Scraps & Bits

2006-07-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

I've caved to the Wordpress once more... Come visit me from now until I change my mind again at http://www.mema13.wordpress.com I promise I will make it worth your while...

2006-07-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

I don't always know what I'm talking about. I talk out of my ass sometimes. These words escape my lips and then I'll reconsider and wonder why I even said what I said. Have you ever lost your train of thought while in the middle of a sentence? I do it often. Like right now when I just wrote that I thought about the silent 't' in the word, "often". Then within that thought I thought, Dad never could pronounce the word the way it's pronounced. He never ackowledged the silent 't'. That thought was followed with another one: Phonetically, how is that written? How does it look in Webster's Dictionary? (pron. off-en) And then, isn't the pronunciation which includes the hard 't' sound still acceptable in the English language? You see? I just can't help myself. I was designed to go on multi-layered tangents. It seems like an inherited trait from my Dad. We used to have a sort of joke amongst ourselves (immediate family only) that my Dad could start a story, be completely distracted from it, only to finish it off, like, an HOUR later. Seriously. I'm not even kidding about that. So if that were an inherited trait, think of all the other meaningless and benign traits I managed to inherit...yet another tangent. I'm so multi-layered. Sticking out my tongue when working on something hard - I've asked my mom about this and apparently, my grandfather, her Dad, does this too. I've tried to catch myself doing it, but have never really noticed it much. Now that I'm aware, though, I probably will. Holding a mug - Yup, my Dad. He holds a mug in the weirdest way: The thumb gets placed entirely over the lip of the mug while his other fingers grasp the handle. I know. Annoying, isn't it? My Face Says It All - My mom is notorious for wearing what she really thinks about those fishnet stockings and hot-pink pants. You can't escape the look. Ever. Sometimes I wish I weren't so transparent, but I am. I can't even help it. Raised Eyebrow- Dad again. We familials always lovingly called it, "The Fisheye". Dad probably got it from hearing criminals tell tall tales. See that? Alliteration. Changing my tone and manner of speech to match the person I'm talking to - Mom has this uncanny ability to have total strangers trust her within seconds of meeting her. It's all in mom's first impressions. She, without effort, simply adopts their mannerisms, their manner of speaking, and their movements. It isn't calculated, pretentious or insulting. She unconsciously adopts these to make the person she's addressing feel comfortable. Well, those are the only ones I can think of at the moment. I'm sure some other ones will come up as I'm doing ordinary things like sweeping the hallway or washing dishes. Sometimes when doing the menial tasks of the day-to-day my mind is relaxed enough to notice these things. Sets my mind to wandering. Why did I name this post "Courage and Faith..."? Well, before I pounded off a 5-step life affirming entry about human traits that I've inherited, I was really pondering the quote from "A Room With A View". But since I'm a true threader, I took off with the list first. But imagine this, ok? Life made up the two opposing sides: Courage which sets aside fears to achieve or succeed at something you hold dear, and Faith which allows the higher power to maneuvre every aspect of your waking life. The latter, of course, leaves nothing to chance or a turn of fate. No sir. It is either a pre-determined existence or we have the free will to make independent decisions within the confines of what this higher power sets in our path. For the most part, I like the concept that it sometimes takes Courage to have Faith and vice versa. I like that little interweaving of two ideas. But let's just look at this closely in the Mema-verse, since everything is ALWAYS ABOUT ME. Right. In my world, I am faithful to a lot of things. I believe in a higher power. Call it God or Buddha or Shiva or an alien named, Fred. It doesn't matter because this entity in my eyes is incorruptible, omnipotent, and the guardian of all things. I don't always look to my Roman Catholic historical past to get to that conclusion. I look at things that I've personally experienced, seen, or felt to arrive to this conclusion. That being said, I do not believe that this Being is infallible. I'd like to believe that a Creator would have made human beings to be most like him or her. Or both or none, for that matter. Something familiar. Something pleasing. Something fashioned just like themselves. Think about it. Would you want to associate with a bunch of strangers that don't speak or look like you? I don't think so. I sense, or I feel the presence of something greater than I am all the time. Something inside of me knows it's there. Something also knows that something else had to have made me. Something limits my memory until I'm old enough to understand them. How come no one can remember birth canal trips and baby-crib mobiles? We aren't meant to understand those experiences of infant life, so we just learn, absorb and grow until we can actually remember. Do this as an experiment: trace your life as far back as you can go. You'll scarcely be able to remember your life before the age of say, two. Even though the most impressionable years occur before then, they're not enough to retain in your memory because these are shared conscious experiences. Everyone was burped as a baby, fed, bathed. At least children who were cared for properly. So those "experiences" get removed from memory because, hell. Do you really want to maintain a record of all that baby crap? Exactly. Now for the courage. I had to inherit the courage to say what I needed to say when I needed to say it. This one is often a learned response. If we receive negative stimuli from an early age, we feel less inclined to bravery. If we receive positive feedback early in our stages of development, we feel more confident about expressing ourselves. Take little Mema. I gained courage as I stumbled on the road of life. There were times I wanted to throw in the towel for various problems and life-affecting issues. Some I overcame and some I didn't. One can be faithful without being courageous. But can one be satisfied to the fullest extent of what life has to offer? I don't think so. At least not in America. Without courage, we wimp out and suffer for our own inability to come out with the truthfulness of our lives. If we aren't truthful with ourselves, then how fulfilled can we truly be? I don't know about you, but if I am on my way to the Pearly Gates, I don't want to show my face unless one or two or both of these ideals are met. I hope that when I'm being judged, I'm good enough to meet the necessary requirements. Guess all I need is in that one line: "Courage and Faith, Miss Honeychurch. Courage and Faith."

2006-07-13T16:58:00.000-07:00

Bayonne vs. Jersey City: Part Deux: Announcer - Welcome back, folks. Boy are you missing a heck of a fight between Bayonne and Jersey--whoa! And another right hook by "The Brawler"...looks like JC better dance for his life 'cause Bayonne's packing a wallop! But what's this? Looks like both men are just holding in the ring. This match was originally scheduled for 9 rounds, but it looks as though both men are tired and there's still no real winner. Let's turn to longtime boxer, Rocky Montana, with his official scorecard tally...take it away... Rocky - This was a battle that was in the making ever since these two towns were born. I'm telling ya that there is nothing like skin on skin to see who will win! Announcer - That's right, Rocky. Now, Rock, how are you judging this match? Rocky - Well, it's a hard thing to judge because both men are determined to win. Announcer (interrupting) - Of course-- Rocky - I'd say that right now, I show the fight as 110 and 110 an even fight. Both men are exhibiting heart, skill, speed and raw drive. Anyone watching could see that everytime that JC throws a punch, it is quickly answered by Bayonne. But it's no secret that both of these men are professionals and it's looking--at least to me--to be a strong tie. Announcer - Did you hear that folks? I can't believe it! What started as a war of worlds, appears to have become a war of words! Let's get a mike in the ring... Bayonne - Brother, you don't know how long I've held my tongue... Jersey City - Can you give the people what they want? Huh? Bayonne - What have you got to boast? Your nasty town is littered and filthy. Jersey City - ...And yours is full of white collar crime and political corruption... Bayonne - That's not what your momma told me last night. Jersey City - Well at least my mom cleaned up after herself. That's more than I can say for your mom... Bayonne - Hey, oh! You don't know her like dat...sorry, ma. Jersey City - Did you hear him momma Bayonne? Your son finally admitted that he's "sorry". It's about time. Announcer - The referree has been speaking to the ringside judges and he's getting ready to make an announcement...let's listen... Referree - Ladies and gentlemen, this fight is a DRAW! *The crowd boos* Announcer - Well, there you have it. The crowd is none too happy. It seems that this issue won't be resolved today. Apparently both towns have shown that they can withstand the trial: they came, they saw, they both came out even-steven. Thanks for watching...Good Night.

2006-07-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Battle for a state of Independence...

Bayonne vs. Jersey City: Annoncer - Welcome everyone to the battle for the title of King of the Garden State. Well this post has been a long time coming. A resident of the latter and now writing to you from the former, it is going to be a rough and tumble fight for the right to Paaaarrrtttaaayyyyyy!!!! *ding, ding* Announcer - In this corner, wearing red trunks and weighing in at an astounding 225 pounds: the home of The Brawler, the Captain of the Cons, the Maven of the Mafia...Bayonne, NEW JERSEY!!!!!!!!! *crowd cheers* Announcer - And in this corner, the underdog in this fight, sporting the blue trunks and weighing in at just over 170 pounds soaking-wet: the Streetwise Soprano, the Deadly Dukes of Danger, a trip down Nathan Lane's memory...Jersey City, NEW JERSEY!!!!!!!! *crowd cheers again* *ding, ding* Now, everyone give a Jersey welcome (hold your spit, please) to Referree, Skip Stone!!!! *everyone boos* Skip - Now, I want a good clean fight. Any excessive holding or hitting below the belt is cause for disqualification. I want you to heed my instructions at all times. Gentleman, tap gloves and good luck! *Bayonne & JC tap politely* *ding, ding, ding* Announcer - Two heavyweights in the tough inner-city, I'll tell ya. It's important to note that these two towns are like brothers from two different mothers. Close in proximity but--oh, nelly!--are they different in their ways of life! What better day than today, while the nation celebrates their Independence than to brawl for it all? Now it's been said that Jersey City is the bastard child and that Bayonne is full of itself, but only one champion will come out alive. Who will win? Who will suffer defeat and cry all the way home to mother?! Let's watch...

*ding, ding*

Announcer - And it begins, folks...Why just the other day I was speaking to JC and here's what he said about this fight...

*clip begins*

Announcer (interviewing) - You and your brother have always had a friendly war of words for years. Why take the sibling rivalry so far?

JC - Because I always felt like I was my brother's keeper. I don't feel dat way no more. All our lives, we had disagreements about manners and such. But etiquette was never my forte. Normally, I got into the ring and did my thing, y'know what I mean? Now, it's like I gotta teach my kid brutha a lesson...one he'll never forget.

Announcer - So what was it about Independence Day? JC - I don't mean to brag, but I always felt that it was betta to burn fireworks on the 4th of July than to get drunk at a barbecue. It's just like my brutha ta misunderstan' da nature o' the day, y'know? *end of clip* Announcer - There you have it, folks. A bitter feud that maybe started in utero. But I also had the opportunity to speak to Bayonne, who oddly enough didn't have much to say... *clip begins* Announcer - Your brother had a lot to say about this fight. Is there anything that you would like to tell him? Bayonne - No. Announcer - JC said that he felt as though he were, and I quote: "my brother's keeper". Do you have anything to say about that? Bayonne (looking annoyed) - No. Announcer - Is there anything you would like to say to the public now that you've agreed to meet your brother this July 4th in the "Battle for Independence"? *Bayonne pauses* *silence* Announcer - ...A man of few words. Bayonne (shooting up in his chair) - I don't need no words. I'm all action. See ya in da ring, bro. *clip ends* Announcer - And it looks as though our fighters are ready to duke it out and settle the score. Bayonne has been cocky all week, snubbing all reporters and avoiding any type of publicity while Jersey City has made it on every sport's cover all month long. It's time to find out whether it was all worth it. Oh, both fighters appear to be dancing around the ring but it's Bayonne who throws the first punch...a light right jab and...oh, what a quick left by JC, but Bayonne is stable. JC is a fighter who's light on his feet and has been known to dance around his opponents before...oh! Another left hook from JC but Bayonne isn't shaken. He appears to be determined to ruin his brother and...what's this? The post has grown long?! Well, folks. Find out next time who comes out with fists blazing. They're about to pull the--

2006-07-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

THE artiFACTS of LIFE:

Sometimes, when you're rummaging through your old drawers and memory boxes, you come across the stupidest things that are on the one hand are completely ridiculous, but on the other, they're so much fun. Being the Queen of nostalgia, I seldom like to throw little notes and gems like the example you see to my left here...

Yes, this one was created in high school when me and an old art buddy drudged up a sheet of white copy paper and had at the principal. The more we stared at the artist's rendition, the more creative we got, which seems odd since we weren't really all that creative in class. So it goes to show you that talent and ingenuity are truly the siblings of boredom which seems to have been (judging from the other little things I found) a lot.

There's just something to be said about keeping memories. The more that time lags on, it seems that events get lost; recalled only when you least expect it. Perhaps there is an old view that constantly gets tossed around and becomes the subject of many a debate in later years, like say, who won a race or who did what during a sport tournament. When you save a souvenir, you encapsulize that moment forever. If you're lucky, it can spin itself into a tradition that can linger way longer than the actual memory. It can morph into "legend" status; the stuff that is discussed and remininsced about long after you've gone. That's what endures and that's what's so great about history. Think I'm wrong? Well, don't people still celebrate The Civil War by dressing up in Union and Confederate regalia to host mock reenactments? Of course they do. Collectors love this stuff because it gives them an opportunity to put a price tag on something that would have normally gone the way of the Dodo, the forgotten annals of societies that pre-date history and into extinction. People love the stuff because it helps them take pride in their pasts marveling at how far we've come while dismissing other advancements.

If you've ever said any of the following, then I'm sorry to say, you are a nostalgist (like me~yea!):

"They just don't make 'em like they used to."
"They used to be cheaper."
"I remember when..."
"Doctors used to make house calls."
"When I was your age..."

These are just a few that I could think of off the top of my head. So go ahead and rummage through your attics, raid your storage spaces, and look through your yearbooks. I'm sure that you can find a few surprises in there that will put a smile on your face or make you laugh out loud ~ in spite of yourself. Eh, Tootie?

2006-06-24T12:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, do you wanna know the strangest dream I had? A while ago, I was doing this experimental Freudian thing where I would jot down a dream I'd just had using a scratch-pad beside my bed. Freud believed that dreams were best captured when they were the most vivid so the idea was to desribe the dream immediately after I'd awaken from it, before it dissipated into some subconscious part of the brain where all unmemorable dreams go and cannot be retrieved. Well, I had a dream a long time ago and scrawled it on three slips of white paper in the dark. I've just re-discovered it while I was cleaning my room and voila! The Strangest Dream. Here's what I wrote: "It's been mine since I was a lad," the Adventurer tells me, while opening a very small crawlspace in the desert. 'How'd you find that,' I think but a voiceover tells me that he's known this place all his life. The Adventurer grew up there. There's water and a plug to open. Suddenly, there's a studio audience and a dance floor and Tom Cruise with a turkey up his ass is there. There's a nice man whom I meet amid the crowd surrounding Cruise. Everyone seems to be chanting, "He's gay! He's gay!" at Cruise and I'm embarrassed for him. The nice man I met now begins to dance with me only the dance floor is more like a gymnasium now. We're dancing really well and just then, we're gonna go through a tunnel--" That's it. I really like the Tom Cruise turkey scenario. Very entertaining. But I have no idea what any of this means. Was the Freudian experiment successful or should I stop finding stupid slips of paper in my room? You decide.

2006-06-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Today's Topic is TRUST: (Also See "Abuse of") Ok, kiddies, it's time to open your books to page 101, because everyone could use a little insight these days when it comes to the "T" word. Is T**st a Curseword?: No. However, people and their manipulative ways can't seem to gather up the good these days. Usually the world-wide skepticism has a lot to do with being burned. Take it from the "Burn Queen" (hi! that's me!), it is a place that hits way too close to home. But the optimist in me just can't seem to get away from believing that there still is enough good out there to wipe out the grossness of this world and kill 'em all with kindness. But what do you do when you feel that you've been betrayed by say, a restaurant? I mean, it's not a person that you can zero in on and wish horrible things to. Nope, it's this intangible thing. This entity if you will. What to do then? I'm A Hypocrite: I'm the first to speak to people about standing up for themselves. But for some reason, when it comes to me, I get all loosey-goosey. I don't want to make waves or cause a fuss or draw any attention. So, I get screwed. This time it had to do with an establishment that I've been going to since the dawn of time. Any local yokel knows exactly the place I'm speaking of because of it's generally good-naturedness and overall Cheers-like attitude: remember, everybody knows your name? Well, this place has seen its share of woe and legal troubles but has always gotten the community vote thanks to some local politicians and well-to-do customers. I used to love going there because hey, it felt like family. Well, I should've known that no one can screw you over better than family. No one. So I went to have a simple sandwich. If you must know, it was a turkey club. Sometimes I get all nostagic for the old classics and it began as a hunger, then a hankering, then a "I-must-have-it-or die!" lunchtime obsession that I'm prone to every now and again. So I moseyed (sp?) on down there and lo and behold, the whole gang was there as before. Oh sure, the place is physically the same, but the faces are more painted than I remember and the hair's new and improved. Whatever, I just wanted my sandwich. I was greeted with a "Hello, Mema! Long time no see..." attitude which sometimes makes me feel like the celebrity I wish I was. Ah, Ms. Lohan, lemme show you to the best seat in the house... The one waitress even hands me a copy of the New York Post to read while I waited. Nice touch. Within a few short miraculous minutes, I was once again eating what I love. I relished in the taste that reminded me of lunches at college when all I could afford was the cheapest things in life. Yeah, cheap. But just as I finished the last remaining morsels, the waitress conveniently slipped the check underneath my plate. It was, as usual, a flawless performance -- so subtle a move as could be missed. But when I turned the slip of paper over, I couldn't help but notice the unbelievable price of what I'd just eaten: $8! Now, I know that somewhere this amount is not a staggering blow. Someplace where the turkey is home-grown and bred just to be the Thanksgiving feast or the prized upscale meal at a decadent eatery in Midtown. I could expect the price of such delectable meals. You get what you pay for, after all. But if you saw this meager portion of a sandwich which had all of the telltale signs of a fast-food meal, you'd understand my complete discontent. Then, I realized what I was really paying for. A few years back, I was a regular customer. I was probably a lot more self-absorbed and eager to spread my earnings, proud to be an American girl who could eat meals all by herself alone in a restaurant. I was single. I was young. Money was simpler and I was just happy to spend whatever I made on all sorts of frivolous things like nailpolish and various shades of lipstick. But a few years afterwards, I fell out of favor with the waitresses because they'd stop seeing me as frequently. Then there was an unfortunate incident involving my new boyfriend and his dissatisfaction with platter which *gasp* they were asked to take back and re-do. Now in all the years I'd gone there, I barely muttered any unpleasant words and never challenged them when they got my order wrong or came with a plate of food that was not so hot. I'd been taught not to behave "rudely" which meant keeping my mouth shut even when I was unhappy about service or displeased with attitudes. I accepted and even sprinkled a little sugar on it to make it sweet, even when it wasn't. Then. here comes Carlos in all his wonderful brutal honesty. He taught me that you don't have to always reach for what you're given. You can return it and complain and the customer is always right...even at the risk of having people spit in your food. So I believe with all my being that this one instance was the turning point, because since then, I don't like going to that restaurant. Not only have the prices changed, but the overall mood just isn't the way it used to be. Or, maybe it is still the way it used to be and I just never noticed it before. Trust Your Instincts: It is a tired cliche, but people do change and I've learned that my instincts could never steer me wrong. That's why I wrote this post. I think that if you listen to that little voice inside, you can't go wrong. Don't just eat it, serve it back...with relish.

2006-06-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

Let It Go, Rearrange, and Never Burn Bridges: Well, it's that time of year when everyone is having their yard sales, throwing away old junk and basically cleaning house. So I figured...WHY NOT JOIN 'EM?! That's right. I'm having a yard sale on Saturday and it's gonna be great! Now if only I could just stop Carlos from bringing more stuff...

2006-06-09T18:44:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I awoke with a fright staring at clock that read 8:15am when really it was 7:15am. I had forgotten that the night before, the lights in my apartment went out--thanks to Carlos insisting that I run the air conditioner with full-on bronchitis. Ugh! Like a fool, I made it to the train station with more than enough time to spare as Carlos pointed to the car clock that told me I freaked out for nothing. So now I was pissed because I was on the train way too early and this would mean that I would have too much time before work. What's a gal to do? I thought about reading some more of the book I'm into at the moment, "A Bit On the Side" by William Trevor. That book just makes me all peevish afterwards and it would be hard to juggle it and the cup of large coffee that I had already bought because me without coffee in the morn turns me into, The Incredible Hulk: "Don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry." Then I go into what Shakespeare would term an "aside" having an internal debate with myself. Well guess what happened today, my kiddies. That's right. The scenario became a full on reality this morning when half in dream, half awake, I made my way in and out. The alarm clock sounded so distant that I chose to ignore it. Then as I turned, listening to the sounds of summer and birds chirping, I looked up to the alarm clock--which has become my foe--and noticed that the time was 9:05am. Nine O' FIVE! Incredulously, I rubbed my eyes and looked at the other more reliable clock only to have my worry confirmed. It was indeed NINE OH MY GOODNESS! I'd better call my Boss. He took it in stride, though. He even chuckled and told me "don't go crazy" which of course, I was while Carlos scarcely moved mumbling, "Relax, you're just late..." Thanks, hon: Stater of the OBVIOUS. By the time I moseyed in it was already 10:30am. No sweat because I'd stayed up late last night doing a homework assignment my Boss had asked everyone to do and I managed it relatively quickly. Yippee for me! (Score one for the hard-working nerdy insomniacs) Yeah!

2006-06-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

Munching on penicillin and antibiotics: So here it is, Sunday and I'm half-drowsy and feeling a tad (mind you, a tad) better. I will definitely go into work tomorrow, having missed a whole week last week. My mind is still fishing through the remnants of the day to re-discover the cast of characters and have them fully realized to occupy the space in my work, "Cutting Board". I'm planning a Yard Sale next weekend, and I'm steeped into a few side-projects just to refresh myself and push my poetry ever closer to a complete work. You see, I like most of my ilk, can never complete anything because I'm so full of ideas. I keep writing about pinning those down, man, but it is beyond hard to do. I picture visuals as well as the written word. I respect them both equally, so sometimes I get full of one and then the other and override my inspiration at every turn. Like today, I went to the park for a walk with Carlos and the dogs and I stopped because of this perfectly picturesque scene of Canadian geese on the water with their two babies. I was so overwhelmed in my own visual, that it seemed as though I were suddenly brought back to reality thanks to the fruit flies and mosquitoes. So you can imagine how frustrating to an artist true life sometimes is. Gotta capture a moment in a pin-cushion and try to keep it steady and spread out for a lifetime. Therein lies the problem. Maybe my own pessimism also darkens the view and maybe my inability to fully enjoy the elusive moment sort of affects my overall mood. I dunno. I just know that if I get frustrated enough with the direction something's going in, I try to adjust the lens and review it from another angle. That, or I give up. But I'm sincerely trying to gather these lovely little stretches of time, molding them into prolonged pleasant, useful creative events without seeming static. Well, I'd better go...don't wanna miss The Sopranos...haha!

2006-06-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

hello, i miss you but i'll never back down. hello, i love you but i won't back down. i'm tired and i'm sure you're tired too. i see you're just as stubborn as i am. but you won't win this one because i know that it'll hurt more if we stayed friends. you seem to have forgotten me. you play pretend and look away. you blow up at everyone because they're there. and damn, you need to feel something come alive; anything. but they don't understand you. they'll smile and say all the stuff you've heard before, because they are not me. i know. believe me, i know. does it feel satisfying, having said your piece without listening? does it feel better to cut those you care about out of your mind to replace them with half-hearted admirers and lovers of misery...like you?! maybe it was all a lie and you were busy acting like someone i knew. maybe you couldn't bear the truth: that we'd never fit, not even with glue. so i wrote you this letter, but you'll never read it. i took a picture, but you'll never see it. i talked to a dial tone today because i know what you'll say and it won't be pretty. there's just some things i collected in my travels that i wanted to share. some choices i made, but you didn't care. there's some advice someone gave which i didn't heed. and neither did you. so i'm done with the deed. i know. it's hard. but, not as hard as losing. send me a postcard from "somewhere" someday. send it so i'll know you're alive. wish you were here and you guessed it: order it return receipt requested.

2006-06-02T14:07:00.000-07:00

Being Sic Sux: In my bed since Memorial Day and sick as a dog. I spent life since Tuesday in the confines of my apartment sweating and drinking liquids feeling hot and cold then cold and hot. The wonder of my bed was my only comfort since from it I can talk myself into believing that I'm sailing away on a pleasure cruise, it's so soft. But now I'm going just about stir crazy and ready to launch myself outdoors even though it probably isn't such a good idea since my throat is still horrifically sore. But, bygones. What's Wrong With America? Maury Povich: Completely horrified but moronically glued to the television, I watch as girl after girl seeks her baby's Daddy. What the heck is going on with America?! After about the third story you just can't fathom why a young girl would be so promiscuous but then, she opens her mouth and you understand. The girls are less-than-stellar in the intelligence department and come from broken homes hoping to rectify their bad past experiences with newer (yet older) mistakes. Didn't these girls watch those PSA's I did in the 80s? Didn't they watch the "One to Grow On" commercials and afterschool specials? Where the heck are the parents? And if the parents are around working their butts off, then why are these girls making such poor choices? Who watches these kids when they're drinking and fornicating? Some just have no excuse like the 19 and 20 year olds who should know better but claim to be victims of circumstance. Really, they're just victims of stupidity or were overindulged kids who never learned anything when they were younger. Instant gratification. Modern-day Pacifiers. Oral fixations and poor judgement. Ugh! Still, it's addictive to watch the scenario: girl says she cheated on boyfriend or husband and wants to know if he is the biological father of her baby. Some of the children are as old as four or five! I mean, you wait FIVE YEARS to tell the person you claim to love that he isn't the Dad? Puh-lease. And then therein lies the mystery. Could he or couldn't he be the baby's Daddy? Finally, the paternity test is revealed and whether true or not, all hell breaks loose. I ponder my fascination with such shows. Why do I enjoy watching the women cower in a backstage corner when the man tested was not the father? Why do I watch each painful nuance of a young girl sometimes noticeably shaken and frightened tell her significant other about her doubts over paternity? Why do I hoot inside when I see the men brazenly deny their responsibility or sometimes belligerently reject the test after the results are announced? Maybe I'm just a morbid voyeur or maybe I secretly enjoy watching other people admit their large flaws. Sometimes, I wonder why a person would come clean to a man who has been supporting her children regardless of paternity. Why risk shaming your family on national television and ruining your current relationship in order to be noble? If the lie can ultimately affect everything you hold dear, why risk it? Is such brutal honesty worth it? I mean, what determines a good father: the one-night-stand who'll call you terrible names and deny your child or the guy who happens to believe that the child is his own? Just thinking aloud. If you're going to be honest and truthful, you should do it from the door. Not after inviting someone in making him comfortable, marrying him then hitting him with the mystery baby. C'mon, people! It's common sense! Guilty Pleasure # 2: The next type of show I watch when I'm bed-ridden is The Courtroom Drama! I love the Judge Mathis/Judy/Alex/Joe Brown and of course I love Divorce Court! Whooeeeeeeeeeeeee Doggie! I can't believe how wonderfully stupid some of the defenses are. It just cracks me up. It's a Divine Comedy I can watch and point and laugh and mock all the livelong day! Yippee!!!! *ahem* Well, I guess that's about it. Now it's your time to share. What do you like to watch when you can? Huh?! Huh?!

