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Mia: Shaken Not Stirred |
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Thursday, April 09, 2009The Raisin “Hold on a second," she said as she bent over to pick something up from the prison floor,“you popped a button.” I glanced down at my polo shirt and checked to see if I was exposing any cleavage. Nope all four of my buttons were done up, none were missing. I didn’t feel any drafts whipping around my butt which meant my pants were still on my waist so I hadn’t popped a button there either. “It’s not my button.” I said as she attempted to pick up the button with the tip of her nails. “Ha! I got it! Hold out your hand.” she exclaimed in triumph and dropped the button into my upturned palm. “This isn’t a button.” I said staring at the flat black object in my hand. “It isn’t?” “No,see for yourself.” I said holding it out for her inspection. “It’s a raisin.” She studied the raisin in my hand and giggled. “It looked like a button.” I tried not think about how long the raisin had been laying on the floor or how many dirty, filthy, and germ riddled mc nasty shoes must have stepped on it to get it as flat as it was. My thoughts drifted to my bag in the locker, the bottle of hand sanitizer in the front pocket calling out to me. “I’m sorry,” she said still staring at the raisin, “I really thought it was a button!” “No problem. It could’ve been worse; it could have been a squashed bug.” The thought of a squashed bug in my hand made me visibly shudder. “It’s kind of sad actually.” I said “How so?” “For all we know this was once a plump juicy grape in the prime of life when it arrived here but living behind these prison walls sucked all the life out of it. Maybe it was hoping to spend its final days in a cookie or a warm bowl of oatmeal and we just foiled his escape.” She laughed and held out her hand. “Here you go officer, lock him up put him back in his cell.” I said as I dumped the raisin in her hand. “You’re the new social worker?” she asked. “Yup, I was just meeting my clients.” “How often are you going to be here?” she asked dropping the raisin into the waste basket near her feet. “Once a week.” I replied She wiped her hands on her uniform pants. “I look forward to your visits.” she said smiling as she walked away. Labels: a day in the life, raisin Click here to read entire post.  @
12:20 PM
1 comment from:  Darla,
 
 Wednesday, March 25, 2009Purple Tutu The day ended pretty much as it had begun…with a man rubbing up on me and the vision on an old woman in a purple tutu. Morning : It was 6:30 am when I pulled my hair back into a pony tail and frowned at my reflection in the mirror. “Rise and shine sunshine!” my mom chirped as she entered my room cup of coffee in hand. I blinked away the vision of the old woman in a purple tutu balancing a cheese danish on her nose. She was a product of the all nighter I’d pulled. I may have looked and felt like warmed over crap at the moment but dammit my 22 page paper on interpersonal obstacles was looking like beauty queen material. Procrastination was not the one to blame for this one. I’d been swamped with back to back papers and between school and the demands of my internship there had been little time to dedicate to this last minute paper, hence the all nighter. Bleary eyed I tried to smooth the crown of my hair down and quickly gave up after the second try. I’d only had 2 hours sleep and I still had a full day at my internship and school to get through. The old lady in the purple tutu winked at me as I headed out the door. Dorogaya: I boarded the crowded bus and headed towards the back where the college students tend to sit. As I started to slide into an empty seat my bag struck the shoulder of my potential seating partner. He turned to face me and swept me from head to toe with his gaze. I apologized to him and began the task of removing my bag and unzipping my coat. He stood up and smiled at me. God had been kind to this man in the looks department. I smiled up at him and apologized again. The Lehman College logo clued me in to his student status the psych book in his hand confirmed it. Lehman’s very big on foreign students. He said something unintelligible to me in heavily accented English followed by “Dorogaya” which a friend later told me meant my darling in Russian and held out his hand for my bag which I promptly declined. He smiled at me again and when he saw that I’d settled in he sat down next to me and resumed his conversation with this friend. The Russian said something to his friend about me. I assumed it was about me because they were both looking at me and the friend smiled and nodded at the Russian student. For all I know they could’ve been plotting my death or maybe they’d spotted the old woman in the purple tutu as well. I was lost in thought when a few moments later I felt the Russian’s thigh press against mine. Thinking I must be crowding him I moved over…he moved over as well.I moved again until I was pressed against the metal arm rest. He moved over again. He seemed to want to sit as close to me as possible. Maybe he was cold and I was keeping him warm. Every now and then he’d say something to his friend and look at me. I was in no mood to attempt to tackle our language barrier and ask him why the hell he was sitting so close. I ignored the length of his thigh pressing against mine. I started to rise as my stop approached and he did too. Despite my protests he scooped up my bag from the floor and settled it on my shoulder and slid the hood of my coat onto my head. “Uh thank you.” I said not knowing what else to say I mean it was freezing outside. At the Internship : I dialed my sensei’s office extension as I made my way to the student office this is his version of me clocking in. He hadn’t arrived yet so I left him a message. I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I was glad he wasn’t in yet even though it was just putting off the inevitable. He’d been really angry at me the day before. We’d had an appointment for 4 pm but when he didn’t show up by 4:40 I left assuming he’d forgotten about it as he often does. Unfortunately he’d managed to reach me by phone on the way home and had ripped me a shiny new one. But that wasn’t the real reason he was angry. He kept harping on the real reason and it was that my school supervisor had informed him I would no longer be able to accommodate him by coming in on Fridays because that was supposed to be my day off. I knew that would cause trouble and had told my supervisor so. My head was throbbing, from the corner of my eye I spotted the old woman with the purple tutu. I started to feel a little shaky, saw spots before my eyes, those were real and not due to lack of sleep.I remembered that I’d skip dinner the night before and hadn’t had any breakfast. I promised to take better care of myself. The lack of sleep and stress of this place was really getting to me. Afternoon : My sensei tracked me down and asked to speak in private with me. A huge verbal beat down was launched my way. Over and over again he brought up the fact that I was no longer available on Fridays. The truth is I need that day to focus on school work; he tends to forget that I’m a full time student. I can’t continue to burn my candle at both ends eventually the dripping wax is going to ruin my t-shirt. I rubbed my at my irritated eyes, no way in hell had an old lady in a purple tutu just skate boarded past me but then again this was New York so who the hell knew. When it was over and he was gone I sat back and decided I’d had enough of his abuse. I gathered my things determined to leave. I didn’t care if it wasn’t quitting time I was done and I wasn’t coming back. Except I couldn’t leave, my bag and lap top were in the other room and there was a session going on. I wanted to curl into a fetal position somewhere and sleep. Yeah I’d had enough. My sensei had finally succeeded in breaking me. I made called my school supervisors and left them a message, “I’m done, I can’t take it no more. I am dropping out." I said. On My Way To School: I was replying to my text messages angrily hitting the keys on my phone when I heard people yelling, “Call 9-1-1, call 9-1-1!” I looked around to see what all the excitement was about and noticed that the man who’d been standing behind me at the bus stop was laid out on the sidewalk. He’d fallen and appeared to be having some sort of seizure. All of a sudden I became bilingual and began issuing orders in English and Spanish. Lucky for