, and move out of our home. The bond between her and my parents never waivered and in time our two separate families became one.


    Aunt Nora called mom crying hysterically last week from Egypt with the news. Business circumstances are forcing my Uncle Hassan to move back to Egypt. Several days later she arrived in NY to pack the house up for the move. In a matter of days they’ll be gone. Naturally our families are taking it hard especially mom and Nora. With the exception of the occasional trip to Egypt they’ve never been apart for more than a couple of days in the last twenty years.

    This past Sunday we were at Aunt Nora’s saying goodbye. Even though it was left unsaid we all knew that due to work, school, and financial constraints the chances of us all ever being together at the same time were slim to none.This was our last family dinner. Every now then someone would burst into tears and mom would joke, “Cut it out I’m not sure if this mascara is waterproof.” Even the paragon of Arab machismo himself Nora’s husband Hassan broke down a few times. For the first time in my life when my uncle Hassan asked me to make him tea I actually did as I was told and brought it out to him without joking about his chauvinistic ways, “you little piece of shit” he joked in his thick Egyptian accent before pulling me in for a hug,” it took me saying I was leaving country before you finally make me cup of tea with no hustle! “Hassle” I corrected. He choked up and he hugged me, “Habibi, he whispered, “you are my first daughter and more precious to me than my life.”

    My favorite memories of mom and Nora have always revolved around the kitchen and this Sunday was no different. The kitchen is where I first learned about the tooth fairy, waxing, sex, and make- up. It’s where important decisions about my future were made in between bites of mom’s arroz con pollo, Aunt Leila cookies, or Aunt Nora’s Kusherie. Then of course there’s the music, mom has a beautiful voice but Nora oh man her voice is truly a gift from God and when they sing together it really is a thing of beauty. The sound of the two of them singing in English, Spanish, and Arabic when they clean the kitchen never fails to make me smile and sometimes just makes me straight out laugh. Trust me you have not truly lived unless you’ve heard Nora and mom’s Arabic/English version of Salt –n- Pepa’s “Push It”.


    Nora, her mother Leila, and mom were in the kitchen preparing dinner.“Just because Nora’s moving away doesn’t mean you forget all about your aunty Leila Mia . I expect you to drive up and visit. I’m only an hour away.” She’d said as she hugged me. Nora stopped chopping vegetables and stared at her mother, “Ma go inside and keep the men company. I can hear Hassan crying all over Willie again. Me and Mags got this under control. You too baby go and torture your uncle a little.” I flashed a mischievous smile at her, “I think I’ll tell him I’m joining Jews for Jesus.” Nora burst out laughing. “Oh my god you’re going to give Hassan a heart attack!” Leila groaned. Mom looked up from the potatoes she was peeling and shook her head. “It’s on your head if she ends up killing him Nora.” “Want to take a picture while I make him turn purple Leila?” I asked as we left the kitchen. After a few minutes we heard the sound of someone washing dishes. Then suddenly Nora began to sing an acapella version of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough after few seconds my mother joined in.

    If you need me, call me
    No matter where you are
    No matter how far
    Just call my name
    I'll be there in a hurry
    You don't have to worry
    'Cause baby,
    There ain't no mountain high enough
    Ain't no valley low enough
    Ain't no river wide enough
    To keep me from getting to you


    The sound of their singing traveled into the living room and stunned everyone into silence. It was a bittersweet moment. Their combined voices had never sounded better. Every vocal inflection was saturated with their pain and the lyrics were sung with heart felt conviction. It was obvious to all listening that they weren’t just singing. They were reaffirming a vow made to each other 20 years ago.





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    Posted by @ 8:27 AM
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