I Don't Care If I Never Get Back

Thanks to a promotion by the Dominican American National Roundtable, I took Papi and my babies to the Mets game last night.

If you look at my Twitter updates you can see my play-by-play of all the action, but long story short- we WON, 5-4 in the 11th inning. And best of all... my boyfriend Johan Santana was the starting pitcher, PLUS he got a base hit!!

While I recognize that Shea is one of the UGLIEST baseball stadiums on the planet, I'm sad to see it go *sniffle* I saw my first game there oh so long ago- I was in junior high on a class trip; I forget who we played but it went into overtime and the chaperone decided we had to leave early. Did we win- that I can't remember. It was either something like we were winning in the 11th inning as we left the stadium, but when I got home and checked the score we'd lost, or vice versa. I love my Mets, but knowing them, it might have been the former ;)

Either way, here's my visual account of the game:

Johan, the love of my life







Beltran, the other love of my life





The big board



The beautiful field of dreams


One of my famous, shiteous crop jobs with the Minolta



N and her mismatched socks (I can't get her to stop doing that, so I don't even bother anymore)

N and her "crazy eyes"... I can't get her to stop doing that, either!



The Pirates scored right out the box... we were not amused...





But then we came back and took the lead, and it was all smiles



However, it was, umm, roughly -2.7 degrees outside, so we left at the top of the 6th. We tried to wait until the seventh inning stretch, but I was dealing with an elderly man and a young girl- not cool to let them get cold. But it's okay, though. I'll be back.



We've already planned to attend the May 29th home game, and maybe even the July 25th game that includes... wait for it... MERENGUE NIGHT!!!

Anyone care to join us?

*smooches...glad that I resisted the urge to sneak into the locker room to molest Johan and Carlos*
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but really the only thing that stopped me was the fact that Papi would have never allowed it...

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Title courtesy of Jack Norworth, "Take Me Out To The Ballgame"

A Doorway That I Run To In The Night

I like to play photographer sometimes. I like just walking around the city, seeing some random something, letting it catch my camera's eye. Or better yet, taking pictures of the babies- they're such hams and do it up every time I say "cheese."

I have like five cameras (ridiculous, I know) and each one takes really cool pictures, even if sometimes I screw it up. Sometimes, though, I get it really, really right:

But taking pictures is my other obsession, right up there with writing. I can't even tell you how many photographs are scattered all over this place, or how many undeveloped film cartridges are by my bedside.

I just love the thought of having this visual record of a time and place, and then try and remember the feelings and memories behind them. Like the one with N in her favorite Clifford shirt... boy she wore that shirt to death, and if you look through all my photos of her during that time, nine times out of ten she's wearing that shirt.

Or the one of K in the park at Alfred. It was such a nice day and I didn't have to go to class so I took her to the park and just let her play while I took pictures. We lived in this really claustrophobic loft apartment at the time so it was just nice to be out of the house and to have nice weather (Western NYers, feel me on this one!)

My latest favorite photo is one I took with my phone at Reis the last time I was there with Lani:



This song ran through my head as I was uploading this photo just now.

See how the atmospheric light makes the table look purple? And how the flicker from the votive behind that one bottle of Stella makes you feel like you're at a poetry reading? This was the night I went to see Lani after she'd been mowed down by a cab and was on crutches. I didn't have any alcohol that night but I took a couple of hits from her ex's joint and thought to myself, "Wow, this is so not fun anymore. What am I even doing here? I should be home in bed with a good book."

I find this accidental, taken in a altered state moment photo kind of hypnotic.

And, by the way, it was my last time at Reis. It's been real, it's been fun, but now that the jukebox is gone from downstairs, there's no reason for me to keep going. I suck at pool, the guys are boring and corny and the music puts me to sleep.

It's time to find a new watering hole. I'll always have this last photo, though. I'll always have that.

*smooches...really sad that my favorite jukebox in the world is gone*
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and I'm really mad that I never got a picture of it.

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Title courtesy of Queensryche, "Silent Lucidity"

I Got Nothing To Hide; Nothing At All

I need a wife.

I shared this tidbit of information with Cathi recently as we traded "woe is me" stories about being a single parent. Of course she always wins because she has one more kid than me and they're all pretty young, PLUS she has a dog. I can't compete.

Still, we both agreed that we need wives.

If it weren't for the fact that she's married to life in Massachusetts and I, well, I'm a die hard NYer, we could be each other's wife. It would be perfect: I'd cook and she'd wash dishes. She'd wash the clothes and clean the house and I'd be in charge of all five kids, plus still freelance from home. She'd obviously be the main breadwinner, and every night she'd come home to perfectly behaved children and a hot home-cooked meal.

Then, after we'd tuck the babies in at night, we'd hire a sitter to stay in while we partied like it was 1999. With cops. Or firemen. Or sailors. YUM!

Perfection.

In the meantime, my kitchen looked like this all week:





Cathi... hurry up and marry me already... there was a strange smell in my sink and I was afraid to go and see what it was... the stench was too strong, though, and my OCD about strange smells wouldn't let me sleep.

I finally gave in and, um, you don't want to know what I found but it's gone now. I had to actually don those stupid yellow gloves and turn on the water and WASH DISHES. BY MYSELF. On Lazy Sunday! It's just not fair!

See:










If you value our friendship, you won't subject me to these atrocities any longer. These hands were born to type, not wash dishes like some lowly Mexican bus boy hired hand. If you love me, you'll start packing your bags as soon as you finish reading this post. No pressure, though...

*smooches...with the distinct feeling that my grandmother is turning over in her tomb because I posted pics of my dirty kitchen*
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sorry, grandma! but in my defense... I just didn't feel like washing them...

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Title courtesy of Ayo, "Life is Real"

Conversation, Verbal Elation, Stimulation

Recent text conversation with Jack:

ME: Reviewing a restaurant. Free meal. Yay!

Jack:I hope it's yummy!

ME: Me too. Fancy place. I wore clogs. LMAO!

Jack: Great title!

ME: UR RIGHT!

Jack: FANCY PLACE. I WORE CLOGS. By Rocky

ME: My memoir!

Jack: LEE LIFE, PRADA PROBLEMS. By Jack

ME: LMAO!

*smooches...tired of Jack giving me all these damn writing assignments*

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if it were up to him, I'd have like 10 books and a slew of greeting cards written or in the works, but god forbid I tag him in the blogosphere...

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Title courtesy of Miss Jill Scott, "A Long Walk"

I Wish I Had A Rabbit In A Hat With A Bat

But more than anything, I wish I had more time!!!

Here's what's doin' and brewin' on my mind:

So What Else Is New?
Every one I spoke to on Friday was all up in arms about the cops getting off on the Sean Bell shooting case. If you remember, my position on the incident was this, but also- read the name on the page... I was not expecting anyone to do any time on a case where The Boys in Blue shoot a black man on the streets of NYC. So excuse me if I ho-hummed through the rest of my day.