2006-05-31T14:19:00.001-07:00

What I Know For Sure: It's so much easier to be on defense, than on offense. It's so much easier to hate than to love. It's always easier to be judgemental than open-minded; exclusive rather than inclusive. It's so much easier for family to ruin you because they know you best. It's easier to harbor resentment than truth. It's easier to point out someone else's flaws rather than your own. It's easier to be far away than nearby. It's easier to lie, but when consequences follow, it's easier to lay blame. It's easier to be a rival than a friend. It's easier to face your troubles alone than ask for help. It's easier to be alone than to invite others in. It's easier to write an email than to call. It's easier to stay busy doing things you hate than getting up the courage to do the things you love. It's easier to have no time rather than to make time. It's easier to dismiss the elderly or infirm rather than sitting with them and listening to their life-stories over and over again. It's easier to go to great lengths to try to stay young than to grow old gracefully. It's easier to throw difficult people away than to learn how to deal with them. It's easier to turn away than to do something. It's easier to ask for money than to earn it yourself. It's easier to con than to care. It's easier to disengage, disconnect, distance oneself. It's easy to project your feelings onto someone else. These are the things I know for sure. On Dad: Sometimes it's alright to be a little crazy. Dad, while arguing in the car with my mom raised up the car radio to full blast. Inappropriate? Sure. Immatture? You bet. But that's what I loved most about my parents. When mom said no, Dad said maybe. When mom said yes, Dad said over my dead rotting corpse! They were two young Puerto Ricans trying their best to learn while raising two kids. And sure, Dad always wished I'd grow up to be a policeman just like him, but I couldn't hang in that department. I wasn't sporty or physical enough. But the things that Daddy taught made me made me brave and strong (even though I didn't understand his methods). It was unorthodox the way we grew up: guns in the house, teaching me how to aim and shoot it at the age of eight, learning stealth methods with baby powder on pieces of paper. But it has always stayed with me. My favorite memory is when I got my first job at a department store. Having never really experienced racism, I had no idea what I was in for. After being trained for two days, I was put in the hats section and learned quickly that I was not fit for the job. The woman who managed me was white and said a lot of racist comments when I failed to show up for one of her scheduled days. I explained that I had not been scheduled and that someone must have changed my hours the following day. When the woman called me lazy and other things, I threw my name badge at her and told her to shove her job where the sun doesn't shine. Frantic and disappointed, I called my Dad and told him word-for-word what had transpired. Without a hitch, he said, "I'm on my way..." and in record time, he arrived like a supreme hero. The coolest thing occured while on the ride home when he said, "You don't need that job! F**k 'em!" This memory for me is the ultimate example of how my Dad taught me that he'd always have my back, no matter what the situation. Years later, I thanked Dad for giving me the confidence that I could figure things out for myself rather than expecting someone else to solve my problems for me. I love you, Dad. On Mom: Despite my mom's current thinking that I've always sought my father's love more than hers, I am primarily my mother's child. We share the same Chinese horoscope symbol: the ox. We like the same movies, television programs, have the same taste in clothes and decor, and most of all enjoy our solitude. My interest in keepsakes, tracking my family's history and scrapbooking are all thanks to my mom. Her impeccable record-keeping and patience are inherent in everything I do. These were skills that have helped develop and shape my career. My favorite memory of my mom involves her running up and down the aisle at PS #8 to capture me receiving the honor roll with an instant camera that in those days didn't have auto-focus. She would attend almost every honor and credit roll session, made it to my nerve-wracking spelling bees, survived torturous assemblies, and made it to my horrific performance of The Charleston dance. Every time I saw her in the audience, I felt as though I were walking on a cloud. While most kids didn't have the luck of seeing their parents EVERY TIME, my mom made it a point to always be there cheering me on. She did it for my sister too, no matter how tight the scheduling. I love you, too, mom. But for some reason, as time rolls on, people change. I now know that my parents weren't infallible. They weren't superheros, just people. I learned that it's easy to see their shortcomings and failures despite their major accomplishment in raising two pretty decent kids. I learned that being overprotective also helped me avoid major hardships early on. And even though I fought them tooth and nail over staying at a local college rather than going away, I now know that I was nowhere near ready to make such a leap. Parents know best...sometimes. D-I-V-O-R-C-E: Some kids have it rough and have to experience this when their too young to understand it. It was great that my parents held out as long as they did. We had some great moments. That's what it's all about, after all. I received from both of these wonderful people the best that each could offer. Like Dad always sang (from the Rolling Stones) You can't always get what you want...and I learned to understand that he was right. But divorce is never easy. I can't think of the marriage as a failure either. Like Dickens wrote: "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." But now I see that all of the carrying on, the power-plays, the doubts, the triumphs, the disappointments are what molds us. It is how we learn about life and its struggles. We learn to cope and to come to ourselves and face the facts. Hey, sometimes we grow out of love or we come to all there is to know about another person. Like a caterpillar, we morph and change into a butterfly to newer lessons and a broader view of the world. After my parents divorced, my mom learned to drive. My father came to religion, after fighting my mom about it for many years. Both were relieved of their stifling duty and forced obligations. They learned to live again outward, onward, forward. Memory Lingers Longer than Bitterness: Life marches on, flanked by happy memories. Experiences that I will always cherish. Our blessings in a spring rain, our family trips to Canada and Florida, playing matre d' to celebrate my parent's anniversary, dancing and singing around the house. These are the best memories. And memories, unlike love, never die.

2006-05-23T16:57:00.000-07:00

Farce: God has got to have a sense of humor. In two days, I've had firsthand examples of how the Lord giveth and taketh away... It started on the train in to work. I accidentally spilled some coffee on the floor and I was desperate to clean it up. I call out to everybody: "Does anybody have a newspaper handy?" Blank stares from everyone in my car, but luckily (or so I thought), a random guy passed me carrying a newspaper. I was kind and asked him if he could please give me a section of his newspaper that he doesn't read. I barely looked at the guy in the face when all of a sudden he handed me what appeared to be like a one-sheet insert advertisement. Incredulous at the man's candor, nay BALLS to hand me something so meager and pathetic, I just looked into his bright blue eyes when he added the kicker: "Well," he said, "I bought it to read it." (Aside: Note the snide italicized words to express the intent to make me feel like a tool) This is where the traditional me came in: I had nothing to offer but a meek 'thank you' as he walked away in true peacock fashion. I was mortified. But see, I'm just not clever enough to retort upon impact. Instead, I just shyly went about nervously rummaging through my purse to find some more sheets of scrap paper to cover the spill. I'm sure I looked like a frantic mess, but that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that still two days later, I'm imagining all of the things I could've said. You see, God not only blessed us with memory, but total recall. By that I mean that I just couldn't get the scenario out of my head! I pictured every second from every angle possible. Torturing myself over and over. Divine Comedy (Story Extracted from actual Journal Entry): This morning the alarm clock that woke me up, were the dogs. Lady (the fluffy white cloud) clicking her tiny paws on the tiled floor and Bear (the St. Bernard mix) in tow. For some reason, it's always the little dogs, with their Napoleonic complexes, which make the most noise barking. After struggling a bit with leashing them both, we made it outside. The air was brisk with a hint of summer (though the days were not hot enough to be considered the season). Bear took his usual lead, leaving behind his whining and eagerly replacing it with pulling and tugging. It is always harder to control Bear for that reason, since one's arms feel on the verge of dislocating. Lady, on the other hand went at a much slower snail-like pace. They meandered around Bear's favorite corner, parallel to the railroad that was now defunct, and past the window factory. As we turned the block back onto the Boulevard, we passed the house with the overgrown tree branches; the leaves now a deep shade of red. As I bent to avoid getting smacked in the face, I caught sight of a lonely dollar bill waving at me from between the bushes in the front lawn. I never think twice about these things. I immiediately swooped down, retrieved the bill and kept on walking. Serendipity is what educated people call luck. It is a favorite among scholars and I know because I was one. But I also know about karma which has a way of biting a chunk out of Serendipity every chance it gets. I had decided on eggs for breakfast, so I grabbed a carton out of the fridge and laid it haphazardly on the edge of the kitchen counter. Just as I reached for the half gallon of milk, BAM!, the whole egg carton fell. I salvaged what I could saying aloud, "I guess we're having scrambled..." You see, I like God, also have a sense of humor. It wasn't the best breakfast I ever had, but I understood at that moment, that I was lucky (serendipitous) enough to be eating breakfast at all. See?!

2006-05-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

A Little Less Conversation and a Little More Action, Please: Okay, okay. I don't usually watch Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, but I caught the end of the season finale and I had to agree. Our "lame duck" President GW, better take a few more vacations and forget all about the public office he's holding. Thankfully, his reign of terror will soon be over, but not soon enough for our troops out in the Middle East. What I fail to understand is the reasons why everyone hasn't impeached this guy. I mean, we were ready to tar and feather our last Prez because he got a hummer (not the car). But this one oval idiot has managed to ruin our economy, jack up gas prices, steal precious oil, forgive countries their debts, and oh yeah, declare himself a President with a minority of the votes. Let's not forget there are no "weapons of mass destruction" but there are potential terrorists among us. There's also more than a little confusion over which immigrants are acceptable: Mexicans or Iraqi terrorists. Am I missing something?! Let's delve a little more into the lie that is America: National Guard Spread Thin - GW thought it important to send our National Guard to help with the War in Iraq. So he sent some. Then, just this week, he's asked National Guard to help relieve undermanned Mexican border patrol. Then, there was the Massachusetts flooding in which the state declared a state-of-emergency, so good ole GW is requesting to send more National Guard members over there. Whew! Let's also keep in mind that GW served on the National Guard and received less-than-stellar marks due to his poor conduct. Shh...I'm trying to hear! - I wonder if the Secret Service told our government: Oh, that? Oh, well, uh...that's just a mini-recorder to...uh, can I have a glass of water? *ahem* I , well, that is...the President, uh, Mr. Bush asked us to kinda sorta listen...(clearing throat)...excuse me...that is, to record some very suspicious conversations and we kinda listened to 'em together and made fun of stuff, Sir. Puhlease. Isn't this totally like against the law? Lemme get this straight now, nobody is allowed to record anyone without their knowledge or consent with only one exception: IF YOU ARE THE US GOVERNMENT. Ah, I got it now. That's Not Oil, That's Just Really Black Coffee - So what if GW's Dad had an old agreement with Saddam Hussein over oil? Who cares that GW has an oil business he co-runs with his Dad? That's just a coincidence. That's not the real reason why our troops are in Iraq...NO! "Honey, it's for you...It's God Calling (Collect)" - Everybody should have seen a red-flag waving when early in his Presidency, Bush crazily admitted that he talked to God personally. A mighty wind blew and God, in the voice of Charlton Heston or James Earl Jones said, "George W Bush, why are you the President of the United States?" and GW shrugs like a fool. "Because, I voted for you...and so did Jesus." And rather than having GW taken away to the looney bin, we award him four more years. Yeah, that makes sense. "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"- This little beaut was from an actual speech Bush made in Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000. Anybody who can put Dan Quayle's words to shame, has to be an idiot with a capital "E"...get it? The Most Vacationist President EVER - 'Nuff said. I'm sure there's stuff I missed, but I wonder why the American public and Congress have missed these. The nation that invented such things as protests, activism and boycotts cannot seem to gain enough momentum to oust this guy. All it can do is concede, check chads on voting cards, and run polls showing the President's sliding approval rating. GW declared himself President before every vote was counted the first time. The second time, the Electoral votes counted in his brother's state guaranteed him a win. Unfortunately, the only people losing in the deal are the American people. And that's just sad. So do us all a favor, lame duck. Stay on vacation. For the remainder of your Presidency. Pretty please. I am MeMa, and I approve this entry.

2006-05-15T18:38:00.000-07:00

Step lively, step quickly

My feet in the sea

The currents, the currents

Will carry me

Why am I so unnerved by my feelings? The time and the tide that keep turning, pique my yearning. Gotta give the gods credit for influencing the creative spirit, making the world my Muse. Seems all I am right now is filled with ideas and thoughts and aspirations. Now, all I have to do is zero in on them. Focus. Hopefully, I won't be overrun by my imagination, drowning in those bitter little frustrating muddled up crumpled pieces of paper! Writers often have too much or too little. Never "just enough" to gain a clearer understanding of what to do first. That would prove too simple. So right now it is the insomnia, the details, details, details and the half-mad rants at three in the morning over characters which interrupt my sleep! It's pure bliss and delicious torture. I secretly admire the romance of figuring scenes out, analyzing the plot from every angle. I let those damned voices speak to me until the me that I know is cast away from myself to let the other players have their say. ..and boy, can they talk! For now, it's just Jane in her Candie's high-heels and blood red toenails. She loves to steal every scene, and if it weren't for Ruth, the Sheriff, and Cy, she'd get her wish alright. The mighty Aphrodite of my murder mystery.

Indio smokes his tobacco from his tightly wound cigar but hides from me when I turn the lights back on. I find him there, atop the refrigerator. A minitiaturized version of the being that lived; with handmade beads wound 'round his base. It is he whom I spot, every now and then, moving from his stationary post. He squats, he sits. He raises his hand to shade his brow. But when I turn, he is back in the same place as he was before. I know that he was given to me to serve as a guardian, protecting me from harm. I know too that this relic houses a spirit that will one day be my final guide. It will be his face I see: noble, stoic and unyielding; on the other side. When that day comes, I will turn to him and say, "You've served me well, old friend." And perhaps, he will finally show me a smile. And perhaps, God will let me in the front door.

See what I mean? A million thoughts. A million roads, a million different directions. Which brings me to the parallel notion: What if there were a back door in Heaven? What's a cat gotta do to get in?

I'm hoping Heaven has a back door, to let some sinners in

The battle for the soul, I hope, won't let the Devil win

If last is first and first is last and the meek shall inherit the Earth

Then I hope God lets the pauper get himself a fortune's worth

G'night.

2006-05-11T19:48:00.000-07:00

And now onto my favorite subject in the world...ME! ...because it's all about ME all the time. ...because my arm's too short to box with God, so let's just talk about...ME! ...because you give us the news and we'll give you...ME! ...because, Luke, I'm leaving you! ...because I think to myself what a wonderful world (with ME in it)! ...because you scream, I scream, we all scream for ME! ...because it still is ALL ABOUT ME! And so on. So let me start with the fact that I love my shoes. Shiny gold ballet slippers. I know, I know. Perfectly Yummy (if you're a girl) and "Why'd-you-decide-to-buy-those-things?" (if you're a boy). Ten more points if you're an adorable cutey of a boy. Minus ten if you're a jerk. So I'm happy and contentedly wearing these beauties to work (and I know that they can be considered a little loud for the workplace but I'm just a temp so...WHATEVER!) and the aforementioned jerk approaches. Let's watch. Jerk - (giggling) "Oh, what are those?" Me - "They're shoes." Jerk - "OK, Dorothy...there's no place like home, there's no place like home." Me - "Shut up!" Yeah, I know. Snappy comeback, huh? NOT! I can't think of 'em quick enough. But that one jerk managed to ruin a good portion of my day until... Cool Office Chick - "I loooove your shoes!" Me - "Really? Jerk just made me feel so bad before..." Cool Office Chick - (rolling her eyes) "Whatever! I really loooove those shoes." Me - "Thanks! You really made my day." *smiles all around (except in the dark cloudy area by Jerk)* Which brings me to my next thought: Why do I care what others say? The answer is...there is no answer! OK. Reality. My vain little heart really does get broken when people are all judgemental of me. I really hate to be odd man out. That's despite my wish to be all independent and "who-the-heck-cares" nonchalant about things. Truth is, I am extremely sensitive and most creative people who appear to have the thick skin of a rhinoceros still secretly feel inadequate and just plain weird. But when in doubt, GO ALL OUT! I mean, do whatcha wanna do badass! That's right I'm talking to you in your "Bert and Ernie"-striped shirt and bellbottoms. Go ahead and be who you be and never let The Man get you down. Gotta admire the differences. Otherwise we'd all be Stepford clones...or working for the US government. And who the heck wants to do that?! Later, Gators (and Playa Haters)!

2006-05-10T17:24:00.000-07:00

'Twas the harpy that seized me very soul. She led me to the cold, inviting water with her gaze. As I stood with spear in hand, she sang her sweet song of longing. She fixed her eyes upon the surface of the sea beckoning me to approach ever nearer and like a lovesick fool, I did. My vain attempts to avoid her stare only left me worried. The ship she rocked and I lurched forward to hold me steady. When I did, this clever creature swam up near me, close enough for me to gouge out 'er eyes. But lo, she was more keen than I. She called out to my very soul and I could not protect it. She bade me sit beside her on a wave as I slipped into the murky deep; never to be heard or seen again. Some say that she is destined to lure sailors and lovers to their deaths with her songs, shaming the sirens and Circe herself. Harpy, this I swear: if our paths should cross again, I will kill thee! Yar!

2006-05-09T09:44:00.000-07:00

From "Sara Smile" to "She's Gone": After nearly four solid years, the on-again/off-again relationship between Carlos, his daughter and I is finally over. Despite our best efforts, the girl was just not interested in repairing her life. It hurts in that we really worked hard to turn her around. Many a night was spent preaching and speeching and loving and worrying. We struggled but to no avail. She just wasn't listening. There was a metaphor which came from my Dad long ago when he had made a life-changing decision. He described the decision-making process as someone being warned about going down a dark alley. Most people, sensing the danger will turn back. But for some, the need to press on is instinctual. They go forward not because they know what's at the end, but despite it. Like Faust, they just want to see for themselves. Well, much to my chagrin. Where Do We Go From Here? I can't say for me, that she'll be totally missed. I was relieved that she was gone. I felt the energy shift the minute she walked out the door! Lest you think I'm being heartless, anyone's who's met her knows that she drives a negative energy that is so all-encompassing, it eats up any other focus. Her ability to play with your emotions, was draining. You spend so much time worrying about what she had or hadn't done that you scarce have any chance to live your life. There was no use in trying to instill your visions, life experiences, or advice either. So now, toughlove. The one who's really suffering though all of this is, Carlos. He's heartbroken over Sara's decision, but hopes that it will all be for the best.

2006-04-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

Akin to my little friend here, I have spent most of my current waking hours trying to fit in. I see the forest for the trees, the greener grass in my neighbor's yard, and I'm so apart from it that it is making me increasingly depressed. I'm even getting that weird feeling you get when you don't belong. That odd-man-out feeling. That new-kid-in-the-cafeteria feeling. The smallest opportunity that I am given to speak, say, when someone asks me a question, I begin the downward spiral of offering WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I even provide my very own thesis and dissertation before, as Shakespeare would say, "Thou didst request it." Ugh!So while I'm offering up those little nuggets of conversation that people are tripping over, I find that I am even annoying myself. It's time to gather up those treasures of Wisdom and shove 'em back in my mouth the minute they accidentally fall out. That way, I can save myself ten miles of misery. I also have to stop myself from staring awkwardly at those around me in an attempt to transfer brain signals. No one wants to Vulcan mind-meld anymore. It's time for me to store those and stop giving the appearance that I'm some lame-ass chick who talks to her herself for fear of sharing any thoughts with my human counterparts. I can't begin to tell you how much I'm starting to scare myself!Could I be so darn insecure or am I just bored? Well, it's true that I've been understimulated these past few weeks. I have already shared (ad nauseum) the unique and mundane aspects behind The Life of a Temp. There's nothing worse than sitting for hours daydreaming about public speaking engagements with Powerpoint presentations in filled-to-capacity Training Rooms; imaginary young temps eager to hear me share droplets of Experience. Must be the megalomaniac in me. Instead, this is what I get:Older Executive turns to subordinate who's training me on my job duties and says, "Can you please get her to copy these and start coding the mail that we got yesterday?" Like I'm not even there. Ugh-Ugh! Scenarios like the following are also not uncommon:"Can you...what was your name again?""Mema.""Whatever. Listen, can you photocopy these and can you," turning again to subordinate, "show her where the photocopy room is?""I know where it is."Incredulously, "You do?""Yes. Isn't it the room I pass every morning to get into the office?"Clearing throat, "Uh, yes. Yes it is. Good!"Then in full sweeping motion like a war general, complete with crest and banners flying, The Exec pivots and heads back to his office. He quietly locks the door behind him in secret fear of me. If I know where the copy room is on my second day there, who knows what else I may know? I may even threaten his job! So, like a true opponent, I brandish my colors with pride and honor. If I'm going to be labeled a traitor, then I'll go down in a blaze of glory. Glory, Halleluyah! Defiant to the last just like in kindergarten. The only saving grace is that he can't order me to do pushups or punish me with a timeout. Woo Hoo! I mean, Halleluyah, children. Halleluyah!

2006-04-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

The bloggiverse has had a long wait. Ok. I'm sorry. A lot's been rattling around in this brain and like the true nerd I am, I sit on my thoughts for a few days, scribbling in my journal (or whatever's available) and take extensive notes. Like I said, I'm a nerd that way. I have a bunch of stuff to tell you, so lemme get started.I've been living a shameful existence. One that I'm content to lead because it involves heavy meditation and contemplation and every "-ation" in the entire nation. Get it? I know. I'm tired. But here's the skinny:The temp assignment (where my questionable supervisor / Mgr / Boss was fired) is now over. Thank goodness. Let's give a healthy, almighty, "Hooray" and exchange knowing glances. Everyone knew that this wouldn't last. Seems that jobs these days are more confusing than ever. If you're lucky, you work for heavenly Bosses who understand the concept behind Happy Workers, Happy Work. If you're not so lucky (most of the known populace fall within this category) then you only have to suffer as long as you're willing to. Some see it as okay to hate their job. They can miraculously separate the ugliness from the rest of their lives. I am not of this ilk. I wish I could just clock my regular 9 to 5 shift without so much as an eye-flutter. I am one of the ones that wants to make a difference which usually means that I suffer prolonged agony if the work seems unfulfilling or unrewarding. I take work home with me because, hell, I CARE. I really do. I've tried to be the other way, believe me. It just doesn't work out.2) I've started a new temp job at yet another unsatisfyingly dull position. I don't anticipate staying long. Then again, I have to think realistically (something which I hate doing) and bow down to the Almighty Credit Card bill. Ugh. Its force is apparently mightier than I. The sucky part is that it is so dang convenient these days to whip out the card instead of the cash. Suze Orman (financial guru) would have my hide for this. And nobody wants to disappoint good ole Suze. So, I'm mending my ways, albeit begrudgingly.Finally, a little bad news from the home front which involves my sick Grandmother. Just keep her in your prayers before you lay down to sleep. I plan on visiting her real soon and hope to give more details in a later post. It's late and I really should get to bed. I didn't call this Part I for nothin'!

2006-04-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

So How Was Your Day At The Office? Tomorrow will be my official last day at my temporarily assigned position, but fear not kiddies because I've got oooh! "OFFICE GOSSIP". And since I have no loyalty to these poor schmoes anymore, I figure I'd share an experience that is commonplace for any office temp. Trust me, if it's one thing I'm good at, it's observation. So join me as I begin to unravel all of the nuances of being a temp, what that means for you (referred to endearingly as: The Poor Slob -- trust me, it could be worse), and how to avoid the obvious pitfalls of your status. Let's see, where do I begin? At the beginning. (Pardon the pun)

You Want Me To Do What?! - Some offices understand that it's your first day on assignment and try to gradually show you the ropes. Others want not only to show you, but blow a whistle to force you to climb it as far as you can in the shortest amount possible. My best advice is: Know Your Limits. Sure you could fax, copy, collate, color-code, alphabetize and sort. But do you also have to manage and formulate a project plan? No and...NO!
I'm Not Retarded, I Just Act That Way - Okay, so you are getting paid a heck of a lot more than minimum wage. That doesn't mean that you have to learn the company's dealings overnight. So you flub some simple tasks and cut corners...so what? You never give any employer your best work EVER because most of the time, they won't notice anyway. Just do what you can. You're only there on a temporary assignment which usually means that you're the peon picking up the slack on someone else's permanent job. Get the picture?
I Was Voted "Most Likely to Succeed" In My High School Yearbook! - Don't take it too personally if people treat you like the hired help, because basically, you are. So you can multi-task. Good for you! It doesn't give you permission to run things.
Observe, Grasshopper, The Delicate Balance of Life - Do your job efficiently (but not too quickly or too slowly). Smile but don't be overly friendly. Take yourself seriously, but don't neglect your personality. Be aware but not nosy. Remember that this job could be a stepping stone towards future offers. No one wants a wet dishmop to work with. Don't be as unapproachable as Sly Stallone in Cobra ("DTA, man, DTA...Don't Trust Anybody"). Just be friendly and courteous. Just imagine how you behave when hanging out with your friends and DO THE OPPOSITE OF THAT.
Sir, Step Away From The Calculator - Stop seeing the means to an end. Does one have to work to live? Sure! But you should love what you do, not just while away the hours staring at the clock on the "Start" toolbar. If you're too busy "calculating" how many hours it takes to pay the electric bill, then you're temping for the wrong reason.
Watson, I Think I've Got It! - Try to (*gasp*) learn something while you're temping. Whether it's getting some instruction and guidance from a co-worker or doing a little self-teaching to acquire some new skills, each lesson broadens your skillset. This will be important to market yourself when you go onto your next job.
I Don't Work At "The Gap", So Why Sell Myself Short? - If your agency treats you solely as a commodity and seems less than interested in your overall happiness in a position, it is crucial to point out the obvious. Multiple phone calls to complain in a cool, calm manner will do wonders. It may give your agency the head's up it needs to review their client. It also may be the head's up you need to review your agency. See how cyclical that is? What goes around really does come around...
Don't Worry, Be Happy - Ultimately, only you can give an accurate assessment of a company from how you feel. Do you go home after work only to complain to high heaven about Homer Simpson in Sector 7G? Well, maybe the nuclear plant isn't a good fit. Remember that your agency are not the ones being asked to spend 8 hours a day working for Mr. Burns...it's YOU. "Supplicants, indeed."

