What a Difference a Year Makes...

JANUARY: I move into a quaint little apartment in the BoroPark/Kensington/Greenwood section of Brooklyn with my two girls. And by quaint I mean SMALL AS FUCK. But I love it nonetheless because it's mine and mine and mine. I visit LA for the first time and have a very memorable one night stand. So memorable in fact that when I revisit LA in April we hook up again. He was fab (hey boo- wassup?)

FEBRUARY: We lose one of our regulars at the basement hellhole I call a job and I start to realize what a bitch Karma really is...those of us left behind, however, form a tighter bond against The Man...

MARCH: Meet someone semi-decent from Yahoo Personals, but upon closer inspection find that he is WAY TOO SIMILAR to my ex-husband. I put the breaks on the romance and we remain platonic friends instead. Mostly because I lie and say I was celibate. What? Why are you laughing?

APRIL: Do my little LA repeat (just what I need) but am still in the basement and funky as hell about it. I meet someone else who's real nice (hi hon- feeling better?) and we embark on an ill-fated romance. You'll rememeber him as D, no. 11 on my list of beaus a while back.

MAY: Get trashed (and laid) on Cinco de Mayo...in fact that whole weekend is a blur of alcohol, pot and sex...good times, good times...Get re-acquainted with Lani (and I'm so glad 'cause I missed her so!!!). Plan and execute a FABULOUS 4-day adventure to Key West with Irene & Mari as we visit Celia for my birthday. We drink lots, go parasailing and kayaking, lay out on the beach and get VERY tan, smoke a little pot...okay, okay so I was the only one who smoked pot. Shut up!! D and I decide to not see other people. My baby sis graduates from Cornell- don't hate!

JUNE: My attitude towards The Man and my basement job worsens...I barely have the strength to not strangle everyone related to him, especially Little Bitch Boy. I take my first trip to Atlantic City, a birthday gift for Cathi (hi, sweetie!!) and have a blast (thanks to D who set it all up)! My firstborn graduates from 5th grade and the baby survives kindergarten.

JULY: I'm so fed up with the basement by now that I start a blog to air my grievences; so many people have come and gone in my short tenure there that it's unbelievable to me...I just HAVE to write about it! I get to cover the NY International Latino Film Festival again, and things with D start to get sour. We celebrate K's 11th birthday by the pond in Prospect Park.

AUGUST: D breaks it off with me and I am officially in a mood to end all moods: I stop eating, hanging out with friends and become obsessed with watching Love Jones and "Sex and the City" while eating cheerios. I go away to school and end up writing some really good, just-had-my-heart-ripped-out-and-handed-to-me stuff...graduation and my MFA are within my reach and I start OPERATION: FREAK THE HELL OUT. By the end of the month...I quit the basement. Rumor has it The Man is PISSED at my departure!! We celebrate N's 6th birthday, but I phone it in as I'm still reeling from my break up. I have a "light-bulb moment" buying a chicken gyro from Mohammed the Falafel Vendor...most of you read that post while I was still on MySpace...

SEPTEMBER: I start temping and working from home; I notice a huge difference in my appearance- I've lost 20lbs and don't even know it! The downsides? None of my clothes fit right and my face breaks out due to my new non-diet. I shut down my MySpace account and start blogging here for all of you. My LA hook up calls to say he's in Atlanta now, and whenever I want to visit...

OCTOBER: Temping ends and I'm left finding piece-work here and there. My thesis moves along at a snail's pace. D contacts me after a month of radio silence and is all of a sudden very chatty and very interested in what's new with me...I wonder why? Oh, yeah, that's right- he wants to sleep with me...I get to see FERNANDITO and friends live in concert and it so makes my year. I'm so happy that night...until I meet up with Hoover and he violates my neck! I get a new webcam and the IM's with Jack become VERY interesting...

NOVEMBER: I find a new job as a *gasp* writer in Gramercy Park, Jack comes to visit and I get re-acquainted with rum and vertigo. I get my first pedicure and survive it. I have the absolute-without-a-doubt WORST SEX of my life (thanks a lot, Hoover!) and visit my baby sis in DC for Thanksgiving (her apartment is DA BOMB!).

DECEMBER: My divorce becomes final, FINALLY and that gives my ex carte blanc to start acting like a grimy ass fool. I decide to quit dating altogether (it's just going nowhere!). My thesis takes a permanent vacation as a scorching case of fear of success disguised as writer's block sets in. As of press time I'm still waiting on a decision about my extension. I cancel all New Year's Eve plans to stay home and spend some time with me...and decide what "me" likes to do is write for you.

Happy New Year, everybody. Can't wait to see what 2007 has in store for me!

