Today's Bi-Polarity Brought to You By Rediscovered Music

Just yesterday I was in a serious funk (again) because of work, my abuelo and Cablevision so RUDELY canceling my internet service.

But when I got home, I felt a little different, a little more mellow and relaxed. I don't know what exactly corrected my funk, but I figured it had to be a combination of:

a nice evening out with someone new
my babies home for good again
four free tickets to see Sean Paul next month
my Gloria Estefan interview/article
Labor Day Weekend in Montauk w/ family and friends

Then this afternoon, though, I realized what it was. I rediscovered, and uploaded to my iTunes, some CDs I hadn't listened to in a hot minute: Shakira's "Pies Descalzos" and some mixes that a good friend made for me while I did my stint at Waco, plus a couple of new ones I bought. That's right, bought. I may watch cable shows illegally online, but I'll be damned if I get pinched for stealing music!

Click here for a playlist and video footage of what I now consider my Get Happy Mix. I hope it makes you happy, too!

*smooches...so happy, I might just puke butterflies*
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I don't think I ever really knew
I don't think I ever really saw
I don't think I ever really felt
I don't think I ever, ever
How deep is your love?

Diversionary Tactics

I haven't really thought about DR in a hot minute, and then this morning my mom tells me she might have to fly out there this fall because Abuelo is in kidney failure. Kidney-fucking-failure, people. Serious shit. I really don't want to think about it...all my elders are falling apart, and I'm not mature enough to handle that right now.

Ya'll might think of DR as a great vacation spot with hot resorts and yummy food, but to me it will always be the place that killed grandma. And now it's gunning after Abuelo.

So...feeling a little nostalgic and homesick for a place I've only visited three times in my whole life, I read through my enormous backlog of news wire notices from DR...I'm on a list...don't ask.

These three items brought a slight smile to my face:

1,600 MW in renewable energy

Investment opportunities valued at US$2 billion are awaiting the implementation of the Renewable Energy Investment and Incentives law, which is being prepared by the National Commission of Energy (CNE). Alternative energy projects aimed at providing an additional 1,600 MW of energy are planned for the DR. Aristides Fernandez Zucco, president of the National Energy Council, says that the rulings should be ready by mid-September.

Fernandez Zucco, quoted in Listin Diario, said that by the end of the year construction of solar and wind power projects would begin to provide 600 MW of energy for the Dominican grid. These 600 MW will save the country US$400 million per year. Fernandez Zucco says that by next year further installations aimed at providing another 1,000 MW will begin construction.

Fernandez Zucco also pointed out that the DR has the potential of producing 10,000 MW in wind energy and that in 15 years the country could generate 20% of its energy from alternative or renewable sources.

He was speaking during a Workshop on Alternative Energy Planning, organized by the Ministry of Environment and the National Energy Commission (CNE).


Dominican mountain climbers

Four Dominicans are climbing some of the world's highest mountains. Ruben Torres, Luis Manuel Gonzalez, Ivan Gomez and Federico Jovine are on the third trek of their mountain climbing agenda, with a Crowning Europe 2007 expedition.

In 2005 the hikers climbed Monte Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya in Africa, in 2006 they climbed Cerro Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Americas, located in Argentina. This year, they will climb the 6,000 meters of the Mont Elbrus in Russia.

At the top, the hikers will place the Dominican flag.


Haiti and DR doctors work together

The Dominican Medical Association reported on a meeting with Haitian colleagues where they discussed working together on programs to eradicate HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, filariasis and other common medical issues, as reported in Diario Libre.

Haitian Health Minister Robert August visited the DR yesterday and stressed the importance of health issues being dealt with by both countries adopting joint measures.

Cristina Nogueira, representative of the Pan American Health Organization, highlighted how the meeting between Dominican and Haitian governmental and private medical authorities is important for drawing up common policies to tackle these diseases.

*smooches...seriously un-fond of death*
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Ojalá el otoño en vez de hojas secas
vista mi cosecha e' pitisalé.
Sembra' una llanura de batata y fresas,
ojalá que llueva café.

The Side Effects of Capitalism

I don't want to sound like an old, racist white man, but I am absolutely SICK and TIRED of having to speaking with foreigners whenever I have to deal with Dell, MacAfee, or Adobe customer service.

I'm sorry, but the accents are thick as hell and hard to comprehend.