I know I should care, and I feel for his family and I'm disillusioned about our justice system, but for me it was like, "Cops got acquitted? Oh.. it must be Friday..." Plus Al Farton was up in there talking his usual brand of loose bowel movement, and y'all know how much I LOATHE that greezy muthafucka *growls*

I just do what I need to do to stay under the radar with law enforcement. And not to point a finger at the victim but, hey- you hang out in shady places with shady people, you can't expect your days to be carefree.

Newsflash: Tax Evasion Ain't No Joke
I don't feel bad for Wesley Snipes not one bit. Pay yo' damn taxes, fool! Nobody likes to pay it- NOBODY! But until we can do something about that... PAY YO' GOD DAMNED TAXES! And I don't want to hear the old, "well, his financial advisers are the ones who fucked him over..." Whatever, man!

My mom, a very wise and learned accountant, always told me: be careful what you sign, read everything including and especially the fine print, and follow your money everywhere it goes. I suppose Wes' mom forgot to tell him that. Hey Wes- a word of advice? Don't drop the soap...

I Quit. Finito. Me Fui.
I need money like John Travolta needs to come out of the closet, but these freelance gigs are killing me slow. So I'm quitting. I have to. I never have any time to just BE anymore. It's always, "We need this in a week" or "Can you turn that over in two days?" and in the meantime my 9-5 stays giving me gray hair and my house is literally upside down and I'm TIRED!! So I'm letting two of my clients know that I can no longer work for them. I think it will be better for me to only have one or two side gigs...then maybe I won't feel so stressed. In terms of money, well, I'll just have to cut back on spending...

Can I Please Have This Baby?
I saw this video on MySpace TV and OMG- it melted my Jaded little heart!! This baby is so freakin' adorable it should be illegal! As in cops should bust into his place and grab that guitar out of his hand and and squeeze his cheeks to death! And if it doesn't make you smile then you are the Anti-Christ!



It's Official- I'm Turning Into My Mom
I'm already aware of the fact that I inherited her stankness and "whatever" attitude, but I really realized that I was just like her when the thought of having company over made me utter the words: "I don't want people in my house!" Mari- is it me or was that Mom taking over my powers of speech right quick? HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

There Is Such A Thing As Being "Too Big"
I'm not the kind of girl who discusses or elaborates on such things in a public forum, but I did feel that, as a public service announcement, because I love you all so much, you should know that bigger, is not always better. And bigger could quite possibly rip you in two, make your extremities lose all sensation and send you to the ER. That's all I'm sayin...

*smooches...enjoying my last day and a half as a bachelor*
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seriously, when the babies aren't here, I live like a single man with no home training- dishes all piled up, leaving my clothes all over the place, fridge empty as all hell, bathroom sink a hot mess... in other words, the good life! HA HA HA!!!

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Title courtesy of Skee-Lo, "I Wish"

It Takes Courage To Enjoy It

When the weather turns for the better in New York, why, I can forgive the smokers who blow their poisonous smoke in my face on the street.

Or the annoying guy in front of the Lens Crafters trying to give me a flyer for a deal on glasses I don't need.

I can even forgive the tourists for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to, Gosh Darnit, Lookit All Dem Big Buildings Y'all!

I just point my face towards the sun and soak in some warm goodness.




New York in spring... what can be better than that??

*smooches...looking forward to a great weekend*
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you all make sure you go out and enjoy it, too!

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Title courtesy of Björk, "Big Time Sensuality"

Just De-lovely And Delicious

Yesterday was Lani's birthday... she's been celebrating all week but my old and tired ass only signed up for Wednesday.

We had lofty plans: dinner, Tokyo Police Club over at Sound Fix in Williamsburg, and since we were in the 'hood, a pit stop at Bembe. However... we is OLD, okay?!?! We both showed up to dinner ALREADY TIRED... WTF? Are we 80? And then the Thai food at Sea kicked our asses with a mega-ultra case of the 'itis... damn spicy pad Thai noodles and curry puffs... we never made it in time for TPC (but that was the waiter's fault... he kept trying to push dessert on us. Didn't he see me passed out at the table? Where was I going to fit dessert? I already look like I'm three months pregnant...) and Bembe was out of the freaking question. We could barely get out of our seats let alone shake our respective groove thangs!

So we just found a quiet-ish bar, The Soft Spot, downed some beers and a couple of shots and just laughed and laughed and laughed. Because that's what me and Lani (Lani and I???) do when we hang out- make fun of shit and laugh till we pee our pants!

Then, of course, I pulled out the camera, and Lord Jesus WHY did I do that?? Here's what came of it:



Did I die and somebody forgot to tell me?? I looked a HOT GHETTO MESS! Am I not the palest colored person you've ever seen or WHAT? I look anaemic, or like I haven't seen the sun since the Reagan Administration... who the fuck drained MY blood straight out my face?? Lani keeps threatening to hold me down and put make-up on me... quietly, I might have to let her! I cannot go around with the pale face! I need some sun POST HASTE!!

But the camera was good to Lani, and to our hot new friend Matt the Bartender, who described this one tequila as, what was it again Lani?- a delicious piece of crap? Damn, I can't remember, but it was funny as hell:



And because I fancy myself a young, female, Latina Scorsese (NOT!), we shot this teeny video inside the bar:



But here's the best part of the night; you ready for THIS? After Lani and I part ways and I hop on the L train... this British dude tries to pick me up. Swear on a stack of bibles!! I mean blonde, wiry, accent-havin British dude "chattin me up" on the subway platform.

And this is where you all will realize how truly evil I am, as well as how truly devoted I am to this blog, because even though I found him unattractive and corny and BLECH, I went for a drink with him in Chelsea instead of taking my old, tired, pale 'itis-havin ass home. Because I just KNEW it would produce great material for this post! We grabbed a quick (and free!) beer at Fiddlesticks while he went on and on about health care or something, tried various times to kiss me AND tried to convince me to go home with him.

Because he wanted to, and I quote (here comes the money shot!!!): "kiss and cuddle with me all night."

*crickets*

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! Not on your life, buddy!! Do I look like I just fell off the okie-doke bus? I'm not trying to be a cautionary tale for young Dominican bloggers, no thanks! And he's like "Why not? I'm not a bad person. I'm not crazy." Uh, I beg to differ, home slice; do not confuse my unusually pale face for that of someone who goes home with random dudes who "chat her up" on the subway!

Plus, he ain't had no lips! I mean NOTHING- just a slit in his face to shove food and drink into- gross! He probably had a small, thin penis, too *shudder* nah, man... As attractive an offer as that was (LMAO! I'm pure evil) I kindly rebuffed the kisses AND the cuddles.

When he asked for my number? Yeah, I gave him the Yahoo email address that I rarely check. Kiss and cuddle with that, buddy! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

I finally convinced him that NO I wasn't going home with him and that YES I was taking the subway home and NO he was not going to pay for me to take a cab instead and went on my merry way... only to find myself in the middle of an almost brawl between a crazy homeless dude who didn't want anyone to sit near him, and some dude who looked like he had a knife in his pocket.

But hell if I was moving from my seat- I was tired! I just turned up the volume on Roscoe (that's my LG Chocolate phone/mp3 player for you newbies) and waited it out. 'Cause y'all know- I'm hardcore like that...

