Don't let him take me.

I got my man.

Please Pass the Gas.

So this will probably be my most juvenile post yet. I had a gathering of girlfriends over the other day and it was pretty much chaos in the apartment. Imagine a room filled with 8 women some opinionated lawyers, doctors, business types  and myself (I have no real career motives) talking and updating each other on our lives all at once. At one point I had stepped away from the conversations and I felt like I was in some alternate universe for a moment and everything moved in slow motion, nothing anyone was saying was making sense and the words sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. My Boo Thang decided to barricade himself in the room and none of us blamed him. We shared intimate details about each others lives and current issues and concerns of ours. The conversations went from finding a soul mate, work and for some reason easily progressed to issues with digestion and proper etiquette to pass gas in front of our loved ones. To pass or not to pass? That is the question. This was pretty heavy stuff for such 'distinguished' women. My Boo Thang only came out twice once for water and the next to leave and meet with his friend, he practically ran out before he got caught up in conversation he so desperately wanted to avoid, Godspeed my love. We didn't miss a beat and kept on our chatter about all things currently pressing - more on passing gas. We even went as far as providing techniques for catching them before a noise is made to prevent that awkward meeting in public restrooms. You know the one when you have to come out and wash your hands and meet the person who was in the stall next to you and you both smile awkwardly just to ease the tension. This reminded me of the time while shopping with my sister in law and niece who was no more than 3 years old at the time asked her mother while in the bathroom stall at the mall, "Mommy are you taking a snake?", and proceeded to peek her head inside and say "Eww Mommy you are taking a snake and I can smell it", and so did the person in the stall next to her. My friends and I continued to sip our tea and nibble on snacks like ladies of course all while talking about flatulence. We ended the night with hugs and promises to do it all again sooner than later. My friends and I might share to much for some and these conversations may be a bit juvenile but it is always nice to know you are not alone in the world and sometimes just need to know others are feeling just as awkward and uncomfortable in the stall next to you.

More Holiday Spirit: THE BREAK UP SONG

I just stumbled upon another home video from my arthouse phase on my brothers Youtube channel. I filmed this with my bro Cream Puff one night during my college years possibly the same night we filmed the home intruder film for those of you who were lucky enough to view them during their prime. It's all about heartache and not getting enough vitamin D. My Granny makes an appearance at the end. We had about 5 takes and this was the best I could do since I would burst into laughter when Cream Puff started to sing. Please also take note of the professional camera skills. It's a gift what can I say.

I love you Cream Puff! Forever and ever.

I kind of like you

 

like a brother with feminine features. 

Here comes Santa Claus

Tis the season to be jolly, fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra. I always thought the idea of an elderly over weight white man sneaking into the chimney after midnight to steal your child's cookies was a bit pedophile like and teaching our children that is OK to invite strangers in our home after midnight as long as they were dressed like a Super Hero or a flamboyantly dressed elderly white man was sending the wrong message but I am no expert. Corporations have long Hijacked the Christmas meaning and replaced Jesus with elves, reindeer, and a coke drinking Santa. They have also brainwashed us into making some questionable decisions, like letting your child sit on a strange man's lap asking him to provide them with gifts if they promise not to be naughty. This time of year you are bombarded with images of smiling family's gathering around the now "Holiday Tree" and singing about Yuletides and participating in all sorts of activities involving all things sparkly. The actual meaning of Christmas is lost in translation and in some cases taken out all together in order for big corporations to include our diverse population in the light festival which involves you spending yourself and your family into more debt.  I was in Karachi, Pakistan last year during this time which is a predominantly Muslim country but corporations are not about excluding the masses but including them as the new Mega Mall was decorated with reindeer displays and pictures with Pakistani Santa throughout (and who says corporations aren't people). I will be making a batch of cookies and leaving my door unlocked this year.  Happy Holidays and remember Santa loves you! 

Dress up in you

Excuse me are those Bugle Boy Jeans you're wearing?

C is for Tootie!

My Boo Thang and I went to the ATL over the Thanksgiving weekend to visit his family. As we approached the house the blinds were cracked open to reveal small piercing eyes (8 to be exact), like some Stephen King horror film that included a corn field. We came in and greeted the family and 4 small children, two girls and 2 boys. They were shy and a bit standoffish at first but as we allowed more time to pass the non stop questions began. There is nothing more tough and more honest about the questions children ask. I always feel like I am being accused of something I am not quite sure I did or didn't do. As we settled the personalities came to light. One very prim and feminine (the eldest girl who is 9 years old in case you were wondering), and the eldest boy very active and filled with curiosity about the world and how things around him function and believes adults should have all the answers and will quickly put you to shame if you don't (he is 6), the youngest girl only 4, who has the imagination of a young British girl who falls into a hole chasing a bunny rabbit and lastly we have the smallest a baby boy who walks around the house shouting and yelling out orders like an Army General who only speaks in gibberish. We played make believe, 21 questions, helped with homework, and pretended to be ninja assassins during the long weekend. My favorite part was when the 4 year old told me to leave the restaurant and come back in like a proper customer and ask for my food and not take it out of her tray she so neatly displayed with miscellaneous objects that included a car, plastic pie, blocks, and plastic shape hearts. I was instantly transported to a time I had long forgotten, playing tea time and speaking with British accents with my cousins and brothers and singing in my girl group and making up songs that rhymed with best friends, love, and hugs. I got a little carried away as I continued to put on a plastic nose and glasses against the 4 year old's wishes and made her cry. I was back in her good graces about 5 minutes later  as she gave me the thumbs up before bed time. I felt like a jester at their beck and call vying for their attention and even hopped around like a monkey and sang C-is for cookie as the four year old sang along "C-is for tootie". I may have taken a bit of a risk sliding down the kid's slide and going on some metal spinning contraption I almost fell out I was so dizzy just to gain their approval and would do it all again to see the smiles, giggles and thumbs up I received in return. I hope it's not to long until we meet again and dread the day they become preteens locked in their room to cool to hang out with their aunts and uncles who are now lame and old running around asking them 21 questions and telling them remember when.

