During An Emergency...

...you always discover new things about yourself and the people around you and what they mean to you. During this crazy storm I was incredibly worried for my mom out in New Jersey, but all she lost was part of her chimney. I was nervous about this precariously lean-y tree threatening the walls and roof of Mari's studio, but everything is still standing. I missed my babies, and hoped their dad was assuring them of their safety in my absence, but they were fine (minus cable and WiFi). And all my friends in Long Island and along the coast, especially those who are part of the City's emergency response teams- I eagerly awaited word from them, hoping everything was OK.

But I also discovered that I can, in fact, share my airspace with someone else and not want to kill them in their sleep with a dull machete soaked in vinegar and bleach. And it was just like in the cartoons- a light bulb popped up over my head, out of nowhere...



(Click here for the remix featuring Ludacris- clearly the better version of the two. I love me some LUDA!)

*smooches...admitting to nothing and everything at once*
---------
SHUT. UP.

Learning To Not Be A Loner

First off- how is my blog family doing in the wake of Sandy? Check in if you can! Now, on to the show...

I want to take this time to apologize to each and every one of you if, in my funky-mood-induced tendency to isolate myself, I've ever made you feel as if I didn't need you around. Quite the opposite is true! But it was recently brought to my attention that while I'm busy hiding out and moping in my cubby, people who've been ignored and cast aside are feeling helpless, useless and insignificant. My bad!

See, when I'm feeling especially sad and miserable, my first thought is "I don't want to spread this around" and proceed to slowly pull away from social situations and put on my game face. Next, I mainly focus on just feeling bad- crying, cursing myself out, etc- so that I'm not suppressing anything that will later manifest itself in MORE physical ailments (I think we can agree I've had quite enough of that!). During this time, the last thing I want is to be around people and let them see me cry. OH MY GOD THE HORROR! Finally, I get to a point where I begin to formulate a solution to my problem, and that makes me feel better, which in turn makes me more able to be around people.

However this whole process might very well take two weeks, at least. And I do agree that expecting someone to wait two weeks without knowing what's going on can be a lot. Clearly, I need to work on my verbal communication skills!

Most importantly, I need to learn to let people in. I was already advised that giving folks the URL to this blog is NOT enough and DOES NOT COUNT as letting them in (side eye for The F$%K-It List) so I've made note that in the future I need to actually say the words, "I'm feeling crappy and I don't want to bring my dark clouds your way. Can we touch base in a couple of days?" Or something like that.

It will be tough and it will not happen overnight, but I will be working on that for the future. Promise. Allegedly.

*smooches...continuing my quest to be a grown up*
---------
I hear they serve Buffalo wings in the green room at Grown Up Land; hope it's not a rumor!

Stay Safe Today!

This is The Jaded NYer reporting LIVE from a remote, secure location, wishing you all a safe next couple of days while this Sandy bitch tries to take us out. I have water, food, good company and have charged all my crap. Am I missing anything?

Now, don't get all macho and stupid and put yourself or loved ones in danger, but remember- you are from New York. NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER SURRENDER.

And groove to this while you still have power...











What are you all doing to prepare for the unpredictable weather?

*smooches...wishing you all the best*
---------
I'll keep updating as long as Google and ConEd allow it!

My Kids Are Not My Whole Life

So, news broke today about a nanny who allegedly stabbed two kids under her care in the family's Upper West Side apartment. While reading the article online I made the dire mistake of reading the comments/reactions to the story, and let me tell you...a lot of these judgy motherfuckers need to go somewhere. In particular the folks who are BLAMING THE MOTHER for having the audacity to hire a nanny in the first place.

Have several seats and a large tumbler of shut the fuck up. Please and thank you.

It does not matter if I have all the money in the world or barely two nickels to rub together- if I want to hire someone to help me take care of my kids, OR RAISE THEM FOR ME, that's my damn prerogative. The nerve of people to think this woman deserved to have her children murdered because she was what they perceived to be a spoiled, kept woman who handed off motherly duties to the hired help... WHO DOES THAT?

Do people really think that giving birth means your entire existence has to revolve around your kids now? Moms & dads can't have outside, non-kid interests? It's just house arrest until the college years? Fuck outta here with all that noise! If that were the case, do you realize how many parents would kill the kids themselves?

Listen up because I'm about to break it down for you.