them my Arabic is not up to snuff otherwise I’d been issuing orders in Arabic as well. Someone asked for something to put in his mouth in case he swallowed his tongue. I glanced at my brand new phone Oh hell no! I patted around my coat pockets until I found something. I tossed a pack of Orbit Gum at the person nearest person and instructed them to put it in his mouth, the entire pack, not a piece. I wasn’t worried about the state of his breath or his teeth. I knelt beside him to check on him and noticed blood coming from a head wound no doubt from when he’d hit the sidewalk. When he came to he was pretty much out of it. Someone asked if he spoke Spanish and he said yes. A middle aged woman approached him speaking Spanish. “Tu esta bien?” (are you okay?) she asked. “What is she saying? I don’t understand you!” he yelled at the woman. “Ju okay, ju okay don’t worry day call day police.” She replied. “I don’t understand you!” he yelled again this time with a nastier attitude. The woman sucked her teeth in disgust, “Pues jodete!” (well screw you then.) As the crowd around him tried to comfort him by telling him the police and ambulance were on their way he snapped at them to leave him alone, to get away from him. After several minutes of this they happily complied. Someone handed me my pack of gum back…I wasn’t so sure I wanted it back. damn I just brought this pack of gum! Then I realized I’d spoken Spanish. Damn yo I just spoke fluent Spanish! No gringo accent either! Go me! The man struggled to his feet and then struggled some more to remain on them, “Stay down, I told him “the ambulance is on their way. “You hit yourself pretty hard I think you might have a concussion.” I expected him to snarl at me as he had done to everyone else but instead he looked at me and shyly smiled. “What happened ?” he asked. I shrugged my shoulders, “One minute you were standing behind me and the next you were passed out on the floor.” I replied. “Me? Nah, man nah.” “Yes, you. You were knocked the hell out. ” “For reals I was knocked out?” “Damn skippy you were. Look you even puked.” I said pointing to the sidewalk. When the ambulance arrived he started giving them a hard time. l I shook my head at the EMS worker and got ready to leave my bus was arriving, “Don’t leave me” the man pleaded. “Fine, I’ll stay but you have to let them look at you.” I said as I watched the crowd board the bus. I knew I was cutting it close but couldn’t in good conscience leave the man. The Bus Ride To School: He looked around the bus and despite all the empty seats near him walked to where I was sitting in the back. He smiled at me before he sat down. Something about him made the hair at the back of my neck stand up. He held a bag on his lap. For the next 40 minutes or so as the bus navigated out of the city his leg constantly rubbed against mine. I put it down to the fact that the roads were full of bumps, twist and turns. Then I noticed that even when the road had smoothed out he was still pressing his leg against mine. I glanced at him and noticed he kept applying pressure to the bag on his lap. By this time we were the only ones on the bus. I slid away only to feel him against my leg a few seconds later Holy monkey the bastard is masturbating ! He pressed his leg against mine harder and his leg started rubbing faster and faster. I shot up out of my seat and walked across the aisle. Part of me just wanted to slam my 45 lb book bag onto his lap as hard as I could and make his privates shrivel up in pain. He gave me a big smile. I started to slide my bag off my shoulders. Oh it was so on luckily for him my stop had come up. The news of my intended action had reached my classroom before I had. Everyone agreed my sensei was the scum of the earth and that they weren’t allowing me to drop out. I was too exhausted to argue. The old woman in the purple tutu stood nearby with her hands on her hips, she was in complete agreement with my fellow students and professor. Home My heart did the running man dance of joy in my chest when I spotted my father and the old woman in the purple tutu waiting for me in the student parking lot. The ride home was a quiet one my dad understood my need for silence; we’re kindred spirits in that way. A hot shower and a meal later I padded into my room with my beloved dog Cleo at my side. The old woman in the purple tutu stood beside my bed and lovingly patted my pillow beckoning me to lay my head on it. I gladly obliged, seconds later as I teetered between the worlds of nod and reality my last vision was of the old woman in the purple tutu blowing me a kiss good night. Labels: a day in the life, internship Click here to read entire post. @
5:45 PM
3 comment from:  Mia, Unknown, Mia,
Monday, March 02, 2009Je T'aime Chérie She appears to be decades younger than she actually is but you don’t realize this until someone reveals her actual age. There are several other things you notice about Franise. First and foremost is her jet black hair. It falls well past her buttocks in mega thin dread locks. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of gun metal gray fringed with thick curly black eye lashes. Her skin is the color of burnished copper and has a natural glow to it; she looks as if she never had a bad skin day in her life. The final thing you notice about her is that she is mentally ill. Forty years ago Franise had and her husband had been teachers. They’d moved to New York from New Orleans. One night while returning home they were attacked by a group of men in the elevator of the building they lived in. Her husband was murdered in front of her and what was done to Franise is better left unsaid. Franise never recovered mentally from the trauma. Shortly afterwards she moved into our apartment complex. After the death of her mother Franise’s family took over her care. No one in this neighborhood remembers Franise ever being anyway but the way she is now. Everyone knows her story and is very protective of her. She has a soft voice and rarely speaks; the few times I have heard her talk I’ve picked up traces of a lovely Cajun accent. She’s afraid of people outside of her family and because of this avoids interaction with outsiders. The exception to that rule seems to be my mother and no one including her doctor has been able to figure out the why of it. When we moved into this complex eight-teen years ago Franise was immediately drawn to my mother. She'd approach my mom every morning and spoke to her. It was never more than a sentence or two but coming from Franise that was miraculous. When she’d spot my mother anywhere she’d raise her hand in greeting and smile at her. She even rode the elevator with her. Franise never rides the elevator with people. In fact if someone is waiting for the elevator she’ll take the stairs. When Franise’s mother first witnessed this she was shocked. She was even more surprised when she discovered that Franise would often knock on our door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar or an egg. It turned out that Franise never really needed the items she just used it as an excuse to approach my mother. Mom was touched by this and used the concept of borrowing as a way to reach out to Franise. For example when mom bakes she listens for the sounds of Franise arriving home and has a slice of cake wrapped and waiting for her. Everyone knows when Franise arrives because as soon as she steps into the elevator she presses the alarm button and doesn’t take her finger off of it until she reaches her floor. “Franise,” mom calls out from our door way when Franise walks past, “I baked a cake would you like to borrow a slice?” On days when the weather is an issue mom offers something cold or hot to drink depending on the need and asks if Franise would like to borrow a cup of whatever she’s made. Always Franise stops, takes what is offered and scurries into her apartment calling out, “Merci !” behind her closed door. She’s never called my mother by her name, she’s never called us by our names either but she knows who we are and who we belong to. Years ago when my little sister Caitlin was wailing in my brothers arms after scraping her knee in the playground Franise approached them and stroked Caity’s hair. “Hush ma chérie it’s going to be fine. Boy you take her on up to your mama.” And then she walked them to the elevator pressed for our floor and rode up with them ringing the alarm all the way. When they got to our floor Franise watched as they knocked on our apartment door only when she’d