Nickel, Dime, Quarter.

I once knew a man named Crazy Jessie. I am sure that was not his legal name but he was known in the neighborhood as the resident homeless guy and I am assuming at the time people equated homelessness with mental instability. Crazy Jessie would often ring the bell at the Flags (Forty Flags the motel I grew up in). He wouldn't say much just stare blankly and say "Got a nickel, dime, quarter" and hold out his hand. I would scrounge around for any money laying around, often coming up too short for Jessie. It was always more than a nickel and sometimes just a dime, and often short of a quarter. When I was short he would look back at his hand and at me and walk away. I would sometimes give him a dollar if I had it and was feeling generous enough to give away my candy money. I once tried giving him a sandwich and I think he cursed me out but could not get the words he was saying as he walked away grunting eating his sandwich after he snatched it from my hand. I wish he talked more and often tried to ask him questions about where he came from, if he had a family, what his full name was-assuming Jessie was his first name.  Jessie always looked bothered when I asked him these questions, he would grunt loudly and turn his back walking away speaking gibberish. I never got to know how Jessie got to be where he was in life but I am sure his journey was a tough one. In retrospect I had no right asking Jessie about something as personal as his life's journey. It was enough he was taking a handout from some kid but having to answer to them was where he drew the line. I sometimes pass the Flags and wonder what ever happened to Jessie. I don't see him anymore walking the streets begging for change. I'd like to think he got his act together and decided to seek help and get off the streets. I sometimes hear his voice in my head replaying his one phrase I was only ever able to make out, "Got a nickel, dime, quarter".

Occupy the World

 

There is a start of a revolution in the air, outside major cities and small towns all across the US many are voicing their frustration with the status quo. While the message may not be as clear as some would like there is definitely a consensus that the distribution of wealth is disproportionally owned by the top 1 percent. The media has not given much validity to the movement and have dismissed it as a chaotic nuisance of college grads ungratefully complaining about not being able to get handouts. This falsehood of the American Dream has now come into light and many are starting to realize this dream was only set up for some to attain and many to fail to obtain. The middle class has worked so hard to attain this dream and have been forced into massive debts keeping up with the Joneses.  The issue is the Joneses are big banks and corporations selling the middle class products and forcing them to buy it on borrowed money. This relationship was bound to shatter since many loss their jobs and the ability to have this life was no longer attainable. The poor of the world have always suffered and this just only makes it that much harder to survive. Not only are these occupiers trying to shed light on a broken system but also reveal how much control the government and corporations have on us. Michele Foucault's theory of power and self discipline has come to fruition as bodies of institutions have created a "Big Brother" situation and we are so fearful of going outside the lines we now police ourselves. We have become a fickle society waiting for the next sensationalized story or headline and so consumed by consuming we have become blinded by the control and power institutions have over us and what information is shared. When we try to complain or voice dissatisfaction we are faced with bureaucratic bodies set in place to keep us from obtaining real change. My professor at Berkeley (Yes I gloated a little) Michael Burawoy a respected sociologist committed to these matters once explained that race and religious differences are a diversion for the masses to the larger issue of socioeconomic disenfranchisement and if this came to light will be a huge problem for the powers that be.  I support any movement set in place to help eradicate inequality. Keep on pushing brothers and sisters. 

Peace.  

These Days

Watch Wes Anderson Movies

The Mission

Walking through the Mission I am excited by all the small vendors and smells of tender meats cooking street side. Not the vendors that claim to sell organic produce but the vendors who own the shabby surplus shops and push carts. My Boo Thang and I walk through all the shops void of any hipsters and tourist and are reminded by our mother lands, we can finally speak the language of haggling. You can't do that at these hipster trendy spots where they claim all the best products from Indian tea to Brazilian potions and lotions marked up at least 200%, yet seem to lack flavor and soul. Who do they think they are fooling?  If I like something yet know it's over priced I feel I have the right to dispute this, you can't do this at Therapy across the way on Valencia. It's a bit surreal to see this crumbling of a civilization happen right before our eyes. Each small colorful shop filled with people of color speaking all sorts of languages some familiar some I have never heard of replaced with a stale looking brunch, coffee, or retail shops and restaurants that specialize in small plates (no thank you I want a whole burger please) with cashiers covered in tattoo's and fake thick rimmed glasses. And these damn ironic shops that sell cupcakes and blasts loud gangster rap with a small dork girl with blue hair (can I punch you in the stomach and leave with my $4 mini cupcake please?) I must admit I frequent these shops and love my Philz coffee and understand that the gentrification would mean that the Mission will soon become just like every other place void of character and flavorful food true to its region.  I can always go to Richmond on 23rd Street and Oakland on International Blvd  to find my fix of food and stores I can haggle my way through but I will miss walking through the Mission with the back drop of the city risking food poisoning while searching for papusas, lumpia, tortas, gyros, and dosas. And everyone turns a blind eye to people beating their children publicly and local strangers are more than happy to help you chase down your child to beat some more. 

Ready for the Weekend

I got to get some dancing shoes on these feet.