YES, when you decide to have children, those children are your responsibility. You have to think of their best interest and arm them with the tools they'll need later in life. But do you know what's in a child's best interest? To have happy parents. Parents who've had enough respite to deal with whatever fresh hell the world (and their kids) will throw at them each day. Sometimes that means finding someone to mind the kids while pursuing a rejuvenating activity or some adult/nekkid time with your partner (don't forget your partner, ever; that's a sure-fire way to end up in divorce court. Trust.), away from the stress of diapers and whining and Nick Jr.

So let's focus on getting justice for these two children and not hate on this woman because she was able to afford an Upper West Side life, okay? I mean, two of her kids were just KILLED, for chrissake! She's a human being with feelings!

I swear, man, that keyboard courage be a bitch sometimes...

*smooches...vowing to never again read comments on news articles*
---------
now that all that's been said, can we please address the fact that this nanny is Dominican? UGH, BITCH, UGH!! Just ruining life for the rest of us!

Excerpt From "On A Blue Day"

She couldn’t remember if the red ones were the uppers or the downers. Only that she wanted one.

Today coffee was not enough.

Today she needed something other-worldly and fast acting to help her forget what she had to do and where she had to go.

Her black Nicole Miller hung on the back of her bedroom door. Fresh from the dry cleaners. The plastic bag thrown casually on the floor.

Maybe the blue ones were the uppers?

In the carved mahogany mirror, her reflection was someone unknown to her.

Oh my God! Is my hair red? Since when?

A stray strand of red curl twirled in the path of the fan on the vanity where she sat. An antique vanity she had flown in from a shop on Melrose Avenue during her last visit to LA. Lifestyle perks of a young, rich widow.

Red--the red ones for sure.

The curl continued its dance across her right (left?) brow. It seemed to plié at her reflection. Its leaps and turns graceful. New York City Ballet graceful. Better even.

The curl held her attention until the door opened and her dress floated out of sight.

“Tea, miss?”

The curl took a bow and froze in place. It became angry at the interruption.

“I said don’t bother ME!” How easily the fan crashed into several plastic chunks, leaving dust on her dress. Maybe now she wouldn’t have to wear it. Instead maybe they’d let her hide out in her room all afternoon. Just her and her pills and her dancing red curl. She’d already been to one funeral that year. Two was just unfair.

But when had she dyed her hair red?

And what day was today, anyway? Tuesday? Her reflection offered no explanations. Why didn’t anybody wake me up? Tell me what was going on?

Maybe it’s Wednesday. Wednesday is definitely a red pill day.

She swallowed three of them, dry.

*smooches...digging up a long forgotten tale*
---------
it was buried for a reason, though...



On A Blue Day by Raquel I. Penzo is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Wherein I Complain About The Election

I'm going to make this quick because I'm making myself physically ill worrying about what's happening around me, and the last thing I need is another reason for my liver to stop working properly.

As a rule, I don't trust politicians. Most of the time, they're in the business of getting or staying elected and rarely have time to actually keep their empty promises. I voted in the last election because I was beyond done with what Bush and his cohorts had done. I didn't particularly care for Obama but McCain was just more "Bush" and I couldn't get behind that.

This time around, and in the last four years, the climate in this country has been an embarrassment. The campaign season has been filled with kindergarten-style antics and finger pointing on both sides and I'm done. But what's really troubling is the BLATANT attack on a sitting president because he is Black. And don't come at me and say I'm being too sensitive or it's not true. I call BULLSHIT on all your reasons and excuses.

Whenever I hear a Romney supporter say they're ready to get "a REAL American and a REAL patriot" back in the office, all I see is "GET THAT FUCKING NIGGER OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE." It makes me so angry that I can't even describe what comes over me except that I can't focus and my breathing becomes labored and without even realizing it I clench my jaw and ball up my fists.

This can't be the same America I used to be proud to be from! For a trillion years it's been OK for a White man- who doesn't represent ME- to hold the office, but now that it's a Black man who doesn't represent "them" it's World War III. Well kiss my ENTIRE ass.

Either man the fuck up and say what you really mean, or swallow this bitter pill and have a seat. Either way, know that I'm on to you. I can read between the lines and decode your hidden agendas.

I'll see you at the polls.

*no smooches...that is all*
--------
really considering whether to "love it or leave it"

Something To Consider

"We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are, when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed, and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time." - Mark Nepo


What are you covering up?

*smooches...working on being my true self*
---------
let's see how long this takes.