Those are just a few of the tips I learned while on the job. Temp if you will, temp if you must, but don't ever forget: It's Success or Bust!

2006-04-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Britney Spears, Congratulations, Britney on dropping your baby! You have managed to endanger your child's life for the second time in a row (not a small feat). Hold onto your hat because what I am about to offer you will BLOW YOU AWAY! Now that you have officially been reported to the authorities, wouldn't you love to have a keepsake that could mark this special occasion for you and your child, Sean Preston? This is not just some random letter from Child Protective Services or a useless internet song from your husband, K-Fed. This is an opportunity to record this moment for a lifetime. But just in case you aren't convinced, here's a testimonial from others just like you: Courtney Love: "I dealt with Kurt's death by throwing myself on a lawn for a photo-op. Little did I know that that vigil could've gone unnoticed, overlooked and forgotten forever! It was hard, y'know selling Kurt's music. It was also hard having to deal with the court over my own daughter, Francis Bean. I'm a good fucking mom. I am. So this was the best way to prove it to the judge and Dave Grohl and everybody that I care for my kid!" Michael Jackson: "Before all of those ignorant people had said all of those horrible things about me and Blanket, I decided that I needed to do something. After I received this in the mail, Little Prince loved it and told me so from behind his mask. I love my chil'run so much!" Yes, for a small fee, you could go ahead join the ranks of poor parenting! Britney, you may be wondering what gift could contain such a wonderfully precious moment? Well, look no further! Allow us to send you this lovely, finely painted cardboard cigar box. But wait! Your luck does not stop there. Because the cigar box is not filled with cigars. No. But before you decide, Britney, know that your baby will not have anything more sophisticated. No rhinestone-covered teething ring can compare to the classy, sleek bottle on Jack Daniels waiting inside! What could something like this cost, you may ask? Relax. You can afford it, Britney, even with the sliding sales of your husband's CD. Please tear off the bottom of this message and send a check for $200,000 to: "JD in A Case" c/o The Mema13 Fund. Remember, the box can be personalized and can come in two colors: pink and blue, of course! Don't let the chance of a lifetime pass you by. Please, just send it as soon as possible because...c'mon! (I could use the cash!)

2006-04-08T15:01:00.000-07:00

Yes, my sister came up with this wonderful little gem of comedic genius. Only, she said she'd heard it somewhere. But I like to call her a comedic genius because...well, El. Now she can officially hang signs in her cubicle that read, "Comedic Genius At Work". I rather like that concept. No, Brad Pitt is NOT a genius: What exactly consitutes a genius? So many people fling that word around that I've lost all sense of what the true meaning is. If you do something great that is a fluke can you still be called a genius? I mean does genius-ness have some sort of timetable? Maybe genius expires like milk products. Wouldn't that suck? If you were the genius yesterday and then all of a sudden you just stopped being a genius, stripped of all your genius-duties like...well...thinking and pondering. Isn't that what geniuses do? Or maybe geniuses are just regular people with no job and a lot of time on their hands. I mean, actors love to pat each other on the back and call each other geniuses all the time. But are they really? I mean, I can't act or anything but I hardly think that just because someone can do something that you can't doesn't make them a genius. It just makes them skilled at something that you're not skilled at. Perhaps if you go and practice a whole bunch and your Dad's an actor or a salesman, then perhaps you're more pre-disposed to acting. Or if your mom was a teacher who taught you the skills you needed for acting or singing or performing to come naturally. How can you then be called a genius? I thought geniuses were beyond smart. I thought geniuses had high IQ's and smoked pipes with dressing robes. No, wait. That's Hugh Hefner. Have We Learned Nothing from Doomsday movies? What the heck is wrong with the world? I was shocked, surprised, awed and confused by the mysterious snow which fell from our sky...in April. I'll admit that I hadn't heard the weather report, but what in the heck was that all about anyway? So my latest fears have turned to things that I can't control. Namely: post-9/11 laziness, global warming, and menstrual cramps. But not in that order. Or maybe...yeah. EXACTLY in that order. Huh.Fire Drill: OK, so the other day there was a fire drill at work. Prior to 9/11, this was an occurrence which wouldn't cause an employee to even bat an eyelash. Since 9/11, it is hard not to stir a reminiscent twinge or out-and-out worry. But why doesn't everyone bolt? Why are there still fools out there in the world that will second-guess the drill? Hello?! It went like this: Alarm goes off. Idiots walk to the elevators. Others remind The Idiots that they can't use the elevators in an Emergency. Some try to crack jokes like, "Save the Coffee!" to, I guess, worry me more. The Jerks begin to ask, "Oh, is this a drill? Does anyone know if this is a drill?" The Losers start to slow up their pace. I think: If this is a real emergency, I'm toast. Some of The Losers are wearing real inappropriate gear like high-heeled shoes. I think: If this were a real emergency, they should really take those off and bail.There's a retarted company policy that asks the employees to go down only 5 flights of stairs and someone's supposed to meet you there to give you the next set of instructions. I think: Are they kidding? Seeing that no one is there to give us further instruction, every smart employee makes a mad dash for the next flight of stairs. The Idiots, Jerks and Losers are still deciding what to do. I think: I'd mow them down and use their bodies as my personal sled to get me to the bottom faster. We go down to the 11th Floor from the 19th before the "false alarm" loudspeaker announcement. I think: Thanks a lot, Building Fire Warden...for NOTHING. Then it's a slow ascent. I guess people really don't value their lives. Maybe they didn't experience 9/11 but only saw it on tv. Maybe their just Idiots, Jerks and Losers. Yeah, that's it. Global Warming Doesn't Mean Grab The Suntan: If you were Homer Simpson you'd probably say something like, "Woo Hoo! Global Warming! Marge, break out the sunglasses and flip-flops!" But you already know that The Simpsons is just a satirical cartoon, right? Right?! Yeah. I'm worried about our ozone layer that's...well...diminishing with every farting cow. *burp* We also can thank The 80s for sparking the "big hair" trend that probably didn't help. Ah, Aquanet: Killing our ozone for decades. That should be their marketing angle for the 21st century. But, I digress...yet again. But seriously, aren't there things that we can do to help Mother Earth besides killing off cows and telling ladies with bouffant hairdo's to watch it with the hairspray? Well, I guess it helps to condition ourselves accordingly. The easiest way to start is by using less of what we think we need. Stop wasting gas. Use the backside of used sheets of paper. Don't buy new, buy used. Then, over time, we can graduate to the wonderful world of RECYCLING. I can't believe people still refuse to recycle their garbage, even though some communities are punishing the guilty with heavy fines. And no, those blue bins in the office aren't just for show. Please separate your paper from your plastics, your glass from your cardboard. The result may not be as dramatic, but every little bit helps. So we may not be able to prevent the next cataclysmic event. Maybe we can start small and work our way up or leave that problem solving to the geniuses. Last But Not Least: Lord, I know I'm a woman and all, but why must I suffer the horror that is menstruation? Why do all of the most horrific words begin with the word: men? Menopause? Menningitis? Mental Retardation? Why couldn't Eve just have forgotten all about that fruit? Why'd she have to be such a dumbass? Why does this monthly game always involve me having cravings for chocolate? Why must I be in such a pissy mood? If you cut me, do I not bleed? Why then must I bleed for 3 days to a week every month? Are irregular periods just some sick joke of Yours? Well, let me in on it then. I'm in a perfect state-of-mind to rip someone's head off. Might as well be You. Amen.

2006-03-20T16:00:00.000-08:00

What's A Nice Girl Like Me Doing In A Place Like This? Picture this: a cubeless arrangement of side-by-side desks flat as an open plain. Only there isn't any scenery to immerse myself in. There's just mounds of work and a wasteland of dull-eyed worker-monkeys pushing paper. I'd kinda hoped to make the best of things. But, no one talks to me and it is very noticeable that I am being grossly ignored. Un-blessed ennui and a pile which I putter through as the hours drag on. I try my very best to be sociable. I really, really do. But I guess senses of humor are hard to come by at least in such automaton locations. I miss my old Boss and my co-workers. I'm afraid that I'll never meet such a kind, professional bunch again. And hello...I've paid my dues. Why in the heck do I have to keep on paying?! American Idle: So what I understand is that going back to temping is kind of like having talons stuck in your side. You're treated as though you're not human and as if you don't have any feelings. Some people talk down to you as though you can't understand English. I knew this going in, so I have found ways to amuse myself. When the Boss isn't looking, I check my emails. I send notes to some old buddies and maintain a few contacts. I take a gazillion breaks and since there really is no place to go (except around in a circle) I have invented a creative game. My first break consists of either a trip to the cafeteria for water, tea, or a snack. I take the long way down a long, endless corridor that kills about 10-15 minutes if I walk really, really slow. My second break is usually after a rather tedious stretch of time where I do entries in a system that is riddled with duplicate invoices and errors. Since I am a temp I am not supposed to care, but somehow I do. I have already tried (in vain) holding mediocre conversations with various people but that doesn't seem to work since the people who I'm addressing appear to have never graduated high school. A conversation can easily go like this: Me - Wow, it's so cold out. Them - Yeah. Me - I hear that it won't go higher than 30 degrees today. Them - Umm Hmm. Me (after an uncomfortable silence) So...did you hear about the Isaac Hayes controversy? Them - The what? Me - Y'know...on South Park? Them - I don't watch South Park OR What's that? Me - A cartoon on Comedy Central? Them - Oh. I never watched that. Me (switching to current events) - What a horrible thing...Dana Reeve's death, huh? Them - Who? Me - Nevermind. Them - What? Me - Nothing. Them (giving me a weird look). Conversation over. My second break is usually to go to the bathroom. By now I have to go, having had that tea on my first break. Again, I take the long way there; smiling at passersby who appear to be confused by my high spirits. I guess "gloom-and-doom" face works better. Today though, I had the pleasure of overhearing a quote which was almost like an inside joke/gift to myself. The quote: "I be trying to act smart." Now you have been let in on the joke. Endless laughs forever...ok maybe not forever, but at least a good long while. Condescending Down A Spiral Staircase: So last week, I actually received a mini-conversation from my direct Supervisor (who is my Boss but hasn't yet earned the right to be titled such). You know why I have such an underlying disgust for this creature? Because he's condescending. Very. It reminds me of an old Dilbert cartoon where Dilbert's Boss says, "Come over here and let me pat your head in a condescending way..." I always laughed at that one, except is isn't so funny when one is actually living it. The man hasn't said two words to me for over two weeks and yet decided to engage me in conversation that didn't even deal with anything I'd learned or how I was doing. Nope. But first, let me give you a little background: the "Boss" is new. He loves to mention it to anyone within earshot. It usually comes in the form of phrases like, "I'm new" or "I've only been here a few months" or "I haven't been here very long". In other words, he's the new guy and that buys him a few more months of not having to learn anything. In addition to not knowing anything about his function, this guy goes on and on about, "THE BIG PICTURE!" No, really. I think he even used the words: "big picture". Because this guy is the worst of all--this guy is THE CONDESCENDING IDIOT. Quickly, to the Batmobile, Robin! What is a condescending idiot, you may ask? Well, at every job you'll have at least one. The person who thinks that whatever he/she's doing is way below him/her. There are "grander scale" issues and "larger tasks" at hand, like the character of Robin in the Batman comic book series. He's the guy that is really just Batman's sidekick, but still envies The Caped Crusader. That's right. Poor Robin would much rather achieve some kind of greatness by kicking (*POW!*) Batman out of the way and (*WHAM!*) stepping over his bloody corpse to become the defender of Gotham City. The rude condescension is just the icing on the cake. Just like The Joker, my "Boss" talks at me and not to me. He has a tendency to assume that I'm an idiot and speaks in small, annoying sentences as if he's teaching a child. Worse, I think he believes that he is the greatest, fairest guy in all the land. But, he's not. He's just rude and clown-like. *Cue Big Top Ringling Bros Circus music here* But it could've been worse. He could have been more like a diabolical con on the mission to take over the world a la Lex Luther. I guess I lucked out, after all.

2006-03-19T18:34:00.000-08:00

Pounding Pavement ...life on the street. A truly difficult undertaking when regarding a young, aspiring artist and her journey into the wonderful world of adulthood. Step #1: Finding a job to pay for her art supplies. The motive is to get the girl motivated. NOT AN EASY TASK. She's the most stubborn, hard-headed, lazy riot grrl in existence. Even though I think that it's just part of the process, part of me just wishes I could shake her until she gives in. So here are the notable feet which represent this divine moment in every girl's life. We all need to be pushed a little, coaxed a little. Sometimes, we need to be shoved really, really hard. But the result is always the same: confidence and excellence. I know that with this guidance, Sara will shine. But, I have to convince THE POWERS THAT BE (namely, Carlos) that this is going to come out right. He's less-than-convinced. So yesterday, Eli, her protege and myself hiked it out. The goal: to attain multiple applications from various establishments reaching our ultimate goal...employment. It was cold. So cold out that my ears were screaming for earmuffs that I usually hate to wear. Not even my favorite striped sweater really helped me feel warm or fuzzy. Ugh! We didn't venture far, but we managed to have more than a few laughs watching the wheels of Sara's mind turn for the first time. After one such sitting, filling out a rather detailed application, she came up to us with her face beet-red. She concentrated so hard, her face resembled a candied apple. It brought me back to that first time, y'know? I'm sure everyone can relate to the horrors of the application process, but it made me stronger and more determined to find-- and then keep--a job. Now, as she walked first trepidatiously then more surely, I felt a sincere full-circle vibe. Eli commented on that feeling, too. She laughed and recalled her first experiences pounding pavement in search of the elusive job. I know. I was with her all those years ago. I pushed and poked and prodded. You see, Eli was about as hard a sell as Sara now is. But we can all learn from those humble beginnings. Perseverance DOES pay off. Parisian Charm and A Piece of Pie: Later on, we needed a break so we stopped at a charming little eatery called: Chez Marie. Not only did Tom Cruise stop in when he filmed "War of the Worlds" but The Village Voice named it one of the best restaurants in NJ. I enjoyed a cup o'Joe and Eli scarfed down a slice of carrot cake while Sara attacked a piece of Raspberry cake. Yummy! If ever you're looking for a great ambience, friendly service, and a feel like Paris (though I myself have never been), then stop on by. Tell 'em who sent ya. Okay, okay. Enough with the commercials and shameless promotions... "Vote for Pedro!"

2006-03-15T22:12:00.000-08:00

Why Do I Love Crap? Let me count the ways... I love thee for the ability to entertain my senses. I was just mulling over a sound on FMU radio station and realized that I love...crap. The crappier, the better. I actually listened as they played the THX sound over and over. For anyone who knows, it's like the Memorex sound that comes on DVD's announcing Digital Surround Sound capability, but I actually listened to it. And the radio DJs actually listened to it, because they played it. Then, in a crap-tacular event, I was flipping channels and stopped on a UFO sighting video marathon on one of those Discovery Channel stations which speculated and showed crappy footage that I've seen a million and one times, and yet...I couldn't tear myself away. I actually stayed tuned in. Why do I love crap so much?? Huh??

2006-03-15T21:40:00.000-08:00

An Old Office Favorite: The Blabbermouth: You've probably met this type before. Perhaps like the Sasquatch, you've even come across them in your woodland travels from desk to cubicle. The Blabbermouth, much like the office hummer, can be easily identified with the following list of telltale signs:

Incessant Phone Usage - The Blabbermouth overindulges on the company phone because, hey, he/she isn't footing the bill. One can overhear the Blabbermouth's entire life experience and social history just from their use of this medium. What's the point in living life if no one else is listening to your personal experiences firsthand?
Crazy Loud Laughter - The Blabbermouth loves to do things BIG. BIG and GREEDY. So why not top boisterous chatter with equally boisterous laughter? It's the gift that keeps on giving...
Sharp Outcries - Y'know that audio message preceeding a movie that says, "Talking may be annoying to the people around you...Please be considerate--DON'T TALK!" The Blabbermouth has obviously never paid attention to this message. The outcries may be gleeful as in, "Oh! My! Gosh, Becky! You're getting married?? Eek!" to outcries of annoyance, "DAMN!" or the outcry of incredulity, "She said what about your hair?!" Either way, the outcry never really matches any real sentiment. It is all for show.
Occasional Lowering of the Voice - In moments of true crisis one must always be aware and self-conscious that, no matter how many curse words were blurted out randomly and inappropriately before, decorum at work must be kept at all times. This is when the muffled voice is key. Forget the sharp outcry from a moment ago. Some things must be kept secret. And if you believe that, The Blabbermouth has a bridge they'd like to sell you.
Talking So Fast It'll Make Your Head Spin - HowmuchcanIsayinrun-onsentencesoastobeabletogeteverythingIhavetosayineventhoughwhatTheBlabbermouthhastosayisawholelotofnothing? Right.
Feigning A Feeling - It is the job of The Blabbermouth to have a listening audience within audible distance. Therefore, pretend shock and awe (when not really shocked or awed) is a vital part of the game. Most phrases will begin: "Oh my God, really?!..." and end in: "I can't believe that he said that to his wife!" Of course, in Jersey City, the ending is liable to be more jaded: "...and that's why he was arrested??" The Blabbermouth is also prone to use facial expressions mimicking actual human feelings. Beware! Do not fall victim to this scheme! It is only a cry for attention and just the excuse The Blabbermouth needs to...well...blab.

If you spot a Blabbermouth in the workplace, please contact the authorities. If the offender is apprehended, you can get the satisfaction that a horrible cliche has been taken off the streets. That is all.

2006-03-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

Conditions Are Partly Cloudy: I don't always know the direction in which I am going. Spent two days in The Windy City, forgot to bring my camera, was dealing with a bad cold, and got my period while on the dang business trip. The week was going to be depressing anyway since this was my final week at the job. Not exactly the best feeling in the world. The plane ride was surprisingly smoothe both ways, though. I guess that was good. On my cab ride to the hotel, I was reminded at how much Chicago reminds me of New Jersey. Only a cleaner, better version. Maybe it's the wider streets. Maybe it's the alleyways (where they dispose of garbage). Don't know. All I know is that I have a lot on my plate. A lot. Stuff I can't even mention on my blog because...well...some freak might be reading this and maybe planning ways on how to dispose of me. At least, that's what the myspace controversy is telling people. Worry. Mayhem thanks to some freakshows who probably can't get laid but want to mess with people just because it's easier than getting mental help. The Remains of the Day: Development in the downtown Chicago area has gone forward as planned, it seems. A lot that I remembered has changed in those three years! I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. And let it be said that the "meat presentation" at Gibson's was entertaining and refreshing. If you're ever there: pay them a visit. It's great stuff! And if you're lookin' for a Jersey feel, try Jilly's with the voice of Frank Sinatra cranking over the sound system. And if you're lucky, the piano that you're laying your drink on, may finally be played right in front of you. Along with a Sinatra sound-a-like. But what I really enjoyed was the company. My Chicago Finance friends: "GK4", Kerry, "Stern-o", "Yippers", TM, Brenda, MM, & Amy . As for the whole two representatives of Finance Team HS, there's me (center) and "Budge" (bottom right). I think Sinatra said it best: "Chicago is my kind of town!" I'm gonna miss you all...Love, Mema.

2006-03-09T11:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just have to worry about the grout The other day, I was sick with worry. I sat in front of my pc pondering the meaning of life, wondering where I’d be in the next few months (job-free) and sulking to my heart’s content. I went to a bad place, a very bad place. On the verge of tears and self-pity, good ole Carlos showed up and began talking up a storm: exasperated. Carlos - “Babe, I’m almost finished with the closet. Do you want me to put those shelves up in the kitchen? Because I want what you want. Let me know if you like that idea. If not, let me know. Oh, and the painter’s finished the grout in the bathroom. Go check…” Me - “Where is my life going? What’re we going to do?” Carlos - “Relax, babe. Okay, listen…the painter wants to start on painting the bathroom and then we’ll lay down the floor tile…and…” Me - (sigh) “I mean look at me, Carl. I’m thirty-two years old and about to lose my job–” Carlos - “Babe, it’ll be alright.” Me - “But how do you know that? We have so much to do in this apartment.” Carlos - (looking pensive) “You know, we can put those two smaller cabinets in the corner and replace the water-cooler.” Me - “Are you listening to me?” Carlos - “Babe, but these are your decisions. I want this apartment to look the way you want.” Me - “I trust your judgement.” Carlos - “That’s not right, y’know? All of this stuff is what I said I was gonna do and I’m gonna do it. As for all that other stuff, you want me to do…what? Everything will be alright when I get this apartment fixed. I’m doing this for you, babe.” Me - “I know. But I’m so worried…” Carlos - “Don’t worry about those things. I’ll take care of it. So do you want those shelves that I showed you? C'mere…I put them in a corner in the kitchen.” Carlos walks over and holds them up. Carlos - ”Do you like them?” Me - (walking towards the kitchen) “They’re nice.” Carlos - “…because if you don’t, I’ll get rid of ‘em.” Me - “No, no, that’s okay.” Carlos - “Maybe you’ll help me put them up later?” I mumbled something under my breath and I stopped listening to him for a minute. I was actually marvelling at Carlos’s inability to sink into depression. He just doesn’t worry about things like that. And as I mulled over the future and all of life’s uncertainties, I realized what I should be wasting my energies on. The only stuff that really matters is the day-to-day. Sometimes, you just have to worry about dinner or calling your mom just to see how she’s doing. It’s the little things that you take for granted. The little insignificant things that make the world go ’round. Maybe losing my job was God’s way of saying–slow down. We spend so much time worrying about where we are in the universe, that the dishes pile up in the sink. We focus on the inconvenience of our morning commutes without thinking that maybe we can take those extra moments to smell the roses. You can actually acknowledge the things that you’ve missed or overlooked. It’s all around you.You may not be able to control your life, but hey, you can control grout. That’s what it’s all about.

2006-03-09T11:39:00.000-08:00

Riding the Oscar Wagon I didn’t see Crash, but I “broke”-down (pardon the pun) to see Brokeback Mountain.First off, Carlos just didn’t want to see this movie. Not because of the gay theme, but because he felt that he would be bored by a “paced” movie. He also said that he didn’t want to ruin his view of cowboys. Coming from the John Wayne era of Westerns, I could see his point. So I left him home. I went with my mom. I was pleasantly surprised at how beautifully filmed this movie is. It was believable, committed, subtle, and it left just enough inference, respecting the audience. I really hate films that “dumb” difficult subject matter down assuming that the audience is filled with slack-jawed yokels who don’t understand the concept of voluntary suspension of disbelief. “Ain’t that Heath Ledger? And ain’t he dating the woman that’s in the movie? Ain’t she preggers with his baby? What’s he doin’ in a gay movie?” Now even though I’m sure some of these people still exist, I wouldn’t want to be around ‘em when I’m watching this film. There’s a whole ritual that I undergo when watching movies, but that’s another entry. For now, let’s focus on the greatness that is Brokeback.First off, this movie is subtle. It doesn’t (contrary to the conservative’s belief) shove homosexuality down your throat. It isn’t traditional, but it is a love story. The sweeping landscapes, the longing, the awkwardness, the interludes are all the same as any love story. But more so, there is a distance here that cannot exist in say, a Meg Ryan romantic comedy. Longing is an understatement because these men are not only bound by a society that doesn’t accept any love between two men, but especially not cowboys. I mean, it may be okay to dress up like one to sing, “YMCA”, or to wear chaps in a cliched-pseudo-sexual-homo-erotic movie, but not in classic Western. Cowboys are always depicted as such “men’s” men thanks to Turner Classic movies and Marlboro ads. That’s why despite myself and my progressiveness, I still cringed when these two wrestled each other in a tent. It was the first time that a same-sex relationship–among cowboys–was treated with honesty on the silver screen. They could have been any other couple roughing it out there on a mountainside.

2006-03-09T11:34:00.000-08:00

The Vocal Stylings of the Weekend Crew There is a new most unpleasant, habitual entertainment that I did not sign up for when I moved. I experienced just a bit of it before when I commented about the late-night warblings of drunken skunks in the bar below me. Hey, that’s what makes the rent cheap. On a normal day, the alcoholics keep it down to a low roar. That’s cool. It is sort of a respectful way of saying, “Hey, it’s the weekday and we all gotta live here.” Cohabitation is what makes the world go ’round. But I know that utopic bliss doesn’t go far when you live in New Jersey. And I also know that it’s a pub and some drunken escapades are warranted. It’s like going to a concert. You sort of subscribe to the fact that some people will be foolish and over-indulge. Same here. I got it. TRUST ME. The Rolling Stones used to be my favorite band: Apparently, the alcoholics enjoy the beautiful melody, “Angie”. A lot. Try over and over at various intervals. Ad nauseum. Then, add the vocal stylings of some random drunken alley cat and now you understand the horror, the horror!!! There is a sunny side, though. If you get tired of the guy who’s belting out “Angie”, there’s always the more sedate mumbling ballad, “Yellow” by Coldplay. Hell, they’ll even play the whole CD for you for free! Yippee! Yeah, nothing like listening to the smoothe sound of Coldplay at three-in-the-morn! What I’m surprised not to hear is more Bon Jovi, Billy Joel, and Bruuuuuucccceee!!!!!!!! I guess they wore the heck out of the jukebox CD. Boo and/or hiss.