I live in NY and I've dealt with people from all walks of life before, but when I need help with certain technological equipment or software, the last thing I need is a rep from New Delhi who just learned English a week ago explaining to me the intricacies of my wack-ass computer.

There. I said it.

Because it needed to be said!

*smooches...*

Olive Branch, Extended Via MySpace

Knock it if you'd like, but since I returned to myspace this year (or was it last year?) I have reconnected with no less than SEVEN lost friends and relatives: four friends from college and three cousins that I lost touch with when I left Brooklyn in 1993. So it's not just for pedophiles and baby prostitutes; sometimes it's for finding the ones you didn't even know you were looking for until you get that friend request and realize...DAMN! Where have you been? I've MISSED you!!

This weekend I *finally* got back in touch with a cousin from the Penzo side that I hadn't heard from- or about- since were were kids. I felt like he was some dirty little secret we weren't supposed to talk about, but nobody would tell me why. It wasn't so much like he fell off the face of the earth, it was more like they pushed him! And of course, nosy bird that I am, that made me want to know where he was more than anything.

This weekend he sent me that friend request, and at first I was like, "Who da fuck..." and then after careful inspection of his page I realized...my long lost dear cousin!

If you're not familiar with myspace, let me explain that once you've added a new person to your friend list, it is then customary to go through their page, pics, etc, and check out who they have on THEIR friend list. So I'm going through Primo's page and there it is...the page I didn't know I DIDN'T want to find until I actually found it.

My brother.

Readers, last year I was supposed to attend his HS graduation and I flaked at the last minute. I'm not particularly proud of that, but I did it. I've always prided myself in the kind of person who'd never make a promise to a kid and not keep it- it then ruins their ability to trust as adults- but in this case I was a total scaredy-cat and hypocrite. And of course, in true scaredy-cat fashion, I never called him back to explain why, or to make other arrangements. And I've felt so bad ever since.

Truth is, ya'll already know I want nothing to do with my biological father, and that was a big part of why I made excuses to get out of the graduation. Actually, it was THE reason I didn't go. I didn't want to sit in the same row with that man and act like some happy family. Selfish of me, I know.

But my girls are curious about their family, their entire family, and it seems kind of unfair that I should enforce my non-William policy on them. It's too late for any reconciliation with me, I've already accepted that, but K and N had nothing to do with any of this estrangement. It's time I swallowed my pride and just ended this ridiculousness already.

So I sent my brother a message via myspace, placing the ball in his court, letting him know that I want to talk. A slightly less scaredy-cat approach than not talking to him at all.

It feels weird to type that: my brother. I wonder if this will turn out for the best?




*smooches...getting back on my inner peace track*
-------------
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.

I Should Have Just Stayed My Ass Home!

After being cooped up in my hot n humid apartment all day Saturday, I was absolutely ready to party with Lani; wore a dress and everything! She invited me out to a bar in Red Hook where one of her co-workers was celebrating his birthday.

Now readers, by now you must know that any post that begins with, "I went out with Lani..." is gonna end crazy. This one is no different.

From the moment we walked into the bar I said to myself, "She done dragged me to another white-boy dive bar...No good men here!" And I was right. And wrong.

Right because not ten minutes after we get there some old, short Irish dude named Joe offered to buy us a drink. Normally I don't look a gift horse in the mouth but he had this gross, pedophile vibe about him and frankly, I'm just NOT turned on by old white men, so I don't even like to let them think they have half a chance. But I'm broke this week so I thanked him kindly for my drink, made some small talk with his loser buddy and then was saved by one of Lani's co-workers.

And here's where my assessment of the bar situation was wrong.

I actually had a few nice, normal conversations with this dude; we'll call him M. He's not anybody I would have ever picked for myself, because we all know I like my men ethnic with nice tattooed arms...you know, that jail physique. But he was funny and smart, and in Red Hook dive bars, funny and smart trumps nice tattooed arms. It was actually quite refreshing, and I suppose I allowed it to continue because I was curious- white dudes never approach me, something about me intimidating or something, but maybe he felt a bit courageous because I was a friend of Lani's. Oh yeah, and the twins were in full effect...I forgot to mention that part. I gave him my number at the end of the night. We'll see what comes of it.

Now...the rest of the evening...geez, how to even explain...