172.6: A Healthy Jaded Update

I wasn't going to write this post until after I met with the GYN surgeon about my fibroids, but why wait for depressing news when we can discuss my great news instead?

For about a month, I've been meeting with a personal trainer twice a week. Coupled with this GOD AWFUL detox cleanse I've been on for the past two weeks, it appears that, while my uterus situation hasn't changed, I've dropped almost 10 pounds!

That's right, folks- even though I've cheated on this cleanse here and there, and I've yet to get to the gym except for the training sessions I have with Señor Evil Trainer Meany Face, I managed to get oh-so-close to the 160s, which is my fitness dream come true. I mean, you guys can't even imagine how excited I am to be at the precipice of dropping a dress size and some inches! But let's not get ahead of ourselves...lets just relish in this 172.6 reading from the Stupid Idiot Scale that I found hidden in my room (I thought I had thrown it out months ago!).

What has helped: clearly the training. Not only is it forcing me to stay on budget (read: cut back on takeout since I can no longer afford it) but having that one-on-one help from Señor Evil Trainer Meany Face has really maximized my time in the gym. It's also taught me that

a) crying is OK, but it's not going to sway Señor Evil Trainer Meany Face one bit. He will still make you finish all your reps and not even offer you a tissue!

b) when you work out so hard that you feel vomity, trainers think it's funny.

c) my body can do so much more than I give it credit for.

d) my core? It's weaker than a motherfucker. And

e) thirty minutes feels like thirty hours when you're balancing on a Bosu ball while lifting weights and squatting. But these new sneakers helped!

Great support AND a Vibram sole!

Other things that have helped:

a) wanting to look good naked. Who doesn't want this?

b) fear of the diabetes that killed my grandmother (this fear has fueled my motivation).

c) Cathi's upcoming wedding; I must look FLY for my Boston White Boys!

d) eating better. I can't deny it; it helps. And

e) knowing if anything is wrong with your insides. I'll explain--

I was told that my liver enzymes were a bit elevated and that I was Vitamin D deficient; this is a direct result of a poor diet, which I'm working on. I was also informed that I have a slightly deviated septum AND that I still have my adenoids (you're not supposed to have them anymore as an adult); this means I have to be sure I'm using my neti pot every night AND that my environment is clean as a whistle.

Once you get these results from the doctor you can't UN-know them, and you are pretty much compelled to do something about it and take better care of yourself. Which is what I'm doing.

No six-pack or Kardashian booty, but MUCH improved!

And the results have been FAB!

*smooches...inches away from wearing a carnival costume to work*
---------
you know I will...

This Is What Happens When I Can't Sleep (12.10.06)

i crave detachment

i want you to swoop in,
take what you need from me
and leave
i don’t want poetic mutterings
or lingering kisses
i want harsh roughness,
the kind that leaves a mark
on my soul

i want you to pick me clean
of feeling and emotion
leave me shaken,
alone in the vacant corners
of the room
with nothing
of comfort or peace
for miles

i want you to rape my mind
and yank tears
from my eyes
i don’t want the shelter
of your arms
or whispered promises
i want lies and betrayal,
the kind from which I won’t
ever recover

i want you to love me fiercely
and then throw me
away
laugh in my face
and tell me I’m nothing,
nothing, nothing
until all I can hear
is the sound of your voice
saying it

*smooches...remembering a particularly bad time*
---------
I'm surprised y'all never had me committed!

Album Shout Out: Maroon 5's "Hands All Over"

I know, I know, this album came out EONS ago, and they've already released a new project, but I love Maroon 5's "Hands All Over" so much and I want to tell you so! I mean, what better way to get me off the couch and away from Netflix than with an album I can play from beginning to end without skipping one track? It's a rare artist that can accomplish this feat.

Here are some of my favorites:











It has such a dance-y, fun vibe to it; very reminiscent of disco. Yes, DISCO. I don't care if that makes me seem old and/or it turns you off, but many of these songs make me want to put on some roller skates and rolllllllll to the beat.

I love this CD so much I'm adding it to my "Cheer The Fuck Up" and "Shake Yo Ass" playlists.

You should do the same.

*smooches...moving like Jagger all over the place*
-----------
music helps. a lot.

Not Just Gang Members, Human Beings

This weekend I watched the documentary Crips and Bloods: Made in America, and let me tell you...I cried. I'll explain.