2006-03-09T11:29:00.000-08:00

He’s not just a hummer: Now I know I’ve described the gentleman before who enjoys (ugh!) humming to his heart’s content. Well, now I’ve discovered some other random annoying talents (if you can call them that). No, it would be too restrictive for this man to have only one skill. This guy’s an artist! He cannot be a mere hummer! He must also excel at such things as “Phrasology” and “Random Outbursts” as well as “desk tapping”! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this guy DOES IT ALL! He’s a desktop virtuoso!There’s no level to which he wouldn’t stoop, no mountain that he couldn’t climb to reach (that’s right) excellence. He is an American hero; an icon of the Age of Creativity; a poster-child for amateur underachievers everywhere. Just watch as he mesmerizes onlookers with the speed and precision of his tapping hands! How can one’s ability to tap “Bohemian Rhapsody” or Van Halen’s “Jump” be so overlooked? Words like, “mediocre” and “passe” could never apply to such renditions! But, just sitting near this guy will cause you hours of extended (aggravation) bliss as you realize that the tapping isn’t all he’s about. No. That’s where the (pain) fun begins! This guy can say things like: “Heavens to Mergetroid!” or ”Good Gosh!”. His mere presence showers those around him with the (chilling) exciting feeling that they have come in contact with a demi-god. No one can rock harder than a desk “tap” specialist! Get ready to be shocked and (annoyed) amazed. If he were a performing monkey, he’d deserve a banana. C’mon. Give it to ‘im folks!

2006-03-09T11:24:00.000-08:00

Foiled by a Futon Picture this: an unseasonably warm winter day which sets the stage for my moving (long past ~ thank goodness). So I’m trying to figure out how in the heck I’m going to deal with: a) a moving truck which was smaller than I expected b) a hired hand that was neither handy nor cooperative c) independently moving with little-to-no-help (See “b”). I began trying, in vain, to move small boxes which I made the fatal mistake of overstuffing with random everyday items like pots, pans, books. Thus, the boxes wouldn’t close shut making the stacking process for the van near impossible. Not to mention that the shape of these aforementioned boxes were all sorts of weird and inconvenient. Think oblong rectangles and loose (like prepared for recycable bins). Argh! *Note: In my defense, this was my first and (hopefully) last move for a very, very, very long time. Okay, so I’m still attempting to over-stuff already heavy and complex trapezoidal Chinese origami-like boxes to prepare them to be further stacked, shoved, and squeezed into a mini-van. You get the picture. Not exactly smoothe sailing…It is decided that since the small stuff was getting to be worrisome, that the bigger stuff would be saved for later on. Among the larger items? You guessed it: my bulky futon. *Note: I was and am not a futon fan. Ever. The reason for the purchase had to deal with Sara moving in with us. We needed a place for her to sleep.I am so glad to be able to say that out loud: I AM NOT A FUTON FAN. Being an American in America affords me that right. But onto the futon… It arrived in the second run of our move. By then, our “helper” decided to bail, bums were offering–you heard me–BUMS were offering to help move us, which resulted in frustration for all involved. It did however give me a giggle when one of the bums kept repeating to Sara over and over: “Stay in school and get an education. I’m serious. Don’t end up like these bums here.” I don’t think he included himself in the same breath as a bum (even though that’s what he was) because he kept mentioning how he was a Vietnam Vet and all. I think all bums in Jersey City have used this excuse at least once in their lives to justify their reasons for being bums. The funny part is?! They’re still–that’s right–BUMS!!!Trust me on this one.I grabbed hold of the one end of the futon and Carlos had gotten a rather big and tall friend to help pick up the other end. The problem was that it was hard maneuvering it through the doorways. A split-second decision was made (which in retrospect was THE WORST DECISION EVER) to disassemble a portion of the “dang” futon to get it to fit. Well, we moved it in two pieces; ever mindful that eventually we would have to re-assemble the monster.Later on that evening, while Sara was whining about it being late and having to get to sleep or whatever, Carlos had said that I should wait until he returned in order to assemble it. I, however, have never responded well to orders, suggestions, or the belief that I am not every woman and that it’s not all in me. This proved to be a mistake, of course. With Sara’s aid, I still could only manage getting one of the sides to fit in the base of the futon. Whenever we tried to manipulate the other side, a series of banging, pinching and pain began. After trying it out for a solid hour, I realized that I’d been bested. By a futon. Ugh. Needless to say, Carlos had to offer his delightful help the next day. If it weren’t for his manly-man strength, I swear I don’t know what I’d do. Only I can’t ever directly admit to that and if someone presents this blog entry as evidence, I will deny, deny, deny. Hey, it’s worked for The President…

2006-03-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

Y’know life is real hard for a pimp I haven’t written because I’ve been sick. Sick with a cold from the seventh circle of Hell. So I haven’t been up to posting or feeling all cool and cutesy. Turns out life is real hard…for a pimp. Not to compare my life to street corner hustlers or anything. Just thought that after the Oscar upset of the century, the title would seem fitting. Despite my better judgement, I came in to work today. I also am bummed because it’s my last week working here and I’ll also be travelling to Chicago this week and I feel that if this cold from Hades doesn’t let up, it may prove to be all yucky and ilky for my trip. Despite that, I’m hoping to have fun. Whoopee. Hooray. For some reason, I was all emotional this morning. I read Jam’s blog and got even more depressed. I wanted to share my woeful feeling in a poem I had written, but I can’t find it. That furthers the bum. Maybe I should eat. The fact that I have an appetite should account for something. Right? Right? I guess it’s time to clock the ho’s.

2006-03-09T10:20:00.000-08:00

World Peace, Hunger and the Bendy ID This particular post came about as a result of my recent obsessive behavior. Basically, I’m all stressed out. So when I am feeling all tied up in knots on the inside, I start getting all hypochondriac-ey and unusually obsessed with stupid things. I also get moody, argumentative, pensive, weird, spastic and other fun stuff. Which brings me to the title of this post. To add to the fun, access to my floor was stripped from me on the first. When I went to use my building ID pass, I was DENIED. So, needless to say, it wasn’t a good way to start off the month. Then, the cheap plastic material they used to create my ID, began to bend over the course of the day. Ugh!! Historically, it has been my custom to wander into my boss’s office in these times of stress, if for no other reason than to annoy him with my petty trifles. Hence, my Boss responded in the way he knows how. He made fun of me. Hence, the title of this entry. He always says I have a tendency to amplify life’s issues and make it ALL ABOUT ME. I can’t argue. I guess I am self-absorbed. I can’t help it. So yeah. World Peace? Who cares. Hunger? I laugh in the face of hunger. But the Bendy ID?? Now that’s important…to the Bat-cave, Robin! Alert the media! And while you’re at it, can you get me a sandwich? Thanks.

2006-02-21T18:55:00.000-08:00

Youth is Definitely Wasted on the Young: How does one compete with youth? It's such a sad thing how quickly the sand runs and all of a sudden you're my age wondering if you've been tapped out. I just finished watching American Idol where one of the contestants has been (in Simon terms) "overshadowed" by younger contestants...at the age of 28. Could musicians really be considered "old hat" at such vibrantly young ages? Are you really over-the-hill by twenty? Society seems to run on basic principles. Women are supposed to be young. They are supposed to be limber, strong and maintain the body of a sixteen year old throughout their lives. With thoughts like, "She looks good for her age" it is difficult to escape the stigma of being anything but younger. Despite her inventiveness, her creativity and her social skills, but it doesn't hurt if she looks like Catherine Zeta Jones or Madonna. Let's face it: society is us. The collective "we" has a tendency to punish women for the natural aging process. Expectations are high. By the time women hit thirty, society expects the following:

Wrinkle-free skin - "Age-Defying Formulas", "antioxidants", "facial enhancers", cleansers and creams are hot selling products to keep a woman's skin abnormally supple and pliant. Think plastic-girl with skin like a baby's butt. That's what I said: ew.
Perfect Marriage, Perfect Home, Perfect Children - Forget the Stepford wife motif. Women have long suffered to protect the unwritten rule that they must achieve these levels of perfection. They are judged by how happy their households are, how healthy their kids seem, and how solid their relationships are with their husbands. Anyone who says that society doesn't do that is either lying or a spinster.
Steady Career - Those who get away with #2, fall under this category. Dedicated and "married" to their jobs, these women model their lives after Oprah. If there is a Stedman around, he's lying dormant under the foot of his driven fiancee. Oh, and it helps if she has a mooch friend like Gayle King, who can back her shit up and tag along with her on "girlfriend" trips around the world.
More than One Child - They say the first child is practice. The second child gives a woman experience. Parenthood is often judged by how many children you learn to manage over time.
Speaking of Experience... - It helps if a woman is worldly while she's still young enough to enjoy it. As if we should all lay down and die the minute the clock strikes thirty. Isn't life only a quarter done at 25?
Health Conscious - Nevermind the struggle to stay away from fatty foods, as one gets older, you're also expected to go to the gym at least 3 times a week, drink 8 glasses of water a day, and learn how to work out the mind as well as the body--whew! Factor in osteoperosis, early menopause, and breast cancer and it's no wonder women are the highest percentile to suffer from depression.

Plus, women have longer life spans in which we can ponder the mysteries behind our mates' mid-life crises and compete with girls half our age eager to step into our spotlight. It's not just perky breasts and flaky dispositions. It's coping with the fact that we may experience cheating a million times over before we ultimately decide to become nuns, exotic dancers, spinsters or lesbians. It's time, precious time. Fleeting, patience and time that licks us. How can we avoid gray hairs knowing that these things may come to pass in our lifetimes? I can't say that we can. Everytime I see a young "bippie" (as I like to call them) I can't say that a little green man called, Envy doesn't rear his ugly head. I'm ashamed to say it, but it does. I used to be that bippie. But alas, I haven't found any fountain of youth. Now, when my bones crack, they really crack. I can hear them. It takes me million years to get up in the morning now when in the past, all it took was a couple of minutes. About the only joy I find is knowing that one day that young bippie will become an old fart. It happens to the best of us. Unless you're a freak of nature like Demi Moore. I've a feelin' though that someday, man...That is...I hope.

So yeah! We may not all be able to stay shiny like brand new copper pennies but over time, we save them and know what they're worth.

2006-02-21T12:57:00.000-08:00

So I'm watching "Dinner for Five", a show on the IFC channel where various celebrities from the Indepent circuit sit around a table and chat about whatever young talent talks about. The mix of talent is really good and can theoretically be quite entertaining, actually. For reality tv junkies like myself, it offers a refreshing change from watching Project Runway and American Idol Rejects. Enter this series that attempts to engage the viewer by making the famous relatable and hopefully interesting. The fly-on-the-wall concept is good. Every viewer would love to hear what is said at the table at awards ceremonies. The problem is that it doesn't deliver. At least, not with this group. Now I'll admit that this cast involved a rather ennui-ridden panel that left it up to one contributor: Adam Goldberg to offer his views on literally EVERYTHING. Adam, comfortably talkative, was a master at dominating the conversation. We can all stand to learn a lot from him. He was funny, silly, and very outspoken. Not so of the rest of the group he was carrying. The problem that I saw with this particular installment, was that despite all of this young talent, some stars are too ensconced in the traditional "I'm-broody-don't-talk-or-look-at-me" attitude or the "I'm-too-important-to-comment-on-such-things" stand. Then there are those who--let's face it--have NOTHING to say. Those actors/writers/musicians/artists are just happy to have been invited. There was Christina Ricci who succeeded at doing what she does best: appearing wan, puffing away on cigarettes to appear secure. She reminded me of, dare I say, Anna Nicole Smith with her slow, slurred drawl. Maybe she was just drunk. I can't tell. The highlight of her contribution to this episode? An impersonation of a Mister Rogers puppet in The Land of Make-Believe, which seems fitting considering her line of work. Make-believe. I don't think she even bought her performance. But she should be given marks for at least attempting to appear normal. Jon Favreau, who should be guiding his "peers" to gain some forward momentum in the conversation, waited to let his peers shine on without him. Sensing that the ship was going down in a blaze of glory, he wisely switched gears toward the end, directing his attention to the only student contributing to the class: Adam. What I felt the most gypped on, was that I was left with nothing memorable. There was no conflict (save for the little tidbit from Christina about some nasty remarks from Vincent Gallo). Steve Drozd also had nothing to say. They kept placing the description, "Steve Drozd from The Flaming Lips" underneath his name just to remind the viewer of who he was. Likewise, Giovanni Ribisi shyly added that he was not aware of the experience he'd had as Phoebe's brother on "Friends". That was a big let-down because I can scarce remember his performances in anything else. Oh, except maybe "Gone in 60 Seconds", which is just about the length of my attention span whenever Mr. Ribisi mumbled to himself in the corner. Where I wanted to go, they were unwilling to go. I can get more from Inside the Actors' Studio with James Lipton! Underneath it all, these artists want to keep working. They cannot be brutally honest for fear that they may be blacklisted. Thus, the conversation is limited to talk of "creative challenges" on various "projects". In order to succeed, Mr. Favreau needs to make sure that the artists he chooses are present and accounted for. Otherwise, what the hell's the point?

2006-02-19T12:10:00.000-08:00

I Don't Have Time For This: I have just come to a conclusion. I am so not skilled in the HTML coding thing. I tried, I failed at switching gears on a different blog platform. But my attempt to try to use codexes and XHTML and all of that sort of crap didn't work. Shucks! When could I get to blogging, after all? Like the immortal tattoo of Angelina Jolie: "Quod me nutrit, me destruit" (what noursihes me, destroys me); I realize that I have been defeated. It reminds me of my Futonian Defeat. Only you don't know that story yet, do you? Foiled by a Futon: Picture this: an unseasonably warm winter day which sets the stage for my moving (long past ~ thank goodness). So I'm trying to figure out how in the heck I'm going to deal with: a) a moving truck which was smaller than I expected b) a hired hand that was neither handy nor cooperative c) independently moving with little-to-no-help (See "b"). I began trying, in vain, to move small boxes which I made the fatal mistake of overstuffing with random everyday items like pots, pans, books. Thus, the boxes wouldn't close shut making the stacking process for the van near impossible. Not to mention that the shape of these aforementioned boxes were all sorts of weird and inconvenient. Think oblong rectangles and loose (like prepared for recycable bins). Argh! *Note: In my defense, this was my first and (hopefully) last move for a very, very, very long time. Okay, so I'm still attempting to over-stuff already heavy and complex trapezoidal Chinese origami-like boxes to prepare them to be further stacked, shoved, and squeezed into a mini-van. You get the picture. Not exactly smoothe sailing... It is decided that since the small stuff was getting to be worrisome, that the bigger stuff would be saved for later on. Among the larger items? You guessed it: my bulky futon. *Note: I was and am not a futon fan. Ever. The reason for the purchase had to deal with Sara moving in with us. We needed a place for her to sleep. I am so glad to be able to say that out loud: I AM NOT A FUTON FAN. Being an American in America affords me that right. But onto the futon... It arrived in the second run of our move. By then, our "helper" decided to bail, bums were offering--you heard me--BUMS were offering to help move us, which resulted in frustration for all involved. It did however give me a giggle when one of the bums kept repeating to Sara over and over: "Stay in school and get an education. I'm serious. Don't end up like these bums here." I don't think he included himself in the same breath as a bum (even though that's what he was) because he kept mentioning how he was a Vietnam Vet and all. I think all bums in Jersey City have used this excuse at least once in their lives to justify their reasons for being bums. The funny part is?! They're still--that's right--BUMS!!! Trust me on this one. I grabbed hold of the one end of the futon and Carlos had gotten a rather big and tall friend to help pick up the other end. The problem was that it was hard maneuvering it through the doorways. A split-second decision was made (which in retrospect was THE WORST DECISION EVER) to disassemble a portion of the "dang" futon to get it to fit. Well, we moved it in two pieces; ever mindful that eventually we would have to re-assemble the monster. Later on that evening, while Sara was whining about it being late and having to get to sleep or whatever, Carlos had said that I should wait until he returned in order to assemble it. I, however, have never responded well to orders, suggestions, or the belief that I am not every woman and that it's not all in me. This proved to be a mistake, of course. With Sara's aid, I still could only manage getting one of the sides to fit in the base of the futon. Whenever we tried to manipulate the other side, a series of banging, pinching and pain began. After trying it out for a solid hour, I realized that I'd been bested. By a futon. Ugh. Needless to say, Carlos had to offer his delightful help the next day. If it weren't for his manly-man strength, I swear I don't know what I'd do. Only I can't ever directly admit to that and if someone presents this blog entry as evidence, I will deny, deny, deny. Hey, it's worked for The President...

2006-02-16T06:49:00.000-08:00

STOP WITH THE HUMMING! Occasionally, I become acutely aware that as I get older, I get a wee bit judgemental. No matter how big or small the infraction, I have a tendency to go postal to the point of plugging my ears and stomping my feet in a childlike tantrum fit. So why, kiddies, why do I have to go through the torture of enduring other people's stupidity? Please note that I am not neurotic. Ok, maybe just a little. But still... Since I woke up in a good mood this morning, I thought that today would be special. I sincerely believed that if I made it to work without something bothering me, then I would be experiencing what some believe is utopia. Off I went. I made it successfully to the station without one thing bothering me--not a bad start. Surely though, I would get on the lightrail and some sort of incident would happen that would ruin my day. Maybe it'd be that random commuter out for a leisurely stroll why I slowly have a heart attack over how long they're taking to get on the lightrail...especially when the driver is clearing waiting for them to get on. That's always a favorite of mine. Or maybe there would be the half-asleep commuter who realizes at the last moment--as the train is about to depart--that they forgot to STAMP THEIR TICKET. That one is one of my personal faves. But, no. By some miraculous workings of the divine, I made it to work without a hitch. Enough chance to daydream while I passed the back highways and byways. So far, so good. Yet I was convinced that perhaps I would have one of my traditional elevator situations. (See Feb. 10's entry) But surprisingly, nothing occured. All was well. I still wasn't convinced. Since--like Neo in the Matrix--I had a pre-conceived notion; a self-fulfilling prophecy was imminent. Maybe it was more like a sixth sense (like Haley Joel Osment's character only without dead people) or a woman's intuition (minus cornball Jewel song and closeups of a women's shaver). Sure enough, as soon as I took off my coat, settled in my cube, and logged onto my computer...it happened. The annoyance was unavoidable given the relative proximity between myself and the party who ruined my "perfect day". The person sitting next to me is...*gasp*...a HUMMER!!!! That's right boys and girls. You heard me. Not since grade school, have I been more annoyed by a natural reflex or an unconscious behavior. Where Have All the...(Flowers?--no, Cowboys?--no) Hummers Gone? If the world all hummed, what would it sound like? A cacophony of voices similar to that of a busy New York street, perhaps? Besides whistling, can there be any other more annoying activity?! Ok. I could think of a couple, too. So scratch that. I guess it's just that I am so used to the office being as silent as a church that maybe I feel less than sensitive to society's hummers. I'm sure the company doesn't mind humming if it increases productivity. I'm also sure that the hummer is thoroughly unaware of his or her's ability to annoy those around them. Wouldn't it be cool if it was discovered that hummers did indeed increase productivity by annoying people into doing their work quicker to avoid the humming? Can one really be hired as a professional hummer? Or are there repercussions? Can one die from hearing too much humming? Can one go dumb or feel numb from The Hum(ming)? Instead of Pavlov's dog what if the pet were trained by humming? Wait a minute, now that I think about it: Isn't there like hum-therapy or something like that? I could've sworn I saw that on one of the Surreal Life episodes. Maybe ultimately, humming should be entered as an Olympic sport. Why not? I mean, who really likes the sport of "curling" anyway? Wouldn't it be better to watch incessant hummers annoy each other for days on end in order to reach Olympic gold? I mean it would take stamina and endurance and heck, it may even go as far as this movie: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0116481/ Just read the premise. And yes, if you watched these slack-jawed yokels in that film vie for a monster truck (like I did ~ thanks, Seth), you'd giggle just the same. Yeah, you would.

2006-02-15T20:02:00.000-08:00

Cheers to Human Ingenuity..."Hip, Hip, Hooray!": Apparently, all you need to get creative is a blizzard. That's right, folks. Snow makes Man (or Woman for that matter) turn to their most primitive natural instincts to find abstract solutions to their problems. A most beautiful concept. So it is without further ado that I inform you of the nature of my goddess-like ability to adapt to change...quickly. I know--I haven't mastered modesty, right? Well, one thing at a time, people! Before you bask in the glory that is My Mighty Brain, let me first explain (try not to complain)...Hey, I'm a poet and I didn't know it! Okay, I'll stop before I drop--but I digress. There was a huge snowstorm now aptly titled, "The Blizzard of 2006" (not to be confused with the Blizzard of '88). Unbenownst to me, however, was a lovely batch of laundry just a-swinging in the chill winter breeze. By now your probably thinking:

What, no Laundromat? - Nosireebob! I am of the belief that those places take advantage of the huddled masses yearning to wear clean clothes. Based on necessity, people haul large sacks of laundry from home to mat, mat to home. I am too spoiled for that. There is also an addiction to nostalgia and doing things the good, ole-fashioned way. And I can't afford all the quarters. *tee, hee*
What in the heck were you doin' laundry in the wintertime fer? - Excellent question. Truth is, I wasn't. I actually had forgotten them from the last time I did wash and left them on the line. In my own defense, it wasn't that long ago. Remember those unseasonably warm days for a winter in Jersey? Yup, I took advantage. I guess I'm just that kinda girl.

So here I am reveling in the Christmas-like scenery--large flakes falling on cedars--when all of sudden it hit me. My wash! Oh. My. Gosh. MY WASH! Just then it was as though the sky opened up and everything started to grow dark and ominous. It was as if I were doing everything in slow motion. The world was fading to black... "NOOOOOooooooooo!!!!" I screamed from the rooftops. My legs propelled forward as I made it to the second-floor window overlooking the top of my roof in record time. I could see the remains of my laundry strewn about like bodies of dead Confederate soldiers and wounded Union Army men. Only, decorated with snow on top like icing. Umm...icing...

Light Bulbs Aren't Just an Edison Invention:

Divine Inspiration came over me as I reflected on what needed to be done here. First, there were clothes and they were stranded on the roof. I was the only one who could save them from their fate. Unfortunately, I am not Plastic Man and can't reach that far. I also didn't have any means by which I could physically jump on the roof to rescue the laundry. What to do? I began first by gathering my thoughts enough to invent a solution that would do MacGuyver proud. I needed something long enough to be able to give me the added reach I desired. In this case, the only thing that I had was...a broom handle. It's good to know that the dang thing finally was put to some good use (albeit not the one that was originally intended). Next, I needed something that could grip. I knew that chewing gum doesn't work except in Little Rascals episodes. What could I get? After much labored thought, I imagined clothespins. I tried and tried and couldn't get that to work. What other thing could I use?

When In Doubt, Think of Pasta:

I tried a spatula, another handle--to what I think was a vaccuum extension, and a bunch of nondescript items. Nothing was working. I then had what can only be described in Oprah terminology as an "Aha! moment". Don't ask me why I turn to Oprah during these distressing times. I just do. I thought of food. Not just any food, mind you, but pasta. Yes, in order to capture those clever little slippery noodles, you need to get a spoon and a fork. It wasn't just to get one of those two utensils. It was the understanding that I needed the circular motion--similar to the noodle-spinning--to get a grip on the slippery laundry. What a breakthrough! I know it doesn't sound like much to you, but when I succeeded in pulling up the articles of clothing piece by piece from off my roof, I felt like the Goddess Queen of the Universe that I am.(Don't believe me? Goto: http://www.roomwaview.blogspot.com)

This was my Mona Lisa, my Tower of Piza, my triathlon all in one.

Now, bow down and kiss my feet.

2006-02-10T11:34:00.000-08:00

The Girl from Iponima & Other Elevator Scenes: In case my fans haven't heard, there is such a thing as elevator ettiquette. How do I know? Well, believe it or not, our company once held a training seminar about it. Yeah, I know. But I actually did come away with something more than at the "Sexual Harrassment in the Workplace" seminar. Allow me a quick digression here: BusinessMan walks up to BusinessWoman and says, "Is this felt?" BusinessMan proceeds to be all Cro-Magnon and starts touching BusinessWoman's sleeve. Then, he says, "...it is now." Cut and print. Laughter ensues (only we are supposedly there to learn about Sexual Harrassment)! It was meant to be serious! No, really. Back to the elevator topic. I mean, it really is important and useful to know these things. That way, you can tell your friends and they can tell their friends and so on and so on...

Mommie, what are elevator eyes? - Well, honey, it's when someone is being rude and perusing your very person by looking you up and down, up and down like an elevator. Get it? Well, it's RUDE. So stop it.
Get outta my way or I'll mow you down! - Yes, some people still think it is alright to hit you with the force of Mack truck just because you're slow in getting in. Trust me, even if the person in front of you moves as slow as whale shit, YOU WILL GET TO YOUR FLOOR...eventually.
It's my turn to push the red, candy-like button - Just for clarification, a good indicator that the button has been pushed already is the glowing circular light at the center of it. That means, basically, that frequent incessant pushing/tapping/clicking of the button will not make the elevator appear any faster. Once pushed, it's been registered. It's not a mouse and therefore doesn't require double-clicking. Review Diagram Below:
Stop the world, I wanna get off! - For those unfortunates who are forced to take the elevator to the 2nd or 3rd floor, remember that you're not browsing at the mall. No, this isn't Ladie's Lingerie or the Big and Tall Men's Department. Just keep saying to yourself: 'This is an elevator I'm riding. This is an elevator I'm riding.' That way, when you get to your floor, you'll remember to GET THE HELL OFF! I cannot tell you how many times I've got dazed and confused people going to the second floor, when I have to get off on the 10th!
Hold the Door Please... - If someone is tripping over themselves racing to catch the elevator, please let them on. If you're near the door, please press that nifty button that reads, "Door Open" NOT the "Door Close" button. These buttons were specially designed for you to save your soul. Stop faking hitting the button or God won't let you into Heaven. Even if you're athiest or agnostic: JUST HIT IT, ok?
When is Holding the Door Not Cool? - If it's 5 o'clock on a Friday and the means by which I can get home faster is by getting downstairs as quickly as possible, please DO NOT hold the door for a friend. Monday morning going to work? That's ok. It just seems that people pick the most incovenient times to be gracious. Let's face it: if you didn't do it before, don't try to redeem yourself at an inopportune time.
Don't hum to the Muzak - Even if the song is the muzak version of 50 cents' "Everybody in the Club", please don't hum, sing or dance in the elevator. Unless, of course, you are me. But you're not, so stop playin'.
Moo-ve Over, You Cow! - As with letting people on, there is a certain finesse--a dance if you will--to letting people off. First, give them room to maneuver around you or just get out of the elevator so they can go on their merry way. Either way, try incoveniencing yourself to convenience others. You can get back at them another time.
Keep It To A Low Roar - I don't really want to hear about your boyfriend troubles or listen to the electronica music blaring on your earphones. Correction: I do want to hear about your boyfriend troubles, but that's only 'cause I'm nosy.
Don't Release the Stink Bomb - I really didn't want to mention this one, but it begs to be mentioned. If you feel a rumble in your stomach and you know you had a taco for lunch, please hold your body's functions until your floor. Don't get on if you can't hold it. Please.