*smooches...getting too, too, TOO old for this shit*
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why do I feel like I've written that before? Oh, and check out Lani's versions of what happened last night here and here.

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Title courtesy of Deee-Lite, "Groove Is In the Heart"

And Now All I See For Me Is Better Days

So... I went to the "Being Fearless" workshops a few weekends ago. And before I get into what I got out of it let me say that I tried my darnedest to find excuses not to go because, and you gotta love the irony here, I was AFRAID to go and open up a can of emotional worms that maybe I wasn't ready for. But I went. And here's what's what:

I'm obviously not "cured" of my mental ills- not by a long shot- and I didn't expect to be. It will be years until I can be let out into society without a chaperone. However, I do have to give the workshops mad cool points for offering up suggestions on finding the keys that will unlock our own individual issues. And I'm definitely interested in possibly participating in some weekend meditation retreats at the Omega Institute's Rhinebeck, NY center.

The first workshop I attended was run by Debbie Ford, author of Why Good People Do Bad Things. She discussed embracing our "dark half" so to speak, the "masks" we wear and about addiction being the device by which we try and keep all our suppressed shit in check. This brought up so much for me that I had to hold back so many tears. Other people around me were OK with crying in public, but that shit is still a sign of weakness to me, so I kept acting like my contacts were bothering me. And no, I don't wear contacts.

She was a good public speaker; I appreciated her perception of things and it's probably something I'll continue to explore on my own. One thing I remember most is when this guy stood up to say he didn't want this other (dark, bad) side of him to exist, that it shouldn't have rights and that he needed to destroy it because of the bad things it does. Debbie came back at him with: "Stop hurting that other self and it will stop hurting you and doing bad things." I was feeling that... it was something to think about.

The next one I didn't really care for; it was run by Tara Brach and she was discussing... um... something to do with meditation and taking a "sacred pause"... can you tell I didn't really pay attention? Well, she didn't really say anything substantive, and instead she told us these anecdotes and then waited for our reactions when she was done telling them. To her credit, though, she had a really nice, soothing voice, and when she led us through a tiny guided meditation session, I almost dozed off I was so relaxed. So there is something to the "sacred pause" thing.

One interesting tidbit I got from her talk (when I wasn't busy texting Jack) was that the Chinese word or characters for "busy" is the same for the phrase "heart-killing," and how creepy is that? That made me think- is that why some of us are so unhappy? In this fast-paced electronic world are we soooo busy that it's killing our hearts? Something else to think about and explore further...

I am a lil disappointed in myself for skipping Sunday's workshops, plus the opportunity to meet environmentalist Robert F. Kennedy, Jr, but I was still reeling from my money rant, and really feeling down about having to fire my nanny, plus all the other shit that Debbie Ford's workshop brought to the forefront of my mind.

Things like the unresolved issues I have about grandma's death. And the fact that I don't reach out to the Penzo side of my family (on a side note- they don't seek me out either, but I guess I should be the bigger person??). And that I haven't been truthful about this blog with someone who considers me one of her very best friends. And that I let a small skirmish come between me and Irene, and as a result, my own goddaughter has no idea who I am. And that I have a dark, secret side of me that only Jack knows about, and the guilt of that "bad girl" is crushing me.

So with all that heavy on my shoulders, I decided to just veg out at Minnie's, watching TV, eating, playing cards and just being an unproductive mess.

And oh yeah, I almost passed on the Ghana trip. I was ready to let that opportunity just slip through my fingers out of pure laziness and, well, fear. So I wrote to my professor the day before the deadline- sure that it would be too late to enter- asking if it was too late. I thought I was slick.

However, one of the administrators got back to me to say the deadline had been extended and I had until the 21st... and I could submit it via email. He made it so freakin' easy for me, I'd have been a stupid ass bitch not to go for it. I took it as a sign... and applied. So maybe the workshop did a lil good.

Now... how to overcome the fear of having to let my boss know I'll be out for almost three weeks in July while I attend the Ghana conference... that's the question!

*smooches...a little less fearful than I used to be*
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not to sound like the earthy, crunchy, new-ager that my family accuses me of being, but I see a lot of trips to the Omega Institute in my future. but shhhhh, don't tell anyone!!

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Title courtesy of Janet Jackson, "Better Days"

And It's Me Who's Too Shy To Ask For The Thing I Love

The F$%k it List at The F$%k it List has tagged me...so here goes:

Here are the rules:

1. Link the person who tagged you…

2. Mention the rules in your blog…

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours

4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged

Here are 6 things you may never have wanted to know about The Jaded NYer:

1} I grew up in a "naked" house.

My family is made up of mostly females, so more often than not, no one had any clothes on. Babies were allowed to walk around in just diapers and shoes, and my mom never walked out of a shower in her towel... just girl parts all over the place.



2} I once flew out to California just to hook up with a one night stand I'd met up with a few months before.

In my defense... he kept calling me to see when I'd be out there again, PLUS- he was the f*cking BOMB, okay? (Pun intended!!!) I mean he had the abs, built like a basketball player, size AND girth, just plumb put it ON a sistah... know what I mean? Sadly, we lost touch after he moved to Atlanta *sniffle*

3} Even though we weren't rich, I had some of the most elaborate birthday parties from birth to age 10.

I mean full on costumes, hired entertainment, killer goody bags, food for days, live performances (by me LOL)... my birthdays were an event!! There was the clown party, the Smurf party, the Snoopy party, the Raggedy Ann and Andy party, the Rock n Roll party where I dressed up like Boy George, the Menudo party (yes, THAT Menudo lol)... I had some great ones! Love you, mom... I'll never forget those parties!



4} The stories I'm working on for my first book is actually a thinly veiled autobiography.

Except most of the major events in the stories never really happened or were turned up three notches for dramatic effect- see, that's why I can call it "fiction" MUAHAHAHAHA.

I hope my family doesn't sue me LOL

5} As a teenager, I was pretty involved in the church; I even taught Saturday Catechism classes.

That's right, folks- I, The Jaded NYer, helped to mold young, impressionable minds in the image of Christ, teaching them that God is love, the meaning of the sacraments and all that crap. I did that until I was a sophomore in college, right around the time I decided to leave the church.

Those poor, poor souls...



6} This guy my mom kept trying to hook me up with once tried to sexually assault me.

TRIED being the operative word here... he was this bodega worker straight off the boat and whatnot, and she sent him over to get some food she'd made for the guys in the store. While I had my back turned to get the food from the fridge, he came up from behind, grabbed me and tried to push up on me by force. BY FORCE! ME! He had the WRONG one, I'll tell you what... I don't know where my strength came from because I was like 15-16, skinny as all fuck and with no upper body strength, but I gave him such a shove that he fell backwards, and had this scared look in his eye. That's right, mo-fo... don't EVER try and take it, bitch, not from me, 'cause you might just lose yours in the process!!!

I now tag:

Bangs and a Bun
Lani
Pan
Homer
Irene

And I would tag Jack, but he's having a coronary in Chicago, and I fear that the added pressure of having to write a blog with six facts about himself might just leave his kids without a daddy (love you, boo!).

