Top 10 Reasons Why It's Hard to be My Friend

10. I secretly hate you. Sure, to your face I'm all smiles and sunshine, but behind your back I'm plotting...

9. Once you stop being an asset, I'll drop you like a hot potato.

8. I know that you don't believe in my mission to meet and marry John Cusack, and I'll never forgive you for it.

7. I'm always broke. How can we enjoy life if my pockets hold nothing but lint?

6. I have daddy issues. No matter how nice your boyfriend is, I will always seek out his flaw, point it out to you and give him the side-eye whenever we all hang out together

5. I'm moody; I can go off at any moment and my wrath is fierce and far-reaching

4. Kids. I have them. They eat up my money and my time. They are a definite buzz kill.

3. I'll never tell you if you look fat in your jeans. That way I'll always be prettier.

2. I have a big mouth. You secrets? Not so secret if you tell me...

And the number one reason why it's hard to be my friend is:

1. No matter what your moral dilemma- if you come to me for advice, I will always lead you down the path of debauchery and eternal damnation. MUAHAHAHAHA!!!

*smooches...with sunshine and side-eyes*
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it's a story as common as a penny, son
it ain't really worth anything to anyone
poor little sore little song
that aches like a muscle each time that it moves
sad little song that you play
and you play and you play
and you play 'til you lose

Less Than A Week

It's due.

No more procrastinating. No more dilly-dallying. No more extensions.

My thesis is due and the pressure is mounting. Not only is this due, but I have to pull off Irene's baby shower, do my taxes, write an article on these designers/activists because I desperately need the money, find another job so I can pay my bills AND keep food in the house, and keep up with this blog.

I have to care for two kids; check in with my friends and family; go to work everyday and cover some of the most boring topics known to man (it was interesting at first, fun, even. Now I want to shoot my brains out!); and, oh yeah, I may want to take a minute to take care of me. But that's at the bottom of my list along with having a life and dating.

But back to the thesis. I've scrapped one of the stories. I just don't feel like writing it and I'll still be able to make my 25K word count without it. Two stories are completed. Two need more details (according to my thesis mentor) and two need an ending. The script needs some minor revisions. The 25-pg paper needs a title, 10 more pages and lots of revision. Of the 15 2-pg papers discussing books we've read, maybe 12 or 13 are good to go. I still haven't secured a second reader for my thesis and the books I need to complete my paper are only available to me from the Queens Library in Jamaica, since I've been banned from borrowing books in Manhattan and Brooklyn (god-damned fines!!!).

And yes, I realize this stress is all self-imposed. I did this to myself. But it doesn't make my situation less stressful and upsetting.

So before you call or email me with your petty problems- boss getting on your nerves, significant other driving you nuts, wedding plans going awry, in-laws driving you to drink- take a deep breath and think: do I really want to feel the wrath of Raquel today, or do I want to wait until March 5th when she'll be more in the mood for my foolishness?

Just a thought.

*smooches...enough to hold you over until March 5th*
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now you think, so that is
the way it's gonna be
that's what this is all about
and i think that is
the way it always was
you chose not to notice until now...

...and i guess that you dialed my number
'cuz you thought for sure that i'd agree
and i say baby, you know i still love you
but how dare you complain to me

What If I Said I Hate Black People?

Huh, Mr. Hardaway? What if I went on record with the Associated Press stating that black people shouldn't be allowed in the US, or the world? And definitely not in the locker room, spreading their black-ness to all non-black players and not allowing them to concentrate on the game??

You'd be the first one calling Al Sharpton to have me labelled a racist, that's what you'd do!

Your anti-gay statements were DEPLORABLE and your apology SUB-PAR! Why would a gay basketball player's presence in the locker room threaten you, you piece of shit? Because gay men are driven by their hormones and all they need is to see a penis and they go crazy?? What is your fucking damage?

And while we're at it, you ain't all that- so why are you worried about a gay man hitting on you anyway??

But I am glad you went on record. And that you admitted to being HOMOPHOBIC. That you FEAR gay people.

That way you prove the statement that FEAR breeds IGNORANCE and HATE.

You ignorant, hateful man!

I hope John Amaechi tracks you down and kicks your fucking ASS!!!!