Gypsy Lesbian

Painting by Kees van Dongen

In middle school I was known to be socially awkward. I had no clue how to communicate with other human beings. It was my first time regularly interacting with people from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, Iranian, Indian, Nigerian, Japanese, Chinese and Arab (I lived in a predominantly Black and Latino neighborhood) and the first time I heard the name Ashweenie over the school loud speaker. I heard that name at least a hundred times over the loud speaker and always wondered who this Ashweenie was, we never got to meet. I was raised by MTV, during the time they had music and shows that included Beavis and Butthead, Singled Out, and bands like Green Day, Nirvana and rap group Bone Thugs and Harmony were popular. I would sit with my usual lunch crew near the sewer drain who consisted of a nerdy Chinese girl with glasses, a couple guys that would call me a lesbian but insisted on hanging out with me so we could discuss hot topics that included any new Beavis and Butthead episodes and Jim Carey films. We spent our lunch hours telling jokes and imitating film actors (I liked to think they secretly thought I was cool and had major crushes on me). I once body slammed one of those kids out of rage for breaking my Beavis and Butthead key chain and ran as he lay crying on the cement floor. I  also went through a phase of shunning my assigned gender role and refused to wear anything pink , frilly, or dresses. I would borrow my brothers pants and use a shoe lace as my belt. I cut my hair short and dyed it black and refused to make eye contact with anyone. My Granny would pray I was going through a phase. People would whisper and stare not quite knowing what to make of me. I'd like to think people were so intrigued by my mysterious ways they would spread rumors about my sexuality and background and gypsy lesbian was the only thing that fit. I wasn't really bothered by the moronic immaturity at school because I had crack heads and ladies of the night outside my house to worry about. And if anyone pushed it to far I would get all crazy bag lady on them. I liked keeping people at a distance that way they wouldn't want to come over to study or call a motel and ask to speak with me. I liked having only my nerdy Chinese friend around. She was the one person I knew who could imitate the hell out of Beavis. We spent our lunches talking about mindless shows with no judgment of the identities we were assigned during junior high. However, I still had a line and refused to hang out with band geeks and thespians. While we since drifted apart I still hold a special place for her. Thank you nerdy Chinese girl for being my only friend in junior high when everyone else thought I was a mysterious lesbian gypsy.

Legrand Love

\

I sometimes imagine I am Victoria Legrand singing in a small cafe with all the people that use to make fun of me and call me a Gypsy lesbian sitting and waiting in anticipation of my greatness and then I come and belt out this beautiful-ness and at the end I tell them all to suck it losers.

Holiday Spirit

My youngest brother Cream Puff and I use to make loads of home videos. Many included a take on the once popular MTV show Cribs but ours was filmed in our apartment in Richmond where an abundance of crackheads and gang members reside. I found this video recently which I filmed during what I would like to call my arthouse film phase. I was in college at the time living with friends and Cream Puff would often stay over because we had a Christmas tree year round, a piano and a community pool. The film stars Cream Puff and my little cousin who is now a certified gangsta (I've seen his gangsta certificate) Lil Weezy (I told him that couldn't go by this since there is already a Lil Wayne/Weezy). I know it's somewhat premature but I hope this gets you in the holiday spirit and brings out that warm fuzzy feeling you get during this time of the year. Enjoy!

Please note no children were hurt while filming this scene.

Señor Stash's Homecoming

The Fresh Mex

He's home. Señor Stash you will be missed.

Caca-lina

Cacalina and I were very close when I was a child. She is my first cousin. Her father and my mother are brother and sister. She was bold and outspoken and often got into school yard fights. Her nickname came about as she was known for pooping herself and hiding her underwear in the most random places around the house. I would often find poop filled undies in drawers and hiding between nooks. She went to all the trouble to hide them when I thought it would be easier to just throw them out. While I didn't envy her bathroom methods I did admire her ability to do as she pleased without thinking of the consequences. She rarely cared about the trouble she might have to endure or the outcome of her actions. We would pretend to be singers in a girl group and her sometimes overbearing sister (who I love dearly) Antionetta would try and take over the show. We would play tea time and fake English accents since we thought all people who were of high status and liked tea had an English accent. We weren't allowed to go outside since we lived in a motel. Cacalina would defy these rules and go out anyways to the local park which inspired me to do the same and take more risks. Cacalina got older and her ways stayed the same. We drifted apart. I missed her and her funny and exciting ways. I stayed in school and Cacalina slowly disappeared from the school yard and officially left when she was only 11 years old. I was left alone to fend for myself on the school yard and participate in the singing duo which was now a solo act. I would run into her in the neighborhood and the connection we once shared was no more. She was beautiful, tall, tanned, long thick hair and confident in her looks. While she was assured in her looks she lacked self worth and made some poor decisions. I wanted to intervene and Antionetta (her older sister) and I bonded over this. We became close almost like sisters, symbolic of the sister we somehow loss. All we wanted was for Cacalina to be the old her (without the poopy underwear of course). I sometimes see her on the streets looking disheveled, sometimes with no shoes talking to herself and cannot believe it is the same person. She barely recognizes me anymore and I sometimes don't want her to. I went to visit her during the birth of her last child. She seemed anxious and aloof. She was talking about her plans with her baby fully aware the county was taking custody but not acknowledging it. I hugged her and told her I loved her and she asked me to leave as she was feeling anxious as my Boo Thang was also in the room. I know she will never be the same but will always remember the Cacalina who was strong, beautiful and free.

Halloween at Work

Yes we are the lame team that made our own costumes out of cardboard boxes and construction paper. I was the Mexican Emoticon, I call him  Señor Stash.

Sunday Morning

Happy Halloween!