seen my step out into the hall and gather the then 6 year old year old Caitlin into her arms was she satisfied. “La petite got hurt.” She said to my mom. “Thank you for bringing them up Franise.” Mom replied. Franise nodded her head and gave mom one of her rare smiles. That was the first and last time Franise ever spoke to my siblings. The other day mom spotted Franise in the lobby holding a jar that contained 2 pickles floating in pickle juice. It was the third time that day mom had come across her with the jar. Franise smiled at my mother and held up the jar for her inspection. Mom stared at the pickles in the jar. “You waiting to see if they have gherkins?” Franise laughed. She obviously had a sense of humor and caught the joke. I’d never heard her laugh before it was kind of odd and from the reaction of the people around us I gathered they felt the same way too. Several hours later we heard the elevator alarm ringing “Franise is home.” My mom said just as someone knocked on our door. Mom opened the door and found Franise on the other side holding a small jar of Vlasic Baby Gherkins. She thrust the jar at my mother and smiled. “Look chérie they had babies. I am a grandmère!” Mom laughed it was the first time she’d ever heard Franise make a joke. Franise smiled at mom and then opened the jar and fished a baby gherkin out. “Would you like to borrow one?” she asked as she handed the gherkin to mom. “Thank you Franise.” Franise nodded and started walking towards her apartment. When she got to her door she turned to look at my mother and smiled. “Je t'aime chérie.” She said before quickly escaping into her apartment. Mom stood there stunned staring at Franise’s door. She could hear Franise behind the door locking the first of her many locks. Mom walked over to the door and touched it, “Je t'aime aussi Franise…I love you too Franise.” She said as Franise slammed the last deadbolt into place. Labels: a day in the life, mom Click here to read entire post. @
11:11 PM
1 comment from: ,
Monday, February 16, 2009Who's On First? The Bengali security guard had just given us a lecture on Bangladesh and its history when he turned his attention to one of the social workers. “What are you?” he asked. “I’m African-American” she replied “Really? I love Africa I spent time there when I was younger. Where are you from?” “New York” “No, I mean where were you born?” “Brooklyn.” A look of confusion crossed over his face. He decided to try another tact. “Where are your parents from?” “Down south.” She quickly replied. He sighed “Where were your parents born?” he asked certain he would receive the answer he was expecting. “Alabama.” “What about your grandparents?” “Alabama” she confirmed as she unwrapped a stick of gum and slid it into her mouth. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “You’re African-American right?” “Uh huh” she said in between cracking her gum. “Where in Africa is your family from?” She stared up at him as if he had insulted her. “My family is from the South!” “South Africa?” “Hell no, they’re from Georgia!” “But you told me you’re African-American!” “I am!” “Where in Africa?” “What? I’m not from Africa! I told you my family is from the south!” I chuckled and walked off leaving them to sort it out for themselves. I was reminded of the Abbott and Costello comedy routine ”Who’s On First”. Labels: a day in the life Click here to read entire post. @
12:27 AM
3 comment from: christina/ohio, , Mia,
Friday, July 18, 2008Church Of The Blunted Mind We were having dinner when a couple of my brother’s friends came over last night to pick him up for church and they looked rather zooted, high. My father the resident Roman Catholic glared at the young men and muttered something about the lack of respect in today’s youth and warned my brother about ever attempting to do such a thing. I believe the words will rip your heart out via your anus were used. I was amazed at the colorful images my dad’s warning conjured up and at the young men themselves they had balls that’s for sure, “They’re going to church like that?” I asked my brother as he excused himself from the table. My brother stared at them as he bent down to kiss my mom good-bye, “This should be an interesting mass.” He said. “You think?” I asked. “Paranoia is going to kick in big time.” I added speaking from experience. Until recently I was known to indulge in the occasional blunt with friends. I’m a small person so depending on the quality of the smoke 2- 4 pulls pretty much gets me buzzed. My then boyfriend and I were chilling at his cousin's place it was my first visit to the apartment. When the blunt was passed my way for the fifth time I waved it away “four puffs is enough thank you” I said. As the rest of the crew continued to light up I walked around and took notice of my surroundings, really took notice. The apartment was as close as to being in church without actually having to set foot in Holy Name Church and face father O’ Connor. I suddenly felt the need for rosary beads. There were crucifixes every where they even had glow in the dark ones in the hall leading to the bathroom! Let me tell you something in the event that Dracula’s brethren barreled into the apartment it was going to go down bad for the vamps. Throughout the apartment there were shelves filled with religious icons and statues of saints and the walls were filled with portraits of them as well. All they needed was a pew and a fountain with holy water by the front door to make it complete. this is what it must look like when God has a garage sale. I thought to myself. After awhile I found my eyes drawn to a rather large statue of Jesus on the center shelf of the divider that separated the church of the blunted mind from the rest of the apartment. I nodded my head in greeting to the big guy Wassup Jesus how’s it going? The statue was a work of art. I was admiring the details in the Italian marble statue when I swore the statue moved. My eyes narrowed as I stared at the statue. Holy monkey. What the hell was in that blunt? Suddenly the statue spoke without moving its lips, “Mia?” Jesus is talking and he knows my name…whoa. “Mia?” Jesus said more urgently this time. yes my lord and savior ? Drawing on my hazy recollection of Sunday school I remembered that every time one of the higher powers spoke to mortals it was never to reveal winning lotto numbers so naturally I grew suspicious. Jesus I’m just letting you know off the bat I’m willing to part with the bag of M&M’s I’ve got stashed in my messenger bag if need be just don't ask for the blood of a lamb or a goat. I'm not into animal scarifices. “Mia!” Jesus yelled Jesus Christ Jesus there’s no need to yell I can hear ya. The statue moved again. Sorry Jesus I didn’t mean to get snippy. “Mia we’re calling for pizza. What do you want on yours?” who is this “we” you and the apostles? Then another voice spoke a female “You want a beer with that too Mia?” My eyes darted to the Virgin Mary statue besides the Jesus statue and a confused look crossed my face Et tu Virgin Mary? Is this the second coming people keep talking about?” “Mia do you want a Heineken with that?” Jesus asked. That’s when it hit me Jesus’ voice sounded familiar I looked away from the statue only to find my friend's and his girl's head sticking out from behind the room divider phone in hand staring at me. “So what do you want Mia?” I shook the cobwebs out of my brain and smiled at them “Uh no I don’t drink Heineken, mushroom and a Guinness stout please.” I said and quickly turned my attention back to the Jesus statue. I kept my eyes on him. He didn’t move for the rest of the night I know because I watched him all night long but I could’ve sworn I saw him blink a couple of times. Labels: a day in the life, friends Click here to read entire post. @
10:06 AM
3 comment from: Mia, christina/ohio, ,