*smooches...'cause I never get tired of kissing you*

------------------------

Ain't no feeling like being free

When your mind's made up

And your hearts in the right place, yeah

Ain't no feeling like being free

When you've done all you could

But what's misunderstood

(It's all good, it's all good)

Ain't no feeling like being free

I'm like an eagle set free

And finally I'm looking out for me

Ain't no feeling like being free

Cause my mind's made up

And my heart is in the right place, yeah

Subscriber Spotlight: Just Jack 2006

Readers: I'd like you all to meet Jack.

I can't even remember when we became friends.

Jack didn't start at BTHS as a freshman, so he was a new fish in a sea of sophomores who had a year under our belts and thought we were the shit. What I remember is that he sang a lot, was kind of religious, and actually wore a dashiki to school one day. I still shake my head at the memory of that dashiki. You'd understand if you could see how WHITE he looked in it...

But he was very much Puerto Rican, and everything I'd ever been told about PR's growing up went straight out the window as soon as we meshed. He was not two-faced, conniving, and did not pull out a switchblade and threaten to cut me. Although I still suspect that he might put olives in his frijoles...

We bonded over our mutual excitement for the engineering classes we signed up for and our mutual disdain for our professors. Most days I felt like the devil on his shoulder, and other days he was the devil on mine. It brought a tear to my eye when, one clear day during our junior year, Jack- who prior to meeting me had taken his studies VERY seriously- got a 33 on a test. I think my score was like a 20. Out of a hundred. I was so proud to call him friend! Especially after Mr. P told him to stop hanging out with me lest his grades suffer even greater peril. In front of the whole class. And he stayed my friend anyway.

One of our proudest moments from those days? Directing traffic on one of the back staircases in between periods.

A not-so-proud-moment-but-fuck-it-who-cares-anymore? Being a bit unkind to a fellow classmate of the Jewish persuasion.

Memory that still brings tears to my eyes? Cafeteria, game of spades, a window opening and closing, a silly remark made by Jack that caused an outburst of laughter- and chocolate milk- from Irene onto my white shirt. It was priceless.

Today we've reconnected and bonded over our mutual hatred for his ex, Puta Face, and our mutual disdain for mine. Plus the fact that in our time apart (1994-2006) we've lived rather parallel lives. Except that Jack sees a doc- with a loose prescription pad- for his troubles, while I insist on letting the voices in my head duke it out like in the movie Identity (it'll be interesting to see which one wins out in the end...).

Our similarities include:

• Swooning over guys with strong arms


• Bringing two kids each into this world to add to the Army we're forming


• L-O-V-I-N-G the movie Chasing Amy


• Holding a place near and dear to our hearts for classic Salsa music


• Loathing people who make IM spelling errors...YOUR is not the same as YOU'RE, dammit!!!

Even though Jack has a penchant for the dramatics, there's no one else I can call at 2AM to cry over shit that's not even that serious. And when he's going off about Puta Face, in Spanish no less, it's like music to my ears. I'm all at attention like a good little audience. I'll even instigate shit to hear him go off.

He gets all my obscure jokes and is awesome at talking me off the ledge...unless I'm threatening to jump into a sea of naked men...then he's all like: "ESPERAME, CARAJO!" We would totally be a couple if he were about 5" taller...and heterosexual...for now we'll settle for being a couple of silly-ass mo-fos.

Jack inspires me to be sucia and to pound my alcohol (and my men *wink*) like a man. He's got a 144 IQ and takes a moment to remind me whenever he can. We share the same wicked, jaded sense of humor, like to make fun of Mexicans, keep each other's sexy secrets, and for all his wisdom and high IQ score, his video iPod is still smarter than him.

He considers me phenomenal. And I suspect that if I let him tell me so ever so often, one day he'll actually convince me that it's true, when actually- he's the fucking SHYT!

And I love him to death!

WERK!!!!

*smooches...only for Jack today!*

-------------------

it's a perfect day for getting old

forgetting all your worries

life

and everything that makes you cry

let's get happy!

it's a perfect day for dreams come true

for thinking big

and doing anything you want to do

let's get happy!

File Under: T...M...I

Another week has come and gone, and I for one am excited to be done with it. I'm suffering from a bit of sensory overload: too many things coming at me at once...the voices are partying like it's 1999...and as usual I can't focus. But that doesn't mean I can't stop in and let ya'll know what's going on. That would be selfish.

And I really don't have any more apologies left in me, so I felt it was just easier to post something tonight and get it over with.

Why Me?
A couple of weeks ago I read about some kid who got stabbed to death in broad daylight in Union Square while people where there in full swing doing some holiday shopping in the open market. Just this big-ass'd brawl of HS kids trying to kill each other. Sad but true. I've since found out that it might be gang related. One of the gangs involved? DDP, or as they are really called, but I'm embarrassed to admit, Dominicans Don't Play. I mean is that just the stupidest name on gods green earth that a gang could possibly have? This city if full of Decepticons, Bloods, Crypts, Latin Kings...and Dominicans who don't play...