2006-02-06T14:45:00.000-08:00

So Quiet, You Could Hear Crickets Chirping: You won't hear a peep from me on where I've been, my dears. It's all relative to where I am. And since it is all about me, I think that I'll spill the beans when I'm good and ready. Or, at least until they're cooked to perfection.

2006-02-02T09:50:00.000-08:00

Top Ten Reasons Why I Miss Ali McBeal:

10. The one, true definition of "cackle".

9. Bathroom stall remote controls.

8. "I love a fresh bowl."

7. John Cage.

6. Fish-isms like, "Bygones" (This word should be used daily in a sentence)

5. Helped launch new careers (Vonda Shephard / Josh Groban).

4. Helped revive old careers (Carly Simon / Dyan Cannon ).

3. The Dancing Baby.

2. The Green Mill Bar "aka Ally McBeal bar".

(http://wwww.centerstage.net/bars/articles/bars-television.html)

1. The unisex bathroom!

Don't even ask me why I was thinking about this today...

2006-02-01T06:58:00.000-08:00

"I'll Be Over Here, Fermenting": Every morning, as I head on over to the temorary-job-that-will-be-ending-soon place, I pass the time mentally recording the experience. Fist off, let me tell you that the route is much, much longer. Ugh. So I always underestimate. But sometimes, I get on the lightrail (which I overheard someone describe as "like a trolley-car") and it travels faster than usual; at which case, I've overestimated my travel time. Ugh-ugh! I tried to account for the difference in time and realized that one of the lightrails were given the title: "Bayonne Flyer", while the other was just the plain, old "22nd Street" train. Eureka! But alas, my excitement over my discovery was shortlived. Turns out the Bayonne "flyer" doesn't always fly.

2006-01-25T13:15:00.000-08:00

2006-01-24T06:27:00.000-08:00

Lists: On the way to work this morning (a new, longer commute) I was going over the many objects in my pocket. The reason for this? Checks and balances, mainly. But then I started to think about all of the random, mundane minutae of a person's, nay, a woman's life. While Carlos beat himself up yesterday trying to find teflon tape, I was running down a mental list of all of the things I needed to do before work the next day. You see, women generally have the unfortunate reponsibility to not only remember their own lists but that of their family. There's some sort of unwritten rule that Man, being one-tracked minded, cannot maintain their own facts, figures or the precise location of any of their possessions. As a result, women look after them in addition to their already plentiful listings. What, praytell, are women thinking about? Let me give you a rundown:

Chores and To Do's - Only because woman's work is never done.
Birthdays - Not only for networking purposes but in case of an emergency when her significant other turns to her with that deer-caught-in-headlights stare and says, "What's my/the kids' birthdate, hon?"
Worries - Not that men do not have worries, but women (being the dutiful multi-taskers that they are) have a tendency to store these worries and allow them to fester long enough to find creative solutions to them. Worries like, 'How Will We Pay the Bills This Month?' and 'How Can I Find A Babysitter in Time for Our Dinner Date?' among others.
Is He Happy or Does He Love Me? - Yes, this is an evitable thought when a committed relationship lingers on. Most women fret (See #3) about this just as much as they worry about their own happiness. Thanks to the conflicting reports from women's magazines citing, "101 Ways to Please Your Man" amid the report about "Taking Time for Yourself", women are conflicted and the cycle of guilt and shame will remain for a good portion of their lives until they realize that it is not their responsibility to make the other happy. By then, they're old and bitter.
Secretarial Work - Why are most women able to remember their hair appointments, schedule regular checkups with the dentist for themselves and their family members and contact their cable companies about account balances? Because women were born to be secretaries. Is there a man that can challenge this notion? Sure, but I haven't met him yet.
Your Inner Artist - For women like me, there is an additional friend that shows up uninvited at inappropriate times (and no it isn't your menstrual cycle, although that little inconvenient buddy can show up and ruin your train of thought, too). No, this is your inner monologue. Inspiration. Your Muse. Every artist has one but women have to manage this beast amid the regularly scheduled chaos of their lives. That can be annoying if you're hit with a rush of cosmic verbiage when you're in the middle of other To Do's (See #1). This welcome rush of ideas and insight sometimes is placed on the back-burner; before it is lost forever, it is best to make sure you plan ahead by carrying something that can store this divine idturned thought turned light-bulb masterpiece. Carry a notepad, a cell phone, a tape recorder to avoid missing it.
Miscellaneous - This is the category that includes: "that little black dress I want to purchase" and "What is the perfect purse that goes with that pair of new shoes I bought at Macy's?" Ah, decisions, decisions.
The Small Stuff - Where did I place my keys? When was the last time I had a checkup? How many miles can I drive before my car needs gas? Did I bring my three forms of ID to change my phone/cable/utilities service? C'mon, if you're a woman you are required to remember and store just about every bit of information like a computer database. One bit of advice: don't sweat the small stuff.
The Fun Stuff - The tabloid lives of celebrities and poking fun at American Idol contestants. It's great to be critical, especially since it's NOT you. It also makes for a heapload of useless information like remembering the words to The Flintstones theme song and thinking stupid thoughts like, 'Where in the world is Brangelina today'?

What is the point of all of this? Well maybe it's just that I like the lists. Even though I complain, it keeps your mind sharp. It is the lists that save us, the reminder ribbons that bind us. Or, something like that.

2006-01-23T08:11:00.000-08:00

Experiencing Loneliness: This should not be confused with lonesomeness. Loneliness is a healthy part of a human being's life. It is also the most frightening prospect because it means that you have to start paying attention to your heart. That can be a scary realization for lots of people. What one must avoid, if melancholy thoughts should begin, is feeling helpless. Helplessness leads to poor judgement and even though it sounds so common sense-y, people make the same mistakes over and over again. Are You Lonesome Tonight? What is the Difference between Loneliness and Lonesomeness? Good question. Here's my take on it:

Loneliness allows you the ability to hear your innermost thoughts. Lonesomeness corners you and sets you on a downward spiral away from productivity and from your self.
Loneliness is the feeling you get when a sudden, unexpected change is brought upon you. It often requires an extended period to adjust. Lonesomeness is a feeling that falls under the assumption that you need someone or something else to satiate your pain in order to help you live.
Loneliness can still be felt (among the living) in public places. Lonesomeness separates you from everyone you love.

People can get over being lonely. Like the Muppets sang: "A table for one, can be fun!". Yet, too many people fall victim to the trappings that loneliness can bestow. It makes way for Lonesomeness and Desperation. Those two love to stop by for dinner and feast on your heart for awhile. But we won't let 'em, will we?? Of course not.

Many of life's lessons are learned when one becomes an adult and has to essentially 'take on the world' alone. One might even venture to say that one of the earliest displays of solitude is thrust upon us at childbirth. But with each experience: your first car, your first apartment, your first move tere is one major thing that you are learning: Strength. You'll survive the despair and you may even come out with some new insight on your blessed boundaries.

So go ahead and live, breathe, die...alone and in charge. You against the Forces of Nature. You vs The World.

I mean, that's cool. Isn't it?

2006-01-23T06:38:00.000-08:00

Organizing the Chaos: I know, I know my public...I've been away from my pc and I'm dying...so SUE ME. I'm in the process of moving and boy is it a mess! But since my fans need me, I'll let you know what's been on my mind these last few weeks I've been kept away from All of You. My nightmare began officially last week when I had to get packing (literally). My life reduced to garbage bags and recycled boxes, courtesy of McDonald's (thanks, guys!). I'm still not completely out, but I'm out enough, okay? Now stop bugging me! No, really. I caught sight of my fresh digs and my new commute much like a newborn. I've never really been away from JC for too long so it seems like a whole new world ~ even if it is just the next town over. Ah, good ole Bayonne, NJ. *Cue Sopranos music here* So I woke up this morning and got myself a gun. Not literally, of course. I just need to shoot myself in the head after all of the craziness that transpired during the move. And just in case you took the previous line seriously, maybe you need to be committed. It's a "joke", people! Which brings me to an aside that has absolutely nothing to do with my move but everything to do with how people miscontrue phrasing, sarcasm, and mock statements. Allow me to go on a rant in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Okay, if you currently reside in a place as cynical as Jersey City can be, then you can recognize sarcasm a mile away. Any major city has this wonderful ability to make sick fun of their troubles--which are many if you live in a big city. Follow me? So, why do some people not understand that when I say things like: "Today is so slow I wanna kill myself" that I don't actually mean it? When I make lude comments or rude noises and gestures it is just a form of expression NOT, I repeat, NOT to insult or hurt anyone. So I made some such allusion to a mock hanging involving my tongue sticking out and a noose I fashioned out of my scarf. I was fooling around and someone offered this bit of help: "If you ever need to talk..." C'mon people! If I really wanted to kill myself I would've done so long ago and I probably would've been all secretive and hidden about it. If you announce your suicidal intentions, odds are you are too cowardly to do the deed. Just ask parents who have lost their children. They can tell you that what was going on inside of their teen or child was an internal struggle that they knew nothing about. Those "warning signs" that psychologists rattle on about don't always apply. Even in high school, a young person had written a poem/suicide note that my teacher passed around to show as an example of how silence can kill. Of course impressionable minds took the lesson to amplify our imaginations, inventing all sorts of teen-angst melodramas to curry favor from the teacher. Unfortunately, there sometimes is no "horror show" when it somes to suicide; it's such a personal thing. But I digress... Where was I? Ah yes, my move from the 7th circle of Hades. How could I forget? So now that I am (almost) completely out, I'd like to share some of my experiences thusfar. Basically, Bayonne is much, much quieter. I am also near a park where I can walk my dogs and they have their own little doggie park. The park is actually a good area to meander 'round which is perfect for a writer's "ME" time. I can hear my thoughts now instead of police and fire sirens that could shatter glass. Don't believe me? Just ask anyone who's ever called me on the phone while one of those suckers is passing by. Went something like this: Me - Hello? *Siren Sounding* Person on the Line - Hello? Me - What?! Person on the Line - Hello...uh, Hello, hello? *Siren singing* Me - You have to speak up! *Siren still going* Person on the Line - What?! Me - I say, you HAVE TO SPEAK UP!! *Siren still going* Person on the Line - ...is that noise? Me - What? Person on the Line - Hm? *Siren Dissipating* Me - WHAT DID YOU SAY?? *Siren Fading* Person on the Line - Well, you don't have to yell!!! *click* *dial tone* Exactly. Annoying. It's quite a bit different now. Understand that there are its quirks (what place could I reside without a little bit of the odd, y'know?) and flavorfuls of enigmatic cast of characters like, Maria Lourdes Baptist (name's been changed to protect the insane), who attends school to escape from her parents' 24-7 religious chatter-box diatribes. There's also the drunken folks at Frankie's bar who love to sing, "I Will Survive" at say, three in the morning. Then, you got your silent-but-deadly cast who travel around in mysteriously large, ominous vans at all hours of the day and night. Dressed in their floor-length leather finery or just beat-up black leather bomber jackets and flare slacks from the 70s, these wiseguys are out in every kind of weather, smoking their packs of Marlboro Lights. Yeah, mobsters. Only my mom would've shushed me, put one finger to her lips and whispered, "mobsters." I guess that was just in case someone was within earshot (i.e. the FBI) who gave a crap. Or, maybe she was worried that I was wearing a "freakin'" wire!--NOT! Anyway, NJ is full of weird and highly questionable so I don't think too much of it. At least I can more or less sleep soundly at night. That is if the drunks keep it down to a low roar.

2006-01-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

Sleep, Interrupted: You may wonder why I don't update my blog, like on a daily basis. Scratch that. I may wonder why I don't update my blog on a daily basis. The reality is...I'm too tired. This move is taking its toll and making me fuzzy. Not cuddly-huggy-bear fuzzy, but more like dazed-and-confused fuzzy. Fuzzy Wuzzy Fuzzy. I like that. So I'm sleepy and exhausted because this daily worry has manifested itself into a fluctuation in my sleep patterns. Basically, I can't sleep soundly. This is the soup that, once stirred, makes a very cranky me. I hear that sleep deprivation in my 30s is kind of, y'know, common. How do I know this? Oprah wrote about it in her magazine. So now you know it's true. Only, somehow her solution to the problem does not appear to be working for me. Maybe I'm just too anxious to motivate myself out of bed and create a masterpiece akin to the Mona Lisa. Maybe I just don't want to disurb my family by turning on all of the lights to write in my journal. Maybe I'm too sleepy to roll out of bed to curl up in front of my pc to post to my blog. You get the idea. So, thanks Oprah (for nothing). Symptomatic, Hydromatic...It Must Be GREASED LIGHTNING: Have you ever been so tired that both your body and your mind are aware of the lack o' sleep but can't seem to work together to make it happen? Have you ever lied awake at night with a list of tasks, lists, ideas, plans, chores? Doesn't it annoy you how much you have to do? Never fear, you can always gogogogogogogogo! That's right kiddies! It's better than Nyquil, better than Ambien...it's GREASED LIGHTNING!!!!!! For just a small fee, feel better, look great in the morning, be as fresh as a daisy...anywhere, anytime! Goodbye circles under your eyes! Watch them disappear like magic! If only... But that fantasy is over. In truth, there is no greased lightning in a bottle (and no prototype, either) . So I guess I have to settle for a can of Red Bull and some Visine eyedrops ~ to get the red out, silly!

2005-12-30T11:55:00.000-08:00

Resolutions: As we start winding down and rubbing our eyes incredulous at our surviving yea, another year...Those closest to me know that it's been a doosey. No doubt the following year will bring about another set of accomplishments and disappointments but I wanted to tackle the beauty and the essence of 2005. In the words of Eddie Vedder, "I'm still alive!" and for all of the shitty moments laced with brief, fleeting moments of glory; it was all worth it. That's never an easy thing to say. Everyone wishes they could have champagne wishes and caviar dreams all the time. Unfortunately, it is the tough times that you end up learning the most from. If life were simple, it'd probably be boring and words like: noble, stoic, perseverance, poise--would just be words in the dictionary. In all actuality, I really don't know what to say here because the year was peppered with so many different types of experiences. So maybe in the form of David Letterman's Top 10, maybe I can countdown the year in my own way. Here goes nothing: 10. Lost my job. 9. Got a new car. 8. Dog died. 7. Sara came to live with us. 6. Joined the blog-i-verse. 5. Buried the hatchet with Barbara, my mom, and my sis. 4. Planning a move. 3. Attended my Dad's wedding. 2. Visited Carlos' mother's grave for the first time. 1. Got my marriage license. Well, there you have it. A taste of the good, the bad and the ugly. But that's what it's all about. I wouldn't have it any other way.

2005-12-24T18:41:00.000-08:00

Why Birthdays Suck After Puberty:

This year was just as disappointing as the last and the one prior and the one before that. Why? Let's just say that the magic for birthdays is long gone. There is no mystery, no buildup. You can always tell when people are planning your birthday and you'll catch them trying to be inconspicuous. Carlos tried. Sara tried. It just isn't the same as when you're little and you're in school anticipating the moment when you can annihilate the cake and get to the wonderful presents. Now, I'm 32. Yeah, the BIG three-two. I've performed the ritual thirty-two times. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me feel old. It doesn't help that I have this constant gnawing in the pit of my stomach that I used to know what was "cool". I used to be able to name bands and bob my head and belt out songs at the tops of my lungs. I used to know lyrics by heart, without sounding or looking completely corny. I hate thinking these random thoughts, talking my way out of eating a second-helping! I hate it when I do my year in review and feel as if I've accomplished 'nothing special' when I used to have something to do each and every weekend and my calendar was always full. Maybe I'm missing out on something. Maybe I'm being overly dramatic. I dunno.

What I do know for sure, Oprah:

I'm a year older.
There's a half-eaten cake in my fridge.
The milk and eggs (in the mix from the cake) will go to my hips.
There is no Santa Claus.
I can't remember (which figures since they say that memory's the first thing to go).

2005-12-20T06:55:00.000-08:00

To Santa Claus and Good Doggies: We've been good this year, Dear Santa. We've placed our stockings on the hearth and kept a warm fire burning. But this year, I have just one wish as I place those Christmas cookies for you on the coffee table. I want you to bless the soul of my dear dog, Chico. I am glad I got to know him and to show him all the kindness in my heart. I petted him, I kept him clean, I walked him and I loved him. I made the right decision in letting him go. I know he went to Heaven. I know because that's the place where all of the best dogs go. And he was the best. And he will be missed. Rest In Peace, Chico.

2005-12-14T07:28:00.000-08:00

¿Y Que? Okay, okay so there are major changes happening in my life. All. At. Once. That's right, people. I am being railroaded and tidal-waved these VERY BIG CHANGES. Just as a quick re-cap:

Joining the Unemployed Masses.
Relocating with my Hobo Knapsack in Hand.
The UnNamable Thing That The Mere Mention of May Single-handedly Jinx It

Now, Number 3 may someday make it into these pages, but maybe/perhaps/perchance not. I dunno yet so stop bugging me. I've got a lot on my mind. So why in the world do I have these stupidly random thoughts clogging up and basically ruining all my chances at clarity? Huh? Huh?

There's my wonderful jeans. I fell in love with them all over again because they're slimming. Not just slimming, but have the amazing ability to camouflage every blessed flaw, every roll.

Then, I think it was a character on Ally McBeal (played by Peter McNichol?). I dunno. I'm lazy and don't want to check http://www.imdb.com, but basically, "I love a fresh bowl." So this morning, I got just that. It really made my day.

I know, I know. It doesn't take too much to impress me. But what can I say? I'm fickle like that.

2005-12-06T11:55:00.000-08:00

A Letter to Britney: Dear Britney, You know you my girl. We been through some stuff. I know you think K-Fed is the bum-diggity. And he is yo' baby daddy and all. BUT, I think you should think dis thru. Get a grip on "the real" and listen ta me. Is K-Fed really all that?! C'mon! While you're bedazzlin' yo baby in bling and Baby Phat gear, that fool is phunking with your heart! Whassup? What did K-Fed ever really do for you anyway? That ENYCE-wearin, hip-hop dancin', wannabe rapper, moochy son-of-a-gun ain't done nothin' for his and his own. You are the one shellin' out them dollah, dollah bills and where he at? No where. That's right. Ya heard me. No "freakin'" where. C'mon, now, whassup yo? Get yo'self a mo'betta pair of Reebok sneaks and kick that man to the curb. Iz ya wid me?! I didn't wanna say nothin' but he been creepin' before. While he was with his last girl, there was all this Baby Mama Drama going on. And I know you were all trying to get your freak on, but you didn't have to have him stay in your crib! You're mama warned you about roughnecks. Now, look at you! Kicking it with your girls in Sin City while that fool out and about. He's been round da block, you know he has. If you wanna bounce, let me know and I'll get my girls together. Just say the word, chile...and Eli'll bring the Vaseline. Lova Ya Homegirl, ~ Mema

2005-12-05T09:03:00.000-08:00

Ring My Bell...Ring-aling-Aling: Anyone who remembers this disco classic can relate to the very genius that is bell-ringing. From Santa Claus to Paul Revere, ringing a bell is not only a prestigious call-to-arms but it is also a god-given right, dammit! Why am I bringing this up? Well, recently I was asked to be a special guest to "ring the closing bell" near or on my respective last day at the office. And even though no one else (save the other person who was asked) seems to share in my enthusiasm over this momentous event, I'm sure Wall Street and the NY Stock Exchange both recognize the importance of this simple act. Every morning, the bell signifies the beginning of trades, wonderful trades. In other words: MoneyMoneyMoneyMoney...MO-NEY! Oh those beautiful mounds of beckoning green stacks of cash. Just watch all those Brooks Brothers suits band together the minute that bell rings shouting, "Buy!" and "Sell!" on an over-crowded trading floor. Oh, Mary! Oh, Martha! Oh, Mary! Ring Dem Bells! Bells have always been sprinkled about as a beacon, or a symbol of good tidings. And it is never more prevalent than at Christmastime. But what makes the tinnied voice of this instrument so valid? Here are a few examples where bells come in handy: Jingle Bells - Santa Claus (or that funny guy wearing a Santa suit) is a wonderful beginning. There's just something about a tolling bell that makes people want to dip into their wallets and give. The Salvation Army is well aware of this, so you can walk down any crowded avenue during the holidays and you can hear it begging you for change. Angels get their wings - "Teacher says everytime a bell rings an angel gets his wings." "That's right, Zuzu. Attboy, Clarence!" I have no idea if this is true or not, but hey, It's a Wonderful Life. School - One of the finer points of raising little militant tykes is the school bell. Dreaded by some and abhored by many, this loud clang can tell you if you're late for class or if it's already over. Period. No pun intended. No, really. Some more forward-thinking schools stopped this tradition because they held this practice akin to training Pavlov's dog. Sit, Ubu, sit! Good dog. Come All Ye Faithful - Church is a perfect place to hear bells. Belfries were designed for large, ominous hulking masses of them which guilt-tripped thousands over the centuries into attending church. In Christian mass, the ringing of bells is used as both an instructional tool and a subliminal trigger. Depending on when it is rung, it can instruct the to parishioners kneel, stand, sit, heel, and play dead. What's Good for the Pope...- It marked the passing of our a Papal leader. Ask not for whom the bell tolls then. No sir, it tolled for him. I only hope that when I go, someone will remember me in both song and toll. Saved by the... - Yes, this bell sounding marks the end of a round in a heavyweight/lightweight/featherweight bout. Some fighters complained that they still heard bells long after the fight was over. Unfortunately, no one could attribute that to anyone but the fighter. Eh, punchy? Just Married - At every wedding, there is the sound of bells. Whether it's from a large pipe organ, small guest giveaways, or from Grandma's old Yamaha synthesizer, there should be bells. No one is madder than a hatter for love than I am. Let 'em ring in the union! Yeah! Okay, I'm way too excited about this. Just Like Starting Over - John Lennon cleverly made use of a small bell sound at the beginning of this song and for some reason it makes me think of good luck. Christmas Carols - Hark! How the bells (DING!) Sweet silver bells..(DONG)...All seem to say...Throw cares away...(DING)...Face it people, every Christmas song is way cooler with bells. And no sing-along is complete without 'em. So go ahead and enjoy the mirth and splendor. It only comes around once a year. Ring in the New Year - Besides seeing a diaper-clad Child of the Millenia and Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve special, ring a coupla bells. You know you want to revert back to those bygone days when you played with Fischer Price stuff that rang, whistled, spun, shook and rattled. So what's changed?? So there you have it: my take on the ritual. And remember that if you're hearing bells where there are none, YOU'RE CRAZY. So sit back, relax and enjoy your madness, Ding Dong!

2005-12-01T07:06:00.000-08:00

Perfect Perspective: Sometimes it takes just a simple conversation with my sister to gain wonderful insight on the things that are most troubling to me. Eli (aka Julie Winters) just can get me like no one on this planet gets me. In the immortal words of Jerry MacGuire, "[she]...completes me." "You had me at hello..." Tear. For those who don't know her, Eli is very much her own person. She can be brazen and she is always overly opinionated. A true Latina through and through. So when I'm at my weakest, sometimes I need that stiff kick in the ass and Eli always knows just what to say. Things like: "Jerk!" or "Oh, Li, stop complaining about stupid things" or her typical, "Eh, sangana!" (which loosely translated means: 'Whatever, fool!') It is like a magical waving of a hand. And although she is younger than me (by three years), she has a wisdom that only hardships could teach. Let's just say that while I'm 'book-smart', Eli is 'street-smart'. *Cue Donald Trump Apprentice music* Last night was no exception. Her phone call gave me the boost I needed to see through another crazy day. Just so you can really know where I'm coming from, here's an example of the kind of conversation Eli and I can have: Me - "Eli, I'm kind of bummed out..." Eli - "Well tune into the NYC Christmas tree lighting ceremony on Channel 4 and you'll feel better." Me - "Oh yeah, I caught a little of the beginning but then I got caught up in doing laundry." Eli - [insane laughter] "...Rod Stewart's on and he CAN'T sing!" Me - "Rod Stewart's on?" Eli - "Now Regis is trying to sing! [laughing again] "This is too funny!" Me - [mimicking Regis] "Is that your final answer?" Eli - "Yes." Me - [still impersonating] "He's out of control!" Pause through laughter Eli - "Regis has the best job. Stupid Kathy Lee Gifford thought she'd do better by leaving Regis." Me - "I know, what a mistake, right?" Eli - "I'll say! What was the excuse she gave? She was going to pursue her (pause) musical career?" Laughter. Me - [impersonating Kathy Lee] "I am hoping to create wonderful sweatshops to sell my crappy clothes back to the children who work for me." Eli - [giggling] "...And ride the success of my wonderful children, Cody and...what's that other kid's name?" Me - "Cassidy." Eli - "That's right, Cassidy. Hop-along, Cassidy. What are her kids, cowboys?" Me - "No. Cowgirls. C'mon!" Eli - "I know, I know. They are kinda effeminate." Me - [sarcastically] "Yeah, El, but they're extremely talented. When Kathy Lee gave birth to them they must've performed a song and dance." Eli - "Omigosh! Like the WB frog!" Me - [singing] "...Hello, my baby, hello my honey...hello my rag-time gaaaaaaaaaaaaallllll!!!!" Eli - "And proud papa Gifford could've caught them in his hands like a true quarterback." Me - "24, 13, 55..." Eli - "HIKE!" Me - "Another David Caruso." Eli - "Oh yeah, he left NYPD Blue playing a cop because his career was gonna take off!" Me - "It took off alright! All he could ever play was a cop. So now he's on CSI Miami playing, gee, lemme guess..." Eli - "A cop!" Laughter again. Me - "That reminds me, did you see the Aeon Flux trailers?" Eli - "Yeah, it really sucks." Me - "I know, right? It's like they glammed up Charlize Theron and they totally missed the political statements and sexual tension between Aeon and that, that guy." Eli - "Yeah, the scientists's name...uh, well..." Me - "Gosh, this is gonna haunt me." Eli - "Well, whatever-his-name is." Me - "Yeah and--" Eli - "It's like if they were to do the Maxx. I would love to direct that movie." Me - "Ooh..." Eli - "The casting would be easy. I would pick a really flawed girlie-girl. Someone like Sarah Michelle Gellar, only not her." Me - "Yeah I know what you mean. How about Britney Murphy?" Eli - "No, someone more like Kelly Clarkson." Me - "Yeah, that'd be a good breakthrough for her." Eli - "Better than that 'From Justin to Kelly' movie!" Me - "Definitely, definitely." Eli - "Wait! They're counting down the Christmas lights...five, four, three..." Me - "Two..." Eli - "...One..." Me - "Happy New Year!" Eli - "I curfew, Becky." Me - "I curfew, too, Darlene." Phone call with friends? $25 a month. Phone call from cell phone? $50 a month. Phone calls with Eli? Priceless. Thanks, El.