So get to it people!!

*smooches...so thankful for Minnie, keeper of the family photos, who has a pretty generous lending policy*
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how cute am I in my clown outfit? and in the naked pic? the freakin CUTEST, okay?! And what you know about my red, knee-hi boots? HUH? Don't hate...

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Title courtesy of Paula Cole, "Me"

In Our Family Portrait We Look Pretty Happy

First, Let me be serious...

This weekend, one of my cousins, let's call her Red, "graduated" from a drug rehabilitation program in Manhattan, and a bunch of us went out there to show our support.

For me this was a big deal because as a little girl I used to look up to my cousins- Before my sister was born, I was the baby in our little family, and when I found out what sort of mess my cousin had gotten herself into I did everything to distance myself from her. No one wants to see their heroes fall...

But that was then; yesterday she was embarking on a brand new start, proclaiming her commitment to getting clean, reuniting with us, and eventually, her three kids. It was definitely an emotional time... she didn't look the same, yet she did... does that make sense? I mean, she still has the prettiest red hair I've ever seen on a human (yes- a Dominican redhead, complete with freckles...don't ask why, just accept it), but it's a little thinner now. And her eyes don't sparkle so much as they used to, and her smile has suffered the side effects of drug use, but it was still reminiscent of her old smile.

There was no mistaking that voice, though, a watered down version of a nasally, Fran Drescher-type voice that my grandmother and great-grandmother would always bother her about: Red, deja de hablar por la nariz! It was nice to hear it again, laughing, joking in English and Spanish... it even has a bit of a Southern twang to it, something I guess she picked up from her time living in Florida.

It was also great to see her brother R; when we were kids he was my play father and would order me around... and stupid me would listen! He'd tell me to change my clothes if he felt something was inappropriate, tell me to do my homework, clean my plate, etc... threaten to beat up any dudes who even thought to look my way, stuff an older brother would do... it had been forever and a day since I saw him.

And my aunt- wow, that was a shock; she was there to support her daughter and that was awesome, because for some time there she was all hands-off and refusing to get involved. Yesterday we found out that she's been supporting her daughter throughout the whole rehab process and that really made me happy; while my cousin was giving her speech at the ceremony I shed a few tears of joy for her, and said a quiet little prayer that she can stay on this path.

I always kept myself away from her, not wanting to be involved with addicts and their drama, but after yesterday I can't really do that anymore, because I saw how happy she was to see all of us, how much it touched her, and how much she needed it. I think it's the only way to keep her from relapsing. Not that I'm gonna be all in it and shit; you know, I got babies to look out for, but whatever I can do to help, yeah, sign me up for that.

After my grandmother passed the family just fell apart; we don't really get together the way we used to- ALL of us like we used to. I totally miss my grandmother's family, and I don't want there to be another funeral in order for us to get together.

And now for my usual shenanigans and tomfoolery...

So during the TWO HOUR SERVICE we had to attend for Red's graduation, Minnie and I, of course, proceeded with the inappropriate behavior that we're pretty much famous for. First she texts me about the horrific singing by the choir, and then to point out the dancing fool sitting in the front pew, as documented in these transcripts I got from my phone:

"Torture!"
"LMAO! 'Nobody like Jesus!'"

and

"Did you see Shayquanda gettin down? You know I had to record it!!!"
"I saw you!"

and the "preacher" who gave the "sermon" was a HOT GHETTO MESS, you hear me? I've never experienced such a terrible public speaker in my LIFE! I'm almost afraid to leave Red in his hands... he couldn't motivate a fly to sit on a piece of shit if you ask me! He said stuff like: "you need a man and a woman to be born, right?" Really? Two parents? what a novel idea, genius! and "don't bother trying to be like your parents or your grandparents, because they're just gonna die anyway..." WHAT? THEY'RE GONNA DIE? WHO TOLD YOU THAT?!?!?! And he mocked Catholicism, which usually I enjoy, but the way he did it was just ignorant, and he kept reading from his notes instead of speaking from the heart...

But my personal favorite episode of inappropriateness was notes we passed that said:

ME: There's a cutie over there
Minnie: Girl you are crazy! But I ain't mad, I seen one, too!
ME: Is everybody in here in rehab? Cuz I'm about to slip him my digits. HA HA HA

Mari says we're triflin' for trying to mack on a recovering addict. I say, I'm just doing my part to help him on his journey... he's more than welcomed to substitute me for drugs any day!

*smooches... so so sure that that last sentence just guaranteed my spot in hell*
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as she walked us out, I also noticed how we all just clicked again and assumed our same roles from when we were kids- R and Red as the elder jokesters, Minnie the trouble making bully (yeah, I said it! You threatened me into taking that piece of cake!!) and me, the baby. It kinda felt like home :)

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Title courtesy of Pink, "Family Portrait"

All Night You Can Call Me

I usually hate getting junk mail or forwards in my email, especially if I'm expected to "pass it on" or whatever, but every once in a while I get one that is so deliciously fabulous that I want to find the person from which it originated and give them a big hug and kiss.

Like the forward I just got from a friend, subject line: YUMMY!, featuring the most scrumptious looking brothas... and yeah, a lot of them look like maybe they don't play for my team (Mr. Handcuffs, I'm looking at you...), but a girl can dream (and salivate), can't she:

*smooches...all of a sudden feelin' a little faint*
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when did this room start spinning? And what is this tingly-ness circulating throughout my body?

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Title courtesy of Ginuwine, "When We Make Love"

...Been Raining All Night...

I have a full report on the "Being Fearless" workshops I attended last week in the works, but as I reflected on what I got from the whole new-age, self-help experience, I perused some of my old journal entries, sort of reflecting on my life so far, and this particular entry, titled Life, Or Something Like It, something I had posted on my old MySpace page before I cancelled the account, really jumped out at me.

It was written shortly after THE BREAK UP HEARD AROUND THE WORLD in August of '06, while my girls were with their dad for the summer and I was still working in The Basement, right before I shed 20-some-odd pounds from sheer depression. Yes... I actually used the "D" word, because what else would you call going through the day like a robot, not eating, not sleeping and not caring? I'm woman enough to admit it.

To enhance the trip through the eye of my internal storm, download this song, and maybe do a few shots of whiskey.

*****

5:30 AM- alarm on cell phone, tucked under my pillow in case of 4AM phone calls, goes off. I shut it and go back to bed, aware that I will eventually need to get up.

7:30 AM- force myself out of bed. Well actually my couch...I don't use my bed anymore...

7:40 AM- turn on JOSHUA, check my email, write a little, surf a little.

8:00 AM- think about making breakfast and decide not to. Drink water instead and hop in the shower to re-wet my hair that I didn't blow out- AGAIN- the night before.

8:30 AM- get dressed, brush my teeth, shut JOSHUA down, head for the train...another day in the basement.

9-ish to 5:30 PM- pretend to be busy at editing and writing bullshit articles at my bullshit job. Exchange witty conversation with Marcin and Natasha. Try to avoid Paula, Jack, Hope and Bluma like the plague.