Monday, December 31, 2007stick to sir and m’am you’re better off that way My parent’s generation of Nuyoricans is old school Latino. They were raised with the traditions and sense of moral etiquette of their immigrant parents that at times seems lost on Americanized Latinos and Americans. A common pet peeve among old school Latinos is having strangers address them as “mami” or “papi”.“Mami” and “papi” means mommy and daddy however among couples it is a common term of affection meaning “baby”. In our culture it is considered lecherous and disrespectful to have someone you are not in a relationship with address you with this term. However here in NY the words have become part of the urban slang and used freely by non-Latinos and let me tell you something old school Latinos are less than thrilled. Especially old timers like my grandfather… My grandfather was just finishing his lunch at a local diner with my mother when the waiter approached my mother, “Mami do you want anything else?” My mother cringed and shook her head no while trying to catch her father’s eye. He was glaring at the waiter. Mom shifted in her seat. The waiter turned his attention towards her father, “Papi what about you? Would you like another cup of coffee with your dessert?” Mom reached out and put her hand on top of her father’s hoping to stop what she knew was coming. My grandfather looked at my mother, he was irked but he caught the hint. “No thank you. We’ll take the check as soon as you have a minute.” Several minutes later the waiter came back and handed the check to my grandfather, my grandfather handed him the amount of the check plus a generous tip because even though he had breached etiquette until then the service had been excellent. The waiter smiled at my grandfather, “Gracias papi!” Grandpa looked at him as if he wanted to kill him. The waiter looked at my mom’s plate and saw she had not touched her apple pie, “Mami would you like me to wrap that up for you?” My mom shook her head no; her father stood up and leaned his mouth down towards the waiter’s ear so no one around them could hear what he was going to say.“Young man do not call my daughter Mami. It is very disrespectful for a man to call a woman mami, especially in front of her father. It implies you have been intimate with my daughter.” The waiter look dumbstruck, “I-I’m sorry papi I didn’t know. “My grandfather crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back and looked the waiter in the eye, “Can I ask you something?” he asked. The waiter smiled at my grandfather and said, “Sure papi.” “You’re NOT my son and I’ve never been into men so obviously you and I have never had sex. So why do you keep calling me papi?”The waiter all red faced apologized to my grandfather. My mother looked at him with pity in her eyes and then turned to her father, “Papi! Stop picking on the poor guy he doesn’t know.” The waiter nodded his head in agreement. My grandfather looked at him and smiled putting his hand on the waiter’s shoulder, “If he’s going to act like he knows my language then he it’s good for him to learn what’s proper and what’s not. See she can call me papi, she’s my little girl. My wife when she was alive used to call me papi but she could do that because she was the love of my life. But you my man no way.” The waiter smiled at grandpa as mom shook her head, “Ay papi!” “No mija I tell him this for his own good heaven forbid he comes across one of those macho crazy Latinos and calls him “papi” or worse calls his woman “mami.” You know the drama that will be up in here?! What if your husband or one of your brothers was here and this man called you mami?” My mom contemplated what was said and then looked at the waiter, “Look from now on stick to sir and m’am you’re better off that way.” The waiter agreed. Labels: a day in the life, etiquette, latino, old school, spanish Click here to read entire post. @
2:46 AM
6 comment from: DannieS72, , Goggles Piasano Ritardo, Mia, don_veto, Mia,
Friday, November 23, 2007The Weaker Sex The women on my mother’s side of the family are an intimidating lot. Personally I think it’s something in their genes, the intimidation factor is so much a part of their DNA it’s weaved into their pheromones. Mom feels that it’s due to the fact that historically the women born into the family have always out numbered the men. As a result their women were forced to take on less traditional roles to ensure their survival back in the days when women were dependent on men for their protection. The women in her family are all tough and independent with innate courage and heart to rival any man,mini amazons my father calls them. A couple of weeks ago I got to see that Amazonian spirit in action. It floored me and made a cop on the scene exclaim, “Shit that bitch is crazy!” while my dad beamed with pride and said, “That's no bitch. That’s my woman.” My woman, my female even though the lables are commonly used within the Spanish language in reference to a man's other half they piss mom off to no end so of course pops made sure mom wasn’t around when he said it. It started out like an ordinary Friday night. I was in the dining room books and papers stacked up on the table doing research. A few feet away mom was sitting in the living room reading a trashy novel Guay had given her killing time before my dad arrived from work. The silence was broken by a commotion in the hallway near the elevators then it moved away into the hallway to the right of us. There was a knock on the door and mom motioned for me to stay in my seat, “I’ll get it.” She opened the door to find our next door neighbor in the doorway leaning his body backwards to catch the action that was going on down the hall. “There’s a guy beating up on a woman down the hall.”he said nonchalantly as if it were an everyday event. “Are you serious?” As ma stepped out of the door way I made my way next to her. Yup sure enough there was a guy raining haymakers on a woman lying on the floor. The tiny woman was curled up in a fetal position trying to cover her face. The man alternated between punching her head and kicking her body. She seemed to be bleeding from somewhere but given the distance and her position it was hard to tell where the blood was coming from. Mom looked up at the guy standing in our door way and arched an eyebrow at him expecting him to intervene on the woman’s behalf. He returned her look with a look of his own. One that implied that the days of men rescuing damsels in distress had long passed at least in his book. She looked up at him shook her head and muttered a curse in Spanish that accused him of being a nether region of the female anatomy. She then grabbed the hair thingy from her wrist pulled her then long hair into a ponytail and handed me her earrings. I started to move with her and she pinned me with her stare, “Stay here.” Two women at the end of the hall were yelling at the man to stop. He ignored them both and pulled his victim up onto her feet by her hair.“Call the police” mom shouted over her shoulder as she ran towards the man. “Get the hell off of her!” She growled as she came within inches of them. He looked up from his victim for a brief second and then punched the woman dead in her eye, he held a knife in the hand that was wrapped in her hair. Her face was a bloody mess it was impossible to tell what she looked like before he'd started the beat down. He then yelled at my mother threatening her as well.The woman was screaming begging for mercy. He threw her back on the floor and put his foot on her chest. Mom shook her head at him and said, "Mierda this is going to get ugly." I took off running towards my mother at the same instant she'd started running towards me, “Stay here! Don’t make me repeat myself!” she yelled as she pulled me into our apartment with her. She grabbed the heavy dog leash by the door and called my dad’s dog. He hates loud noise, he hates men outside of the family and more importantly his physical presence is intimidating as all hell.“Kane!Mighty Kaneasaurus!”, she called out. I heard Kane ram the heavy doors to our walk-in closet open with his head. It’s his favorite spot in the house. It’s the only place the 100 lb pit bull can stretch out comfortably for a nap undisturbed. “Come here puppy.” In an instant he was by her side wagging his tail rubbing his body against her legs and nuzzling them with that massive head of his nearly knocking her off balance. She rubbed his head, “There’s my good boy.” He shook the sleep out of his head and bowed down in a yoga like stretch as she fastened the leash to his harness. She eyed my brother’s Louisville slugger that was still by the coat closet waiting to be put away.She walked over and grabbed it, testing its weight in her hands.