One of my fondest childhood memories is going trick or treating with my family. One year my mother took my brother Cream Puff (when he was at his most creamy and puffiest), my cousin which we called Cacalina at the time (she was notorious for pooping herself) and I trick or treating. This seems normal enough for any family on Halloween in America but not for my family. Cream Puff's costume was homemade with a Chevy's hat and drawn on mustache and red paint all over his face we called it a Mexican clown. Cacalina and I coordinated our outfits as flappers with dresses stalkings and all. My Granny was pretty busy and decided it would be a good idea to let my mom who was fully intoxicated at the time chaperon us. The weather was dark and chilly with some light drizzle coming down as we walked out of a sketchy looking motel on to the streets with a Mexican clown, two Flappers, and a mother with a small brown paper bag (not the kind you get at Bloomingdale's). At one point my mother was rolling around in one of the neighbors lawn making a spectacle for all to see. She asked us to push her on the lawn as she peed her pants on our Halloween journey. We laughed at her not fully comprehending the now obvious issue. This was normal for us. Later that night we met up with my older brothers and uncle Frankie who at the time were busy smashing pumpkins and terrorizing younger kids for their candy.  We all came back home and bartered our candies as my mother laughed and sang out of tune in the background holding her little brown paper bag. Others might say how could I make light of such a story well you didn't go home with a pillow case filled with candy and warm memories of your mom fully participating in the Halloween extravaganza.  Have a safe and joyous Halloween.  I'll always love my mama.

Just.

When my Boo Thang's wants to end a conversation with me he simply responds by saying "Just". I can ask him about anything, this can include what he thinks about the polices excessive force at the Occupy Oakland demonstration or how he feels about how detached our society has become to issues of poverty, violence against women and child labor, "Just". How can your answer be, "Just"? I go on a rampage with these responses and start to terrorize my neighbors with my high pitch voice and complete inability to accept his answer.  I can understand his urge to end conversations with me because I will admit I will discuss topics he has no interest in at great lengths. These topics usually include work, friends, family and how they want to destroy  me (a bit dramatic) and some other random tangents about food. I can see his face staring blankly pretending to be vaguely interested in what I have to say. When I ask what he thinks he just replies, "Just".

Lazy Afternoon

I need a diet coke and a Kit Kat.

Speak Mexican

I moved to Mexico when I was 3 years old. I was dropped off by my parents with my oldest brother to stay with my grandmother. Abuelita Pancha we called her. I don't call her that any more when I see her. I just kind of smile nervously and wave hello and say 'Si" a lot. People say you can remember things quite early if you experience a tragic or significant event. I remember my Dads red truck driving away as I cried hysterically for my mother and father to come back.  I lived in a small town called Juchipila. My grandmother was short and strong. She would kill chickens with her bare hands and sometimes glare at me as she was killing them. It would definitely instill the fear I am sure she was trying to invoke.  I was told I was quite the celebrity in Juchipila. I would tell inappropriate jokes and run around practically nude if the option was given. I remember one of the jokes involving a girl going up a ladder with no underwear. My grandmother would make and sale bread and I would often distribute it to neighbors for free. I would get the beat down with the rope when this happened. I can't really remember the rope but I get these vague glimpses from time to time with a large rope coming over me. I recall a local store where I drank bottled cokes. I even attended school for a brief moment. A little boy often came to school with no shoes on his feet and instead of the teachers buying him shoes he would get a beating in front of the class (That should teach him for being poor). I sometimes smell certain smells and taste certain dishes that bring me back to my time in Juchipila. After 2 years of living with Abuelita Pancha my dad came to pick up my brother and I. I remember coming in to the living room and seeing this strange man who I didn't know anymore. I remembered I had a family but had forgotten about them. I left that week back "home" with my father and brother. When I arrived I had 3 other brothers waiting for me and one I hadn't even met. I was pretty angry and excited all at once, angry for being left and excited to see a family I barely knew anymore.  It was chaos in the household, trying to communicate was a feat since I didn't speak English and my brothers didn't speak Spanish. The reunion did not last too long. My parents left us with my other grandma, Granny about 3 months later. I was later enrolled in the local elementary school who had an ESL teacher from China who spoke no Spanish and some South East Asian kids who were as clueless as I was. We pretty much stared at each other throughout the classes. I went to a pretty segregated school district, you either went to an all Latino or Black school. My school was mostly Blacks and some Asians.I would often get picked on and by the 2nd grade I lost the Spanish.  I was the only Mexican kid at school.  All the other kids would still call me white since I guess they couldn't tell the difference. I would quickly correct them and explain that I was Mexican. They would usually challenge me and ask to prove myself and demand I speak the language, "Then Speak it, speak Mexican"  I realized I had no real proof and had forgotten my Spanish and was unable to provide my authenticity as a Mexican. All my memories of donkey riding, stealing bread to give to the neighbors and eating homemade tortillas in Juchipila meant nothing if I couldn't at least speak "Mexican". The kids continued to pick on me throughout elementary and I kept trying to prove my 'Mexicanness'. I am still struggling to speak Spanish fluently and I still get the smug looks from fluent Spanish speakers and others who expect me to speak the language. I just smile politely to avoid confrontation and answer, "Si". 