See, I'm of the school of "Don't give the cops a reason and you'll be FINE" and have never really put any credence in the ghetto mentality of The Man keeping "us" down. I grew up in the ghetto in the heart of the crack era and it didn't keep me down. I always joke about The Man, but I've never considered him a real threat.

Enter this fakakta documentary.



I was sitting there listening to these former and current gang member discuss their experiences and world views and you know what? I get it. If I had been told, at any point in my life, that I couldn't do something just because of the color of my skin or because of where I live, I would be bitter, too. If I had been stopped by the police everyday just for not being in my own neighborhood, I'd be angry, too. If my neighbors and kids were being gunned down in the street everyday while the cops did nothing to really prevent it, I'd feel hopeless, too. And if my environment offered no opportunities to better my situation, I'd give no fucks about life, too.

And if there was no one around to tell me about my options, offering me a way out, and only found comfort and protection from a local gang, I'd see no problems with making violence my way of life, too. I'd barely feel human!

These are young men and women being born into and growing up in a culture of constant harassment and poverty and depression, contained by invisible walls. And just outside that wall is freedom and happiness, but god forbid you cross the wrong street.

One former gang member said it best, when discussing the Watts and LA riots, stating that the police and National Guard didn't scare them because they were used to a cycle of guns and violence every damn day. The riots were just an extension of that. I couldn't even imagine that kind of life. I could hold back my tears no more.

The documentary did highlight the grassroots efforts afoot to help get these kids off the streets and out of the cross-hairs of the LAPD, and it did offer some hope, but without the backing of city, state and federal officials and funding, it's barely a drop in the bucket.

Toward the end, one former Crip, in an effort to reach the young gang members, looks into the camera with tears in his eyes (so of course by now I'm inconsolable) and says:

"Your reward for gang-banging is to be crippled, lamed, for life. Your greatest reward is life, plus forty years. Your ultimate reward for gang-banging is death. And you don't come back from that."

But after watching the documentary, though, I have to ask...what if death is better than what you have to come back to? Wouldn't gang-banging be a walk in the clouds?

*smooches...finally getting it*
---------
also, fuck the PO-lice!

What Would You Like To Do If Money Were No Object?

I spoke briefly about this video and how it inspired me before speaking at career day at my high school over on my author site, but I wanted to share it with my Jaded folks, too.



While I am already living a pretty good life as a writer, there's still so much I'd like to do. If money were not a driving factor I'd still have a job, but not a full time one. I'd have more freedom to pursue a slew of creative endeavors that are currently on the back burner because I have somewhere to be from nine in the morning to five in the evening, Monday through Friday. As it stands, everything I want to accomplish has to move at a slower pace than I'd like, but maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's teaching me patience. I mean, I got the tattoo, might as well try to embody it, no?

So how about it, folks- what about you? What would you do if money were no object?

*smooches...looking to have a passion-filled week*
---------
there's so much weighing on me right now; gotta make my own happiness while I can!

Tales From The Motherland, Part 3

From my travel diary, the ramblings of a Jaded NYer in her homeland:

Smizing with duck lips

Tuesday, my last day [in Santo Domingo]. I wanted only to see my grandma and eat some sugarcane. The rain and Papi had other plans. I don't know why we couldn't go to the cemetery besides it being far. It was one of the main reasons I went [to DR].

Lil Miss N

I know the girls were also disappointed that we were cooped up in the house all day with nothing to do, except go to the bodega and spend our pesos. At least we had dominoes and the mini-dance party we had after dark.

Papi & K

I mean, I guess I understand- Papi is of limited means. Next time I'll come better prepared and go see grandma first before anything else. Five days was not enough. Also, Papi's house requires you to make your own fun. Also: beware mosquitos!





The night we left it rained so hard I didn't think we'd make it to the airport in one piece. The car taking us was basically held together with duct tape and, of course, we were booked on some god-awful 2 AM flight. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I hadn't been to DR in over a decade and still, traffic lights and proper driving rules? Nonexistent. At one point someone on a bike rode out in front of us and I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. Then I began to fear those predators who purposely get into a wreck to rob you. As if I had AMERICAN stamped on my forehead.

It made me sad to leave my Papi behind in this place, but honestly, he's like the mayor of Los Minas. Which makes me the daughter of the mayor of Los Minas. Royalty in the ghetto. I guess it ain't so bad.

*smooches...still reliving the memories*
---------
as winter approaches, I get more excited about going back

True Dat!

"What was the reason you got married?"