First, some corny-assd black dude approached me, thinking that I would be able to relate to his little, "white people are crazy" schpiel, but I let him know that I did not. He insulted the music, right when they were playing a song that I liked, and I just wanted to slap the shyt outta him. THEN he thought he could impress me by telling me he spoke fluent Mandarin. AND? How does that help me? Do I look Chinese? Do I? I finally had to ditch him after one dance and gave him the gas face when he asked for my number. He made a last ditch effort to impress me: he's the executive director of some charity and gave me the URL (which I didn't write down). And? How does that help me? Keep it moving, loser!

THEN, one of the buddies that were with Joe the Pedophile (who had since left) came back to the bar, saw that Lani and I were still there, and swooped in on her because she was three sheets to the wind; he invited us back to his place "right around the corner" on DeGraw Street to see the view from his rooftop deck. And of course she thought it was a FANTABULOUS idea. And I'm a good friend, I'll allow everyone ONE Get Out Of Jail Free card...only ONE chance to fuck up and have me pick up the pieces. So this was hers.

I went with her, sending the address via text message to Jack so that he could avenge my death in case I ended up in the canal with my throat slit. And when we got to the roof deck, there was a nice view, indeed, of all the COCAINE on the table.

Now this Jaded NYer has seen it all, and done a lot of crazy shyt, but I do have limits and cocaine is one of them. I've never wanted to leave a place so badly since I applied to Alfred U. in order to escape Brooklyn all those years ago. And with Jack in Indiana, I racked my brain for someone to come bail me out. I thought about calling my cousin, but I didn't want to scare her. Irene said I should have called her, but she has Miss Olivia and the last thing I wanted to do was drag her to a crack house in Red Hook.

So I contacted an old friend who I knew was up and about. He called me right as people started to actually SNORT COCAINE IN FRONT OF ME, almost as if on cue. I seriously felt like a little girl in over my head, and all I could think to say on the phone was "Come get me. I don't want to be here; they're doing coke."

The cavalry arrived no less than 20 minutes later, with friends, to rescue me and Lani, and I've never been so happy to be associated with such "homies" who dropped what they were doing to come and help me. You can't have too many people like that in your life.

Lesson: It's good to befriend a few scary-looking black guys every now and again, the kind who can back up any talk that might be thrown about.

After a life-flashing-before-my-eyes car ride, we arrived at my friend's place, where we slept it off and I was finally able to relax.

With some weed.

And yes, I do see the irony in that, in case you were wondering...

*smooches...really, seriously, honestly getting too old for this shit*
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It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

For me

And I'm feeling good

I'm Bringing Back "The Gas Face"

Similar to being put "on blast" but not as harsh, because as I've already stated, I'm trying not to bring negativity to your inbox. This post contains only about 37% of my usual negativity...a vast improvement.

Those of you not familiar with old skool hip hop will not know that the gas face was originated by pre-Eminem white rappers 3rd Base (MC Search, Pete Nice and DJ Richie Rich), and they were giving it out to wack MCs who needed to be put in their place.




I know some people who, similarly, are full of wack-ness, and are in desperate need of the gas face. They are:

1. Jack's Cousin, for showing up all coked up to a funeral...people still do coke? Like for real?

2. The Chef, for drunk-emailing me at all hours of the night.

3. C...he knows what he did!

4. Mother Nature, for the crappy Labor Day forecast I'm getting for my Montauk trip.

5. Me, for procrastinating at work and then getting mad for being swamped, "all of a sudden," with shyt to do.

*smooches...from the original Brooklyn Queen*
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Season's must change
Separate paths/separate ways
If we blame it on anything
Let's blame it on the rain

I'm Totally Crushing on a D.C. Blogger!

I almost feel like a 14-year-old freshman watching the captain of the football team during my first homecoming as a high school "woman" when I read his blog. That is how deep my crush has travelled.

As a wordsmith, I have to admit a certain level of attraction for men who know the difference between a subject and a predicate and why they are both important in a sentence. But those men usually look (and sometimes smell) like ass, or have a *ahem* preference for other men.

But I have found someone, ONLINE, who both writes well and looks good...and he's straight. I didn't think it was possible, but he really exists.

I stumbled upon his site while browsing through last year's Black Weblog Award winners; his site won Best Humor Blog so I was immediately drawn to it, mostly because I wanted to find it unfunny and consider myself superior to those who had voted for the drivel he was trying to pass off as humorous. But it was actually funny. As in I laughed out loud and almost got busted not doing work at work.

His brand of humor and parody and delusions of grandeur (with a dash of self-deprecation) was such a draw that I felt I'd found my blog soul mate, if, you know, I actually took the time to put more effort into this blog and I believed in soul mates.