Boo Thang is home

So my Boo Thang went out of town this passed week for work and I must say I really missed him. I was determined to stay busy and hung out with some friends and finished some home projects. Checked out a cafe I have been wanting to try but Boo Thang refuses to go since the lines are always so long. Tina T and I met up at Chloe's Cafe in Noe Valley. Chloe's was pretty good but Tina T and I are convinced we can do better at home - we kind of like to think of ourselves as domestic goddesses. Zakarious even came out to chill later that night. We talked about our awkward teenage years and how I use to dress like a boy and Tina T was a Fema-Nazi (A cross between a Nazi and Feminist who will destroy all misogynistic men and ideas with her bare hands). We even took our turns crying throughout the night. It's funny when really close friends get together we laugh, cry, argue, and eventually end the night feeling a closer bond. The next morning I decided I was going to get some fabric paint to spice up my chair cushions in the dinning room. After a long debate with myself in the aisle at the local art store I decided on painting yellow octagons on the cushions. They ended up looking more like circles and pretty much disappeared in dim lighting ( I knew I should have gone with green). I made myself dinner for one, a pasta with fresh garlic with tomato and basil.  I like my pasta simple and Boo Thang always has to have meat so this was my chance to do what I liked without compromise (I argued with myself about whether to put meat just for the sake of it). I also thought one of the highlights would be getting to sleep in the middle of the bed but I was convinced I heard noises in the living  room and barley slept. The weekend was pretty eventful filled with tears, fears, and anxiety about work on Monday. I was relieved to pick up my Boo Thang from the airport the next day. I felt like a giddy school girl swooning over the likes of Justin Bieber (Canadian teen celebrity who has no real talent other than making young girls swoon with his pubescent soulless voice). I missed my Boo Thang and when he reads this he will finally notice I decided to destroy our perfectly fine dinning room cushions with defacing them with jagged circles. Glad to have you home Boo Thang because home is whenever I'm with you . 

Wilco is pretty great.

This is currently my new feel good song that makes me want to skip and hold hands with my Boo Thang. Also check out their Tiny Desk Concert on NPR, it's charming and takes the songs to the next level. http://www.npr.org/2011/10/13/141331825/wilco-tiny-desk-concert?ps=mh_frhdl1

Top That!

Does anyone remember Teen Witch? This is quite possibly the most hilarious nonsensical film of the 80's pop culture scene. It's got all the cliche makings of a cheesy teen flick starring a girl who is a complete social outcast with an even dorkier side kick. She of course has a crush on a guy out of her reach-the high school Quarterback and has no real sense of who she really is. The difference in this film is Louis (the main character) discovers she is a witch with magical powers and the ability to manipulate events to her benefit or the power to dress really provocatively to manipulate things as well.  What I find so great about this film is how out of touch Hollywood seemed to be with the urban community at the time yet managed to put some suburban white kids in trying to be all "Funky Fresh" by rapping and the couple Mexican guys they have in the second video dancing out of rhythm. I guess the two Mexican guys give the film the street cred and authenticity they were going for. This film is a mix of a bad musical and teen angst. I am starting the think the film makers were comedic geniuses. If you have not watched this film please do yourself a favor and download it right now. 

I am serious watch this!

Forty Flags

Forty Flags, Richmond CA

Boo Thang and I have been in search for the perfect artwork to decorate our new apartment. We came up with a few ideas. I thought it might be fun get a cityscape of the places we are from. He couldn't find one without a cow taking a poop and I thought one with a liquor store repeated at every corner wasn't so attractive. I thought maybe I would use a picture of the house a grew up. I then remembered I lived in a motel most of my childhood. Not just any motel it had forty flags or at least the sign said it did. When I was in grade school all the kids would talk about where they lived. Some said a two story house which was code word for a townhouse in the projects. I lied and said a white one story house with a white picket fence and had a dog named Astro who could talk to humans (I was a cliche traditionalist) I could never tell these kids where I actually lived. I mean my neighbors consisted of women of the night and their escorts, who I thought at the time were kind enough to make sure they got in cars safely.  We also had the frequent adulterers who's  wives would sometimes show up and ask for the room number, we would always give it out to watch the show either from the window or the single camera view we had of the parking lot and rooms. While these conditions may seem a bit unfit for a child, I really had no other choice. My Granny, as I like to call her lived where she worked and as children of parents who decided they no longer wanted to be attach (My mom came back when I was 14 to live and she was pretty awesome for dropping me off at school) this was our only option, a one bedroom in a motel office equipped with a kitchenette,  a day bed for all 5 children and a granny, and of course roaches. I wasn't so sure anymore I wanted to be reminded of this place by displaying an artful picture on my wall of this shabby roach motel. This picture would bring back memories of my uncle Frankie (who was only 5 years older) constantly going on a terror rampage and flipping off the camera in the parking lot and letting us know he was about to break some neighborhood windows by holding up the stick he had in hand or some other random gadget that could easily smash a window. There was always something exciting going on. I wasn't allowed outside, for obvious reasons, but often watched the action from the window. My Granny would often buy merchandise from various vendors as I liked to call them. Granny was actually known as "Moma" to the the neighborhood-I use to think she had a lot of kids when I first moved in and quickly realized my Granny was not the Jezebel I mistook her for (She is a saint and love her so much for everything). The Converse Man was one such vendor who would walk around the neighborhood with a grocery cart filled with Converse shoe boxes and the Meat Man, who actually drove a proper meat truck but would sell some of the meat to us.  I often look back and laugh at the silly moments I encountered that resemble a scene in a straight to DVD film starring Ice Cube. While things were rough at times and I definitely remember some pretty scary moments I would never take this back as it made me realize we pay way to much for store bought meat. Kidding aside it has enriched my life for having experienced it. I am still on the search for the perfect picture to decorate my wall and if you ever visit me and see a shabby motel with a sign that reads "Forty Flags", now you know.  

Blissful

Have you ever had a song make you feel sadness and bliss all at once? That is what Sigur Ros accomplishes every time I hear them. Damn these Icelandic geniuses better come to my hood soon or I may go on a rampage of punching people in the stomach or maybe squish a bug with my bare finger. 