5:35 PM- Marcin and I walk to the train, relieved to be out in the fresh air, and ride home discussing very important topics like him moving to France to be a photographer and me moving to England to study...whatever the hell I decide to study, and later meeting up in Portugal to "hang out" and get coffee.

6:15 PM- I'm home. I load up JOSHUA again, only this time I read my soap updates, surf the job boards and myspace, chat a little with school chums and update my other blog (no you cannot have the URL...)

7-ish PM- check in with LeKisha for our daily gossip fest. Think about cooking but don't. By this time I'm either way into my iTunes playlists or watching a DVD; depends on the alignment of the stars.

8:00 PM- I finally start writing, moving my manuscript along, making notes to myself for things I need to do or how I need to end the stories.

9:00 PM- I get a little hungry. Maybe I'll eat some baby carrots and spinach with some pasta, maybe I'll get broccoli and brown rice from the Chinese. Depends on the phase of the moon.

10:00 PM- I'm antsy...my wrist hurts from so much typing, my brain hurts from so much thinking, my ass hurts from so much sitting. I make phone calls and go out and look for trouble.

10:30 PM- I find some trouble. I stay with trouble till about midnight then head back home to write some more.

12:30-ish to 2, sometimes 3:00 AM- I write some more; taking breaks to watch Miranda and Steve on SATC and to surf the 'net.

2 or 3:00 AM- I finally force myself into a hot shower; go over my day, think about my agenda for the next day; shed a few tears, curse a few people, plan my escape from NY.

45 minutes later- I pop in a DVD; I won't watch it, I just need it to go to sleep. In just a couple of hours my alarm will go off and I'll need to get some sleep.

*smooches... so grateful to Marcin and Natasha for keeping me sane, even if they didn't know it at the time*
------------
I read stuff like this and realize yeah, I feel shitty now, but I was downright rock bottom then... I'm surprised I didn't swallow a bullet or something!

----
Title courtesy of Phil Bensen, "Way Home"

And Nothing Is More Powerful Than Beauty In A Wicked World

Dear Makers of Women's Apparel:

Please understand once and for all that not all women are a size zero, or have the body of an adolescent boy.

Guess what? Some of us have breasts *THE HORROR!* and curves and a lil extra junk in the trunk.

And frankly, I'm tired of having to buy shirts one size bigger than I need them to be, so that a perfectly good photo op:



won't turn into a peep show:



Think of the buttons- the poor, poor buttons- on my shirts. The stress they deal with on a daily basis, trying to keep it together so that all of 23rd Street doesn't get a peek at my purple bra. WON'T ANYBODY THINK OF THE BUTTONS?!?!

And don't even get me started on how warped the designs get on my graphic tees... poor t-shirts didn't know what fate awaited them when I purchased them...

I implore you, keep this in mind next time you design a shirt. A medium should fit a medium. I shouldn't have to buy a large and then get it taken in at the waist. In fact, maybe you should reimburse me for the cost of tailoring my shirts, hmmm? Yeah, that's what I thought... fucking haters...

Sincerely,
The Jaded NYer

*smooches...doomed to a life of always telling guys, "Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here!"*
------------
this post brought to you by the difficulty I had in finding a top to wear to work today that wouldn't get me sexually harrassed, and dedicated to the dude on the F-train who's eyes were glued to my tits yesterday... did you get a good enough look, asshole? Take a picture next time!

----
Title courtesy of Amos Lee, "Soul Suckers"

...And The Chemistry Just Isn't There...

I have this old Yahoo account that I hardly ever check but never took the time to delete. On Monday I logged on, found three-trillion messages (all SPAM!) and some IMs from dudes with whom I used to chat. Nothing too scandalous, at least not on my part; these dudes would send me naughty messages and I'd always turn it into something innocuous, and seeing as I'm so freakin' charming they wouldn't get mad and actually have "normal conversations" with me.

Not to say that I didn't participate in the naughtiness from time to time, but I'm moody- catch me at the wrong time and I won't really care how nice your penis looks in your default pic... if I ain't in the mood I just AIN'T in the mood, OK? But I digress... (that was for you, Minnie)

ANYways... one such dude, who first contacted me with the very charming opening line of, "Want to watch me jerk off on my cam?" way back when, saw me online and was like- "Long time... where have you been?" We chatted for a bit, and it reminded me that despite all his crazy, exhibitionist perversions, he was a funny guy, and he was providing some much needed comedy relief as I tried to get through my taxes.

He was trying to convince me that we should meet in person, and I'm all like: "dude I'm soooo over that..." as if I have anything else going on... But then he started in with the, "Can I send you something?" And I'm like: "Is it naughty?" And he's like: "No, is that okay?" So I'm like: "Sure, go for it" and it's a picture of him. Him and his blond, blue-eyed self.

[insert the "WAH WAH WAH" music here]

He was not ugly; I'll give him that, but I've never been attracted to blonde guys. Ever. White dudes that have caught my eye look like Mark Wahlberg (...feel the vibration!), or that sexy Croatian doc from "ER"- dark hair with blue eyes can be very, very, very sexy (if there are no brothas around) and I can get on board with that 100%. Uncle Jesse from "Full House" was a definite Hottie McHottie. Rob Lowe? I'm all over his pasty ass. But blonde guys??? They just look so pale and bland and blah...

He noticed that I was quiet and writes: "Did I ruin any chance of ever meeting you?" And y'all know I come with it and wrote back, "blondes are just not my thing" And he wrote, god bless his horny little heart, "but it's dark blonde!"

I had to laugh! Then he wrote, "Can we still be friends?" And I know he thinks that being my friend will get him an in, which it won't, but I wrote back, "of course!" cause you know what? He's a bartender, and I make it a point to always know all the "B" people I can... bartenders, busboys, bodyguards, bouncers, etc; they're usually the ones who hook you up right proper!

And yes, I know what you're thinking: "This bitch is so superficial!" Your point being?

*smooches...laughing at my own shallowness*
------------
but I'm sure he'll be alright; like I said- he ain't a troll, just not what I prefer...

----
Title courtesy of New Edition, "You're Not My Kind of Girl"

You're Kept Alive And Polarized With One Thing In Mind

The last time I was on here promoting something it was for the poverty-stricken in Haiti. Before that I urged you all to get behind Mayor Bloomberg's PlaNYC. And occasionally I may have emailed some of you a petition to sign for the Environmental Defense Fund. All are near and dear to my heart.

Today I come at you with a teeny-tiny plea to help out the Food Bank of New York City, which is feeling the burn of the "recession" that no one wants to admit we're in. Basically, the cupboard is bare, people!

As a kid, even though all the grown-ups in my family worked and worked hard, long hours, there was no way we would've made it through 100% without the charitable organizations that provided food staples or free meals for kids in the summer. I'm not too proud to admit that I ate many a sandwich made up of government cheese, and that for a minute there, I thought "No Frills" was an actual brand. Whatever. My folks did what they had to do and I'm still alive to tell the tale.

Now, I'm not rich- y'all know that. But I'm not starving either (as evidenced by this gut). When I saw a post on Wendy's blog mentioning the Food Bank with the accompanying article stating that the wells were running dry, I felt compelled to help out.