But I firmly suspected he was the garden variety troll writer. You know the guy: sits in front of his computer all day, never gets out, barely showers and has looks that even his momma can't love. So color me stupid when I saw his MySpace page. He's actually kinda cute. I'd dare say he is rather attractive. Kind of like a young Al B. Sure! but cooler and fitter.

Of course, this Jaded NYer can't help but think that he probably only dates dark-skinned girls, or 22 year old white girls, or has an Asian or "big-booty-hoe" fetish...and I just CANNOT compete with the big-booty-hoes of the world! I'm probably the only Dominican woman on the planet who can't compete with the big-booty-hoes of the world.

It's almost too good to be true: he's a brotha, smart, employed, funny, good-looking, can write without using IM-speak...can I have him for Christmas? Wrapped in a bow? Under some mistletoe?

So what if he's in D.C.? You forget- I have a D.C. connection.

Hmmm, all of a sudden I miss my baby sister something awful. I should really go visit her...

*smooches...with a real live crush on another human being besides John Cusack!*
---------
You
Soft and only
You
Lost and lonely
You
Strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream

Worshipping at the Altar of Maher

NOTE: This post was edited/updated after it was brought to my attention that the "New Rules" are actually by Bill Maher, not George Carlin as the email I received had initially stated. Thanks, Laura!

I know, I know, my weekend update is soooo loooong overdue, and those of you who I know I went partying this weekend want all the sordid details. But my jobs (yes, plural...and I'm not even Jamaican!!) are creating havoc with my time, energy, attention span and motivation level.

I do have a draft written, I swear I do, but uploading the pictures will take more time than I care to invest on a blog post at this time...something to do with my camera producing TIFs instead of JPGs...it's all so tedious and retarded.

So instead, I want to post for you some funny ass shyt that Jack sent me a couple of weeks ago, that I only just now had a chance to read because I've been too busy procrastinating at work and home reading PerezHilton and watching season 13 of ER online.

In another life- one where I'd actually find short, pale, wrinkly white men attractive- I might have tried to marry Bill Maher.

"New Rules"

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 or 30 years. Because you don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days—he’s mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out of a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Caviar?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids: lucky little bastards.

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols. If you're a grown man, they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from figuring which way to slide my card, entering my PIN number, finding and pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my candy bar.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to "chicken with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule : Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those celebrities playing poker was just too damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting? Oh no wait! They're already doing that. It's called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&Ms. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy, old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes, graduations and getting out of rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn't gift giving, it's the white people’s version of looting.

New Rule: and this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants. After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex with George Michael. I can't even tell if he's supposed to be there, or just some freak with a fetish. I don't want to be on your web cam, dude. I just want to wash my hands.

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to know in months. "27 Months." "He's two," will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place.

New Rule: If you ever hope to be a credible adult and want a job that pays better than minimum wage, then for God's sake don't pierce or tattoo every available piece of flesh. If so, then plan your future around saying" Do you want fries with that?

*smooches...looking forward to a quiet weekend (ALONE!) in bed*
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can we wait just a minute
turn that tv off for a minute
now politics and talkin shit aint really none of my business
lets go and play the songs we used to play
on that old school radio
let the music soothe your soul

How Moms Fuck Us Up

Mami: How are the girls?

Me: Good, they left with C after the party. N took all her new toys with her.

Mami: Aye pobrecitas...spending the whole summer away from their mom...

What I should have said: WTF do you want me to do? We can't afford summer camp in this pinche city!!! I just paid the nanny $800 last week to keep them with me!! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO DO??? Should I quit my job and get on welfare so I can stay home with them? Then what will you be complaining about? UGH!!!!!

What I did say: ...

*smooches...not really emotionally well enough to deal with this shit right now*

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Good morning heartache

You old gloomy sight

Good morning heartache

Thought we said goodbye last night

I turned and tossed until it seemed you were gone

But here you are with the dawn

Ready to Come Out of My Shell

Ever since I started blogging oh so many years ago (way before I even started this blog) I thought about making it my full-time gig. I was truly inspired by people like Dooce's Heather Armstrong, who, along with her husband's online and graphic design work, is able to make a living by writing in her blog a few days a week. She's, like, my blog idol!