“Alright cabron it’s time for you and I to be formally introduced.” And with that she led the dog out into the hall. The fur along Kane’s spine shot straight up like some sort of doggie Mohawk. He growled and let out a series of deep barks that vibrated in my ears and chest. Barks so powerful they caused him to rear up on his hind legs, he struggled to get at the man. His eyes normally a pea pod green looked a shade darker. Kane and my father have matching eyes; I know what it means when my dad’s eyes get darker. I imagined it was the same for his dog. Kane was pissed. The leash was released. The man yelled,“Oh shit!” as Kane charged at him. He threw the woman in The Mighty Kaneasaurus‘s path and ran towards the exit several feet away. Kane jumped over the woman effortlessly and with surprising grace reaching the exit door just as it closed in his face. He rammed his body into the door and it swung open slamming into the wall. Ma picked the woman up and handed her off to one of the women and commanded Kane “go home!” slamming the door behind her. Kane had done his job,scared the man into releasing the woman. Now she was going to do hers. Make him pay. The guy ran down the stairs several feet ahead of her. She flung the bat at him catching him right across his shoulders. The sudden hit caused him to lose balance and he hit the bottom step face first. He was dazed and a little too slow in getting up. She was by his side in an instant reclaiming her bat. He rolled over trying to grab at her and she swung the bat right into his mid-section and then smashed it across one of his knees. He rolled onto his side screaming in pain. She raised the bat as if to hit him again. She kicked him and he groaned. When he tried to sit up she warned him “Stay down cabron or the next one is gonna slam into your head." He stared at the bat and looked into her eyes. I don't know what he saw in her obsidian like eyes but whatever it was it made him stay still. She laced into him the bat perched over her shoulder ready to swing it at his head if he dared move during her lecture. “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect women?” “A man is NEVER EVER supposed to raise his hands to a woman ever!" The words had a familiar ring to them, of course they're part of her father's "Introduction To Relationships 101" lecture! Maricon! Fucking shit we’re defenseless! We're the weaker sex!” and then she kicked him again this time connecting with his balls. Luckily for the guy the cops arrived with our security guard, the super, and my father in tow just in time to save his ass from my now rabid mother. Lord knows what she would’ve done to the guy. Weaker sex my butt. Labels: a day in the life, domestic violence, mom Click here to read entire post. @
1:33 AM
7 comment from: christina/ohio, Mia, , Mia, , Mia, DannieS72,
Sunday, November 18, 2007Ebony and Ivory I’d arrived at school early hoping to get some studying done before my test. The school library seemed like the logical spot. Nice.Quiet. Everyone there was doing their own thing. Silently. I needed that more than anything. I needed to focus on the material in front of me. All was peaceful until these two chicks came in and decided to sit next to me. Ebony and Ivory were talking about men when the black chick stated that she’d been dating a white guy, a doctor in fact. Good for you mija now STFU people are trying to study here. The white chick pressed for more details about the guy which the friend willingly and too loudly if you ask me provided. Alas it seemed there was a problem in love central even though he was gorgeous, even though he was perfect, even though he treated her like a queen, even though she was totally nuts about him she was going to dump him. “Why?” asked the white girl “Duh because he’s white!” “And?” the white chick shot back. “Well put it this way could you bring home a black guy to your family?” Her friend nodded. “Oh bitch please! You know damn well you can’t bring no black guy to your house! Your parents would have the only shit fit!” Sweet mother of reason did this chick just say what I thought she said? Oh for the love of God the heffa is an idiot. Granted a really pretty idiot, but an idiot none the less. Que pendeja! (what a fool) I couldn't help but look up at the pendeja. She inclined her head at me and shot me a look that spoke volumes. In her eyes gleamed the implication that because we were both minorities we had shared racial experiences in common. Her eyes pleaded with mine as if to say, “Come on sister help me out here with this crazy white girl you know what I’m talking about!” I stared back at her and shook my head in disgust. Uh uh my Nubian sister I do not know what you’re talking about. I’m an equal opportunity dater; color, race, religion means jack to me and my family. As long as the guy isn’t a married cross dressing necrophiliac serial killer with a penchant for bestiality all is cool with my parents. I shifted in my seat and went back to my notes. The white girl waited for her friend to take the comment back and when she didn’t she leaned over the table and into her friend’s face. She raised her voice while slapping her chest with her open palm, “Excuse me but you’re talking about my family! WTF yo are you calling my family racist?!” “Well if the noose fits…” “What the hell are you talking about nooses for bitch?” She let the comment wash over her not understanding what Ebony meant by the remark. Then a light went on over her head and her eyes got real wide, “Oh my god you are calling my family racist!” Heads snapped to attention and people started to drift over to our table to watch the argument that was starting to take shape. I scanned the room for another table but none were available. I slipped on my head phones hoping to drown them out and went back to studying. So help me Jesus if they start swinging near me I’m going to repeatedly heffa slap whoever lands on me until the cows come home and tap dance on the porch. While I couldn’t make out what they were saying because of the music blasting in my ears I could clearly read their body language, fists all balled up at their sides, faces all contorted, even "heard" the rumble of anger in their voices. It wasn’t pretty. I wished that the ugliness would move away from me. A few minutes later they moved their argument out into the hallway but they could still be heard in the library. The argument raged on for several more minutes before they stormed off away from each other. Ebony and Ivory would not be living in perfect harmony well at least on this day. I sat there and thought how idiotic it was that in this day and age people were still letting something as insignificant as skin color come between them and love. Labels: a day in the life, racism Click here to read entire post. @
4:26 PM
4 comment from: 2 Second Club ®, DannieS72, christina/ohio, Mia,
Sunday, August 19, 2007The Texan's Tale Every now and then you come across a story so fantastic it’s hard to believe it’s true. This is one of them, a story so rich in imagery that it’s best told in a bar with music playing in the background and an ice cold corona in front of you. The owner of this story swears to all that is holy and semi-sacred that it’s true. Many, many, many years ago when our troops were fighting in the jungles of an unpopular war a tall good looking man from Texas barely 20 years old went over to Mexico with a couple of friends for a night of drinking . They ended up in a bar in a little town not too far from Tijuana. The tall Texan caught the eye of one of the waitresses in the bar and when her shift was over she stayed on to talk with him. Even though she was a little older than him the Texan swore to his audience that she had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Everything was going well until her husband’s arrival. The man came in mad as hell and stomped towards the bar. The bartender quickly pointed him in the direction of his wife and the Texan who were making their way back to their table from the dance floor. The angry husband immediately stepped in between the woman and the Texan and started yelling at his wife. At first the Texan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He thought it was the effects of the liquor. The Texan estimated the angry husband to be around 4ft 6 inches tall. The husband shoved his hands into his pockets as he yelled at his wife causing his jacket to expose the leather belt he wore. The belt had 8 visible holsters and each of those holsters held a dagger. The Texan was sure that the belt held a few more holsters behind the midget’s back. The Texan’s friends quickly gathered around him pulling him towards the door while the midget’s wife tried to cajole her husband towards the back.The Texan tried to calm the husband explaining in his gringo accented Spanish that there was nothing going on and invited the man to join them for a drink However the more the Texan spoke the angrier