*no smooches today...I'm pissed!*
---------
just give up
and admit you're an asshole
you would be
in some good company
and i think you'd find
that your friends would forgive you
or maybe i
am just speaking for me

Ladies and Gentlemen...The Answers to All My Prayers...

See this fine-ass man to the left? All muscular and sexy and just BEAUTIFUL?

He's the new love of my life. Want to know where I met him? Want to know where true happiness is waiting for you, too?

http://www.hotprisonpals.com/

That's right! The man or woman of your dreams is just one erotic letter away...and 25 years, 7 with time off for good behavior.

I really, really wish I was making this up. Seriously, though, I suppose inmates need love, too, huh? Maybe if they had a good woman to begin with they wouldn't be in jail right now. I'm just what this dude needs...now if only I can find out what he's in for...


*smooches...with conjugal visits!*
-----------
yes i have my father's heart
it may or may not keep on trying
can't really tell you what it is
keeps me this side of that dark line

Anything But Down

You ever hear a song that just personifies your relationship with somebody so much you just want to show up at the artist’s door and demand royalties from that song, so obviously taken from a page in your journal?

Or thrown a shoe at your stereo because the song that started playing reminded you of your dead grandmother at the very moment you were staring at her photo in the quiet solitude of your new and improved, clutter free bedroom, missing her desperately and crying your eyes out on a Sunday when, had she been alive, you’d be eating stew at her house?

No? Just me, then?

It just occurred to me how every moment of my life is connected to a song…and vice versa…perhaps it’s why I love the movie High Fidelity so much (besides of course that JC is in it)…music is, like, EVERYTHING to me. And no matter how old I get, whenever I hear The Four Tops’ “Rock Steady” the faint smell of ginger tea will waft near me and I’ll be instantly transported to 68 Patchen Avenue that summer I got back from Camp Sebago and had decided to give up dancing for good.

Whenever I hear “Rhinestone Cowboy,” I’ll remember how Celia and I, in the middle of a card game in our freshman dorm room, laughed hysterically at the fact that she knew the lyrics to EVERY FUCKING SONG ON THE PLANET…even “Rhinestone Cowboy”

If Prince’s “Adore” comes on, I’ll remember that my ex and I had chosen that as the song for our first dance to a wedding that never happened…and how I really fucked up that relationship- I really should’ve never stayed with him and I knew it…what the fuck was I thinking?

Heat’s “Always and Forever” brings me back to St. John the Baptist JHS…7th grade…me working concessions at the 8th grade prom and crushing on Ebel Something-or-other; some random 8th grader that made me swoon…

“Jump Around” by House of Pain takes me to the basement of the Kappi Psi house, freshman year; drunk and out of control in a skirt and combat boots…the jumping around threatening to release the twins at any moment…

Ms. DiFranco’s “Origami” is credited with being the song that finally put the nail in the coffin to my marriage…the lyrics- I know men are delicate, origami creatures/who need women to unfold them/hold them when they cry/but I am tired of being your savior/and I am tired of telling you why- sort of slapped me in the face and said, “Hey! Give it up! This is not working! He’s much more trouble than he’s worth!!”

There are a slew that will always remind me of all 11 of my significant others, the kind of love and anti-love songs that you play over and over again right after a break up. Some to curse them out (so fuck you/and your untouchable face/and fuck you/for existing in the first place), some to beg them to come back (tengo rezones/para no quererte olvidar/porque el trocito de felicidad/fuiste tu quien me lo dio a probar), some to help you get the tears out (it was the sweetness of your skin/it was the hope of all we might have been/that filled me with the hope to wish/impossible things), and some that just, FINALLY, help you move on (So maybe I'll be here/Maybe I'll see you around/That's the way it goes/Almost doesn't count).