And what, pray tell, do they not play? Jump rope? Backgammon? Red Light, Green Light? I mean, I'm not doubting that they are as ruthless and bad ass as any other knife/gun wielding gang in this city. But that name...it's really just poor marketing. They need a PR rep really bad! I'm just a tad embarrassed because, well, they're Dominican. And I for one do not see what's so bad about playing. I mean, do you feel me?

If It Wasn't for Step 3...
I've really been toying with the idea of sitting in on a couple of the Sexaholics Anonymous meetings to see if it's the missing "piece" in my quest for "peace" but dammit if they didn't throw that god clause in there. Can't I fix this without bringing anymore Judeo-Christian oppressiveness into my life? That's the main cause behind all this in the first place, all that repression I was taught in the church; the shame that it preaches and embeds in your mind- that shit really fucks with a kid's head...no pun intended. Can't I just go to a meeting and accept responsibility for my actions without putting it in some supposed celestial being's hands? That's such a passive way to go through life: it's in god's hands. No it's not- it's in my hands. I can do this; I have to do this; it's my responsibility to bring about change in my life.

Hmmm...maybe I don't need those meetings after all...

MEMO TO SELF: Rent The Brown Bunny RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!
So, um, Vincent Gallo, wannabe musician, D-list indie actor and all around weirdo, who amused me in Palookaville and wowed me in Buffalo '66 and In The House of the Spirits, is upset with PayPal.com because they refuse to do business with him anymore for his website, http://www.vincentgallo.com/. Vincent, sweetie, I'm mad at you for selling a night of sex with you as well as YOUR SPERM on your website. And I'm mad that VG can sell his body online no problem, but if I do it it's prostitution. Is it because he's a man or an actor? To me, soliciting is soliciting. Why isn't LAPD doing their job? Get this nutcase off the streets before he (re)produces again!

No, It's Not Okay to Talk About This with Me
It's bad enough that I've allowed myself to embark on this faux-friendship, in which I pretend that this torch I carry for you is just the latest fashion accessory, and you pretend that the reasons you gave for our demise weren't ambiguous at best, but do I really have to sit on the other end of the phone at two in the morning while you seek my advice on your girl troubles? I still haven't seen a doctor about this knife in my heart, so let's lay off the dating details until my wound heals, k? Say it with me, now: T...M...I...

Some Stereotypes are Just True
Did you know, that in the Christian Bible, the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah were considered sinners by god because of their perverse sexual acts (fellatio, anal sex, man on man action), but in the Jewish accounts of this biblical event, Sodomites were guilty of economic crimes and monetary greediness. People, I cannot make this stuff up. Draw your own conclusions...

*smooches...with new-found respect for racist jokes*
---------------------
We fall down
But we get up...
For a saint is just
a sinner who fell down...
and got up

You Call That News?

I'm still not in the best of moods, so instead of the latest happenings in my sorry excuse for a life, here are some more news stories from this week that caught my eye.

I really hope there aren't any surveillance cameras in my office because they totally have me on tape rolling my eyes at the computer and laughing out loud at the ridiculousness that the NY papers deem "fit to print."

In Other News, Bush and Osama Say to the World: Smile! You're on Candid Camera!!
Why would anyone be so crazy as to believe that any real strife would befall Belgium? Besides of course their stash of waffles and chocolate falling low. Now there's your story!

But I hear he used his legs to shove Timmy down a well...
Hey, you, tall Doofus, come over hear and yank some plastic shit out of these here dolphins we're holding in some tanks against their will. And while you're at it reach up, grab the sun and tilt it about 2 degrees for me, will ya? I mean geez- it's bad enough he's a doofus, you gotta exploit him, too?

Oh my god...I'm go-go, too!
Dude, you shake your ass so other dudes can jack off to it. I hate to be the bearer of bad news...but that IS porno! Let's call a spade a spade, okay?

Has anybody questioned Elmer Fudd?
That damned rabbit must be putting up "duck Season" signs again...when will those two just call a truce?

Because worrying about his health would probably not be politically correct...
Another reason why I try to stay as uninvolved in politics as possible: I don't want any slime to get on on my leather jacket...

And this is why I got rid of my machete.
I mean really, if you're going to treat your kids like shit, don't make it easy for them to kill you. It's covered in chapter 2 in the new millenium parenting guide...didn't he get the 2006 edition?

He's probably at Osama's house.
Don't even waste my tax dollars looking for this fool. I don't want to hear another word about it.