the midget got. As he watched the midget put his pudgy little hand on the handle of one of the daggers the idea that the midget might be part of knife throwing act in a local circus crossed the Texan’s mind. He barely had time to process the thought when the jealous husband flew at the Texan with a dagger in each hand. He slashed the Texan across his forearms and stomach. He lunged at the Texan and stabbed him in each thigh leaving a dagger stuck in one. When the Texan stepped back to pull out the dagger the midget came at him again with another. The Texan swore that the midget was aiming for his manhood. As the Texan and his friends ran towards the door he heard the clatter of a dagger landing on the floor behind him. The midget was actually throwing daggers at the Texan. He had almost made it to his car when he felt a dagger dig into his calf. He stopped and turned around in disbelief. His friends already in the running car opened the passenger door and yelled at him to get in. As he jumped into the car a dagger flew by the Texan embedding itself in the passenger seat. The Texan then reached under the seat and pulled out a gun and began firing at the midget’s feet. When he realized he was being shot at the midget stopped dead in his tracks, he had run out of daggers and obviously hadn’t anticipated the possibility of a gun. The Texan squeezed off a couple of more shots as the car sped off into the night making its way towards the border. When he was done telling his story everyone laughed. The Texan insisted that it had never been his intention to hurt the little guy he just wanted to put the fear of Jesus in the midget’s ass. The idea of a dagger throwing Mexican midget cracked every body up but no one really believed the story. They all thought it was the tall tale of a restaurant owner entertaining his guests at the bar until their table was ready. No one believed him until the Texan rolled up his sleeves and pulled up his shirt. His forearms, lower chest, and abdomen were covered with scars that looked like slash marks. He raised his pants leg and flashed the stab mark on his calf. “What happened to the midget and his wife?” the audience asked.“ I married her after she left him.” he said and he pointed to the beautiful older woman behind the cash register talking with customers. Labels: a day in the life, Bar, midget, stories Click here to read entire post. @
11:09 PM
4 comment from: DannieS72, J@ckp1ne, shiju, ,
Friday, May 04, 2007A Valuable Lesson My uncle Chino had the day off when Frank his friend and former boss called. Frank was short a person and this was the biggest route he had. My uncle offered to help him out. With the exception of a few stores that had been added to the route since he left the job my uncle knew all of the clients and their standing orders. He introduced himself to the new clients and asked that they please double check their orders just in case he missed something. The day went smoothly all the orders had been filled perfectly that is until he hit the last of the new stores. Chino introduced himself and placed the order in front of the counter. The owner looked at my uncle as if he were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. He didn’t bother to double check the order instead he quickly glanced at it, signed off on it and waved my uncle away. My uncle was halfway done stocking the order on the rack when the store owner noticed his order was short by a few pieces. Instead of telling my uncle, the man began talking loudly to the man next to him. He called my uncle a thief, accusing him of purposely shorting him on his order. He even accused my uncle of shtuping his own mother and questioned his paternity and legitimacy. He said all of this in Arabic never thinking my uncle understood him. At first Chino wasn’t sure he heard right and allowed the man to go on. Finally when he had enough Chino approached the counter, “My man why are you calling me a thief?” The man tried to act as if he had no clue as to what my uncle was talking about. Chino then leaned over the counter grabbed him by the shirt and literally talked into his face and in his flawless Arabic said, “You think I don’t understand what you’re saying? Didn’t I tell you to double check your order and if it was missing anything to let me know and I’d get it out the truck for you? Calling me a thief and cursing at me was totally unnecessary." All of a sudden the arrogant boisterous store owner was struck mute. My uncle let go of his shirt patted him on his bald head and told him in Arabic, “I’m going to the truck now and get the rest of your order. You have anything else you want to say?” The store owner was shocked. His mouth just hung open as if it were waiting to catch a fly and then just because he knew that the store owner knew a little Spanish Chino winked at him and added in Spanish, “I bet you learned a valuable lesson today didn’t you?” Labels: a day in the life, life lessons Click here to read entire post. @
9:31 AM
5 comment from: christina/ohio, DannieS72, Mia, Just Jane, Mia,
Wednesday, April 25, 2007Dad's Behaving Badly Earth Day 2007: The weather was perfect, not a cloud in sight the temperature is just right. It was a perfect for watching my cousin Pico play little league baseball. My cousin’s team is new to the league made up of 7-12 year olds 75 % of the team have never played baseball before and the coach is a newbie too so they are all learning as they go along. The team they played is old school one of the best teams in the league. Our inexperienced team didn’t stand a chance in the face of their seasoned players but hey it’s not about winning the game it’s about having fun being a part of something etc. At least that’s the way our family sees it. Try telling that to the family sitting in the bleachers behind me there to cheer a kid on the opposing team. As much as I admired them for being there for the kid I couldn’t help but think that they were there to annoy the crap out of me. Their constant razzing and criticizing of Pico’s team was plucking my last nerve. Trust me you don’t want to be around me when the last nerve has been plucked it’s not a pretty thing. Yeah I understand your kids team is slaughtering my cousin’s team. Yeah I can see it’s 11-0 ! Pero excuse me putos I don’t need you doing a merengue up in the stands every time a runner makes it home. I definitely don’t need to hear you trash talking the adorable 7 yr old girl guarding 3rd base. Try that crap with my cousin I assure you a search and rescue squad will be needed to remove my size 5 sneaker outta your butt. At one point I turned around to stare down the father of the kid who was the most vocal of the lot. I told him to chill; no one’s immigration status was dependent on the outcome of this game. I reminded him that they were only kids and that as far as I knew The Yankees didn’t have anyone scouting the game. The man stared at me and said nothing. The boy’s uncle a teacher at the local high school kept telling his brother-in-law pretty to chill out as well he’d been cheering on both teams and reminding his brother-in-law that this was the opposing team’s first game. In all fairness that particular father wasn’t the only dad behaving badly. One of my cousin’s team mates had his father in the stands as well and all he did was constantly berate his kids performance. If it had been me I would’ve thrown a wild pitch and made sure it connected with the man’s head. Good grief the dude was annoying. At the end of the “In Santo Domingo,” he went on in Spanish, “we take the kids and make them live and breathe baseball. That’s what they have to do here if they want these kids to be any good. Every day as soon as school is over make them practice for a couple of hours. They have to learn that base ball is everything and that they have to sacrifice in order to be good at the game.” The boy’s uncle waited patiently for his brother -in -law to finish his riff and then he said, “Look man this is the United States of America. In this country we like to let our kids enjoy their childhood. We don’t fuck up their lives until they are teenagers at least.” I looked at both men and just burst out laughing. Labels: a day in the life, baseball Click here to read entire post. @
12:24 AM
5 comment from: DannieS72, Mia, Just Jane, christina/ohio, Mia,