I'm not saying anybody reading this has to help, but if you can spare even $5 for a good cause, the hungry people of NYC would much appreciate it. I've also requested to lead a team for a virtual food drive; those who want to be a part of my team, email me for more info.

*smooches...figuring, better to spend a Lincoln on charity than on another artery-clogging 3-piece chicken strip meal from McDonald's*
------------
besides, it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside knowing you did something so good :)

----
Title courtesy of Velvet Revolver, "Set Me Free"

I'm Sure You'll Have Some Cosmic Rationale...

I...
Can't...
Even...
Think...
Straight...

I waited til the last minute, thinking I was all set and too cute; now it's tax time and Uncle Sam ain't even trying to hear it. And that pinche magazine sent me the WRONG 1099, goddammit!!! That money was NOT distribution from an annuity you fucking morons!!! UGH! I want to cry... I WANT MY 1099-MISC POST HASTE BITCHEZ!!!!!!!!

So, um, I need to take a blog break. If you'll excuse me, I need to call somebody in Miami and find out WHAT KIND OF MICKEY-MOUSE OPERATION THEY'RE RUNNING DOWN THERE!!!!!!!!

I'll be back tomorrow with more hilarity, wisdom and all of the answers to the mysteries of the universe...

*smooches...mad that my mom won't do my taxes anymore*
------------
I mean, she's a freakin' accountant; why can't she hook her baby up??? The only good news is that, as usual, my refund will be FAT; don't hate- I EARNED that freakin' money. Just ask my grey hairs!

----
Title courtesy of Billy Joel, "Pressure"

...Que Dulce Fue Tenerte Dentro...

(In order to enhance your reading experience, play this song.)

I had the sweetest dream about an old lover. Not the kind where you wake up and say, Damn I miss them, but rather the kind where you wake up and think, Damn, I gotta find that again.

I was going to go into all the details here, but no, I want to keep this for myself. I want to bask in it and smile all day at this little secret something that only I know-- this really wonderful dream that had me cheesin' upon waking up, humming a tune as I did the girls' hair, walking to work with a lil pep in my step.

This is either the beginnings of the up-cycle of my fake manic depression/bi-polarity or I may be on the cusp of the cusp of being open to someone new.

Enjoy the tune :)

*smooches... seriously thinking about petting a dog or doing a cartwheel or something*
------------
it might just be the weather; Spring is making me all romantical and shit...

-----
Title courtesy of Bebe, "Siempre Me Quedara"

So What If Right Now Everything's Wrong?

Happiness is...

...smelling the faint perfume still lingering on Grandma's fan
...huddling under my quilt with the babies watching old sitcoms on Netflix.com
...a steaming bowl of sancocho with a plate of white rice when it's hella cold outside
...finding a check in the mail; payment in full for a job well done
...a roof over my head in a quiet & safe section of Brooklyn

...still having options
...five good songs in a row on my Pandora station

...a Saturday with no kids, no commitments, no chores
...shutting off my cell phone
...reading Martha Stewart Living from cover to cover

...pajama weekends at my mom's
...clean towels that smell like Downy
...Strawberry Fields, the Great Lawn, and the Shakespeare Garden
...fantasizing about relocating to Oxford
...really loud heavy metal, really smooth R&B

...walking to the Häagen-Dazs on 7th Ave
...smelling a baby's neck after you give them a bath

...playing records for the babies from "back in the day"
...pizza and wings from Blasdell Pizza *drool*
...John Cusack movies, Stephen King books, 80's and 90's sitcoms, old boleros

...looking in the mirror and being okay with who looks back at me


*smooches...just because the weather is a-changing*
-----------
feeling a lil better after yesterday's rant; sorry I had to be on here showin' my ass, but sometimes even Jaded NYers need to blow off some steam.


----
Title courtesy of Sheryl Crow, "If It Makes You Happy"

We Think We Know What We're Doin', That Don't Mean A Thing

How is it that a person could have a full-time salary position in addition to a few freelance gigs and still search the couch cushions for money to make ends meet every month?

Easy, if that person is a divorced, two-kid-havin' writer.

I don't mean writer as in "writing is my passion so I have this blog and I keep a journal and write short stories on weekends" writer, I mean this is my job description on my company's website:

"The Jaded NYer is the Senior Staff Writer, in charge of client communications, blah blah blah..."

And that seems all fancy and professional and important, but it loosely translates to:

"The Jaded NYer earns $2.50 an hour, only gets 1/2 hour for lunch, and can't take vacation days whenever she wants."

It's pretty much like that for most writing positions in NYC- trust me, I've looked- unless you write grants or something specialized and corporate (I'm not that desperate yet), or your name is Candace Bushnell. But I can't get those specialized jobs because I don't have the experience (or interest!), and I can't get the experience because no one will hire me and give me a shot at them. So I here I am stuck in PR, slowly losing my self, my soul, and my love of the written word.

Oh yeah, and my financial security, as if I ever had it to begin with.

I do acknowledge that I've made some poor decisions with regards to money. I shouldn't have taken all those trips in 2006; the formal divorce proceedings could have waited a bit while we remained separated; my new phone wasn't 100% necessary; I didn't HAVE TO throw those big parties for my babies (oh, who am I kidding- of COURSE I did...). And all the money I've wasted on take-out and food that I let spoil in my fridge would make you cry.

Other decisions that are coming back to bite me in the ass were necessary at the time- the student loans I needed to get out of the ghetto; the credit cards that helped me survive after I left The Waco School For Girls and was unemployed for like three months; the expensive, yet small as hell, apartment in the safe neighborhood- I needed all of that.

But coulda, woulda, shoulda never made anything better... so let me not even dwell on this mess.

I guess I was naive enough to believe that I'd have all these degrees and credentials under my belt and would be able to make enough to pay for it all... boy is there egg on MY face! I should change this blog to The STOOPIT NYer, for real!

Well, kiddies, I'm here to tell you that it is NOT enough.

Food prices are through the roof and my kids eat as if tomorrow will never come and they have to eat everything before the Second Coming, lest Jesus Christ find leftovers in the fridge.

My nanny earns (well, earned... by the time you read this I will have already let her go) as much as I do, and if my ex weren't chipping in half I'd pretty much be handing over my paycheck to her, my landlord and Foodtown.

And my kids are outgrowing the apartment- yes, it IS that small... they have these long awkward limbs that keep tripping over and bumping into shit all the live-long day. I need to find something more spacious which will translate to at least a couple hundred more in rent if I stay in my area, or a HUGE reduction in safety 'cause I'll have to move to *GULP* Bushwick or something.

So when people ask why my thesis edits aren't done, it's because I had to use my time combing the freelance writing job boards to try and supplement my income. And if you want to know why I'm washing clothes out in the sink, it's because it was rent week and I had nothing left over to go to the laundromat. And why didn't I go to that fabulous party and live it up like I was known to do in the past?

Ask Sallie Mae... bitch just jacked me for my paper...