Sometimes you just need to beat the hell out of a kid...
Oh. Did I just say that out loud? I certainly do not condone child abuse, nor do I promote threatening to put your 6-year-old in the oven and serving her for dinner with a spicy mango chutney...

That's all I got. If I read anymore news the weight of the world will crush my spine.

*smooches...with a side of spicy mango chutney*
----------------
Well, if you told me you were drowning
I would not lend a hand
I've seen your face before my friend
But I don't know if you know who I am
Well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been
Its all been a pack of lies

Redemption Song

It was brought to the Jaded NYer’s attention that sometimes, she takes things too far. Sometimes what she thinks is funny is just downright mean. And sometimes words do hurt.

Now this is where I usually insert something callous and witty like: “get over it” or “hmmm…where’s my violin?” and that will usually incite rumbling laughter from you, my loyal readers. But apparently that is just the type of “wit” that has brought me to this post.

Yes, I, Raquel, she of the scathing tongue, want to apologize to all injured parties of previous posts that at the time seemed really funny but was actually really hurtful. And I’m not using my sarcastic voice either. I’m actually taking off my armor, putting down my shield and admitting that I use this mean-spirited humor in a desperate attempt to protect myself from myself, the typical bully mentality. It’s the one thing I remembered from Psych 101…you know, from the one day I actually attended class?

I want to reiterate to that injured party that what I wrote was just words on a screen. That despite what those words connotated and despite how they were interpreted, my feelings for this injured party remain as they always were. And if said party is not sure of those feelings because my armor and shield have gotten in the way, let me tell them here: there is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you deeply and wholeheartedly. And not a moment passes without a memory of our time together popping in my head and making me smile. Please know this to be the truth.

And while I’m at it, let me address other wrongs. Might as well get it all out before I suit up again.

JS: I don’t know why I never called you back. We had an awesome time that night and I thought you were a cool person. Sometimes when the weekend approaches I contemplate calling you but figure you have already written me off as a flake and deleted my number from your phone. I’m really not this dismissive of people, really. I got caught up in my own stuff and I apologize. It’d be nice to hang out again if you still want to.

Jack: I’m really happy you’ve found something to be happy about. I really am. Please don’t think that my self-imposed seclusion has anything to do with you. It has everything to do with me. But you have an IQ of 144, right, so I suppose you already knew that.

C, Hoover and Toothless: If you ever come across this blog, I want to say that what I wrote I meant, but I didn’t have to put it out there for the whole world (actually only 17 people) to laugh at. I’m sorry.

L: If you ever come across this blog and come to find that there are things I kept from you, I’m sorry, too. Just know that were are really good friends, and if I didn’t divulge something it was only because I was ashamed to admit it to you, because I really admire you and your morals and your friendship, and I wanted to keep your image of me pristine.

And finally, in a last-ditch attempt to keep bad Karma from re-visiting me, I want to apologize to Mrs. McDonald and her baby. I knew it was wrong when I did it the first time. And I knew it was wrong the second time, too. I promise you- there won’t be a third.

*smooches…with so much love for you all that my cup runneth over…*
------------------------
Siempre me quedara
la voz suave del mar,
volver a respirar la lluvia que caera
sobre este cuerpo y mojara
la flor que crece en mi,
y volver a reir
y cada dia un instante volver a pensar en ti.

It's Still Not Easy, But I'll Get There, Kermit...

It's official- I'm in the funkiest of funks. I have just been elected the Mayor of Funktown. As my first order of business I am putting into effect 48hrs of radio silence, which, in Raquel-speak means don't call or write or IM or text me for two days. I need to create a void or vacuum and get centered. There's too much going on around me and it's making the voices in my head all excited to the point where they won't shut the fuck up and focus.

I have not been able to write in weeks. None of my stories for my thesis have an ending and it's just not coming to me. The 25-pg "craft" paper is holding steady at 12-pgs with not a single, new original thought popping into my head. That damn blinking cursor on my computer screen is mocking the hell out of me, and I swear, yesterday it said, "You're a fraud. You're not a writer. All of your stories are the same. All you've done is changed the protagonist's name."

Fucking, stupid, bitch-ass voices!

It's made me a bit self-destructive and careless and I really thought I'd left all that behavior behind, but no, it's been there the whole time just waiting to be reactivated. My insomnia is getting worse. I'm getting sloppy at work. I've gained five pounds. I'm so mentally exhausted that it's causing a disconnect inside of me. I just need to shut down and re-boot, so to speak.

So that's what I'm going to do.

This is driving me nuts because I've never really had writer's block before and I'm scared that I won't get my flow back. I feel like a singer who has lost her voice and I'm freaking out. Is there some sort of lemon tea thing I can take to revitalize me?

And I swear to god if someone says "therapist" or any variation thereof I will snap you in two! Literally. There will be two bloody pieces of you lying about. Don't test me.