Utopia

Add caption

My version of utopia would have a beach near by, plenty of local produce, great weather, a light house and a few dirty hippies who refuse to shower and insist on talking so closely your foreheads nearly touch. These close talkers will make for an interesting dilemma as my Boo Thang is highly uncomfortable with these types and struggles with being polite. The last time he encountered this situation he took a few steps back and the talker took a few steps forward each time not quite taking the hint. It was pretty hilarious to watch this conversation tango. I would spend my days making 'art' which would include some sort of recycled bottle concoction and my Boo Thang would spend his days fishing and lighting fires (remember there is always a fire going all seasons). I recently read this article in the NY Times where such a place seems to exist - for the time being that is. Cabo Polonio is a sleepy beach town only accessible by foot or over the sand dunes by jeep. It is surrounded by natures bounty, quirky homes, and of course hippies (They always know all the best places).  I know the idea of an actual utopia is a bit far reaching since it usually comes at a cost and there is always a struggle to proclaim ownership and eventually making it into some sort of Disneyland beach resort. The residents are currently battling the government and investors stake in ownership of this ethereal wonder.  If we ever find this utopia we all searched for at some point we would live in constant fear of others plans to take it from us kind of like the time I had my faux fur coat. I am pretty sure the utopia would turn into a Lord of the Flies situation.  For now please read the following article and imagine a place free from chaos, money troubles, and self important celebrities. 

http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/09/30/the-coast-of-utopia/?ref=style

First Baby

Valerie and Ani with their B-day cake made by me!

This past weekend I celebrated the birthday of my cousin Valerie. She recently turned 18 years old and is a constant reminder how out of touch I am with what is hip. I grew up with Valerie and her family. Raised with her father who was only 5 years older than me and more like a brother than an uncle. I would come home to barbie dolls with no hair and toys that had been mutilated by my uncle/brother. He would regularly taunt me, make fun of my gap teeth at the time and claimed I was a lesbian, you know normal brother stuff. When I would explain to strangers my uncle would burn my dolls and laugh in my face they were horrified as they pictured some mid age man with a wife beater holding a can of beer but he was an acne face chubby kid merely 5 years older than me. I would love to see their reaction before revealing his true age.  He eventually got over his phase of mutilating all my  toys and took me under his wing. He protected me and guided me to make the right decisions in life despite our misfortunes. He became my uncle/brother/father all at once. He had Valerie at the age of 16. Still only a kid forced to make adult decisions. She was his pride and joy. His First Baby as he called her. Valerie was like any other child active yet shy and reserved. A head full of curls and made a terror of a young boy turn into a complete softy. Frankie was his name and everyday I miss him. I can't believe it's been almost eight years but feels like yesterday. I replay the scene in my head over and over. I know he wouldn't want me to do that and probably tell me to stop it "Amy". I melt when I see his children becoming grown ups and how he will miss this all and how much they will miss him and knowing more of him, all of him. I see some of Valerie in him. His stubbornness, kind heart, his smile, his unpredictability and his ability to murder toys. His children are a constant reminder of him and sometimes I can barely stand to look at them. I miss him dearly and hope with gods grace he is proud of us and the people we have become.  Love you Frankie and miss you burning my toys and calling me gappy, A.P.E., Amy, White Girl, and most importantly your niece.

Adieu

 
So a few weeks ago I decided to leave the virtual world of Facebook.  I thought this process would be easy. I barley talk to any of the people on there and really only have about 4 real life friends. I mean who am I kidding pretending to be friends with 200 people. I felt a bit stalker-ish roaming through the pages of people I haven't spoken to or seen for years yet manage to have all access to their social life. I would get random updates on where they have last been and pictures of them seeming to have a blast or at least pretending to. This whole virtual world is so hard to keep pace with. It felt like high school all over again, competing to be kings and queens of the school, a popularity contest of sorts and I was the girl that ate lunch in the girls locker room. I know this virtual space is a great way to keep in contact with loved ones and close friends as well but find them to self promoting and this made me feel a bit inadequate at times.  They also take away all human contact in a real way. I notice all around me people fiddling with their phones, laptops, Ipads, etc, to afraid of interaction with the person next to them. It seems people would rather Facebook a hello rather then actually saying it to a person 5 feet away. I found myself Facebooking congrats on momentous events and reached the last straw when I saw a friend post a family member's passing and people selecting the "Like" button. I still manage to peek at the profiles through my Boo Thangs Facebook but hope to ease my way out of the virtual nightmare at least for the time being. I am sure I will be on some social networking site in no time posting pictures of how more amazing my life is than yours but until then...

Reflections

Emerald Bay-Lake Tahoe

                                                                     Reflecting.

Frisco Kid!

My Boo Thang and I recently moved to San Francisco. Our neighborhood is quaint, nestled between the hustle and bustle of the Mission and Castro districts. Walking through our new neighborhood you immediately notice the miles of strollers lining the streets and small coffee shops (in between the Starbucks and Whole Foods of course) and lines of people waiting to be seated for brunch. My Boo Thang and I pride our selves on supporting the local mom and pop shops with the occasional Starbucks frap in between.  During our first week we decided to explore our new neighborhoods. Walked up and down the Castro, through the Mission and settled at Delores Park and enjoyed the beautiful view of downtown. We enjoyed our Sandwich from a local hot spot Ike's Place and were pleasantly surprised by the nude man strolling by with a newspaper in tote as I took a bite of my roast beef sandwich on a dutch crutch.  We even made our way to the local Mosque for the Friday sermon and over heard a man tell one of the sisters, "He would jump all over that" and the Imam confess he longer smoked the pipe.  I must admit I am already in love with SF and may even leave my heart here when I move, or if I move. I think I can get use to the occasional naked man walking down the street as I sip on my ice coffee, or the local homeless man that pees on the sidewalk, Japanese tourist, European tourist, Latin American tourist, and maybe just maybe flamboyantly gay men with sassy walks threatening to steal my Husband.  Frisco Kid was a friend of mine.