I discussed my desire to "go public" with a couple of friends who said to me: "You sure you want the WHOLE WORLD reading your blog?" And that made me halt my plans. Do I want the whole world reading my blog? Commenting on what a bitch I am, and how I'm what's wrong with the world today? And what a bad mother I am? And calling me all kinds of nasty, whorish names?

Yeah. I think I do.

Today I made a proactive approach towards that end by joining a few web rings that help promote or list one's blogs, hopefully generating more traffic on my page. More traffic means I could potentially attract advertisers. Advertisers mean dinero beyond my wildest dreams, just for sitting at my computer and telling ya'll how shitty my last date was and how my pre-teen is driving me to drink.

I don't know about you, but I think I could MOST DEFINITELY live with that.

Except that I recently had a discussion both with Deborah and my latest fling (The Chef...I haven't mentioned him before, but he exists) about selling out. I fought on the side of preserving one's artistic integrity at all costs.

The Chef said he'd rather pay his bills than maintain artistic integrity. It kind of made his stock plummet a little bit. I used the MC Hammer example. True, he wasn't the best artist to begin with anyway but he was popular and was selling lots of albums and had a certain rep for a certain genre or style of soft rap. When he fell off, and then tried to come back with "Pumps in a Bump" and attempted to pass himself off as a hardcore gangsta rapper, I lost all respect for him. At least in his first corny incarnation he was true to his form of music. As the new and improved "Hammer" he was a sell-out wanksta. The Chef's rebuttal? The man had bills to pay and did what he had to do.

Deborah was nervous that she didn't have integrity because she was willing to put her literary works on hold to publish a load of chic lit novels for the huge pay day. This one hit a little close to home but I put it this way: If you already had a reputation for literary novels and were renowned for them, would you then dare to add your name to a chic lit beach read? Wouldn't that diminish everything you'd worked so hard to build up? And in the end (Deborah!) writers like us couldn't write chic lit if we tried. Our form of prose will always come off as literary because that is who we are.

And that was my initial point anyway.

Look, if gangsta rap and chic lit are who you are then that's cool. You've found your place and your audience and you can sleep at night knowing you've done your best. I applaud you and aspire to be at peace like you. But if you're really a country music artist or a poet, and only posed as a gangsta rapper or chic lit author for the paycheck, then you've lost my respect 100%. In the words of Olivia Newton-John's character Sandy in Grease, "You're a fake, and a phony, and I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!"

Which brings me back to making money off my blogs. Is that selling out? Am I compromising who I am for a few greenbacks?

I'll tell you what: If I ever, EVER start censoring my words for the sake of an advertiser, then YES, absolutely I'm selling out. And you will all have my permission to slap the ever-living-shit out of me. Seriously, just line up outside my door and take turns kicking my ass!

But if I can get ads on here by doing what I'm already doing without changing a thing (except maybe removing pics to protect my family and friends' privacy, asking permission before I use names and photos, etc), then I think my integrity will remain intact.

What do you think?

*smooches...desperately looking for a way out of this 9-5 world*

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

Always got to try

No matter how long that shit take

...Whatever stops you from dreamin'

Whatever tries to stop you from livin'

Flip it

Some Trees Fall in Brooklyn

It's bad enough being woken up at 5:30 by a LOUD ASS rainstorm, and then waking up late as a result, on the day I promised myself Id be on time for work, but finding a posse of displaced F-Train riders on the corner of Albermarle and McDonald really shook me to the core.

"What the fuck?" I asked a small Asian woman in front of the Foodtown.

"Train broken."

Broken! I couldn't believe my ears. I thought Bloomberg was on top of this shit...how could my only means into Manhattan be broken?

I walked over to Church Ave. Surely the Albermarle folks were mistaken. I had total faith that the Church Avenue crew would have the real skinny on how I was gonna get to work. I mean, normally I wouldn't give a rats ass 'bout getting to work, but I had an important deadline I had to meet. So my train was NOT ALLOWED to be broken.

At Church Avenue I found the same nonsense, except that the train was not broken, just flooded and seriously delayed because the nearby trains (D,Q, etc) were not running and we were getting all the refugees on the F line.

I called Irene for help and we devised a plan to get me to the BK Bridge, where I'd walk into Manhattan and then catch a cab or a train or bus the rest of the way to work. Which was a sweet deal except the buses that went to the bridge weren't coming.

Then I hear rumblings and rumors of an elusive "express bus" that, for $3 extra dollars, will get me into the City. I followed the rumblers and, lo and behold, the express bus into Midtown... that stops RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY JOB!!! How sweet was that??