Wednesday, November 15, 2006Perceptions It’s fascinating how a group of people can look at the same exact thing and come away with different perceptions…. The other day my mom asked my dad to pick something up from the store for her but she couldn’t remember the name of the product. So she told him, “It’s in a pyramid shaped box.” My dad thought he had located the product and called mom, “honey is it a box that’s shaped like a sandwich bag?” She stopped to think for a minute “No babe it’s a pyramid shaped box” “Well all I see here is a sandwich bag shaped box.” She thought about it again and asked, “Does it have a Caribbean color scheme to it?” “Well yeah it’s kind of colorful but it’s not pyramid shaped.” “Freak it bring it on home. It sounds like we’re talking about the same thing.” When dad got home he placed the box on the table in front of my mom, “Is this what you wanted?” “Yeah that’s it! The pyramid shaped box!” “Sandwich bag!” he called out as he headed out the door. My mom looked at the box for a few seconds and then said, “You know I can see what he means about it looking like a sandwich bag, it looks like one of those brown paper bags we used to carry our lunch in when we were kids.” I looked at the box, “It looks like a house to me.” My mom looked at the box again and said, "Damn I can see that too...it's amazing how something so simple as a box can be so many different things.It's all how one perceives it." She then began a discussion with me on how that moment pertained to life in general. She’s done that all of my life taken small every day moments and turned them into philosophical discussions and life lessons. It’s very important to her that her kids look at things from all different angles and keep an open mind not just accept or fall into one rigid way of thinking or has she likes to put it, “one kid's peanut butter and jelly is another man’s gourmet meal.” The lesson on personal perception sprang to life during one of my counseling classes. We were watching a videotape on different therapy styles and the way therapists interacted with their patients. When the tape was done we had a discussion on our perception of the therapist. The professor an African- American woman found the male African-American therapist’s style to be seductive. She spoke about his body language his slow deliberate movements the way he sat his eye contact with the patient and his low reassuring voice. The students agreed with her but I’m not too sure if they really did agree with her or were just being “yes” men. I didn’t see that and said so. I saw the therapist as being nonchalant in an attempt to make his patient comfortable. Like. “You know it’s not a big deal that you’re here. Don’t stress it, people come to therapy every day. We’re just two people having a conversation. ” type of thing. Then this Indian girl spoke up she didn’t agree with the professor or with me. She had her own spin on things. She said that the therapist looked as if he wanted to rape the patient. Rape the patient? WTF?! Did we watch the same video? I didn’t see that. No one saw that. The girl tried to explain her point of view. The second the words left her mouth you could hear the sound of people turning in their seats to look at her. The professor looked shocked and angry. Several African American girls in the class yelled out, “WHAT?!!oh hell no!” I covered my hands with my face….”Oh shit this girl is not going to make it out of here alive. ” I don’t know how she came to the conclusion that the therapist wanted to rape his patient but I’m pretty sure her perception was tinged with a bit of racism but then again that’s just my own perception of it. Labels: a day in the life, education, racism Click here to read entire post. @
1:20 PM
6 comment from: DannieS72, , Nooni, Mia, Mia, DannieS72,
Wednesday, June 14, 2006Two stories for the price of one Every day is an adventure, and every day brings a new story to tell. Today I have 2 of them because the happened back to back in the same place. My friend and I were sitting in the Park on 59th street enjoying the day and studying for today’s exam al fresco. It was a beautiful day. We were sitting on a bench poring over our notes when I happened to look up. There was this woman sitting right across from me wearing a really nice dress. The only thing was that I am assuming she either must have forgotten she was wearing a dress or she didn’t know how to sit properly when wearing one. Her legs were wide open exposing all her glory to the world and since I was directly across from her “screen” was in my line of view. At first I didn’t say anything I figure pretty soon she’ll start to feel either the suns rays or a draft and close her legs. I went back to my studying. After about 10 minutes I took a water break and looked up. The chick was still flashing me. I sighed and said softly so that only she could hear me, “For the love of God lady close your legs!” She fixed herself and put her goodies away. I’m saying if I had my stuff on display I’d want to know especially with all the pervs walking around with camera phones. Poor chick’s photo could wind up on some porn site. Perhaps I should’ve given her the link to my Public service message for the fashion clueless.  A little while later there was some drama going on with a middle aged couple. They seemed to be having a lover’s quarrel and seemed high on drugs and that is never a good combination. Angela kept staring at them inching closer to them. That’s when the ghetto nena in me came out “Angela mind your own business, that’s why you white people are forever getting killed. Get ova here mind yo’ bidness! ” The last thing you want to do in Central Park is get into the middle of a drug fueled fight between two lovers, sure call the cops but do not under any circumstances attempt to get physically in between them. Oh hell no. If you do that the next thing you know there’s a picture of you posted on the front page of the NY Post with the headline above it “Good Samaritan bitch slapped to death intervening in a lover’s quarrel. Then in tiny letters underneath the photo “ As the nosy biache’s body was wheeled away the druggie couple proclaimed their undying love for each other… story continued on page 2” The man was squeezing the woman’s face accusing her of cheating on him. Angela was mesmerized she got closer. Oh double hellz no this is not television if that big man smacks you it will hurt for real! You have no brothers I don’t think you’ve been trained in the art of taking a punch! Mind your business just dial 911 and get the po-po out here. The man walked away from the woman throwing his shirt at her. She then yelled something at him. Why for the love of gawd would you pop crap when he is leaving woman? Do you want to get snuffed out? Unless you know self-defense stfu and let him have the last word ! He stopped, doubled back and punched the puffnstuff out of her. He snatched the cell phone from her hand and threw her bag on the floor. He then picked up his shirt threw it over his shoulder and as calm as could be walked out of the park. The woman staggered and when she took her hand off her face she was bleeding. The man had cut her face with a double edged razor blade in the hood they are called “Gems” favored by the gang bangers of the 50’s and 60’s. A bunch of ladies ran towards the bleeding woman who seemed in shock to help her. We had already called 911 and the police were on their way. While we waited we tried to remember details about the man so we could describe him to the cops. Angela: He was Latino right Mia? Mia: No he was black Angela Angela: You sure Mia? He looked Latino to me! WTF?! You’ve lived here all your life and you can’t tell us apart?! Mia: (sigh) Angela I know my people when I see them. This guy was a Moreno, he was black. Angela: You sure? Now I know why Latino men are always being stopped as possible crime suspects by the cops. Heffa’s like this one assume everyone with a little color to them is a Latino! Mia: Yes Angela he was a Moreno. You’re going to have the cops looking for the wrong guy just because you white people cannot tell us apart sheesh man! we both start cracking up Mia: Don’t be trying to pin on an innocent Latino! The police arrived and interviewed the girl who just as my powers of observation had let me to believe was high as a kite on a windy day. Yes they’d been doing the drugs. After they were done with her they spoke to us and took our information. Angela told them that she thought he was Latino I of course disagreed. The woman told them that he was a Puerto Rican I looked at her and straight off the bat I knew she was lying. I theorized that this was not the first time her man had hit her and that she was afraid of him. Of course she is not going to want him busted imagine what he would to her once he got out! Of course the cops doing their job stopped a Puerto Rican who fit her general description…only it turned out to be a Mexican guy walking his dog. That’s right people all us Latinos look alike to the police department. Finally the chick breaks down the guy who slashed her was actually black, he was a Moreno. In your face Angela Bam! Think I don’t know my people when I see them. Booyaaaa! I gotta find a way to teach Angela how to tell us apart maybe a chart or something. Labels: a day in the life, new york Click here to read entire post. @