And then there’s the song whose lyrics remind you of you, that “other” you that not even your closest friends and family members have seen…the you that sometimes curls up into a corner of her apartment for no reason and just hides from the world…the you that, “never really laughs” when you laugh, but “always really cries” when you cry…the you that just can’t be happy no matter what, and that is afraid of death like no one else in this world but sometimes thinks the rest is just what she needs. That you that is the total opposite of how everybody remembers you, the one that’s a downer, self-deprecating and self-destructive:

I light your cigarettes
I bring you apples from the vine
How quickly you forget
I run the bath and pour the wine
I bring you everything that floats into your mind

But you don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
When you come 'round

You are a raging sea
I pull myself out everyday
I plea insanity
Cause I can't leave but I can't stay
You say, won't you come find me and yes is what I say

You don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
Everything is crashing to the ground

Maybe I'm not your perfect kind
Maybe I'm not what you had in mind
Maybe we're just killing time

You with your silky words
And your eyes of green and blue
You with your steel beliefs
That don't match anything you do
It was so much easier before you became you

You don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
Everything just crashes to the ground
When you come around
When you come around

No more playing seek and hide
No more long and wasted nights
Can't you make it easy on yourself

I know you wish you were strong
You wish you were never wrong
Well, I got some wishes of my own

Damn you, Sheryl, and your fucking words of wisdom. I'll be expecting that royalty check from you by the end of this month...

*smooches...one Cure song away from total depression*
----------------
if we let our love
off of its leash
do you fear, like i fear
how fierce it would be?

Return to MySpace Mountain...and Other Musings

Here's what's doin' with me these days...

I'm Back, Baby!
After much consideration (and prodding from Mari) I decided to return to MySpace. Only this time I'll be smarter about it. I won't add you unless I know you or speak to you on the regular or really, truly enjoy your music, art or writing. If that's not you- don't bother asking. If you bombard my bulletin board with crap, I'll delete you. If you send me stupid comments on the regular- you're out. Let's be grown-ups about this, 'kay?

I'm leaving it public for about a month before I lock it down and go private, so go peek at it while you have the chance :P www.myspace.com/mspenzo

Really? You're Just Gonna Rest Your Bag on My Shoulder All the Way to 14th Street?
The subway gets more and more frustrating the more I have to ride it during rush hour. I mean it takes everything in me not to get ethnic on some of these people! ¡Es que esta gente ya me tienen loca!

FICA and NY State and Insurance, Oh My!
Can you believe how easily and legally one's paycheck can be hijacked by the federal and local government? Not to mention the medical, dental, transit and dependent care deductions I got tricked into signing up for...tax breaks my ASS!! My check was, like, $2.00 this pay period. I'm officially STANK about it. Isn't it enough that Uncle Sam is hounding me for his 75G's?? I say we call it even...

I Want It NOW NOW NOW!!!
If I don't care about my retirement, it's my business, TIAA-CREF! Why do I need your and David Koresh's permission to withdraw my funds? THEY ARE MY FUNDS!!! GIVE IT BACK!!! UGH! Do you know how many morning meetings I had to sit through? How many "conversations" Koresh and I had? How many times a student knocked on my door when I didn't want to be bothered? And don't even get me started on the girl who lived on my floor who used to eat her boogers and earwax...or the one who shit her pants on the trip...I EARNED THAT FUCKING MONEY!!! NOW GIVE IT!!!!!

23 Days and Counting...
Have I made any progress on my paper? Some. Do I feel confident that my work will be completed by the end of February as scheduled? No. Do I give three fucks? I want to say no, but then I remember...

Oh So Close...
One of my loyal readers, with my best interest at heart (and perhaps a weak spot for Jaded NYers) has laid down the gauntlet on my thesis procrastination with the most tempting offer: finish your paper and I will introduce you to my good friend Slash. SLASH! As in guitar god from GNR and Velvet Revolver. As in love of my life, second only to John Cusack. As in the guy who's tattoo is forever branded to my right leg, that left me limping in pain for a week. SLASH! I had a tiny heart attack when he said it; I may have a real one when the meeting actually occurs...


Beauty at 30,000 Feet
I've been really angry and moody lately, but only sporadically. Very bi-polar of me. One minute I'm up, the next I'm sharpening knives and plotting. I've taken to reading this entry I wrote in my journal on my way to LA last month. For some reason it helps to calm me (and the voices...the FUCKING BITCH-ASS VOICES!); I'll share:
Mountains, city grid, cotton clouds and smog-powered orange skies...I had to stop and smell the roses...I was escaping into my head again...letting the voices take over...

*smooches...while quietly plotting against FICA*
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life is a b-movie
it's stupid and it's strange
it's a directionless story
and the dialogue is lame
but in the he said she said
sometimes there's some poetry
if you turn your back long enough
and let it happen naturally