But I also found this mess- a downed tree, that was apparently mimicked throughout the nabe. MY NABE! Then I heard stuff like "tornado" and "severe flooding" and all I could think was: God, don't let this be the end... I haven't met John Cusack yet...

In the end, I was only an hour late to work, and I got to take a wicked cool nap in my comfy seat of the comfy express bus from heaven. Not bad for a brush with a natural disaster, eh?!

*smooches...soooo glad I still have time to meet John...or do I?*

-----------

It's the end of the world as we know it

And I feel fine...

Now That It's Over, We Can Talk About It

A while back, I mentioned that a very cute 26-year-old hit on me on the subway. Very cute, B-Boy type complete with tats, who claimed to be a poet. Right away Jack and I were suspicious, but we tried to be big about it and decided to let things unfold.

I gave him my number.

We talked on the phone a few times, and he came to take me to lunch one day, even brought me a rose *BLECH!*, which I overlooked because he admitted that John Cusack was a talented actor and was a fan of old school salsa and merengue. Plus he was a hottie hot hot hot mixture of PRican and Black...yum...

In the course of our talks, he tells me he has a two-year-old son. Not really a big deal- I have kids so whatever. But when I asked the inevitable, "What happened with you and his mother?" he gave me the: "She cheated on me when I had to go away for a while."

Yeah, you read that correctly. Dude was an EX-freakin'-CON!!! And just when I thought Karma was going to leave me alone...

So I'm discussing it with Jack, and we decide that if he went to jail for something violent like murder, I should change my number and find a new job, but if it was something like a bad check I could laugh it off and fuck his brains out for "sticking it to the man" (no pun intended!!! LMAO!!!).

His crime had something to do with some kind of felonious CC fraud thingy, which Jack and I decided was only slightly funny, and that if I decided to keep talking to him I should keep my wallet someplace safe. Like in Utah. And I was cool with that so I did not cut him off.

But then I started to get really irritated with him, and I should have realised he would irritate me when he brought me that damn rose. He would text me things like: I miss you. I need you. I want you. And normally I'd be over the moon over text messages like that- with the right person that shit can be hot. But I'd never even KISSED this guy. Our whole relationship was a bunch of phone conversations and a 30 minute walk to Madison Square Park. How could he possibly NEED me?

Fast forward to last week, the heart of PMS week, right after he gave me shit for being scared of the mouse that was only HALF-CAUGHT on a trap- in my defense this damn mouse was running around my apartment trying to cut loose of this trap and then DID!!! I slept on my kitchen table that night- and when I lost my temper with him he said, "I'm disappointed in you." Ewww. Okay, dad.

He calls me after all that and says, "What's up? How come you don't call me? Don't you love me anymore?" So I start laughing because I think he's shittin' me. But no, folks, he's dead-ass serious! He really wants to know if I've fallen out of love with him, and I've clearly misplaced the memo that says I was in love with him because I said to him, "You're crazy. Talk to me later when I don't have PMS... I have some fries to eat."

And that was the last that I've heard from my 26-year-old ex-con. Too bad, too. He was a total hottie. But the bod and tats- and that pinche red rose- should have been a red flag: He is crazy! Can you imagine if I'd slept with him? OMG! I'd have a stalker on my hands!!

That seals it- I'm NEVER talking to cute guys on the subway EVER again, nice arms and tats be DAMNED!

*smooches...with all credit cards present and accounted for*

-----------

And I would be the one

To hold you down

Kiss you so hard

I’ll take your breath away

And after I’d wipe away the tears

Just close your eyes dear

Touched a Nerve, Did I?

A response from one of my recent exes regarding the "Lost Mojo" post:


Ex (via text): I know it's in there and I know I can get it out. Don't throw in the towel so early.


Me (via text): Seriously- I'm done. I'm going back to celibacy.


Ex (via text): Noooooo


Me (via text): Sorry- you had your shot.


THEN, he CALLS me- AT MY PLACE OF BUSINESS- to supposedly school me on the ins and outs (no pun intended) of lovemaking. Whatever, man.

Here's an abbreviated excerpt of the end of that conversation, after he went on and on like an old man about his poor eating habits and high cholesterol level:

Me: You know what? Call me when you're the Ex of 5 years ago...

Ex: 5 years ago I still had my mom here to cook for me...

Me: Oh, I'm sorry...do you need your mommy?