*smooches... closing comments because this is a rant that needs no co-signers*
------------
Hope this wasn't too harsh; just know this rant and anger is directed inward... I'll be better tomorrow. And if you have any job leads send them bitches over post-haste LOL

----
Title courtesy of Cyndi Lauper, "Money Changes Everything"

Tanto La Quiero Que Salgo A La Calle Sonámbulo

From the DR newswire:

This happened in the DR?
After so much talk of greedy politicians earning high wages, a report from San Juan province tells of the mayor of Sabana Alta, Carlos Julio Orozco, who has reduced his, and the town councilors', wages in order to prove that progress is possible with a small amount of money and good administration.

The mayor has also stopped taking his allowances and representation costs. As if that were not enough, Orozco also donates his small salary to non-profit organizations and social projects. But his humility isn't enough to spare him the anger of local politicians who are not happy about the salary reduction.

According to the new municipal law, salaries are now RD$9,000, down from RD$12,500. Orozco says that the Sabana Alta municipality receives RD$583,000 a month, which has been used to pave all the streets and sidewalks, complete the construction of a funeral parlor and some other projects.

Young people speak out
Although more often than not young people are apathetic when it comes to politics and corruption issues in government, a group of young activists is proving that this is not always the case. For the second time this year a group of young people gathered in front of the Supreme Court building to protest against the highly controversial Sun Land corruption case.

The group members were dressed up in mime artist costumes, and holding up signs expressing their concerns about the case, which has almost completely disappeared from the radar. A spokesman for the group, Lorenzo Losado, said that the group organized the protest as a way of putting pressure on the SC judges to rule on the case.

Hipolito on the campaign trail
No, you don't have to worry, former President Hipolito Mejia is not running for president in May, but he is throwing his support behind current PRD candidate Miguel Vargas Maldonado.
Mejia was campaigning in San Cristobal yesterday, and he referred to the people who might not vote for Maldonado because of Mejia in his usual blunt manner. "Don't vote: they can go to hell. Those are the same losers as always." Mejia said that yesterday's campaign outing was "just to warm up the engines", and that he would do his best to support Vargas.

The downside of technology
While helping create a more connected world through advances in radio, television and internet technology, Dominican Telecommunications Institute (INDOTEL) president Jose Rafael Vargas believes that these developments have also led to the promotion of sex, violence, prostitution, and domestic violence and abuse.

During a conference on the theme of "New Technologies: Opportunities and Risks in the Family" Vargas called on families to remain alert and supervise the content that children are exposed to. He said that these new technologies aren't meant to replace the values that a child should receive at home. During his speech, Vargas quoted the startling statistics that 11 is the average age for a child to come into contact with pornography for the first time, and that one in seven children get online invitations to join a sex club.

Human rights going to charge
President of the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH) Dr. Manuel Maria Mercedes has announced that the CNDH will file charges against National Police Chief Rafael Guzman Fermin next week for "extrajudicial murders" in confrontations with the police. According to Mercedes, the total number of such killings is 160, and not 145 as is claimed by the police.

The human rights campaigner is taking this case a step further by s seeking justice for all extra-judicial murders that have taken place in the last 10 years. Mercedes says that these murders constitute a grave violation of human rights, which are guaranteed by national and international law.

Mercedes, quoted in Hoy, made the claim that from the time of Pedro Jesus Candelier to the current Police Chief's tenure, 5,000 people have been killed extra-judicially and 2,000 of these can be attributed to Candelier.

First food now this
First it was food, and then it was construction materials. Now medicines are the latest products to experience steep price increases. In some cases, according to pharmacies, high demand medicines have experienced 9% and 36% hikes. Although price increases seem to be constant, so are the excuses to justify the skyrocketing prices.

Ho Chi Vega, president of the Dominican Association of Pharmaceutical Industries (Infadomi) and vice president of the Association of Pharmaceutical Representatives, Agents and Producers (Arapf) Fernando Ferreira say that the increase in raw materials and the devaluation of the dollar, among other things, are behind the price increases. Ferreira says that the equation is simple, considering that producers need to find more money to buy raw materials.

No rice for the beans
After much debate on whether price increases in the DR have been real or fictitious, the Dominican Rice Factory Federation (ADOFA) president Miguel de Moya admitted that rice prices have gone up, but tried to downplay the increase by saying that it has only been worth between 12% and 14%.

De Moya says that at this very moment a 125lb. sack of rice costs RD$1,750, up from RD$1,650. He justified the increase on the grounds that fertilizer, which used to cost between RD$500 and RD$700, now costs between RD$1,200 and RD$1,400, and that the price of fuel has doubled, increasing freight and transport costs.

Chickens in Haiti
Listin Diario is reporting that although the ban on Dominican chicken and egg exports to Haiti is still in effect, a loophole is allowing Dominican exporters to get their goods across the border. The paper quotes a report by Agriculture Minister Salvador Jimenez which explains that through secret deals, that aren't necessarily illegal, Dominican exporters are still selling their eggs and chickens to wholesalers in Haiti. Jimenez says that the Haitian government has been lax in enforcing its ban on Dominican chicken and derived products, although there is no indication whether the official ban would be repealed, or when this was likely to happen.

The ban has been in place since January when several bird flu cases were detected in the DR. Jose Lopez, president of the Dominican Chicken Producers Association (ASOPOLLON) says that he has no knowledge of these backroom deals with Haitian wholesalers, while Jimenez added that he doesn't know the volume or the value of the cross-border transactions.

Shower in the rain
The Emergency Operations Center (COE) has issued a 36-hour rain warning for Puerto Plata, Espaillat, Maria Trinidad Sanchez and Duarte provinces. The Meteorological Office (ONAMET) is forecasting rain for between 24 and 36 hours.

Warnings have also been issued for small ships sailing off the Atlantic coast, in the Bay of Samana and through the Mona Passage. COE director Juan Manuel Mendez has warned members of the public to stay away from rivers because of the risk of flash floods.

*smooches...eager to invest my first million towards helping my people out*
----------
and yes, I know I was born here and swear by NYC, but there is something that pulls me to that damned island. Can't explain or deny it...

----
Title courtesy of Fernandito Villalona, "Sonámbulo"

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Thursday's "One Thing Different"-- I did not surf the 'net like a mindless zombie... and all the previous stuff still stands, too :)

These Things Go Through Your Head, When There's A Man On Your Back

I'm not even going to make believe I have one iota of an idea of what it's like to be a rape victim.

*knocks on wood*

But I saw on MSN.com the other day about a t-shirt being sold on scarleteen.com that simply says, "I Was Raped."

Would I have the balls to wear this shirt if I were that victim? With what little I know about myself I can tell you that most likely I'd be holed up in some insane asylum instead, without much say in what I get to wear.

The maker of the the shirt believes that wearing the shirt will open a dialogue, remove some of the stigma and lift the veil of silence off the subject. Others feel some victims may not be ready for the ramifications of "outing" themselves in such a fashion (no pun intended).

My concern: do we really want something so serious on a t-shirt, on sale next to the "I'm With Stupid" and "Don't Feed The Models" shirts? And if so, what's next? "I Had An Abortion" tees? Or maybe "I Was Shot In A Gang War" shirt- yeah, that'd be cool. Or even better: "I Was In A Head-On Collision With A Semi, And All I Got Was This Lousy Paraplegia. Oh, And This T-Shirt, Too."