Now some of you will think this is a cry for help, but the rest of ya'll know me better than that. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I'm not looking for sympathy or an outpouring of love. I really truely just need a couple of days to regroup and get back on track. I just didn't want anyone to think I was ignoring them.

But I'll give you this, a present, a relic from my childhood that sort of calms my soul. Hushes the voices, if you will. No matter how low or crappy. This is my self-esteem secret weapon. You should feel honored to know it:



*smooches...from me for me for once*
-----------------
I've took it farther on the outside
I've took it nearly to the brink
And if you've seen me on the outside
You would have barely seen me breathe

Hip Hop Hooray...Ho...Hey...Ho...

Guess what happened on Wednesday? Guess! You'll NEVER guess! Give up?

MY DIVORCE IS FINAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm officially legally unbound to that man! It took exactly one year, one month and 28 days from the moment his sorry ass left my momma's house to this moment, and I have to say I'm a little overwhelmed.

First I'd like to thank L in Cali for all of her support, perspective, advice and comic relief throughout this whole ordeal, even though she doesn't read this blog (I'll be thanking her in person later on this month!).

I'd also like to thank my family who didn't choose sides or say, "I told you so," but instead were there as a constant source of support.

And to C's and my mutual friends (is that gramatically correct?) and fellow AU alumni who may have been a little thrown by the split- you guys are amazing and I ♥ U!

Finally, I'd like to thank the Academy...you like me, you really, really like me...no seriously, though I want to thank the Queens County court system, Michael Ciarlo and Kenny the Paralegal at Nadel & Associates who really helped me out a lot with all the gory details of this divorce. You guys ROCK!

Now that it's over, I suppose I can reflect on the 13 years he and I spent together- both the good and the bad and the ultra- mega- funky- awfulness that brought us here. I've made our time together seem like a ride through hell on an oil soaked rickshaw, but of course there are two sides to every story.

I'm sure he would say I was difficult, bratty, moody and unpredictable, and that I had this standard of perfection that no one on earth could possibly live up to...but you all knew that about me already. And I'm sure you're all tired of hearing me say how boring, financially irresponsible, and unhealthy he was, and how irritating he became in those last few months. There were other, more serious underlying problems, too, that I won't go into out of respect for his privacy (look at me, all grow'd up!), but if you ask me I'll tell you one on one.

There were many times I tried to leave, he tried to leave, I tried to kill him (lucky for him he had really good reflexes and caught my wrist in time or that knife would have seriously still be stuck in his throat!)...the usual ups and downs, but it was magnified by the 10th power in my mind and I've known for a while that it had to end.

So here's to love, marriage, babies and divorce- not necessarily in that order. And here's to my new life: May the road rise up to meet me...May the wind always be at my back...May the sun shine warm upon my face, and rains fall soft upon my fields...

*smooches...on my way to pawn my wedding ring*
----------------------------
i thought we'd be simple together
i thought we'd be happy together
thought we'd be limitless together
i thought we'd be precious together
but i was sadly mistaken

I'm Being Forced to Read the Paper

So working in PR means you have to know all the major headlines in all the major tri-state area newspapers everyday before 9AM.

Yeah, that's what I said, too.

There is so much information crammed into my poor, beer-soaked brain right now that I think it might implode. Some dude gets shot outside a strip joint by the cops; a boy gets jumped in Union Square; Lindsay Lohan sends some crazy email to her lawyer that is leaked to Page Six...I just can't keep up! The only way to get these stories out of my head is to do the same thing I do when a song just won't leave me alone: write it down.

Here's the recent news, according to me, the Jaded NYer...

1. 50 Bullets
I agree that was excessive, but here's my problem with this story: a) why were they taking the stripper home? b) why did Bell ram his car into the cops? c) why do cops carry around THAT MUCH ammo d) why do black people keep inviting Al Sharpton into their lives? I can't STAND him!

Listen, plain and simple, if dude hadn't been so preoccupied with getting some skanky stripper ass the night before his wedding to his baby momma, his ass would still be alive today.

2. Pelosi and Murtha
I don't usually follow politics, but a couple of weeks ago the NY Times had this cover story on Nancy Pelosi endorsing John P. Murtha as the next House majority leader, and how no one else backed it and they chose some other dude instead. With the article was this pic:

That's Murtha, in the back, to the right, with the STANKEST look on his face, while Pelosi and the REAL House majority leader ham it up for the press. That made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants!

3. You Mean I Gotta Be Sober on My Commute?
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!
Commuters on the LIRR are complaining because the bar-car may be abolished. Listen you alcoholics, stop being whiny-assed babies and just have a beer at Charlie O's at Penn Station before you get on the train instead, okay? Geez- it's not the end of the freakin' world. Give your liver a BREAK!