2005-11-28T07:26:00.000-08:00

Stressed, Obsessed, and...Blessed(?): ...One of those "ess" words. The holidays are upon us so my inner analyst has been released. It isn't a bad time to start gathering my thoughts. It actually seems like perfect timing to score my year in review, my shortcomings, my goals for the coming year, how to achieve greatness and inner peace, et cetera, et cetera... Leftovers: Like a meal from the night before, life's issues linger. I still need to figure out how to tackle each in order to feel truly nourished. One at a time. But there are so many ideas that I have that I need to narrow them down or my plate will remain over-full. The possibilities are endless, my choices varied. Potential for change. So okay, my thoughts read like the tarot. I actually read my own tarot this weekend just to see how I'm doing. Oddly enough, the same issues keep coming up. Even in my dreams. And always a sucker for dream analysis, I am noticing some images attempting to drive itself from my psyche into my collective consciousness. Is it working? Will I ever be satiated? Will I conquer my subconscious?? Will I?? Hmm??? Stay tuned... Raining on My Parade: Why not share and indulge in my habit-forming love-in? The large mattress of revealing secrets and treasured memories? Instead, it seems like the winter drudgery is beginning. Otherwise known as, "The Holiday Blues". I had it last year and took a vaccine to prevent it from resurfacing this year. So why are others so dang blah? I dunno. Why don't they just share in the joy that Jessica Simpson and Nich Lachey are finally kuputs? Why not just feel the warmth I feel when I wrap myself up in a comforter like a mummy? And why can't people just feel the thrill I can't conceal when I bite into a cheesburger I've been hankering for ALL DAY?! Huh???

2005-11-25T08:57:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving: A Messy Blessing After waking up way past the proper time for planning a feast that would shame the gods, and after freaking out over the conundrum of which item to cook first (hmm...turkey or ham) in my smaller-than-an-average oven, AND after contuniously muttering, 'the horror, the horror' to myself before I could gather my thoughts, began the day we euphemistically title: Thansgiving. Only I wasn't very thankful that I was in the middle of a verbal whirlwind: one of Carlos' timeless chatterbox banters that can go on for days. DAYS, people. The noise could shatter any semblance of reality. And no, I AM NOT EXAGGERATING... Throw in visits from friends, Carlos' niece, Carlos' daughter and son, and my grandmother--which only added to the insane drama that only true Puerto Ricans can appreciate--and mix. Stir. Boil. Mmm, mmm...Now that's what I call cookin'! But now that I can calmly gather my thoughts on the evening, I can focus on the blessing that is Dia de los Pabos. Insert hilarious flailing turkey here for the full effect. Yes, it's time to assess what I am truly thankful for. There are more but I didn't want to get too boring or sentimental.

Carlos - OK, so he talks incessantly and has these crazy schemes and random ideas (think: I Love Lucy). But I love him and even if I've heard him tell a story over and over and over again, I still let him tell it. One thing I will say, he's never boring.
Blogging - While I am a firm believer that some things should remain sacred, for a person like me, random thoughts often get discarded and slip into oblivion. Now, I have the ability to capture these wonderful masterpieces of the mundane. A forum for shameless self-promotion. I do it for my loyal readers...my fans...my public, how they love me.
My Boss - A true gift to find a boss who'll put up with your daily ramblings. An even truer gift to find a boss who'll--albeit begrudgingly-allow me to burst into song, random acts of dancing and doodling. His great humor in times of stress, along with free lunches and generousity have made him a pleasure to work for. Alas, I shall be retiring from this job soon, but even then, I wouldn't trade what I've learned for the world. Who else could impersonate "A Little Old Lady Crossing Queens Boulevard?" C'mon! When I grow up, I could only hope to be a bit of what my Boss has been for me.
Freedom & Human Rights - Ok, this should go without saying, but everytime I visit my birthplace, I become acutely aware of how cool it is to be able to walk in flannel pajamas to the corner store and go relatively unnoticed. When I post to my blog, sing at work (See #3) and whistle, the reality is so overwhelming I want to slap myself silly. Not literally of course. Did you know that in some Arabic countries it is illegal for women to eat ice-cream in public?! True. True and sick. It's just an ice-cream, people! So when Prez Bush and the FCC talk about setting back the clock to the controled programming of the 1950's, I am aghast. Shocked and awed. Rights are what made America the kick-ass nation it is today. I want to be able to drive in my rollers barefoot, eating ice-cream while listening to Howard Stern. That is my dream. American as apple-pie.
Age & Wisdom - Your parents may have dropped you on your head as a kid. You may have injured yourself in a mosh-pit in your formative years. And you may have delayed the adult process while putting yourself through college. For the surviving few, there is much to be said about getting older. Now your brain is fully formed and is in prime condition to make rational and educated judgements based on (ack!) EXPERIENCE. That's right, folks, we can become wiser. We can evolve. We can analyze. For those who say age is just a number just remember all of the kooky things you did as a teenager. Isn't it better now that you realize that egging your next-door neighbors house on Halloween is wrong; fun, but just wrong. Maybe you are on the verge of buying or have already bought a home. Is it really funny to have to scrape off the egg goop? Not so funny when it's you, is it? Well, is it???
Warm, Fuzzy Sweaters - Oh my dear, cashmere. I adore-a, angora. The most idyllic? Acrylic! And other pathetically lame rhymes. I love winter so I could wear large, fuzzy sweaters. Ones that swallow you up whole or you can swim in. The comfort I feel is akin to being in the womb (I imagine, at least).
Celebrities - Without the paparazzi, the snapperazzi, the stalkerazzi, where would we be? It is a guilty pleasure, I'll admit. Such shows like, Inside the Actor's Studio can tell us what each celebrity wants to hear God say, if they ever make it to heaven. Barbara Walters specials can show celebs crying about their rough lives. The entire E Channel wouldn't exist if it weren't for such notables as Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Hillary Duff. What would we do with our boring lives if we couldn't once and awhile turn to the fabulous lives of the rich and famous? And idolize them...or mock them without the repercussions of a lawsuit. It's too bad that Robin Leach is no longer showing us celebrity lifetsyles aymore. I used to love that freeloader.
Daily Hot Chocolate Runs - My fellow co-worker and I have developed an excuse better than a brief jaunt to the water-cooler. What is better than hot choco with whipped cream drizzled with gooey chocolate? Nothing, people.
The Lifting of Writer's Block - The worst thing for a writer is not being able to find a word or idea that is conducive to the creative process. I suffered for almost a year with a blank, bland view of the world. I am very thankful that I've re-discovered my verbiage and creative Muse. Now let's say that together phonetically: "MEW-Z". Dontcha love it?!
Connection - I am thankful that I have managed to reconnect with the outside world once again, to embrace it, to breathe, to live each day. But it wouldn't be fair if you didn't share...

So go ahead, people...WHAT ARE YOU THANKFUL FOR? I'd like to know...

2005-11-22T10:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday, Mommy: Paying homage to this incredible lady is not easy, thank you very much. As multi-dimensional and complex as any puzzle, my mother is a contradiction. Let me describe to you what she was: She was one part, Betty Crocker and one part, Martha Stewart. She doted on her children. Now, she's a little more self-involved but no less amazing. C'mon, who else could possibly raise me and my sis? We certainly gave her a run for her money... She paid for her luxury and peace of mind She marveled at the convenience of being finely tuned Like her favorite upright piano The keys glaring white Inviting busy fingers to press down Yeah, a slow jazz song swelling The trumpet cupped and stifled; choking to be heard But oh, that New Orleans sound… Creole and country Seasoned by years of stay-at-home motherhood Kept quiet by duties and a husband’s diatribes She was lost and she paid—dearly Swallowed and ripped by weathering tides Scores rising and washing over her You see, they were un-invited But they came quick and convenient And weren’t tuned into her station She was played like a beloved trumpet Caressed and seduced by idle hands And left there like a bad note to die Pressed down on that bridge Until the composition was complete But like a good melody, she lingered Long enough to be hummed Your Loving Daughter, ~ Lisa

2005-11-21T09:25:00.000-08:00

Fatherly Advice: "Quien quiere medio taza de cafe, se le da taza y media." ~Author Unknown (Loosely translated: Whomever wants a half-cup of coffee, give them a cup and a half) When pondering the neverending issues with Sara, I turned to the only person who could give me the proper perspective: my Dad. Well, to be fair, I turned to my mom first and she also gave me her advice which was indeed useful, but I wanted the masculine viewpoint to give my thoughts some scope. I tried my mom's advice first: Letting Sara know that I was there for her no matter what. Opening the lines of communication. Much to my chagrin, it hasn't worked. So today, I spoke with Daddy. Sometimes the best advice you can get in your life happens quite by accident. A series of words that when placed together, manage to reach you from the inside out. Dad's words gave me some startling clarity because I think I understand my Dad's language. There are many times over the course of my life that my father has influenced me. One instance in particular sticks out in my mind. It was the year that the New York Mets won the 1986 World Series. My parents were both intensely engrossed in baseball at that time. They watched almost every game leading up to it. And although I remember the 7th game miracle win, that wasn't the only thing amazing. The memory I carry with me happened long after the game-winning base-hit by Howard "Ho-Jo" Johnson. In celebration, my Dad tucked me and my sister into bed (on the floor because we were too excited to sleep in our beds). Now, my Dad wasn't a guitar player by any means. He used the instrument much like Sherlock Holmes used his voilin. He tinkered through the notes and would find a pleasing sound and then would stick with it. Well he knew that me and my sister dug on this one riff and he played it...a lot. He played it even though his guitar was never in tune. He played it even though he was probably sick of us asking him to play it. He played it even though it was real late at night. Either way, it taught me what the act of kindness was all about. He maybe secretly wished he really could play. I imagine he would've liked to strum some kind of fabulous song that he wrote in honor of the birth of his daughters. Or, in honor of the greatest World Series EVER. Instead, he just chose to accomodate us and our demands despite being weary or regretful. Dad played because we asked him to. And to me, that was the coolest thing. But onto the advice. Now, Sara's a stubborn young colt. She argues, she lies, she's carfty. I've mentioned all of this before, ad nauseum. But my Dad's idea what simple: Give her what she wants. An odd concept, right? One fights so hard to get themselves heard. Then they fight some more to get their points across. Both of these steps have had little to no impact on Sara because she wants to do things on her own. She wants to believe that she can be completely self-sufficient at sixteen. So I have to get her to go ahead and move forward on being self-sufficient. She'll have some decisions to make, but they will be hers alone. I have to remove myself from the equation. So...that will be my next strategy. Hopefully, it will be enough. I won't know how it all turns out until she's gone. Let's just hope that this works. Fingers crossed, eyes closed...

2005-11-18T13:50:00.000-08:00

I got honorable mention...ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,HA! Thanks once again to my fave blog, www.jamelah.net! A wonderful, wonderful place to be. Here was my submission (since I reserve all rights to it, except for the actual photo of Chris Cornell)...so here it is...Enjoy! Cornell 101: So I splurged. So sue me. Thought I'd never *gasp* write again. Having trouble viewing written word on the page only because I am simply inundated with words, words and more words! I am currently swimming in pages of crumpled-up sheets, discarded cans of Red Bull, and half-eaten kung-pao chicken. First Period (Home Economics): My saving grace and the object of my adoration-my Muse, Chris Cornell. Like a yummy candy as I make my way through the halls. A Cornell-dog with icing. Hmm...that thought just made me hungry. Wish I had some leftover kung-pao... Second Period (English): Why do I genuflect and pray at the Cornell shrine? LOOK AT HIM! C'mon! Perhaps it's just that like most other girls I like bad boys. They intrigue me with their broody, sexy eyes pensively looking far away at something extremely important and meaningful. Am I right? Those damn blue eyes are like...pools I could drown in. Or is it dive in? I dunno. Third Period (History): Chris is like the guy every girl wants to save or the guy she wants to *ahem* screw. Maybe some just want to read his tarot or ask him an insanely in-depth question that would somehow make all of life worthwhile. Odds are, given his uncanny ability to withhold speech for extended periods of time, he wouldn't have very much to say. (Big letdown after a pilgrimage to get to the top of some Tibetan mountain with a limited amount of food and hiking boots...but, I digress...) Fourth Period (Spanish): Chris Cornell es guapo y sincero. Me gusta los ojos azules. Me gusta mucho que guapo eres. Tengo hambre todavía. Mucho hambre. ¿Donde esta el kung pao? Homeroom: So since we're swapping notes, thought I'd be creative and write a poem using Cornell's own lyrics from both Soundgarden and his collaborative effort with Eddie Vedder, "Temple of the Dog". Why? Because I can! So there. The Day I Tried To Live (Soundgarden, Temple of the Dog ©) I wait for you there like a stone In disguises no one knows To wash away the rain Save me, I'm together with your plan, save me! Looking California and feeling Minnesota The day I tried to live without you, without you Stealing bread from the mouths of decadents But I can't feed on the powerless when my cup's already over-filled And whomsoever I cradled Alone in the super-unknown Nothing seems to kill me no matter how hard I try- Blow up the outside world Hang my head, drown my fear, till you all just disappear Outshined-- Will I get it right? I will pray to the gods and the angels I wait for you there alone Will I get it right? Sixth Period (Art): Shoot! Caught doodling again...I know, I know I will never be "Mrs." Chris Cornell. But I can always try to play the matchmaker game to see if we're compatible or the origami fortune teller game. Will he ever love me? Y-E-S. Will he ever marry me? N-O. Will I ever meet him and find a lovely house in the country to live in sin with him? N-O. Lift the flap and you're worst nightmare has been confirmed: "Try again." Ugh. Well, there's always the hall monitor...On second thought: uh, no. Final Period: Well, enough dawdling and daydreaming for one day. Maybe tomorrow I can immerse myself in another fantasy relationship. Till then, I will bask in the afterglow of Cornell's beaming, intense gaze. Ah, that's much, much better! As a result of much intense gazing at an empty computer screen, this was the result. Thanks to Jamelah for at the very least dropping a line about the pic. Thanks, Jam. Pimping the Pimp (aka Whore-a-holic): In answer to a question that Jamelah asked: Yes. Pimping your wares DOES make you a whore, albeit a successful one. Assuming people do purchase what you're selling and assuming that it gives them *ahem* a bit of satisfaction or euphoria. That being said, I would like to take this opportunity to ask my bloggy fans out there to read Jamelah's blog and hopefully buy some of her hand-made jewelry in support of her ever increasing talent.

It's easy...just go to: My Etsy Store and drop the bucks...c'mon...you know that this is an impulse purchase, but it can potentially do the following:

Get You Laid - Single Fellas, give this gift to your woman and you'll be reaping the benefits. TRUST ME.
Confirm Self-Love - Ladies, you know that you always love getting yourself gifts if for no other reason than to appease yourself. Only you know what you want and you know all of your relatives never had good taste anyway. You're tired of getting socks from your Uncle Henry because he never knew what you liked. You've also had it with grandma's gifts which were things that she knitted in her sewing circle. Ugh.
Provide Perfect Bribery - To all the married folks, this'll be the perfect bribe. You could say things like, "Do you know how much I paid for this?!" Or, "I paid this much, as PROOF of how much I love you..." Followed by a pause and a request for what you want.
Encourages Your Support for the Arts - I'm not saying to stop making your annual payments to Channel 13. Of course not. But what better way can you celebrate young talent without any effort on your part? This way you can buy something artistic and thereby offer your support without making a phone call or licking an envelope. Let's face it, some of us just don't have this type of talent. At all.
Promote Healthcare - No one is saying that your money to lend a hand to Hurricane Katrina victims wasn't well spent. But the healthcare system in this country is ridiculous! There is no affordable health care anymore. This jewelry will be your statement. So much cooler than those blase wristbands everyone is sporting nowadays. So maybe it's not tax-deductible..so what? Drop Jamelah a dime. C'mon, you were gonna spend it anyway...
Be The Perfect Gift - Holiday Season's Right Around the Corner so buying one of these lovely items is a no frills way of buying the perfect gift. It'll takes the thought process out of the way completely and finally please your Aunt M who is always such a pain-in-the-ass to shop for.
Become A Collector's Item - When Jamelah finally becomes Queen of the Universe, you will own a one-of-a-kind item that she created! Isn't that rewarding in itself??
Supports Tree-Huggers - A lot of the materials that Jamelah uses to create her masterpieces, comes from good ol' Mother Earth. That's right, the same Mother that gave birth to all of us. So the least you can do is buy a semi-precious stone necklace or bracelet...Mom would do it for you!
It's a Great Conversation Piece - It is not some nameless, faceless piece of jewelry that you bought in some department store. This is your chance to don a beautiful, delicate item that has a story behind it. I'm sure Jamelah will be happy to divulge her inspiration, her dedication, her blog-i-licious-ness
You'll Go To Heaven - For just a mere $47, you can take on Jamelah's cause. And even though it's a stretch, I want you to follow along with me here... Look, when you buy you'll know that you're supporting Jamelah, which will fill you with a sense of accomplishment. And when you die and go to Heaven, God or Allah or Buddha or Shiva or whatever will know how nice this gesture was. You will be rewarded with Eternal Life and live in blissful splendor. Or not. But at least you'll look cool.

Let us rejoice and unite, all ye peddlers of wares! Dance and sing and be merry! Come forth all of ye and purchase what we're selling, for what would the world be without its artisans and craftmakers I tell you?! Nowhere, people. So dip in your pockets, dig deep and shop! Go on...

2005-11-15T06:34:00.000-08:00

Drama and Raising A Sixteen Year Old Girl: Having had experience raising three boys (in an now defunct relationship), let me just say now that it was NO COMPARISON to raising a sixteen year old girl. Believe me. How many? Just one. How is that possible you say? Well, here is my take on it: Boys Are Simple I hate to admit it, but boys are simply delightful to raise. They almost--dare I say--raise themselves. They are less complicated, less defiant, less stubborn. A boy can be molded and whiddled down to an accepting, self-sufficient, wonderful young man without much effort from his parents. As long as the boy is willing to listen, you need only direct him to do certain things once. Ok, maybe a few times. But once he figures things out and finds his own way of doing things, he plods on without your input. Girls Lack Initiative Unlike their masculine counterparts, girls have a tendency to sit around and wait for life to hit them over the head. Young teenage girls laze about crying about how unfair their parents are, while munching out and staring at the television set. They fight the urge to hurry through their chores (to get them out of the way) and opt instead for the multiple mind-numbing requests. Their hope is that you forget about the chore altogether while they sort out much more pleasant issues like what nailpolish color goes well with their complexion. Priorities, priorities. Boys can almost always compensate for their lack of initiative with physical labor until they catch up. Girls Are Obsessive She wants to know what boys are thinking, so she stares endlessly at posters of hearthrobs. She doesn't want to be Mary-Kate Olsen thin, but will still worry about the caloric content of a candy bar. She listens to music in the car, at school, in the kitchen, on television, and while in the shower. Her monster showers can take hours because she's either: a) singing along with the music b) daydreaming about some boy [real or imaginary] c) primping in front of the mirror. She likes to analyze the day's events with her bff's on the phone, in the lunchroom, at recess, in her journal and school notebooks. She passes notes in class about how lame her teachers are (Note: can be substituted with any adult authority figure here). She picks on the other girls at school that don't subscribe to her ideologies. How do I know? I was one. Boys, however are really nonchalant about everything. Most of their focus is on whether some girl likes them and whether they're going to get up the nerve to ask her out. That's when they stop fishing through the pile of dirty laundry. For the first time in months, the clean shirt (they thought was "dorky") comes out of the closet. Girls Are Fussy Whether it's styling their hair to make sure the natural highlights shame the sun or picking out their school clothes in the morning, girls love to fuss. They change their tastes, they try new ways of doing things--much to their parent's chagrin. At any given moment, the same task that they enjoyed last week, is now passe. The instrument they absolutely loved to play last month no longer holds their interest. The boy they were passionate about last week is a has-been. A lengthy, grueling argument ensues. What do girls really want?! Boys experiment too, but not to the same degree. They may like their hair pulled back with tons of mousse one day, then go au natural the next. Their concerns often bend on more pressing issues like scoring a goal in the next soccer game or having the girl in homeroom notice their great new hair (sans mousse). Girls Are Clingy The brighter the girl, the more creative her rebellion. Girls need guidance and hand-holding such as the world-at-large has never seen. Her ingenuity is clever, her cunning impressive. She'll hold tight to the apron strings even when you have long since cut them off and sold them to the highest bidder. Boys can flee and occasionally visit without lingering. Girls set up shop, prop their legs up on your easy-chair, and eat you out of house and home. Sometimes, you have to push them...hard to get them to motivate themselves into setting short-term then long-term goals. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. Girls Are Vindictive Their multi-layered moods can swing from pleasant to super-bitch mode in a matter of seconds. The look that they've perfected is one of quiet servitude, all the while they are plotting their revenge. Secretive and natural manipulators, they use your own comments against you. They use the docile, hurt puppy-dog look at you. When you dodge that defense, they become cruel tormentors with biting words that cut you like a thousand knives stabbing you in the heart all at once. That's on a good day. Boys generally avoid confrontation at all costs. If a serious conversation promises to extend longer than an hour, odds are the boy'll bail before it gets to that point. You, as a parent'll win based on time-constraints alone. If I've missed any of the steps, I'm sure that I will discover more as I go along trying to raise Carlos' daughter, Sara. She is the challenge of a lifetime. Stay tuned...

2005-11-14T11:12:00.000-08:00

Not good at Goodbyes: Or changes or regrets. Not good at packing my bags and pounding pavements. Not sorry for tears that were well-spent, the visions, the notions. Not sorry for the ideas that passed into oblivion; never having been fully realized or brought into fruition. Unapologetic, I will gather all I've learned and persevere...eventually. I am not every woman, it's NOT all in me.

2005-11-10T07:25:00.000-08:00

...And the Award goes to... Announcer - The Award for Best Supporting Pooch in Lisa's Hour of Need (ok it was more like 1o minutes) goes to...Chico! Way to go! *Cue clip on the overhead screen of Chico laying calmly on the kitchen floor* Announcer - Chico was unable to be here so accepting the award on Chico's behalf is his owner, "Mema"! Mema - "Thank you, thank all of you. Chico would so love to be here with all of you, unfortunately he had other engagements. Well, what can I say about the best dog in the world? When the Super's wife said that she was coming over to pickup my rent check, I was secretly hoping the dogs would behave. "Lady" was easy, staying behind a closed bedroom door. Now, I knew that I had received a verbal warning before about keeping the dogs quiet and maintaining silent pets. That's when "Bear" decided--in all of his wisdom--to bark incessantly from the bathroom, while the Super's wife stood in the hall nonchalantly, pretending to be interested in speaking with me about random topics. If it weren't for this lovely dog laying down comfortably on the floor while "the mole" scoured and scrutinized my kitchen, in an effort to witness the dogs misbehaving firsthand, I don't know what I would have done. I would like to give a special thanks to, Sara whose effort, at responding to Bear (still in the bathroom) and calming him down, was invaluable. I would also like to give a sincere thanks to "My Own Patience" for allowing me to keep my cool in an otherwise pressure-cooked situation. I still managed with "My Own Patient's" help, to maintain my composure while the Super's wife had the nerve to stand in the hallway a few minutes after the awkward kitchen conversation just to make sure her suspicions--that I was keeping the dogs quiet--were correct. So thanks, "My own Patience"! And thanks to all of the Chico fans out there who believed in him when no one else would. Finally, I'd like to thank my wonderful dog for without which, this award would never be possible. I know that if Chico were here he would say..." *Orchestra begins to play* Mema - Wait! Wait! I still have a few more seconds... *Audience laughs politely* Mema - "I'm sure Chico would like to thank Mighty Dog and Camilla canned dog food. Thank you and Good Night!"

2005-11-08T10:22:00.000-08:00

Covet my footrest: I know that you want to emulate me, but let me just say that you cannot have it this good. A footrest like no other, bringing less strain to the lower back. A massage footrest. A blessing in these troubled times of flourescent lighting, carpal tunnel syndrome, and stale air. Ah, a formidable little contraption that elevates me to "Diva" status. Yes, it shall be called, "Schmoide" and all day long it will allow me to rest my foot upon it's weary back. The loving plastic will yield to the touch of my feet. It will be good.