Then he got mad and hurried me off the phone. But ya'll know I can't leave well enough alone. I emailed him:
any last words before I post our recent chat on my blog?

And he replied:
Are you proud of being FRIGID?

And I replied:
I suppose there are worse things to be. And I wouldn't say frigid...I'd say "not well accompanied" PS- this material is GOLD! Keep it coming, love...

Readers, I can't make this stuff up. A camera should follow me around on a daily basis. This is my real life!


*smooches...googling convents right this minute*
------------
and win or lose
just that you choose this little war
is what kills you
and either/or it's that this war
is maybe also what thrills you

Has Anybody Seen My Mojo: An Experiment in T.M.I.

Somewhere along the way, in the midst of graduation and work and money craziness, it appears that I have lost my ability to, how shall I say, enjoy relations to the fullest.

I've been trying to figure out this mystery, boring poor Jack, Lani, and Deborah with all the sordid details...I mean, I'm on the verge of seeing a shrink, but I still can't figure out what has me so out of sync with my body. I didn't really care about stuff like this when I was married because, frankly, I just didn't. But since I've been a free woman it does matter to me, and for a minute there I was hitting it out of the park like clockwork.

Now? Not so much.

Some of the theories my dear friends and I have come up with are:

1. I'm not relaxed enough. And while it's true that a little weed would clear that right up, who wants to be dependent on that shit in order to have a good time? I have no problem with it if it's an occasional once in a blue moon smoke, but anything more than that and I'd consider myself an addict. So how to relax? Good question...

2. I'm thinking about it too much. But in my defense, I'm a writer. I live inside my head (along with many, many, OH SO MANY voices). It's kinda hard NOT to think about it when you haven't reached the top of the mountain with a partner since OCTOBER 2006- almost a year, folks- and not for lack of trying!

3. The men are wack. I personally was inclined to believe this (and still am), but at some point one has to sit back and admit to oneself that it may not be the other person.

4. I don't like the guys I'm in bed with. This is something I talked over with Lani recently. My thinking here is that, although I talk a good game like I'm a playa-playa, I'd actually rather be...do I dare say it? IN LOVE with the guy. Or at the very least in some sort of *blech* MONOGAMOUS relationship. I'm not convinced, but my Gemini brain forces me to look at all the possibilities.

And finally, my personal favorite-

5. I broke it. That's right, I broke it. There has to be some sort of punishment or consequence for running through men like a can of Pringles (mmmmm...Pringles...), and other activities that shall remain nameless. And this is it. I'm so desensitized that the only way to enjoy relations at this point would be to participate in an orgy that's being videotaped for the "...Gone Wild" series or something...who knows!

Whatever the case may be, I just want to warn whatever department of Mother Nature, Inc. is in charge of this: fix it soon, or there will be nothing keeping Lady Estrogen from occupying my body 24/7. And then NO ONE will be safe. If you thought I was bitchy before...

But I suppose things could be worse. I could be the girl you don't call back.

*smooches...yeah...I got nuthin'*
---------------
Been so long;
I'm making plans to get back to you
Still I'm wondering what to do

And I Almost Forgot...

I video-taped my drunkedness.

Tis here, for your viewing pleasure:

I AM THE MASTER OF FINE ARTS!!!!!!!

Guess who graduated?

ME!

ME!

ME!!!!!!!!

And guess who actually threw up before delivering her student lecture?

Yup, that's me, too. **Note: orange juice and blueberry muffin is REALLY GROSS to throw up!

And guess who received the COOLEST, MOST FANTABULOUS GRADUATION GIFT from their Mami...c'mon, guess!

ME!!!! My mom gave me this:

A special edition, Greta Garbo Mont Blanc fountain pen. I all but burst when she gave it to me! It's so beautiful: platinum coated, mother-of-pearl, light resin body... I can hardly believe it's really mine. I'm so motivated to write a book now, just so that I can use the pen to a) sign my contracts and b) sign copies for my legions of fans!

Highlights of the day:

Getting through that pinche lecture without completely losing it; I even got some "good job" reassurances from teachers and fellow students.

Finding a cute dress at an even cuter price to wear at graduation.

Sangrias at Legal Seafoods with Deborah (GURL! We did it! We're SOOOOOOO DONE!!!).

Seeing my babies again after so long!

Seeing my family there supporting me!

Meeting some cool new writers.

Special thanks to:

Jack, who did oh so much prep work with me on my paper. Amor, you know I couldn't have done it without you!