Never Change

Growing up "hood" was the thing to be. When I was in grade school I often day dreamed of getting into a fight-wanting to fit in more with my family.  I was an outcast. I knew I was way to afraid and non-violent to actually physically harm anyone. I would hear family members brag about how many fights they had and how often they got suspended or expelled from school. I sometimes stared at myself in the mirror and fake an argument with a school bully.  I always came out victorious in this scenario. In reality I was shy, never spoke or looked people in the eye, too afraid of what eye contact might insinuate. I was the girl who held tightly to her white faux fur coat and left her brother in the dust while witnessing him being robbed for his new Starter coat and fresh new bright red high top Fila's. I was made fun of for years as coming from where I am from you were taught to show no fear. I think back to that time and laugh at how crazy I must have seemed looking into the mirror pretending to have a fight with myself. I also thought Fight Club total ripped off my idea. As we all aged I assumed we would grow out of this need to fight and hustle-but coming from where I'm from you have no choice unless you're a girl you can get away with it. Some of us moved away, had kids, had some more kids, others died and some went to prison. Now it's the new generations turn and they are having the same conversations about fights and the need to be feared or stay hustling. I try to spit game but they don't hear me. I stay out the way because you never know when there is gun play.  I fear for them and pray for them. Coming from where I'm from you have to stay surviving. Though you may get out, coming from where I'm from you will always have ties to the past, present and future. The thoughts may haunt you, sometimes make you laugh and make you feel blessed to be alive. You will always be reminded about those who never get out and never change because this life we call 'hood life' will never leave you. The memories will always take you back to time when you were a little girl clutching her new white faux fur coat so tightly it turned her fingers purple in fear teenage boys might want to take it from her .  Love you Cream Puff, First Baby, Nene, Only One, and Mijo Mijo.

I'm Mexican!

Tostada with chorizo chicken, bean and corn salad, crema, and queso= Delicioso.

Riding Tandem

So not literally more like me trailing about half a mile back while my Boo Thang looks back every 5 minutes with disappointment on his face because I can't pedal fast enough. Boo Thang recently purchased bicycles for us. At first I was a bit upset, not because I am a total torture machine and didn't want to see him have any fun or explore his new hobby but rather I was too embarrass to admit I didn't really know how to ride a bike. When it was my turn to take a spin on the bike before the purchase to make sure the bike was a good fit I refused. I pretended to be a hard a$$ so no one would notice or spot that I had no clue how to ride a bike. It was pretty embarrassing to see the 8 year old in the store hop on and start showing off and rubbing it in my face he was capable of maneuvering this somewhat foreign machinery.  I refused to be defeated by this show off. So when no one was looking I thought it can't be that bad and decided to get on and go for it. As I approached the parked truck in front of the store I lost all sense of coordination and crashed straight in to it. I thought for a second I was safe since no one saw me but I turned back to see my Boo Thang in laughter. "Haha he said as he pointed at me". For the last few weeks we have been practicing around the neighborhood and even took a trail ride. At one point there was a runner on the trail going faster than I was up hill but going down hill his a$$ was grass as I totally kicked it. I won't say I am a complete professional yet but I am getting there. I am now really enjoying myself and no longer intimidated by 8 year old kids that think they are better than others just because they may not be good at something.

Wave Hello

I remember being dropped off in high school by my mother. During this period of your life you feel overwhelmed with the need to fit in.  To avoid any embarrassing moments I would make my mother park about two blocks away so that I didn't have to be seen being dropped off by her. My mother usually agreed to drop me off a block or two away but then proceed to follow-me slowly down the block.  She would wait till I got in the front of the school and wave at me and yell out the most random things. Some of which included, "You forgot to flush the toilette and left your (insert expletive) in there".  I felt mortified walking up the school steps.   My uncle Teddy often dropped me off but refused to let me out a block away. Teddy often dressed in a silk robe and slippers smoking a cigar was highly visible from the car window. He sometimes had car trouble and had to get out to check the car showing everyone his silk robe and slippers. He sometimes yelled at kids walking slowly to get the eff out of his way or he would stick his foot in their you know what. No one really talked to me at school and I was known as the shy girl who probably liked other girls. This made the whole process easier since no one really paid attention to me. I thought I'd share this article about quite possibly the most awesome parent in the world.

http://weirdnews.aol.com/2011/06/06/dale-prices-morning-dress-up_n_871815.html#s287691

I'll always love my Mama and of course Uncle Teddy, RIP.

Taco Tuesday!

Taco Tuesday at Poncho Villa Taqueria in San Mateo with my girl Jaya the Playa yesterday and we could not stop eating the freshly made salsa's.  The taco's were fresh and the meat tender.  Our Horchata had just the right amount of cinnamon and sugar. I could barely concentrate on our catch up session as I was to preoccupied with my chips and orange garlic chili salsa. I think she felt the same way because every time I would try and talk  she would not respond and point at her taco and sauce Jodi Foster style in film Nell. The orange garlic chili salsa was the boss I could down that stuff with a straw. We were also pleasantly surprised when two older gentlemen took out their guitars and started serenading the crowd Mexican style.  Taco Tuesday. Arriba!