4. News from the Dominican Republic:
A) No More Haitians?
Foreign Relations Minister Carlos Morales Troncoso, a former sugar cane industry executive, highlighted the fact that the trend is for increased investments in farming mechanization that will eliminate the need for Haitian labor in sugar cane fields. Dominicans reject the hard work of sugar cane cutting, which has led to thousands of Haitians being allowed to migrate to the country to take their place. These Haitians live in settlements called bateyes, many languishing today as the number of jobs declines because farms are being mechanized.

But, who will be our scapegoats if the Haitians stop crossing the border to do the work uppidy Dominicans don't want to do? Who?? WHO???

B) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
In a press release, the Cerveceria Nacional Dominicana (that produces Presidente beer) says that beer drinkers will be most affected by the fiscal reform, estimating that they will pay more than 36% of RD$ 17.5 billion the government is trying to collect. Currently there is a tax on beer depending on the percentage of alcohol, but the fiscal reform looks to impose a selective tax on beer. Teodoro Hidalgo, Director of Corporate Affairs for Grupo Leon Jimenes, says that this tax increase means that beer in the DR will become one of the most expensive in the hemisphere.

First they take our Haitians, now they want to make it harder to buy beer...why even bother living?

5. Hey, This OrthoTriCyclen Tastes Like Hubba Bubba...
Are they kidding me with this one? Chewable Contraceptive? I can see it now: "Jenny can you please spit out your gum? You know it's not allowed in class" "But Mrs. Funkenmeyer, it's my birth control gum!" Now I guess you can be a whore and chew gum like one, too! Whatever happened to the Rhythm Method, huh? Actually, maybe you shouldn't take birth control advice from me...

Okay, that's enough with the news. My head hurts and I need a shower to take the stench of society off of me.

*smooches...with icky newspaper ink all over the place...*
--------------------------------
No creo en Venus ni Marte
No creo en Carlos Marx
No creo en Jean Paul Sartre
No creo en Brian Weiss
Solo creo en tu sonrisa azul
En tu mirada de cristal
En los besos que me das

Oh This Is Gonna Be Fun!!

Someone, who will remain nameless, sent me a song, "Lovin' You" by Javier, that I played on repeat, over and over, before I went to bed. And it moved my funky mood further along to the depths of funkdom. I got a little bummed because the dude in the song is serenading his one true love. We've been over this, I know, the myth of the "One True Love" but it's hard to shake when it's shoved down your throat on iTunes...on repeat...over and over and over.

This brought me to a place no promiscuous 31-year-old should EVER go: reminiscing about ALL of my ex-boyfriends, trying to determine if I had that great love already and let him go. I stupidly opened up that mental Rolodex and read every footnote of every tryst I tried to keep secret even from myself. And now thanks to the wonder that is cyberspace, you, too, can travel back in time with me, and visit (or re-visit for the lucky few who've known me a while) the myriad of, ehm, true-love candidates I've had the pleasure (misfortune?) of being involved with. Please note that I am not counting the fake childhood boyfriends that came around before the age of ten- everybody has those and they're just plain dumb; nor am I counting the tequila-induced mistakes that may or may not have occurred after my separation. Your honor, I plead the fifth...

So here goes. Get a cup of coffee, sit back, and enjoy the ride (no pun intended). This is gonna take a while:

[UPDATE: The names have been changed from actual names to initials to protect the innocent AND the guilty]

1. R- son of a bodega owner with whom my mom hung out. He had to be at least 16 if he was a day; I was twelve. I remember him looking like that rat guy from the Ninja Turtles- remember him? What was that rat's name? If anyone remembers, tell me. Anyway, he was my first date and first kiss. We broke up because I wanted his brother, J, instead.

True-Love-o-Meter: 0. I didn't even feel bad about ditching him for his brother. R was just a notch on my brand new dating belt.

2. J- R's brother. I thought he was the cat's pyjamas! I remember him with caramel skin and soft hair and dreamy bedroom eyes. We also made out a lot, but he was more daring (and older) than R; he would hold me "close" and let me know just how "happy" he was that we were making out. We broke up when my good friend AR came to school with a picture of her new dreamy boyfriend...one guess as to who he was...I hear they have three kids now...

True-Love-o-Meter: 2. We would have had pretty babies, but he was not a citizen and you know my foreign policy is not as lenient as that of the Texas/Mexico border. And besides I think he's in jail now...

3. JS- we were in the same grade but I was in the "smart" class and he was...a cute jock. He played basketball like nobody's business and has the most gorgeous light-brown eyes EVER! I was still twelve, but this time, so was he (see; I'm capable of learning!). I think it was 7th grade. We made out a WHOLE lot and it felt oh so cool to date a "bad boy" when I was considered to be such an angel! We broke up because he dumped me for a 14 year old girl with HUMUNGOID breasts. Jokes on him...if he'd just waited a couple more years...