1:08 AM
9 comment from: Nooni, sexygoba, sexygoba, Mia, Mia, Robin, DannieS72, Wendy aka Cheeky, Mia,
Saturday, June 03, 2006A group blind date Reina had a blind date last night and of course she dragged me along for moral support. Trust me I tried to get out of it, it was raining it was hot it was muggy it was humid there was thunder there was lightning …I didn’t want to get dressed up….there was a documentary on cable I wanted to see… she was not having it. Hell hath no more determined minion as Reina when she’s trying to land a man. This is the way it works with her blind dates if he’s fugly I am there as a buffer…if he’s cute I will never lay eyes on the guy again because from there on she will hang out with him solo. Her date Brandon was mucho cute, he seemed like a nice guy and more importantly had been blessed with impeccable taste in humor, but more on that later. Not wanting to feel like the 3rd wheel or make her date feel uncomfortable I invited a date of my own, Mike. Then as we were exploring Manhattan Magz called and we all agreed to hook up with Magz and her crew over at Faces and Names on 54th street. It was official Reina’s blind date had now turned into a group outing but Brandon was enjoying himself so it was all good. He became my buddy that night he rarely left my side. I guess I made him feel comfortable because I was treating him as if I’d known him all my life teasing him and involving him in our conversations. I hate meeting a group of people that know each other and being the odd man out, it is so awkward. They’ll chat amongst themselves maybe even switch back and forth between their native language and English expecting you to keep up or jump in without a proper invitation. My date Mike was a cop and with the exception of Brandon the whole group were students at John Jay so for the rest of the night we had a lot of criminal justice type humor going on. Yuk yuk yuk we are just so clever. Now here’s where Brandon’s impeccable taste comes in… he laughed at all of my jokes even the stuff I hadn't meant to be funny. I was batting a 1000 with this guy. It was like having my own personal cheer leader. I loved him! As we made our way around the city I kept smelling booze but none of us were drinking so where was the smell of booze coming from? I looked around nope no winos around us. Finally I asked Officer Mike, "Yo do you smell liquor?” “No” When we got to Faces and Names we took a table and Brandon sat next to me with Mike on the other side of me and that’s when I was finally able to track the source of the distillery smell, it was coming from it was Brandon! Hark the herald my personal cheer leader was boozed up! I leaned towards Mike and whispered “Hey Officer Mike in your professional opinion is that kid drunk or is it just me?” Mike took a close look at Brandon then a whiff, “Yeah he’s drunk.” It turned out that Brandon was the shy type and prior to meeting up with us he’d sucked on a bottle of liquid courage. Being an extremely shy person myself I could sympathize with him. I mean not only was he meeting Reina for the first time but on top of that Reina informs him last minute that she’ll be bringing her posse with her? Ouch! Talk about stress! Damn that slore for stressing the kid out and inflicting all of us on him at the same time. Mike ordered a round of drinks and Brandon had a couple of more shots. We were having a Bronx vs. Queens contest. It’s common knowledge that our peeps from Queens have to be pried out of their boro and can not hold their liquor so the Bronxites kept teasing the Queens peeps over it. I decided to stick up for my Queens peeps…”don’t baby-sit your drinks Queens show them Bronx bastards what you’re made of drink, drink, drink!!” It would have been nice if Reina had told me that Brandon was from Queens because the last thing that kid needed was more booze. When the time came to go home we decided it best to drive Brandon home we didn’t feel right sending his drunk self home alone on the subway. Watching Reina flirting in the back seat with him made me laugh alas poor Brandon I shall never hear the sound of your drunken laughter again. Reina likes you and if you like her too it’s a wrap I don’t see you hanging out with us anytime soon. Once we got there Reina decided to walk him upstairs to his house…hmmmm I wonder why? (wink wink nudge nudge) As they walked away Brandon yelled out, “I like Mia!! Mia has a good head on her shoulders!” People I have no clue as to what that was about. Officer Mike thought it was funny. Labels: a day in the life, relationships Click here to read entire post. @
11:38 AM
3 comment from: DannieS72, Mr. Khurram, Mia,
Tuesday, May 30, 2006My skin I recently had a convo with a Dominican kid about our respective dating habits and he was telling me of his preference for white skinned women, despite being dark himself or as he put it a “ dark chocolate color.” Wtf was his father Willie Wonka? I reminded him that there is beauty in all women regardless of color and that he should give props to the trigueña woman. After all countless of Latino composers have written songs about the allure of our piel canela, the beauty of la mujer trigueña. I tell him I feel sorry for him that he allows his romantic life to be ruled by a color palette. He pointed out that my last boyfriend had been white as a matter of fact quite a few of the guys I’ve dated have been white. I told him that it’s not a preference with me it’s just the way things have worked out. For some odd reason I mostly attract white guys, occasionally a Latino will hit on me but it’s mostly the white guys. I love the way my mother jokingly words it, “them white boys sure do love them some Mia.” Sho’ ‘nuf mama. I told him that too many of our fellow Latinos have the same mentality that he has preferring our fair skinned sisters over the dark ones. I am an equal opportunity dater… skin color, religion, nationality; it doesn’t matter to me. I look at the soul, the mind, the heart. The skin, the outer being is just packaging much like a candy bar; the wrapping may be nice but what you really want is what is inside of the wrapping. I reminded him that as representatives of our people in this case Dominicans and Boriquas, he surely must realize that some of our ancestors were Africans. He scoffed at me, how I dare suggest that we have an ounce of African blood in us. Where did he think he got his coloring from, a crayola box? Denial is not just a river in Egypt my brother. ¡Tu no eres blanco! (you're not white) I wear my skin color with pride; people spend a small fortune on bronzing products, risking skin cancer in tanning booths just in the hopes of obtaining my skin color. I rub cocoa butter into my skin and it shines like copper reflective of my black, olive, gold, red, and yes even white skinned ancestors blood running through my veins…. They are all reflected in my coloring, my features…. My skin is homage to my Taino forefathers, my Nigerian great great great grandfather brought to Puerto Rico in chains on a slave ship. My Berber and Arab ancestors whose names are still being carried on by my family, my Guanche ancestors from Las Islas Canarias who immigrated to Puerto Rico in hopes of building their fortunes…. From the proud Spaniards of Albacete to the humble jibaros of Borinquen they each have left their legacy imprinted on my skin and my features. I have no trouble loving my skin because within me flows the blood of many a great people; within me flows the history of a people. I am the result of love transcending the boundaries of color, race and religion. When I look at my skin that’s what I see ….love. Labels: a day in the life, racism Click here to read entire post. @
1:00 AM
5 comment from: 2 Second Club ®, Just Jane, Mr. Khurram, Mia, DannieS72,
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