L (who doesn't read this but deserves this shout out) for all her encouraging words through out this ordeal, and telling me to keep my eyes on the prize: My books, all NY Times Bestsellers and critically acclaimed, so that we can live bi-coastally and travel the world!

Not so great moments:

Waking up late, having to drag poor Irene to Jersey! (sorry, boo... your liquor gift basket is coming soon!)

Almost having to wear a hideous outfit to graduation.

Wack-ass NJ transit and their non-24hr train schedule!

But hey...guess what?

I FREAKIN' GRADUATED!!!!!!!!!

*smooches...now offering my freelance writing/editing services at DOUBLE the price*

----------

Nobody knows what life may bring

It might make you happy, it might make you sad

...but I know there’s a reason for everything

That’s why I keep believing

Whatever is meant to be is gonna be

Gone So Long: A Placeholder Post

Never in a million years did I imagine that my self-imposed hiatus would be so relaxing that I'd actually consider SHUTTING DOWN THIS BLOG. But it was and I did. Those were my exact thoughts: wow...it's so nice to not have to be witty today...maybe I'll never go back...maybe I'll just shut it down.

Then a series of things happened in the days since that thought infected my every waking moment, which, since I'm an insomniac, is like 20 hours out of the day, that made me think, WHOA! Shut it down? That's crazy troll logic!!!

1. My job became really unbearable. Not because anybody is mean or crazy, or because I don't like my job, but because I cannot function for too long in a 9-5 situation and I've just now accepted it. My only way out of the rat race is to write my way out of it. So to stop blogging now, when it appears that blogging is the future of news/information/literature, would be career suicide.

2. I made a string of poor relationship choices in the past few weeks because I knew I wasn't blogging and wouldn't have to cop to it. This site serves as a sort of a morality police for me, and without it I'm hanging out in bars til 3AM and making out with guys at the 7th Avenue F-train station. Hypothetically, of course. And stop rolling your eyes, Irene! I saw that!!!

3. I sat in on Deborah's grad lecture at school. And when we hung out afterwards, I remembered that words are my life. How stupid of me to even think about cutting words out of my life, even if it is in a self-serving blog.

4. A crazy rain storm and tornado attacked my neighborhood. A serious freakin' tornado!! Uprooted trees, flooded the subways, baffled me and my neighbors. How could I not share that with you all??

5. I graduate in 2 days. From graduate school. With a graduate degree. Did I mention that I graduate in 2 days?

6. I hired a housekeeper. She'll be working for me once a month. It's so G.D. bourgeois of me that I can feel my street cred diminishing as I type it. But DAMMIT, I'm busy!! And everybody else throws money at their problems, why can't I????? Never mind that I don't HAVE money...please, honey, don't bother my pretty little head with those kinds of details...

7. I've gained some weight. Not enough that it's incredibly noticeable. But enough that I no longer feel comfortable naked. Enough that a few pieces of underwear purchased after my weight loss are starting to fit "snugly" against my bum, accentuating my ever growing belly. Because I'm stress eating. Because I haven't been pouring out my emotions in my blog.

8. Chocolate Rain. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't introduce you to this YouTube ridiculousness? If for no other reason, I have to keep this blog open to bring you crap like this:



9. A doctor in DR claimed to have the cure for AIDS. And the ridiculousness that ensued after he made this claim is just too good to keep to myself.

10. The mystery of Wayne "Stalker" Carter is close to being solved. And of course, there is no way I can allow that story to unfold without you guys being in on it.

So all of these convinced me to keep this blog going. I mean right there I have ten posts on the burner, waiting for all those savory quips and puns that will turn them into the deliciousness that Not Just Some Sniveling Girl is known for.

That and the fact that while I was typing this post I got goosebumps. That old feeling came back. The one I used to get when I had some juicy tidbits to share and couldn't wait to tell ya'll.

I mean, who am I kidding? This blog is a labor of love. And long after you all stop reading/caring about/enjoying it, I'll probably still be here complaining about the crazy old lady next door who calls me "Lady" and guilts me into doing small chores for her. Wrinkly old biddy!

*smooches...damn, I miss writing that!*
-----------
cada dia pienso en ti
pienso un poco mas en ti
cada vez que sale el sol
busco en algo el valor
para continuar asi

***

Everyday I think of you,
I think a little bit more of you;
Every time that the sun comes out
I look for a bit of courage
to continue this way