"Oh, when you love somebody and you know it, what else do you need?"

"Yeah, but how can you know that?"

"How can you not?"

-Mike Seaver discussing cold feet he felt about his impending nuptials to Julie, the nanny, with his grandparents, on the TV show "Growing Pains." Realer advice was never given out by a fictional character.

*smooches...getting closer to the answers*
---------
sometimes you need a reality check; sometimes cheesy 80s comedies can be that reality check.

Tears Of A Clown

Here's another post where I remind you that I suffer from (seasonal, situational, PMS-related, etc) depression. Where I wake up thinking "UGH. Another day." and then feel guilty because so many others didn't get this gift. Where I crumble in the face of every thing (and every one) for which (and whom) I'm responsible, and then remind myself that people everywhere have "lots to do." Where I try to understand why I feel so shitty, and then diminish my own reality by labeling myself as hormonal or whiny or lazy.

And I understand that somewhere, a family probably just lost their home, and maybe the kids have to be sent to live with family or strangers or worse- in the alley with their parents. Somewhere, someone was diagnosed with Stage 4 something-or-other, or has to wait for someone else to die in order to get a life-saving organ transplant. Someone just lost a parent/child/spouse, and someone's HIV cocktail has stopped working. Someone just got slapped across the face for just looking at their spouse wrong, and someone was just stabbed for the $12 in their wallet. And none of those things apply to me.

But I also know that my troubles and sadness and stresses and pressures are still very real to me, and I can't keep living under the It Can Always Be Worse regime because honestly, this is already bad all on its own.

So here's another post where I come off as crying out for help but really I'm not, so I close the comments because I just wanted to get some things out of my head, and I really don't care for feedback- good or bad. This blog is my chosen form of therapy and I just want a(nother) day to cry into my pillow in peace.



If I get a(nother) tomorrow, I'll work harder to feel better.

*smooches...giving in to the tears, just today*
---------
and maybe tomorrow, but I haven't decided on that yet.

Mid-Week Soca Jam

Yesterday's post was so heavy; sorry about that.

Let's dance it out, bitches!











Hope that was enough to erase yesterday's uterus diagram!

*smooches...holding on to the Big Truck*
---------
what y'all have going on today?

Some More Information On My Uterus: A Healthy Jaded Update

Let me just say, I'm not sharing all of this to gross y'all out, I promise! You just never know who is reading this stuff and if they can benefit from what's on this blog. I know I never knew a damn thing about fibroids until I had them. Never in a million years did I think anything would ever be wrong with my uterus, seeing as I've managed to get pregnant and have babies without problems (except that one time). But here I am and this is what's what.

I went to see my new primary care physician, Dr. Amazing, and she was able to break shit down for me in the most awesome of ways. I think I love her, but it's too soon to tell.

Anyway, she pulled up the medical records I brought over from the Devil's OB/GYN Office and began to paint a picture of what's going on in my nether regions. First, my uterus measures 14 x 10 x 8.7 cm. There are currently THREE fibroids claiming Squatter's Rights in there: a subserosal fibroid measuring 6.1 x 5.8 x 5.7 cm; an intramural to submucosal fibroid measuring 1.1 x 1 x .9 cm; and a subserosal fibroid measuring 1.9 cm. Below is a diagram of what all that means.

In case your math is fuzzy, one of the fibroids is damn-near half the size of my uterus. HALF THE SIZE. Just chillin', taking up room and tormenting my life. Allegedly. One of these bad boys is pressing on my bladder, causing me to have to use the bathroom not even 20 minutes after having something to drink. I also suspect one is pressing on my large intestine, but I won't go into detail as to why.

So after realizing all of this for the first time, and being assured that these are benign tumors that could very well be left alone, Dr. Amazing discussed the different surgical options at my disposal, should I opt to go that route. There's a hysterectomy, myomectomy, uterine artery embolization (the three she discussed with me briefly), and myolysis and MRI-guided ultrasound surgery (the two she did not discuss with me or shrugged off as experimental). She then referred me to a surgeon so that I can truly understand the risks and benefits of any of these procedures or of leaving shit alone until menopause (apparently these suckers will just become a non-issue and die off once my period stops harassing my life).