2005-11-07T10:00:00.000-08:00

Re-discovering Johnny Cash: On the wings of what will be a new Johnny Cash resurgence as a result of the Joaquin Phoenix portrayal of the Legend, let me first assess the overall magnitude behind my connection with good ole Johnny... "Don't take your guns to town, son Leave your guns at home, Bill" Back in the days when I was working out of a trailer, I remember walking to a hidden dust-ridden shelf. There, I cam in contact with a stack of tapes which were left behind by one of my bosses, Joey, who used to breeze in and out of the trailer like a man on fire. One of the tapes happened to be Johnny Cash's latest at the time: "American Recordings" (released in 1994) It became my wandering anthem, a lonesome accompaniment on my journey through life. A mantra I could hear on the wind as I trudged to work every day. Thus my love affair with this mysterious stranger began. "I keep a close watch on this heart of mine I keep my eyes wide open all the time I keep the ends out for the tie that binds Because you're mine, I walk the line." Oh everyone's heard of Johnny Cash's troubled past. His mystique as "The Man in Black" could not be denied even then. And at one point or another in the 70s you knew Cash's most famous song of EVER..."Ring of Fire". "I fell into a burning ring of fire I went down, down, down And the flames went higher And it burns, burns, burns The ring of fire, the ring of fire." A music buff, I have been known to have quite an eclectic taste. Classical music to country, Broadway to Rock & Roll, Blue grass to metal. I love all types. But there's something about the bass, shakiness of Johnny's voice that makes me feel like I'm at home. "Tell me Lord...what did I ever do? That was worth loving You or the kindness You've shown? Tell me Lord...if you think there's a way I can try to repay all I've taken from You Maybe Lord, I can show someone else What I've been through myself On my way back to You" Now I'm a little bit rock and roll, but I'm also a little bit country thanks to some of the greatest performers which sprung up from the 80s scene. C'mon, you must admit that you used to watch the Mandrell Sisters Show just to see 'em bicker. And if you were a girl you fell in love with Donnie's baby face and envied Marie's teeth. Puh-lease! Back then, Kenny Rogers dueting with Dolly Parton was a dream. And if you are a woman who has the nerve to tell me that "9-5" wasn't your favorite 80s Feminist Anthem, you'd be lying. "Sometimes it tries to kid me that it's just a teddy bear...And that is when I must be aware Of the Beast in Me that everybody knows They've seen him out dressed in my clothes." There's something about classic country that is appealing. For me, a raised Jersey-ite, I naturally to gravitate to the folkiness of classic country. Anyone who's ever heard down-on-your-luck titled songs like, "Tear in My Beer" or "Here's a Quarter Call Someone Who Cares" knows that there is a mystique to blue-collar hardship. And if you've lived in Jersey City as long as I have, you know that this is a tough town, even if we are one of the happiest places to live in (according to a recent article sent by my friend who lives in Chicago ~ Thanks, GK4!). I guess I have a proclivity for the "do-si-do" set. Any song that reminds me of the daily struggle to survive often gets me to weeping like a willow. That's a good thing, really. "Bad luck wind been blowin' at my back I was born to bring trouble to wherever I'm at Got the number thirteen tatooed on my neck When the ink starts to itch, the black will turn to red." If anyone saw the video for "Hurt" (Johnny Cash's version of the NIN hit) you'd know what I'm talking about. The man just had a way of making you feel the blues. Not just the blues but this unforgiving guilt-trip and overwhelming sadness that made you evaluate your life even if it only lasted as long as the song played. Lyrics that were universal life experiences and almost an unusual insight on what the future held for himself, a man who always lived his life between the living and the dead. "Tell the gossipers and liars I will see them in the fire Let the train blow the whistle when I go" There are even hymnal tunes that would turn off most folks that somehow got to the center of my being, curled up into a wonderful ball and slept there. It lies there still.

2005-11-07T06:26:00.000-08:00

Touching Juliette: My friend got to touch the hand of the Divine Miss Juliette Lewis this weekend and I'm so jealous!!! I tried to act like all "whatever", but I was real bummed. Why? Because even though this envy is completely irrational, I wanted to touch Juliette Lewis. The fact that he got to touch the woman who has been affiliated with my favorite director EVER, Quentin Tarantino (aka QT) is a sickness! Not to mention that I began to seriously fantasize--after watching Natural Born Killers--that I could be the one standing on some random bridge wearing a white veil and blue jeans professing my love to my man (minus the blood-brother pact and matching skull wedding bands). You gotta admire a girl who can go from sucking the thumb of Bobby De Niro to being the center of a band aptly titled: "Juliette and the Licks". Dammit! Why can't we all just touch a little greatness?

2005-11-05T14:03:00.000-08:00

"Bear": An Introduction: My people!! How I've missed you all. I've been trying so hard to reach all of you, but let's just say I've been beyond busy trying to introduce a new addition to my ever growing family. This is...(drum roll please) BEAR. Carlos' big baby Saint Bernard-mix has quite the personality as this photo clearly shows. Easy-going and well-trained. Now let me allow Carlos' daughter, Sara describe her dog to you. Take it away...Sara... Bear is a tough dog and always has been and he sometimes has his moments but I love him even more than when I first got Bear. I got Bear when I was nine years old. I didn't think that sweet little puppy would grow up into this. He's a very loving dog but sometimes can be a pain in the ass but look at that face could you ever get that mad at him? Very eloquent. The aforementioned is quite a character and it's taken quite a bit of patience on all of our parts to care for the Marvelous Three. Just in case you were wondering just how do we do it? It isn't easy, but it is strangely rewarding. As long as we follow these simple rules, the dogs can all "just get along".

Bear needs one person to take him out - While Chico and Lady can go out together, Bear is a bit of a challenge because he's so big. If you're not careful, he can drag you several blocks.
Bear needs alone time - We have designated the bathroom as Bear's "Me Time" spot. Hey, animals are people too!
Serve all dogs their meals at the same time - In order for them to understand that they are equals, they need to have lunch served in the cafeteria altogether. "Lunch Lady" Sara can serve while I referree to make sure the dogs aren't sneaking a snack from one of the other doggie bowls.
Make sure the serving fits the dog - This may sound simple, but when you're trying to serve the larger dogs in huge bowls and then you serve Lady, it's easy to over-feed. Lady, since she's the smallest, gets a Mighty Dog serving of soft food. The others get Camilla brand or Purina-size portions.
Special Instructions Are Key - Just like humans, each pet has their own way of doing things. Lady, for example can't have large kibbles--her teeth can't chew them down anymore because of her age. Bear and Chico need kibbles mixed with canned food to help their digestive systems.
Punishment For Their Misbehavior - Like children, dogs sometimes act up...a lot. In our case, Bear and Chico are males vying for dominance so it can get messy. Squabbling over attention and petting rights can be tricky. But let the punishment fit the crime. You wouldn't deny a three-year-old meals, but you can time-out. The same goes for dogs.

Oh sure, there are times that I want to jump off the nearest cliff, but I wouldn't trade any of these pooches for the world. I guess it's the caregiver in me.

2005-10-31T13:01:00.000-08:00

I'm not scared. I want to be scared. The closest I got was a show on Showtime called Master of Horror (a series) that was creepier than any Tales from the Crypt re-runs. If I see Thirteen Ghosts on the Sci-Fi channel one more time...

2005-10-25T10:36:00.000-07:00

Friendships When They Sour: I'm revisiting this topic because I feel it necessary to bestow my worldly wisdom on the massive bloggers out there. I also feel the urgent need to be heard because it is a subject that seems to be a shared, if not common, experience...and I also think that I am the center of the universe and everyone should heed my advice. As a matter of fact, they should cling to it with insistent severity, as if it were their life's blood. Lemme tell you why I am so focused on this particular subject: The BFF I've written about before made the vain attempt to re-establish her friendship with me recently. I found it disconcerting to say the least, and the cynic in me couldn't help but also believe that it was also due to the ever approaching holiday season. (Whether or not that's true is beside the point). Just follow along here with me, people. So she sends me an email. A mite impersonal--to be sure--but I gave her the benefit of the doubt until I got to the content of the email. The email was titled something like, "Apology" or "Apologies" which was an excellent beginning. It went downhill from there, though. Real fast. On roller-skates. In restrospect, the title should have been more penitent. Something like: "I'm-now-begging-for-forgiveness-and-it-took-this-long-for-me-to-write-because-I-maimed-myself-as-punishment" or "I-wrote-this-email-because-I-am-vermin-and-didn't-want-to-besmear-you-with-the-sound-of-my-voice" or "How-could-someone-so-low-speak-to-someone-so-high"? Or something like that. But alas, I didn't get my wish. I got an 'I-miss-you' with a laundry list reiterating why I sucked as a friend in the first place. Basically, she nullified her apology. When they're good: "I'm really, really, really sorry. I was a butt-hole. Let me bow to your greatness and kiss your feet for being graced by your presence. Please, please, please take me back as your friend...please oh please!!" When they're bad: "But I still want it to be clear I felt you crossed the line in criticizing Mr. X and, subsequently, our relationship. In all the years I have known you, and the boyfriends I had known you with, I was very careful never to say anything disparaging about any of them, and only to offer advise to what woes you imparted to me, To call me drunk and tell me Mr. X was not good enough for me, and that it should be me and Mr. Y, well, it left a bad taste in my mouth, and still does, like a metallic blood taste." Yes, she's back (or at least in her mind) and already off to a great new start don't ya think? She has apologized via email--which is my first pet peeve. Be woman enough to confront me or at the very least drop a written note (preferably in 'metallic' blood) begging for my forgiveness after what she's put me through. It's the least she could do. But what do I get? I get an email riddled with finger-pointing which isn't even close to being kind. Note my level of anger here. Let's just say we have a longer history worthy of something more than a couple of impersonal emails. So let's get this straight. Some apologies are noteworthy, heartfelt. Others are just plain scathing and vindictive. Hers was the latter. So I decided to forewarn the bloggi-verse: When is a friendship over?? First we must evaluate several scenarios (from a female standpoint):

One BFF (a.k.a. Best Friend Forever) says something, the other takes it the wrong way.
One BFF says something about the other which is intentionally hurtful and vindictive.
One BFF feels betrayed by the other (Especially concerning boyfriends or ex's).
One BFF feels the other cheated them out of money and/or goods. Also: See #3
One BFF is jealous and goes all "single-white-female" on the other.

Did I miss any? I dunno. Tell me if I did. All I know is that it is never easy to let go of the friendship or opt to stay when there's so much bitterness and anger hanging in the air. I've already said that sometimes it's best to move on, but some blog readers felt that this decision wasn't always right. So here is an appendage to that original idea I had.

When Is It Right to Stay Friends?

Good question. No one can answer this for you. You have to do some desperate soul-searching here, kids. So she destroyed your reputation and slept with your boyfriend? For some people that's enough to delete every trace email and obliterate the friend's address from their "Buddy List". But for others, it is just a test of their friendship. I guess some people are just bigger than that. Good for those people who can look beyond these failing friendships and stick true-blue until the end of time! I am not so trusting. But hey, different strokes for different folks, right? Someone else had told me that a great friend should stick to the three E's: Enrichment, Encouragement, and Enlightenment. I wish things were so simple. I read an email once that said something to the effect of: 'I'll be there to hold your hair when you get sick praying to the porcelain gods.' I always thought, Ewww. I still think Ewww. I don't want to be anywhere near my sick friends. I'd rather just call her later when she's feeling better. No matter.

You and your friends should set the boundaries early. Both of you should try to stick to them. Most will fail. My main thing is that friends should love each other. There should be no ulterior motive. Just hang out, feel groovy every now and then, and then leave it there. Too clingy never works, too bossy never works, too demanding never works. Just keep it cool and straight and don't let issues fester. That's it and that's all.

I hope you learned something. If you didn't , then next time pay attention and bring your #2 pencil and take notes...you slouch!

2005-10-20T07:35:00.000-07:00

But in Reality...

On the verge of a "rant" because I can't understand the stupidity behind complacency. I am a firm believer in the adage, "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." No me de complejos, if you aren't willing to dig in the dirt and work hard to change things. It seems that these days Latinos are more engrossed in the lives of celebrities. Do we still care if JLo and Marc Anthony's sham marriage makes it?! Uh, no.

Seems like everywhere I look, Latinos are being included. More than ever before the Anglo-version of Latinos are showing up in commerciales and not just for Malta Goya. We are the new target audience for everything from beauty products to junk food. Are we the new "trend", el nuevo "craze"? Are we getting our fifteen minutes?

¡Oye, mi gente!

When I think about this subject, a Billy Joel song quickly comes to mind: "It's just a fantasy / It's not the real thing". The Latino marketing strategy is a simple one: get Hispanics to buy, buy, buy. Truth be told, we are buying...a lot. It's not just the products, but the foodstuffs, the literature, and the technology. According to a 2003 Sun Times article, we are not only the largest growing minority group but "Hispanics are estimated to represent as much as $630 billion in annual spending power." Just toss a bag-full of goodies y cosas gratis, and watch the Hispanics line up. But why aren't Latinos participating in the more important things that can actively affect change? ¿Cual cosas? How about things like: "research studies"? According to a 5/13/05 article from Medical News Today, "At a time when the Hispanic population is growing at a rate faster than any other minority group, Hispanics still represent only a small portion of participants in clinical research studies." ¿Y porque te importa? Por que this could provide researchers with important data for diseases and infirmities hitting Hispanics hard. Diseases like diabetes, heart disease, and high blood pressure are no longer a chiste about mamí's mal humor. As per Joel Escobedo, a University of Michigan Medical student: "These are diseases that are more prevalent among Hispanics.We need to understand how these conditions affect Hispanics, how treatments work for them, and what areas we need to pay particular attention to with Hispanic patients." This brings me to my next pensamiento: education. Without proper education, how can Hispanics understand and recognize the importance of research, historical data, and politics? This is the place where young minds are shaped and nurtured. Naturally there are a few barriers that Latinos need to first conquer in order to progress. Here are a few: 1. Language - Whether the child has immigrated into this country or was wrongfully moved through the school system (having learned little or nothing), it is imperative that they learn to speak the lenguaje.

2. Terminology and Testing - How can a Hispanic name something if the label is not easy to define? Much was made in the news about standardized testing being presented in a very Americano-centric way which prompted minority students to score poorly.

3. Bias - Inner-city schoolchildren can be cruel and they can muscle in on an already fragile self-esteem.

4. Old Habits and Customs - Just because your abuela back in the day didn't go farther than high-school doesn't mean that tu no puedes. ¡Por favor! No one is saying that it is facil, but it is essential.

5. Avoid the Traps - Teenage pregnancy and promiscuity may be a darker part of our heritage and culture (no te haga) but it doesn't have to be. The trappings of our cultura should not affect our futuro. It is only considered the 'norm' because we choose to accept as such. Stop chasing historia and consigue otra moda de success.

Aún, Dennis Kelly's USA Today article (2001), "Education's Hispanic Gap" talks about the percentage rate of Hispanics going to collegios y universidades. According to Kelly, "The college completion rate runs about 27 percent for the entire U.S. adult population, [but] it is only about 10 percent for Hispanic adults." That's sad. Finally, I think that we should also become more active in politics. Sure, most out there are crooks and corruption is everywhere, but where isn't it? Si tienes que gritar, jump up and down on couches, dar una tremenda pela, go ahead. It is the quiet, passive ones that aren't heard. So get active and volunteer your time at your local state offices. You should also participate in local government and maybe even run for public office. If for no other reason than to be heard, to have a voz amid the din of others. It is important.

Those bygone days of being represented by Juan Valdez and his burro are long over, people. It's time to get moving, get shaking, and start being more selective in the items you purchase and the products you buy. Remember that you may be inadvertently supporting companies that are not as Latino-friendly as they should be.

¡Que viva, Latinoamerica!

2005-10-13T09:04:00.000-07:00

"If this be madness, yet there is method in it." ~ Shakespeare What do you want from me...blood??? I'm trying to keep up with the bloggy world, but I have been soooo busy it's sick. Mostly personal stuff is getting in the way of a free moment to myself. I'm planning some major changes in my life which require my utmost attention. But I'm not telling what they are..haha, you fools!!! MoMA visit: But I do want to relate my wonderful museum experience on October 9th. The Museum of Modern Art has re-opened in NYC, so I decided to take a peek. Here's what I found: First of all, I love the layout of the place. It is a haven of self-discovery and it's free-flowing architecture allows you to move from room to room barely noticing that you've covered so much area. I mean each room is the lead-in to the next. If you're not careful, you can get lost (as I learned very quickly after being separated from my party at least three times). I had one of the security guards laughing at me because first Carlos got lost, then Sara, then me. It was too funny. The lobby is spacious and majestic and a great meeting point (should you happen to get lost). And yeah, there are many strange sculptures and paintings and things. Some were beyond BEYOND--like really out there. Some were intellectual and some were confusing like, huh?!

Like a corner filled with lit light bulbs. Huh?
Or a series of panels talking about "The Seasons" with some Latin writing and Spanish writing amid splashes of color that didn't make sense. Huh?
Or a room dedicated to a giant golden cube made of gold leaf on marble. Huh?
Or a collage of various body parts of models cut out from magazines with "blood" painted onto the pieces, coming out of eyes, noses, ears, etc. I guess the artist hates models. Again, HUH??? But the highlights were: 1) A sculpture of these naked parents standing side-by-side to their naked children. The artist made them all the same size, making a comment about evolution and societal changes. Parents are equal to the children; children are equal to their parents. Also, the children seem physically wider than the parents so I'm not sure what that's about. Maybe a commentary on the obesity issue? I dunno. Some of this commentary is pure conjecture. 2) A dark room with a film playing of men standing upright. It was really fascinating because the artist seems to be challenging the viewer. Who's looking at whom? And all of the men are about the same height but who do you gravitate to first? It shows our biases. Why did we gravitate to one over the other? And there seemed to be just one man who was moving. Most just stood there motionless or shifted their weight when they got tired of standing in one place. But this Eastern-looking guy was the only one who kept moving his hands; folding them, holding his hands together. Not sure what that meant either. 3) Absence of Memory by Salvadore Dali. My fave and it follows me everywhere. Although it was crowded, it was good to see how small it really was. Even though the skeptic in me feels that these weren't the actual works of these artists. Only copies. The reason I think this? Everyone could get really close and I heard that a person's breath could actually damage the paint. None are covered or anything, leaving me to believe that they aren't the originals. How can you show the same paintings around the globe if not on a tour? I dunno for sure. I just felt that way, even though it still was fascinating to me. 4) There is this great artist: William Kentridge. I saw his private show out in Washington DC one year and I found that he is the most interesting artist...He works in balck and white sketches with lots movement and a sudden bit of color for contrast or shock value. His commentaries are generally about war or world orders but it's his presentation that's wonderful. He plays sad, slow violin and bass music over his sketches and then films each sketch to make small movies. This guy is phenomenal just by the quantity of sketches he creates. The film playing was about guilt and regret. Very moving. 5) An artist who films his creations which are giant performance pieces / science projects. He uses the laws of physics and chemistry to create this elaborate maze. This was pure joy! I wish science teachers taught science like this...maybe I would've paid more attention...

Well, there you have it. If you've never been to MoMa, you should go. If not for any other reason than to see an alternate point-of-view. You do have to go in with an open mind, though. I spoke with someone recently about it and they said that they didn't like modern art. When I asked them if they'd gone to see it, they said 'no'. 'Then how would you know?' I asked. 'I know,' they replied. Well, I guess it's true what they say: Ignorance is bliss. I'd rather take a look at it myself then formulate a judgement. I guess I'm just crazy that way...

2005-10-10T09:27:00.000-07:00

Life: A Contradiction: OK, OK. I was born a woman (which has its advantages and disadvantages). But, I may go ballistic (a la Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction") if a man betrays me. I should model my homemaking skills after Martha Stewart. I should aspire to be as rich as Oprah. I should be as graceful as Audrey Hepburn, as mysterious as Jackie Onassis, and as warm as Princess Di. I can motivate reform (a la Sally Field's performance of "Norma Rae") but I will only earn 75 cents to every man's dollar. I am supposed to be extremely nurturing and loving, even when having a bad day. I need to learn to juggle housework, homework, work-work and it helps if I could learn needlepoint. Health news says that when I get menopause I'll go crazy so I should take some hormones; but natural herbs are probably better at treating my mood swings and hot flashes. Neither one can make those go away completely, though. I should have children to learn a thing or two about motherhood. I can't drink coffee, but I can drink wine. I can't eat chocolate, even though--some studies have shown--that it improves my mood. I should drink at least eight-glasses a day, but I should watch out for contaminated water; and, just because some water companies put the word, "spring" in their name, it doesn't mean it's actually fresh from a mountain spring. I shouldn't groom while driving, so applying lipstick in the rear-view mirror is a no-no. I shouldn't file my nails at work or groom in public. I should smell like a Summer's Eve in one area of my body only. Being hygenic means more than just flossing my teeth and combing my hair so now I am encouraged to wear scents that make me smell like a fruit (i.e. Kiwi or Mango) or smell like a bean (i.e. vanilla). "All natural" over-the-counter remedies can potentially ruin my body chemistry and may not be natural, after all. I should follow the pyramid chart of eating and follow the weight charts, only loosely, depending on my height. I should aspire to workout at least 3 times a week via pilates or yoga. It's okay to use bath soap sparingly to prevent dryness. My face should be smoothe but not tight, supple but not wrinkled. I should avoid using bacterial soaps to bolster my immune system. I shouldn't wear pointy-toed shoes or high heels to prevent sore feet and lower-back problems. I should drink 1% milk because pasteurized milk is harmful but milk's supposed to do the body "good" and can help me fight osteoperosis. I can't expose my breasts in public (even if I'm breast-feeding my child), unless I live in NYC. I should get a breast exam every year but could at any time be diagnosed with breast cancer. Since there is no cure, doctors could prescribe a host of drugs I may or may not respond to because they've never been tested on women (scientists argue that there are too many variables). It is customary for me to be a secretary, caregiver, bookkeeper, financial advisor every day of the week. I am expected to be yielding, versatile and nurturing (preferably while parading around like a Barbie-doll or Pamela Anderson--believe me, these two are one in the same). Mostly, my life is guided by a set of unwritten rules that I never agreed to. And to that I say... What the--??? (You figure it out)

2005-09-23T07:45:00.000-07:00

Into the Light: In the past month there have been people coming out of the woodwork like cucarachas. And if you are aware of the nature of Hispanics, you know that this is event cause enough to be skeptical. Why now? I already mentioned my ex's son, Jerry showing up out of nowhere with his news ad surprise (which really wasn't). But just over the weekend, while I tried in vain to recoup from Carlos' hospital stay, I also received a call from Barbara. This cannot be a coincidence. Those who know me know that Barbara (Carlos' & my ex's niece) had a HUGE falling out a few years back. The details are personal, sordid and confusing so I'll spare everyone. No, really. Can't post EVERYTHING to the blog otherwise you won't read my book! Even yesterday one of Carlos' brothers (who has a long-pending feud w/ Carlos AND would never show his face in the broad light of day) left a birthday message. He even said, "I love you". WEIRD, right? So now I'm wondering what the hell is up with everybody?! My initial reaction is one of shock and awe. My secondary reaction: What do you want? Most Puerto Ricans know that there is always a grassy knoll and that Chupacabras DO exist. That being said, here are a just few reasons that people re-connect after long periods of no contact:

Money - Everybody's looking for a hand-out...
Maldiciones and mal-de-ojos - No well-wishers here. What is known by the overly superstitious as "The Evil Eye" can also refer to the bad intentions that others bestow. The evil gift that keeps on giving.
Insatiable Curiosity - It's the car accident concept. You always turn your head hoping that no one is hurt but secretly wishing you could see a little blood or a (GASP!)decapitation. C'mon, if you NEVER thought those things while passing, you're lying.
Boredom - Scenario: You're at home pondering your existence, going over your Rolodex database. All of a sudden, a distant memory comes to mind and you figure, I would love to know what so-and-so is doing right now. Next, you find yourself running a query on Yahoo! people search...
A Room W A View - This usually goes hand-in-hand with Reason #1. If someone is doing badly financially, they usually want to also find a place to rest their weary heads. But just so we're clear on this: DON'T ASK ME.

But what are your stories of woe? I'd like to know...

Later Gators!

2005-09-16T19:33:00.000-07:00

It's the Bloggiest...and so good for you! So kiddies, where have I been you may ask? Nowhere. I've just been adjusting to my crazy life (aka La Vida Loca). Carlos returned to the hospital...again. This is what, the three-billionth time? Give or take a few. At least he WAS in the hospital. Now he's out. And don't even get me started on the health care system in Jersey...I'll be here forever. So what with my tripled chores and busy workload et cetera, et cetera...I haven't been able to write. Had a wonderful ray of sunshine among the dark clouds. A complete surprise. A visit from one of my ex's sons, Jerry. (He's the one on the LEFT)

2005-09-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

A Green Day Night: On 9/1/05, I went to see Green Day at Giants Stadium and it was a great concert. This was my 3rd concert of ever, the first two being: NIN and The Rolling Stones. I attended those ages ago. I couldn't help thinking that this concert was unbelievably distinctive on so many levels. Don't hate me, but I really wasn't a Green Day fan. I really only wanted to surprise Carlos because if I heard him sing "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" one more time, I was going to go completely insane. But here's what I loved, loved, loved about this concert: it was inclusive and chaotic and true to the punk tradition. Billy Joe rocked from beginning to end. He never lost momentum. The band's message was a perfect mix of anti-war politics and bad-boy mischief. They played all of the songs that made them famous. There were fireworks, audience participation, and a general 'good vibe'. Their version of "Shout" and "We Are the Champions" converted these two familiar tunes into something fresh, new and interesting. The finale of "Good Riddance: Time of Your Life" made me want to cry. Seriously, it was that good. More Matter, Less "Art": Which brings me about the latest topic I've been dying to rant about: Art. This weekend's The New York Post reported the latest 'artistic' venture in lower Manhattan. Yes, apparently the craze of cheesy, no-talent, tasteless expression is still running rampant. So now it's US bashing with standard everyday household materials doubling as works of art. The exhibit described has heaps of garbage, a Bible with a makeshift bomb in it, and a pipe bomb. True that art is intended to motivate and ignite commentary (enough to make Page 11, anyway). But is this particular exhibit really effective? Does seeing a Bible bomb really make a statement about politics or the world? Does it move people or revolt them into forgetting the intended message. This is an old argument. It's almost as if artists' wells have run dry of original ideas. No one knows what sort of buttons to push to get people riled. Television and information overload has made people more impervious to the shocking and surprising. But for artists who are starved for the next best thing, I suppose it is so much more interesting to paint in elephant dung or display tampons to instigate the masses. Ugh.