I get what the maker of the shirt is trying to do. I'm just not feeling how she's trying to do it.

*smooches...just not getting the point of the shirt*
-----------
Am I way off base on this one??

----
Title courtesy of Tori Amos, "Me and a Gun"

-----
Wednesday's "One Thing Different"-- I came home and cleaned my kitchen INSTEAD OF watching Season One of Charles in Charge online while laying on the couch... plus, still holding strong on the Perez boycott and not eating after midnight!

Oh, Yes. I'm Fine. Everything's Just Wonderful.

JUNOT DIAZ IS A PULITZER PRIZE WINNER!!!!!!!!!!!!

His novel, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, was just awarded the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for fiction.

I am OOZING with pride and happiness and just WOW!

A Pulitzer Prize. That is the dream right there, baby. I'm so happy for him you'd think he and I were homies or something!!

*****

In other news, I have to tell you about the IGNORANT-ASS DUM-IN-A-CAN I just came across in a bodega in Bed-Stuy.

So I'm at a bodega buying some cold-cuts for Papi, right, and when the guy behind the counter didn't understand me in English I had to give my order again in Spanish. His stupid ass crony then approaches me and says [in Spanish], "Oh, you speak Spanish? Where are you from?"

ME: Dominican Republic
HIM: What part?
ME: No part... I was born here
HIM: But where's your family from?
ME: the capital
HIM: Oh, yeah, I figured because the capital is full of black people.

[insert close-up shot of me with my jaw on the ground]

He said it with this stupid Cheshire-cat grin and this tone, that all I could think at that moment of shock was:

Did this maldito, imbecil, cretino, cabron son of a bitch just call me a City Nigger??

And just for the record- ALL of those assholes up in that bodega were my same complexion... WHAT THE FUCK? Have you SEEN a mirror, pedaso de mierda?? You ain't exactly John Q. Whitey, okay?? YOU'RE BLACK, TOO!!! Sorry to have to break it to you, you fucking racist, self-loathing motherfucker!!

And who talks like that? WHO TALKS LIKE THAT?

I mean, I should consider myself lucky to have lived almost 33 years without ever having been discriminated against, but I never thought it would be at the hands of my own freakin' people!!! What is really upsetting is that he's obviously ignorant, but I let him get to me! Like right as I type this I want to go back there and beat him with the Hostess pies display. I really do!!!!!

They were seriously lucky that I'm the person that I am and not some ig'nant ghetto bitch who ain't scared to cut a muthafucka and go to Rikers... they are sooooooo lucky I got some damn sense because that whole situation could have ended really badly...

Needless to say, I'm boycotting their racist ass! The DELI GROCERY on the corner of THROOP and DEKALB will never see another half a penny from me or mine EVER again!!

*smooches...for Señor Diaz on his 'Wondrous' occasion, but not for his country-ass brethren!*
------------
I hate that Junot's special news had to be tainted with that ish, but what can I do? I need to report the news while I'm still angry enough to write a good post.

----
Title courtesy of Lily Allen, "Everything is Wonderful"

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Tuesday's "One Thing Different"-- I didn't eat anything after midnight. and I STILL didn't visit Perez...

Cada Día Pienso En Tí

My Papi is in town from Santo Domingo, and I'm a happy, happy, happy camper.

When I saw he was calling to say he arrived safely my heart actually skipped a tiny beat, because I knew his voice would be on the line and HE himself is a mere 40 minutes away by subway.

My Papi is the best dad a girl could ever have- just ask Minnie or Mari. We each have our own biological dads, but none of them compare with Papi; he's like Super Dad.

We all grew up in his house, this big, long railroad apartment on Patchen Avenue in the heart of Bed-Stuy on the border of Bushwick that was filled with more beds than a Sleepy's showroom. Because at one point or another we all lived and/or slept there. That's just the kind of grandparents I had.

Papi used to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to work at some factory in Union City. Til this day I still don't know what he did, but it paid him enough to keep us housed and fed, and paid for my Grandma's doctor's visits and trough of meds. He always had a cap or Kangol to cover his bald spot, was the first person I ever knew who had a tattoo, and wore the same navy blue work pants everyday except weekends.

Nights when I slept over I always knew what time it was by the smell of Papi's Cafe Bustelo percolating on the stove, and I hate the way coffee tastes but the smell of Cafe Bustelo always turns me into a 9yr old. Always.

He used to make us sweet, sweet peanut brittle and thick banana milkshakes. Papi would let me sip his beer and taste the bitter malts mixed with sweet condensed milk he would drink at night. On weekends he would play the same cassettes of sad-as-fuck boleros as loud as he could, that we all knew the words to, with a 12-pack of really tiny Budweiser's. I actually miss those songs.

Papi taught us to play cards and watched cartoons and baseball with me; or rather I with him. He went to all my birthday parties and graduations and sacraments (even though he held a deep disdain for the Catholic Church) and gave me piggie-back rides even after I was WAY TOO OLD for that. But he was strong, though. This man worked out on the regular, even made his own weights using paint cans, cement and a metal bar... I was never able to lift that thing!

Sometimes on Fridays he'd come home with take-out; I don't remember if it was a treat for us or a break for Grandma. And he never beat us, never raised a hand (well not me and Mari, anyway. Minnie on the other hand... LOL), just scolded us from time to time.

And one time he came home bleeding; he'd been robbed on his way home of his watch or something and I thought I would die on the spot-- someone hurt my Papi and could have taken him from me. It was one of the scariest moments of my childhood.

I remember he took me to see Bruce Lee movies as a kid and OH what joy!! A movie featuring a hot, kick-ass Asian with Papi!! I also remember that he let me practice corn rows on what hair he had left, god bless his loving heart.

And when he moved us to New Jersey he lifted the ban on letting us go outside to play, even went so far as to teach us to ride bikes and let us ride them... ALL IN THE STREET AND EVERYTHING!!

After he and Grandma moved back to DR, after he retired, there was a noticeable void in the family, but he assured me, over the phone, that my room was waiting for me whenever I wanted it.

I'll never ever ever be able to erase the sound or sight of the man I've always looked up to CRYING in my arms at Grandma's funeral, saying, "Que voy a hacer sin mi vieja?" But I also know that that's the exact moment I understood the meaning of true love. Taught to me by my Papi, just like it's supposed to be.

*besos...for my chain-smoking, loud-ass, sweet-ums, Papi... Bendicion, Pai*
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and have I mentioned that he is all this to me and NOT a blood relative? I believe I have, but I wanted to stress that detail again: HE'S MY MOTHER'S STEP-FATHER.

Yeah, let that marinate for a minute, and then you'll understand why William R. Penzo is *dead* to me...

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Title courtesy of Shakira, "Pienso En Tí

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Monday's "One Thing Different"-- I didn't surf PerezHilton.com for celebrity gossip. I have to stop feeding my brain with that poison! I'm going through a lil withdrawal, but I'll be okay.