Y'all know I'm anti-surgery at all costs BUT it doesn't hurt to meet with this surgeon and see what she has to say. I made an appointment for the 23rd and in the meantime have armed myself with three books:

• Fibroids: The Complete Guide to Taking Charge of Your Physical, Emotional, and Sexual Well-being by Johanna Skilling (Side Note: K saw this book and was 100% disgusted at me worrying about my 'sexual well-being' LOL!)
• What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Fibroids by Scott C. Goodwin, Michael Broder and David Drum
• It's a Sistah Thing: A Guide to Understanding and Dealing with Fibroids for Black Women by Monique R. Brown

I cannot go into this blind; doctors--even Dr. Amazing--can be too scissor-happy sometimes. Before I make any final decisions I need to know all the facts science can provide at this time.

Please feel free to share any experiences you or your loved ones have had with this. It all helps!

*smooches...gearing up for the long haul*
---------
there's a light at the end of this tunnel, right?

Growing Up In My House Looks Like This

*smooches...totally not making this up*
---------
also, Mami was mortified that I tweet the crazy things she says, but I feel it helps explain why I'm the way I am...

Jaded Photographs: October 2012 Edition

"Old New York"

*smooches...fascinated yet creeped out*
---------
all these fare hikes and no one thought to revamp this particular station? I see this place and I think ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE...

Twenty-one Days: A Healthy Jaded Update

For most of October, my diet will mainly consist of this:

and this:

and then towards the end of the 21 days I'll be reintroducing these:

All in the name of getting my body right.

Jesus be an electrified fence around Atomic Wings...

*smooches...gearing up for the battle FOR my life*
---------
no more kid games; time to get really real, son!

The Mistakes Of My Fathers

Growing up, I was pretty much in the dark about the history of the Dominican Republic. The topic wasn't taboo or anything-Trujillo didn't run my family off the island-it just wasn't something we spoke about.

Then a few years ago I read Edwidge Danticat's The Farming of Bones, which included mention of a massacre along the border of DR and Haiti, and I was in total shock. I knew Trujillo was a "bad man" but the extent of his evil astounded me.

Today, in Dajabón, and through Saturday, the two nations that share the island of Hispaniola will commemorate the genocide committed by El Jefe.

From the press release:

Courtesy of CulturalDiplomacy.org

Among the notable artists supporting and attending the gathering is author and activist, Julia Alvarez. "Many Dominicans in the diaspora and in the country have been waiting for an opportunity to acknowledge a shameful event in our past, the 1937 massacre of thousands of Haitians, ordered by the dictator Trujillo, and carried out by Dominicans. We feel compelled to do what our governments and our treaties, our accords and our conferences have not done: to express our sorrow for this shameful crime. We would also like to celebrate our many collaborations, our brotherhood and sisterhood. We look to the future and our shared hopes for this whole island and small planet,” says Ms. Alvarez. The project has the support of other leading public figures, including Edwidge Danticat, Michele Wucker, and Junot Díaz.

I met Ms. Danticat years ago at a writing conference and felt compelled to apologize to her for that atrocious blotch on our common history. She looked at me as if I were crazy but that's OK. I needed to say it, for all the years I kept a blind eye to what had happened on the island and for everything my family didn't do to put a stop to it.

I'm still a proud first-generation Dominican American, for sure. Just a little wiser and little less snooty about it.

*smooches...moving on but never forgetting*
---------
one of these days I'll have to make a pit-stop in Dajabón...

Some Culture For Your Ass

It's Wednesday; I doubt you're doing anything more than watching TV and plotting debaucherous activities for the weekend. Why not pop over to the Fashion Institute of Technology's Katie Murphy Ampitheatre after work and see the play "Drawn From Water"? For free, and just in time for Latino Heritage Month!

*smooches...enlightening you hos one post at a time*
---------
I'm a giver; it's what I do.

Mari Speaks On...

...Mami and I telling stories about the "exorcism" she had as a baby:

"Y'all need to keep my demon possession out y'all's mouths!"

*smooches...still giggling to myself*
---------
and yes, all of this is true.

Bilinguality With Hilarity

I grew up speaking both English and Spanish fluently, which later morphed into Spanglish. Watching "¿Qué Pasa, USA?" was like the best of both worlds for a little bilingual girl like me.

This particular episode is about Carmen's Fiesta de Quince and Joe's struggle with his culture and identity. I totally miss these characters!

Enjoy my trip down memory lane:







I wonder if Steven is still a Hottie McHottie... I'd totally do him three ways from Sunday and back again!

*smooches...thinking I'll use more Spanish than English this week*
---------
besides, I have to get my kids up to par before our next DR trip