2005-08-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

It's Quiz Time: I felt a little playful today so I thought I'd create a quiz. This is for pure fun because I love to take quizzes. Hope you enjoy! SURREAL UNION: Find out what kind of celebrity coupling best describes you and yours. 1) You are invited to your best bud’s wedding but your mate isn’t dressed to your liking. You: a) Tell him to change. b) Offer a suggestion, but let it go if your mate gets huffy. c) Both change and then muscle your way to the nearest mirror shouting, “I think I look great, but do you think this sleeve could be longer? Maybe this makes me look fat? Maybe I should change into the black one? What do you think???” d) Tell him / her to add a feather boa and platform shoes. e) Argue, but then cave when presented with a healthy dose of crack. f) Get a Thetan Level 3 to advise your mate on what the appropriate dress code is. 2) Someone spiked the punch at a party, which has made your mate a little drunk. You: a) Tell him to relax. There’s a time and a place to “act the fool”. b) You are a little upset, but start to drink too. There’s no point in your mate having all the fun! c) Down a couple and give lap-dances to everyone in attendance. d) Start licking each other’s faces. e) Spark up and owl. Everything’s better when you’re loaded. f) Lucky for you you’ve been coached for such an occasion. Under the watchful eye of a Thetan Level 5 escort, you say she’s “magnificent” and that he “...is the most incredible man in the world”. 3) The tabloids hint at a breakup. You immediately: a) Show up holding hands at the next premiere. b) Get your manager to sue the publication. c) Begin work on a reality TV show based on your marriage. d) Release a sex tape amid amorous displays of affection. e) Release statements saying he’s: “The Godfather of Soul” and that she’s the “Queen of R&B” f) Show-up in Paris, spouting sayings like: “She’s magnificent” and “He is the most incredible man in the world”. 4) Your methodology for raising kids is: a) Place them on the red-carpet to interview celebrities. b) Hand them off to their real parents when you’re done cooing over them. c) What, kids? She doesn’t want to lose her figure and he doesn’t want to compete over who gets to suckle mommy’s melons! d) The nannies and au pairs have it all under control. Gotta go! Mommy’s promoting her new show and Daddy’s promoting a new album... e) She says: “I don’t wanna be bothered with no damn kids on Mother’s Day.” He says: “Great! Then we’ll go to the pool while mommy’s at the spa!” f) I think it’s important to expose children to everything and my ex, actually the world, agrees with me on this. 5) Your mate is feeling a little depressed. What do you do? a) Run a hot bubble bath, send the kids away and cook dinner for her. b) She wears daisy-dukes and a new fragrance. He showers her with expensive gifts. c) Invite a bunch of celebrities over for a party. d) Get “his” and “her” tattoos. e) Sing out loud and take a few pictures with fans, after you both inhaled. f) Eat all-natural herbs and take homeopathic remedies with the stamp of approval from The Church, of course. 6) Finish this phrase: Exercise is... a) Healthy. You both workout to feel and look good. b) A necessary evil. Given your lines of work, you both have to workout on a regular basis. c) Vital. Neither of you wants to be the ugly girl at the dance. d) Not important. She is a freak of nature, and he’s just a freak. e) Not necessary if you’re on the crack, chile! f) Magnificent and Incredible. Whether jumping on couches or sliding across wood-parquet flooring, it is awesome! 7) You describe your sex-life together as: a) The Willenium Project. b) A Hazzard. c) Kalifornication. d) Dr. Feelgood. e) And I...........Will Always Love You. f) Magnificent and Incredible...what else? 8) Which of these song lyrics best describe you and your mate: a) All my love (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah) / A thousand kisses from you is never too much [1,000 Kisses ~ Will Smith] b) I can wear my hair down / I can say anything crazy / I know you’ll catch me right before I hit the ground [With You ~ Jessica Simpson] c) Sometimes I feel / Like I don't have a partner / Sometimes I feel / Like my only friend [Under the Bridge ~ Red Hot Chili Peppers] d) Took my love into overdrive / Custom pink tonight you'll pay the price / When she's hot, well, damn she's hot / Electric love [Come on And Dance ~ Motley Crue] e) Didn’t we almost have it all / When love was all we had worth giving? / The ride with you was worth the fall my friend / Loving you makes life worth living [Didn’t We Almost Have It All ~ Whitney Houston] f) Turning and returning to some secret place inside / Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say / Take my breath away, My Love / Take my breath away [Take My Breath Away ~ Berlin] 9) Which of these choices best reveals your beauty secret: a) Makeup artists never hurt anybody but au natural is our favorite (just ask her). b) Proactive Face Cream, of course! c) Breathe balance and acupuncture techniques help us out. d) Anger management and group therapy sessions keep us on-again, off-again. e) Wigs and Preparation H facials, baby. f) Scientology gets us through anything. 10) This one’s just for fun. Which smash-up comes close to the way you would describe your relationship? a) Matrix in Black (MIB) b) 98 Degrees of Hazzard c) Scary Addiction d) Baywatch Goes to College e) It’s Not Right but it’s My Prerogative f) Disturbing Risky Business Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun, now— Tally it Up....... You are: Jada Pinkett and Will Smith (Those who chose mostly “A” answers) Okay, so you’re woman’s always right (if you know what’s good for you). But that ain’t bad, because the both of you enjoy working as a team so long as she gets the final say. You like ‘em strong, anyway! Equal in love, equal in success, but in-between the sheets and in life ~ a woman has her way. Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey (Those who chose mostly “B” answers) You are the cookie-cutter bride and bridegroom. You never have a bad word to say about each other. While separated for long periods on the road, you romantically surprise one another with visits. You also like to give each other “cutsie” presents and spice things up with bubblegum-flavored products. Most people are sick of the two of you but still say, “Aw, shucks” when they see you lovingly stare into one another’s eyes. Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro (Those who chose mostly “C” answers) Your marriage is a sham. You two are more interested in playing dress-up than playing house. Fights in front of the bathroom mirror are not uncommon and you both love to debate who dresses better. Give it up. Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee (Those who chose mostly “D” answers) The both of you are like children who can’t make a decision. On-again, off-again and up and down like yo-yo’s. You’re both silly and outrageous personalities who can’t seem to make a decision on whether to stay together or ditch the effort. Hurry up, people. Time’s a-wastin’. Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown (Those who chose mostly “E” answers) By yourselves, you seem okay. But together, you’re self-destructive. Outbursts like “a hell to the no!” plus overactive sweat-glands just prove that the both of you need some professional help. And against popular advice, you choose to stay together. No one knows how you manage to trudge on, what with your numerous court appearances and rehab. Somehow, you do. Ain’t love grand? (Sit down, Courtney!) Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise (Those who chose mostly “F” answers) Okay, so he’s jumping up and down on couches and you are completely flattered by his public displays of affection enough to convert to his religion. It doesn’t mean its love. It’s convenient and fabricated and completely nuts. Besides, he can’t seem to shake the gay off of him. Free Katie!

2005-08-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

A Personal Thank You: A very personal thanks goes out to Neharika for her lovely Henna design which my fellow friends and co-workers were sooooo envious of. I also thank her for giving me permission to mention her by name. She's got a great one and she told me what it means (starry night sky?), but of course, I've forgotten. It was even cool of her to be artistically self-depricating saying, "I could've done better." But in her defense, we were at the end of a very long work week and she had to whip this up in record time. I hope everyone doesn't start copying me and stealing Neha's talent away...So no copying! Ok?

2005-08-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

Hello? Is Anybody Out There?: Now that I consider myself a true blogger, I'm expecting feedback. Is that too much to ask?! Maybe it is. Most people barely enjoy reading let alone commenting on what they read. But I'm sure that there are some of you out there completely unaware that I review my blog and look forward to hearing some sort of response. The literary-minded know exactly what I mean. So get to posting, dammit! DO YOU SPEAK-A MY LANGUAGE?: Now that that little unpleasantness is behind us, I want to tackle my latest pet peeve: dime words, catch phrases, and irritating know-it-all-isms that have me in a tizzy! Even yes, Whitney Houston has one: "A hell to the no!" which she can be seen blabbering out at any given moment on her hubby's show, Being Bobby Brown. What the heck is that all about? I decided to list some of my most 'beloved' (read: sarcasm):

Transfats - People in the know have been dropping this word like it's hot. Oh yeah, that reminds me...
Hot - Paris Hilton thought she was being cute when she first blurted out this adjective, but now it makes my ears bleed.
Hollaback - Not since Suzanne Vega's "Tom's Diner" has a mind-numbing track been on such heavy rotation at radio-stations everywhere. This time, we have Gwen Stefani to thank.
Keeping It Real - What does this phrase really mean? Really. If I'm a taxi-driver and I'm Arabic am I 'keeping it real'? If I sell drugs on a street corner and I'm black or Hispanic am I 'keeping it real'? And what the heck is JLo singing about her fake-one-million-dollar-insured-ass really singing, "...'cuz I'm real" for? If that chick is real, then we have a real problem. But hey, I'm just being real about it. For real.
ADD, ADHD, OCD - Great--now let's just label EVERYTHING a disorder. Why not? The government loves it so they can sell you drugs like ritalin and xannax and oxycotton. Before we knew what it was, male pattern baldness was just something that happened to old or over-stressed men. Now, it's a genetic disorder that men spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to correct, making The Hair Club for Men President/client very, very rich. Back in the day, ADD kids were just "slow", OCD kids were just "weird", and ADHD kids were just "confused". Why can't we leave well enough alone? Because some mediocre parent wants the right to sue the school for not 'paying attention to Little (child's name here)'. Gimme a break already!
Swag - If I see another Access Hollywood expose on the trend I swear...Do I need to feel bad about myself to this extent? I mean, Robin Leach had just gotten me used to the idea that the rich and famous had to have "champagne wishes and caviar dreams". Do I have to be reminded of the irony behind the richest people in the world getting baskets full of free stuff worth in excess of $26K, too??? No.

Wanna Play?

These are only a few examples. I'm sure that when I go back to think about it, something else will come to mind. Better yet, why don't you tell me? The comment button can be found at the bottom of each entry in green. It'll look like this: with a pencil at the end.

"posted by MeMa13 @ 11:59 AM 0 comments "

Just think of it as that childhood game of Tag...You're "It!"

2005-08-18T11:35:00.000-07:00

(From left: My sis, Whats-Her-Name, and Me)

Best Friends Forever

(Yeah, right):

Recently, I received in the mail the most wonderful surprise...a card from an old friend from high-school. First of all, I love mail: postcards, notes, letters. If it's written it's always better because it means the person actually took the time to write it. That says a lot about a person.

So my longtime friend had dropped me a line to let me know two things: a) she was still alive and b) she was thinking about me. That always puts a smile on my face. And in light of all of the drama (yes, Je-sus!) that's been surrounding my life lately, it was welcome.

Truth is, I was just thinking about this subject (i.e. talking it over with my sis). Why is it that friends are so fleeting and disloyal? Why is it that they end up either being jealous of you completely or just wind up thorny, sticky and unsatisfying? While it's true that one often outgrows friendships as one expands one's horizons, why is it that some do manage to tag along while the majority fall to the wayside?

I do take into account the notion that friends are fallable. I'm in no way undermining the human-nature argument. I know that friends know how to make friends angry, and you only hurt the ones you love..blahbitty-blah. But, I think everyone should have a real beef in this department if....

You have given a friend all you have to give, but the friend demands more.
The arguments between you and your friend are repetetive or redundant.
You over-victimize yourself in disagreements (aka The "you-don't-understand-me" category.)
You avoid discussing painful subjects.
Solutions to problems always involve you going out of your way.
Your friend involves other people in personal arguments.
Your friend betrays your trust either by stealing, lying (and I mean a HUGE lie--not a little fib about how you really look in those jeans) or cheating (hello, Jerry Springer).

Once you have established that it is time to let a friendship go, then it is up to the unhappy party (or parties) to be honest enough to call it off. Hence, my horror story...

Friends Don't Let Friends Do Housework - I was asked to commission my mate to help her work on her house. We ended up buying the materials, providing labor, travel costs and still got screwed when she refused to pay.
I Drove Her Crazy - I have my license and don't drive. She wanted us to go places so she tried to encourage me to pooh-pooh my TERRIFYING FEAR OF DRIVING aside so that we could hang wherever she was going.
When the GoGo-ing Gets Rough - I was invited to go with her to a Go-Go's concert because she had an extra ticket. Little did I know, she had asked everyone else before asking me. It had slipped her mind that we had seen them perform one year on "The Late Show with David Letterman".
All About Me - Since we both had similar loves, I asked her if she would want to coordinate a project with me. She flatly said, no. She liked working solo. I said, 'that's cool' and went on about my business.
She was a...Drama Queen - ..She could dance, she could fly, having the time of her life woo-woo ooh! See that girl acting mean? She is a Drama Queen!
Isn't It Ironic? - She liked to call me from her car. I wanted her to call me when she had quiet time. She said her quiet time was in the car. I told her I didn't want her to be involved in a four-car pile-up. She said she was a great driver and I should drive. I said I have a serious phobia. It went on and on like this...
Found you on Yahoo! - I re-kindled the friendship when I entered her name in an email search. The rest was history until she sent me a seething letter about how much I suck. I guess "fair-weather friend" is an understatement.
I was Passed Over - It didn't matter that I supported her when a very close relative passed away or when I had others drop me off for frequent visits. She was more upset that I gave her a less-than-favorable review of her boyfriend. In the end, she believed what she wanted to believe. Can't defend what never occured.

Like any relationship, no one wants to be the one to say, "It's Over". But if it's over, it's over. A close friend of mine said that a a friend must adhere to the three E's: Encourage, Enlighten, and Enrich your life. Unfortunately, this friendship was only hanging by a thread and didn't do any of the three E's. The only conclusion I could come up with was, "ditch the dodo." And I did.

But how many others stay friends when one or both of the parties involved really want to call it quits? As Sting so aptly put it: "If you love someone, set them free". They'll be worth the wait if they were worth their weight.

2005-08-13T06:05:00.000-07:00

SO..... Haven't written in a bit and it's got me torn up inside. No, really. But I've been kinda busy these days trying to work with THE POWERS THAT BE. But more on that another time... On a personal note: I was sad to hear about the passing of an old friend of the family, Uncle Jimmy. A lot of people will feel that we are better off, even me sometimes, but there are a few things that I wish to share about this man that is worth a mention. I was told that his family has been hard-hit with consecutive tragedies and may not be able to even afford a service for Jimmy (aka Jimbo). So it is without further ado, I would like to introduce the bloggy world to this person. If for no other reason than that he knew my Dad. That, in itself, is worthy of respect. My Eulogy for Uncle Jimmy: A lot of people will not miss him. Sad to say that because he was truly a unique individual even though the world at large will probably never get to know that now. Dad introduced him to us as an uncle (as Puerto Ricans are wont to do though I don't know why). In reality, Jimmy was my Dad's best friend who helped my Dad find his first job of authority: Security Guard. It gave birth to my Dad's career-path and it sparked a friendship that stood the test of time. Even though it was obvious from the beginning that Jimmy was kind of weird. I mean, the man was a naturally "tacky" kinda guy. He loved things like gaudy 70's Studio 54 necklaces and nugget-gold rings for every finger. Sure, he always gave me and my sis "Christmas gifts" months after the season was over. Sure, it was almost always a rag doll he probably got at a dollar store or one of those hairbrush and mirror sets; but that was who he was. Did his kids--he had four--really need diamond-encrusted rings at the age of four? No!And why in the heck would he put VCR/cable in each of their bedrooms while he cried poverty? I dunno...But that's the kind of Dad he was. My sister's Eulogy: And this one goes out to Good 'Ol Jimbo. A crass, idiotic, trashy,space-cadet marrying, Vegas-crooner dressing cop who saved our Dad's life: "First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, thenyou win. For we must remember to hate the sin and love the sinner." ~ Mahatma Gandhi The Grand FINALE: There you have it, folks! A person that was ~ at times ~ a complete schmo, but an endearing schmo nonetheless. May he rest in peace.

2005-08-08T14:29:00.000-07:00

Organizational changes got me up and down like a yo-yo. Don't know which way is up, which is down. So when in doubt, I just numb myself and play games on: http://www.liquidgeneration.com/home.asp "Pac Man" helps to clear my head and lifts my mood, while "Ashlee Simpson's Lip-Syncing Ho-down" cracks me up! It's so much better to see celebs be made fun of, especially since it's not me. Ah, all better.

2005-07-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

How to Find Inner Peace While Walking the Dogs: On the Left is "Chico" (from Puerto Rico) On theRight is "Lady" (who isn't one)

Believe me, there is no self when walking the dogs.
There is no pride when you're picking up dog poop.
There is a sort of Zen-like silence since the pooches can't talk to you.

There is a sense of pure awareness trying to keep Lady away from potentially biting people.
Balance is important when you're steering Chico and Lady is barking incessantly at the passers-by.
You have to learn tolerance when the dogs are pulling you in the direction they want to go.
Cooperation is key to keep both dogs from trampling one another.
There is no Time. This is especially difficult when you're late for work, it's raining (or snowing), you missed your bus (or train) and both dogs need to go out.
The discipline it takes to make sure that the dogs get their walk three times a day (morning, afternoon, & evening) is a lesson in itself.
You have to learn how to forgive your next-door neighbor when they complain about "curbing your dog" (even though you know it wasn't you).
Being still is easy at six in the morning. No normal human being is up yet.
Realizing that we are all connected happens when I spot another dog-walker and we exchange knowing glances.
Amituofo!

2005-07-24T15:56:00.000-07:00

Hi...have been on vacation for a week but haven't really gone anywhere. In truth, I just needed the time away to collect my thoughts and to relax a little. I was partially successful even though I actually missed my job (if you can believe it). I can officially call myself a workaholic. I'm trying to teach Sara Spanish since she doesn't seem to have learned anything and failed it this past semester. She just seems disinterested in anything that doesn't concern staring at a tv all day, watching videos. Still, I feel that constant--and I mean CONSTANT--chatter will somehow have her turn around that nasty attitude. She also didn't succeed in getting a part-time job this summer so that also has been a bit of a disappointment. Even though she's only sixteen, I feel that she's gotta get moving so that she can learn new things and meet some people. As for Carlos, he's been rather depressed lately, so it's difficult to get any support from him. For now, I have taken it upon myself to write a lot in my journal and Sara also is starting her own. I've also taken to watch those late-night episodes of "Zen & Inner Peace" with speaker, Master Sheng Yen. I could use a little wisdom and peace these days. For example, the other night I had this crazy dream that involved me in a school setting (among the many lately). Here it is in grave detail (as I love dreams and dream analyses): A female teacher was teaching us about not-yet-released products. All of the students get this small, inflatable doll that it is supposed to get bigger when you squeeze it. As I begin to squeeze mine, though, the damn thing wouldn't do what it was supposed to do. I get frustrated and voice my discontent, but the professor just ignores me. She continues her lesson and takes out one of those "parachuter" toys you used to get at candy stores. Only, the parachutist was not a plastic figurine, but a square box. She tosses this box underneath the students' desks and holds fast to the parachute part. As she is describing what it does, she starts to look as if she cannot breathe. One of the students gets up and annouces that the teacher is having some sort of attack and that someone should get help. Ever the do-gooder, I run out and around the floor, attempting to get someone to help. I wind up at a security desk with a very lazy looking Latin man. I tell him that Mrs._____ in Room 415 has fallen ill. Could he please call an ambulance. The Latin man just repeats what I say word-for-word without calling for any aid. I tell him again, raising my voice to draw attention. The guard misunderstands me and thinks that I want directions to the classroom. Sensing that this guy's not going to help, I run around while another teacher peeks out of their class to tell me that they are aware of the problem. I think that I am heading back the same way I came, but I am not. I am lost. The dream ends with someone telling me that the teacher is okay, but that it doesn't matter since she has been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer... When Carlos interpreted the dream, he says that it is just a literal translation of my worry about things being bad. My subconscious is telling me that things could always be worse. Although I like his interpretation, I see too many symbols that show issues that I still have in my waking life coming to the forefront. But I'm not gonna tell this blog...you'll just have to guess...haha, You Fools!!!

2005-07-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

OK, ok. I know this is gonna sound corny. But my new "guilty pleasure" on tv is the new Bravo reality series, "Being Bobby Brown". When my electric was restored yesterday, I nearly jumped up with full-on glee. So I thought I'd reward myself--a self-proclaimed reality show junkie--with the succulent show to quench the thirst left behind by the disappointing, Britney Spears reality-bitten "Chaotic". Together with Carlos' daughter, we witnessed the train-wreck marriage from the comfort and safety of our own home. Seeing the two enable one another on their roller-coaster ride of drug abuse (Bobby's Preparation-H facials and Whitney's tore-up-from-the-floor-up mussy wigs) was delightful. It made me realize that Brown's quote regarding camera shooting: "I think it brought us close together, because it showed us that we're just normal..."-- is a definite understatement, people. You've got to watch.

2005-07-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, a transformer blew on my block and blacked out my entire neighborhood. Carlos called me at around 1pm to tell me and then I got a call from my Dad. The electric company evacuated our building because there was a lot of smoke and now my apartment smells like sulphur. Even though the company worked through the night, I still do not have lights and since this is the 2nd day, I'm worried about my food spoliing. Even my grandmother stopped by to make sure I was alright! Carlos just called to inform me that the electric company are sendig reps from the Claims Dept. in order to assess the damage. I'm so worried...I actually don't have anything else to say! That's a first.

2005-07-04T13:06:00.000-07:00

Today I posted a response to a post about Def Poetry Jam (http://www.litkicks.com) about "racial relevance". I had to agree with the opinions expressed. You can look me up and read for yourself. My codename's, MeMa.

2005-07-03T19:43:00.000-07:00

Looking to be enlightened; want there to be some magical shift in the cosmos to grant me an amazing change that will both inspire and move me to action. Don't think that today was uneventful, though. It wasn't. I managed to work on some research for the accident because I want to win. I also did some laundry, despite feeling that I need to upgrade to dryer (maybe?). Aside: I remember how ashamed I was when I made mention to a very bitchy former boss that I still hung my laundry out on a line. I'll never forget the look of sheer disdain that I would choose such an archaic way of drying laundry. You would've sworn by the look on her face that I had done something wrong. Thankfully, that was a long time ago and I have since been Enlightened. I still think that there is a certain beauty to doing things the old fashioned way. The smell of the sheets, the delicate balance of hanging each garment on the line. A romance to it, if you will. That's why I prefer it. While I did the laundry, Carlos' daughter and I talked. Or rather, I talked about my worldly advice on the topic of being a teenager and boys. It seems as though she has a lot more to tell me but, given our history, is afraid to. Maybe she'll grow to truly trust me and not keep on testing me like she does. Sometimes I swear that girl is fooling everyone. I guess I'll have to keep on repeating to myself (like a mantra): Be Patient, Be Patient, Be Patient. Lord knows, Sara's a tough nut to crack. The funny part is that this is probably the payback for all the rotten stuff I pulled on my mom. I guess my mom was right. Damn, life truly is a cyclical. Joke's on me.

2005-07-02T13:36:00.000-07:00

4th of July on its way and I'm feeling so damned creative. Wrote some stuff on LitKicks because it's become a fun place to throw out my opinions and write my poetry. I mostly enjoy posting. It gives me an outlet after the bit of bad luck I've been having. The latest in my long list of "Happy" news (See, My Happy Life: one of my favorite novels listed). I'm being sued people. That's right. A civil court case involving a car I no longer own. An accident from 2004 which came back to haunt. I've never been served before, so it came as a shock, especially since this took place so long ago. The guy hit us and since he couldn't get any money from our insurance company, he's trying to get paid through the civil courts. Carlos and I really just had to laugh this one up. There was a comedian on tv the night before and he told a joke. He said he knew couples that were still together because "they had too many bills". Carlos and I laughed and laughed. So it seemed only natural that crack up after being slapped with a suit. We can't afford to be apart. Get it?

2005-07-01T09:08:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday! It's been a few months since I've absorbed the fact that I've been absorbed. That may sound like an appealing predicament, but I assure you, it is the opposite. I'm two months away from losing my job (along with two other employees on my team).

Looking back I can't say that I hadn't been warned, though. It was a long time coming. How I Knew It Was Over...

Duplicate Efforts - This is a nice way of saying that another team in the company does exactly what we do, only they're bigger than we are. For the greater good, the company decided to part with the few to save the jobs of the many...at least for now.
The Sound of Silence - It's like church, people. Seriously. If a pen falls in a distant cubicle on the other side of the floor, does it make a sound? Yes because I can hear the echo.
Nobody Home - Tumbleweeds float throughout the office space, the phones are silent, the cubes empty. One half of the employees call out sick on a DAILY basis. The other half ask to "work from home", and we all know what that means.
Dropping Like Flies - When outside contractors and temps outnumber the actual employees 2:1, there's definitely a problem.

So even though I logically understand that this working environment is detrimental to my health, I can't help but feel a little tug at my heart. Five years is a long time to work for a company these days. In those years, I've seen employees hired, fired and re-hired. From across the Hudson, I witnessed the horror of 9/11. I saw our firm bought out by a bigger company--twice. I'm having T-shirts drawn up: I survived a corporate merger. There's a lot of history here, people.

What I'll Miss The Most...

THE BEST BOSS IN THE WORLD - The award goes to...Eric S. Provider of free services like lunches, pastries, and access to the wealth of knowledge housed entirely in his brain. A one-stop knowledge and reference center, Eric can help with just about any given situation. House on Fire? No problem, he'll setup a hospice. Timmy stuck in a well? Eric knows a guy with a crane. An overall caring superior human being, I can NEVER repay this man for all of his help over the years. And most importantly, he puts up with all my crap.
HEIDI-HO NEIGHBOR - My co-host and Breakfast Club partner, Shirley is a wonderful friend. Although we got off to a rocky start, there is no one who I rely on to be my confidante than Shirl. And most importantly, she listens to all of my crap.
COLLEAGUES ABOVE THE REST - This is going to sound corny, I know. But I have grown to love my colleagues, even the cheerleaders and grouches. Okay, stop laughing.
FREE FOOD - Let it be said that our company never let its employees go hungry. And I of the "if-its-for-free-its-for-me" philosophy couldn't have been happier.
THE COMMUTE - Just one, quick bus or subway ride and you're there. Sweet.

I know that ultimately this bit of bad news will be good news for everyone involved. I know, I know. A lot of you will read this and think: 'Yeah, right'. Think what you will. It's a hard group to replace. 'Nuff said.