True-Love-o-Meter: 5. I was pretty smitten with him; we were on and off for two years, and you know at that age EVERYTHING is true love. But he wasn't very smart; I would have tired of him.

4. K- I think he was the rebound guy from JS. I barely remember him, except that he wore glasses and I let him get to third base on the eighth grade trip to a dude ranch. We never really broke up, more like faded away and became friends instead, like a fuck buddy except we never had sex.

True-Love-o-Meter: 0. I was using him, plain and simple. Our relationship meant NADA to me.

5. M- he was a senior when I was a freshman in HS; I liked his new-bohemian style and chiseled jaw- very superman from the comics look...yum! Plus older men used to make me drool LOL. I ended things because he wanted to go further than I did (in HS I actually attended church and taught Sunday Catechism classes- don't laugh!).

True-Love-o-Meter: 0. He was a freshman fling; nothing more.

6. E- I'd known him since junior high, but never saw him as a love interest. I remember that he pursued me until I got tired of running and agreed to date him. He had a sexy, James Earl Jones meets Barry White voice that made me flutter and was an awesome kisser! He and I were on and off throughout the latter part of HS I think; after graduation, we took our relationship a little further without going all the way. Sort of like our former Prez and his intern, if you get my drift. But a part of me always saw him as just a really good friend. We broke up because I dumped him in a "Dear E" letter the fall after I went away to college.

True-Love-o-Meter: 7. E and I had a lot of potential to be one of those couples who get married after graduation. But he ruined it by a) not being taller than me and b) converting from Catholicism (again, I was still blindly faithful to the church). When he changed his name to and would preach to me about not eating pork and stuff, I knew it was over for good. They'd brain-washed him. We tried the friendship thing but ended up losing touch sometime after 9/11.

7. LD- he worked with me at McDonald's and was a TAAAALLLLL drink of dark dark water from Panama. That boy made me SWOON with his kisses. We broke up because, like 99% of the Latino men I knew, he had another chick on the side. I told him it's all or nothing with me, he hesitated, and I walked!

True-Love-o-Meter: 2. I would never have tolerated cheating so it was destined to end.

8. DR- he was a guy I used to make E jealous (this was during one of the many times we were "off") that kind of got under my skin. We never went as far as he would have liked, and till this day he says I "owe him one." We're still friends. We broke up because...I don't know why, but it might have had something to do with the fact that he told me: "Jewish guys use Catholic girls for practice."

True-Love-o-Meter: 0. We were of different faiths and socio-economic backgrounds. Our fling was fun-based at best and nothing more. He was an asshole back then but he's a sweetie now and I wouldn't change a thing about our friendship!

9. KV- I met him during orientation freshman year of college. By this time E had started in on me with the not eating pork schpiel and he didn't make time to come visit me in New Jersey at my grandmother's before I went away to school. So I was kind of over him at this point, and KV was a sexy track team member from Grenada with a VERY sexy accent and the smoothest, chocolaty skin EVER! I lost my virginity to him, but we broke up because he was trying to rule me and that is a no-no.

True-Love-o-Meter: 3. He was a cutie but that West Indian machismo shit gets tired REAL FAST!!

10. C- he was a Super Senior when I was a freshman and made the transition away from KV that much easier. He was also the reason I sent E the "Dear E" letter. He was also the one that knocked me up sophomore year and convinced me to marry him in 1999 and have another baby in 2000 (okay, the second baby was my idea...details, details...). I remember falling for his green eyes...I don't think I need to tell you how we broke up...

True-Love-o-Meter: 5. despite the fact that I spent 13 years with him, it was not true love. Between you and me? I was just about to break up with him when I found out I was pregnant all those years ago. I had my eye on a very handsome Kappa Psi brother...but the baby kind of put an end to all that.

11. D- he and I first spoke in January of this year but finally had a "first date" on Cinco de Mayo; he was a definite cutie, Guyanese and loads of fun...and well if we're being honest here, really, really good in bed (hey- you don't read this blog because I candy-coat things- okay?). We broke up in August because he felt that, "If we continue on this path, I feel that things will get really serious, and I'm not ready for all that." I was pretty bitter about that one (some of you remember it well...did I mention how I lost 20lbs?) but am better now. I realized that it was a bruised ego and the ghost of JS coming back to haunt me...plus I found a journal entry from two weeks before we broke up where I was contemplating ending things, too. I was just mad because he beat me to it. We still speak once in a blue moon...

...and if you want the 100% uncensored truth? We hooked up again after we broke up. I believe the term is "friends with benefits."