OOHH YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

'Macho Man' Randy Savage has passed away today and he will be missed. As a child I would often imitate his wrestling moves and yell "Ooh Yeah Brother". I would dream of one day finding love as he did with Elizabeth, who was his wrestling manager and wife. She often made appearances on WWF (Now WWE). She would usually be in tears and often get hit with a chair or something. She was later was found dead in another professional wrestlers house, the evil Lex Luger.  I have four brothers who had quite an addiction to wrestling. Being the only outcast I was forced to join by watching and even participating in the brutal match ups. I would always be matched with my younger brother who's wrestling name "Number One God" would often change to "Number Two God" after he loss a match. My older brother who went by "Two Won D" would yell "Number Two God" just to taunt him. The younger one later found out he was merely mortal with no actual god like powers. I went by "Wet Bag", at least I thought that was my name at the time.  My signature move would involve wetting a plastic bag jumping off anything high and smacking my opponent with the water soaked bag until they gave up.  I later found out my real wrestling name that was given by my older brother "Two Won D" and it was after I had spent two years in Mexico. Let's just say I misinterpreted the name there was no bag in the name but back. Macho Man, Jake the Snake, Hulk Hogan, Rowdy Roddy Piper (My personal fave. I think it's because he was the only one in a skirt and I could relate to that) and Jimmy Super Fly Snuka.  These are all names that if you mention I go back to my wrestling mode so don't be surprised by the wet plastic bag across the face in this event. RIP Randy Savage you will be missed. Ooh Yeah!

Want to go back

Monterey with the ladies 2009? Enjoyed hiding from Sumaya as she slept peacefully on a bench.

Cinco de Mayo!

So the other day I finally got to see Fleet Foxes perform at one of the most beautiful venues in the bay, The Fox Theater.  We started the day by driving up to Oakland and meeting up with my friends T-Dizzle and Tyrone. Tina brought her dog Alex who decided to poop every 5 minutes or so in the most random places.  We walked up and down Jack London Square.  It seemed like a ghost town. There was no one in sight on a beautiful Thursday afternoon. We stumbled upon the best little bakery called Miette http://www.miette.com/.  It's a bit pretentious but I can't help it the goodies there are so dang irresistible. I  kept talking about how great they are as we walked in the store and in Francis fashion walked right back out and decided I didn't want anything. About 10 seconds later I walked back in and grabbed four macaroon cookies. I told everyone that I was going to save them for later and then 30 seconds later took them out and started eating them.  After we walked to get some grub at Everett and Jones and the lemonade could not be any better.  I was getting nostalgic thinking of times I use to come to the area with friends in college. After dinner we parted ways with T-Dizzle and Tyrone and the ever pooping Alex and headed for the Fox Theater.  The line was filled with what looked like pubescent kids dressed in their hipster attire. I felt pretty old until I saw a couple who was easily over the age of 50. The concert began with an opening number appropriately entitled Montezuma. All and all Cinco De Mayo was perfect filled with BBQ, French cookies, and of course the much anticipated Fleet Foxes.

Chabunkaskunk

My Boo Thang has a thing for making up pet names and instead of calling me one or the other he decides to combine them all to create none other than the ultimate pet name. First it started small, Bunky. Combining a bear and monkey. This was cute at first until he saw a Chihuahua that reminded him of me, assuming we are both small and Mexican. The name grew to Chabunky. So it took me some time to get use to this. Recently we were watching a television show in which a skunk made an appearance. He turned to me and the laughing ensued.  I wont go into details but the name grew. It's now Chabunkaskunk. I am sure he must think since Mexican names are usually long the pet names should be as well. Either way I can dig it.

A Royal Affair!

"Putting in Work"

People gathering for the nuptials

I wanted to document a moment in history I am sure we will talk about in the future. We will romanticize about how magical and spectacular it was to witness the live televised broadcast of the royal nuptials of the possible future king of England, William and his bride Kate or who now goes by Katherine since this sounds more regal. While many of us think it's laughable these funny folks in fancy hats run around the world with this self important title no one cares about any more we still hold them in this esteem that only the media creates.  The monarch is no more and they hold no political power or make any economic decisions other than holding an extravagant affair that cost loads for the people of England while many public service workers were recently laid off and England is facing one of its worst economic crisis.  While this all may be true the one great thing about this royal affair is that it brought many people together during a time of great suffering with war on terror and drugs and an economic meltdown. We can all sit back for a moment and go back to a fairytale fantasy we were all fed as children of far away lands with princes and princesses, kings and queens, and unicorns roam freely. While the wedding was very expensive I am sure, it brought loads of tourism and the English stand to rake in a lot of dough from such an affair only the royals can produce. Hats off to Will and Kate may your union be blessed and if not this would make for more media frenzy in which we are forced to choose sides and don shirts that say "Team William" or "Team Kate".

 

Helplessness Blues

.

So I am going to see Fleet Foxes perform next Thursday and I could not be more excited. When I hear this song I think of something I told my Boo Thang about how I wanted my life to be when I "grow up" (I am almost 30). I said I wanted to live in the French country side and he would work in construction and I would be a school teacher teaching all the French kids broken English. They will learn all the street slang from Richmond CA, such as, "putting in work", which apparently doesn't mean going to a job or "finna" and lets not forget "smerkish". He would drop me off at work on his moped and I would walk back home and pick up some fresh bread everyday from the local market. He would grab some fresh flowers he saw on his way home, most likely picked from the neighbor’s garden. We would fall in line with the stereotypical masculine and feminine roles. I would laugh at all his jokes and not make fun of him when he uses words in the wrong context (men hate when you do that especially if you're a girl). We would take walks after dinner, come home have some soothing tea by the fire (there is a fire going during all seasons) and have music in the background.  As you probably already noticed I have given this fantasy a lot of thought. The point is I wanted my life to be simple, a functioning cog working towards something beyond me.