True-Love-o-Meter: 6. I dug him a lot, but he lost points for a) being younger than me, b) not being taller than me, c) being a chain smoker, d) his rampant drug-use (so what if I often joined him...sooooo besides the point) and d) not having a college degree. Seems kind of petty, but I can only speak truth, folks. Sue me! He got a high score for his AWESOME bed skills, though, his caring, selfless nature and his ability to make me laugh as if we'd known each other for years!

Now I know you are all wondering: what about John Cusack? Isn't he your great love? Why isn't John on the list?

Here's where I confess that, although I speak of him often as if we have a real relationship, I realize he is nothing more than my fantasy; he's probably gay or not into Latin chicks. He doesn't know I exist and I am quite content worshipping him from afar. There. I said it.

So wow, from this list it appears that E and I were the best match. But that damn religion thing...if he'd just let up on that...we coulda made it work...another reason to loathe organized religion: it cost me my one true love!

*smooches...with so many notches I had to buy a brand new belt!

--------------------

Got stains on my t-shirt

and I'm the biggest flirt

Right now I'm solo,

but that will be changing eventually, oh

Got bruises on my heart

and sometimes I get dark

If you want my auto,

want my autobiography

Baby, just ask me

French Fries: The New Heroin

Yesterday was not so good.

I had some really bad cramps. And I'm trying this new thing where I don't take anymore painkillers and just work through it. What the hell was I thinking? I barely made it through the day without cursing somebody out.

I had to go see some crappy performance at K's school. Not that she's crappy- of course not; my kid is fabulous. Her classmates, however...well let me not speak ill of them. Lets just say I left early.

I wanted to visit my grandfather in the hospital. He was supposed to have had surgery to remove his gall bladder earlier that morning and I wanted to make sure he was okay. I called his room and there was no answer. When I call my cousin she informs me that they had just taken him into the O/R. That hospital...jesus christ...but ya'll already know what I think of medical professionals so I won't go into it again.

Then I came home and am informed by my landlord that he's raising the rent 10% starting with January's rent. He's blaming increased taxes and utility bills (I get free heat and hot water). I suppose it has nothing to do with all the renovations they've done to their own apartment or the bun his wife has in the oven? But what can I do? I can't afford to move again. I'll just have to suck it up and find a way to pay it.

All this shit culminated in me making a b-line to McDonald's, a place I have not been to in like three or four months. I needed something greasy and fattening and bad for me, and I needed to eat it while watching My Bare Lady on iTunes: poisoning my brain AND my body.

And a funny thing happened as I finished the last slurp of my orange drink...I felt a little intoxicated, as if I'd just taken five hits off a six-foot bong and done three keg stands. My eyes could barely stay open. People, I was HIGH ON FRENCH FRIES!! Can you imagine? I guess it's what happens when your body is free of those fast food toxins and then ingests it as if for the first time. Same as when my kids eat anything sugary (because I don't allow high fructose corn syrup products in my house) and start acting like meth heads.

I passed out on my couch fully clothed and with all my make-up on as if I'd partied hard or something. And this morning I had such a french fry hangover...man, I'm never doing that again! The next time I have a bad day, I'm just going to find some random loser on craigslist's casual encounters personals, make him my sex slave, and then toss him out like yesterday's newspaper. No more McDonald's for me...

*smooches...*

-----------------------
These are the days that I've been missing

Give me the taste give me the joy of summer wine

These are the days that bring new meaning

I feel the stillness of the sun and I feel fine

Funny, I Don't LOOK Unhappy in this Picture...

My dear sweet Jack, who may just be a bigger pack rat than me, produced a letter that I had written him in 1993 via email, in which I proceded to tell him how truly unhappy I was with life in general and sent it over to me. Since I read it I have not been able to get in a really good mood. Mainly because most of what I wrote in that letter could have easily been written today.

And this is that part where you all begin to wonder if maybe I'm bi-polar...don't worry. I wonder that, too. But I'm not going to a shrink so don't even suggest it.

The letter reads, and I quote: "...I've come to the conclusion that I am not really happy, that I'm not really laughing when I laugh, but I always really cry when I cry..."

Then I go on to whine about my mortality: "...no matter how great something is supposed to feel, I know its going to end soon."

The clincher, of course, reads like the theme of my entire MFA creative thesis: "...Is happiness even a real concept to be acheived?"

Was I really this miserable in college? What the fuck was going on? And why am I still in the same funk?

All of a sudden I'm craving some pizza and wings from the Sub Shop and a whole case of Schlitz beer...

*smooches...behind a wall of tears...*

-------------------------

i am sitting, watching

out the window of the coffee shop

and i'm waiting, waiting

waiting for it to let up

i am rocking like a cradle

warming my hands with the cup in between

i am leaning over the table

holding my face over the steam