So This Is Mavi, My iPhone.

I know, I know, you're reading that title like "OH MY GOD, THE WORLD IS ENDING, RAQUEL HAS AN IPHONE!" but relax. I've not been fully infiltrated by the Robot Army just yet.

Of course my lock screen features my babies!

Let me explain how this all happened...

A few months ago I went into the Verizon store because I wanted to get a tablet or something like it, that I could use when hosting events in order to update various social media platforms with information about said events. The sales rep looked at me all crazy and was all "Why don't you just get a smartphone?" I, in turn, listed all the reasons I didn't want one, including cost (which was my number one reason!).

The rep proceeded to lay out all the costs for me, and it turned out the iPhone he was offering wouldn't cost me more than what I was already paying with my regular phone, plus the phone itself was free. "And why carry three different devices (iPod, phone, tablet) when you can just carry one?"

He was making so much sense; how could I pass up the deal?

So now I have an iPhone. And an Instagram account. And game apps that suck the battery life out of my phone. I can never leave the house without a charger. And the amount of selfies saved in my camera is almost criminal. But I promise, I'm not one of these phone-obsessed zombies; I put mine away and just LIVE sometimes.

At least for now.

*smooches...checking IG as I type*
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I'm so fascinated by what people upload to Instagram. Sometimes it's cool, but sometimes, SOMETIMES you hit gold and find that person who is posting pure trash. I live for that person!

When Life Tests You

This morning I forced myself out of bed at 7am to shower and prep for work. I wanted to get in super early and knock out a few assignments that are best completed when the office is empty. To cut back on prep time I decided to take with me a protein shake for breakfast and an apple with almond butter for a snack. I lovingly mixed coconut water, a banana and a scoop of vanilla whey protein in my mini-blender and told myself, "Drink it when you get in while you're finishing the exhibition labels."

I woke the babies up, gave instructions for the day, told them I loved them and walked out the door at 7:45am ready to make Wednesday great.

Life, however, had other plans.

When I stepped out of the subway I felt a drop of something fall on my leg but I ignored it and continued walking along 7th Avenue. The the bus came and I decided to hop on, only to feel a great big drop of something wet when I placed my bag on my lap and sat down. Yeah, you guessed it- my entire bottle of breakfast shake had overturned and spilled out onto my belongings in my bag and was leaking out the bottom.

Everything was soaked: my manuscript; files I'd brought home from work; my dayplanner; Post-It Notes where I'd written semi-important dates and information; MY USB DRIVE WITH DIGITAL COPIES OF EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WRITTEN; and my already almost dying iPod mini. Soaked. And reeking of banana and vanilla. And sticky beyond belief. It wasn't even 9am.

HELLO, WEDNESDAY!

Once in the office, I cleaned up as best I could and asked K to bring me a new bag later on. And even though I could feel my cramps kicking in (oh yes, my period had just arrived as I desperately tried to wipe all the traces of banana from my USB drive!), I popped two Advil (which I never do but felt it was necessary today) and was ready to start my day.

When the office manager arrived and said she was going to the cafe to get breakfast I said, "You know what? Me, too. My breakfast was ruined and I deserve a sinful treat." Downstairs at the counter I asked simply: egg and cheese on wheat toast, no butter. As the guy began to write down the simplest of orders I should have known this wasn't going to go well. Turns out he was the only one there this morning, taking orders, taking money and cooking, too.

He mixed my order up with someone else's and when she brought it back he tried to hand that manhandled sandwich to me. Insert the stankest of cramps-induced side eyes here. After all was said and done, I had been waiting nearly 30minutes for a simple sandwich that I hope and pray he didn't rub on his ass crack or spit in.

It was now 10:30am and I was late for creative review. This was how my day began.

But as I'm typing up this crazy-yet-docile diatribe for all of you to have a good laugh at the Jaded NYer with sticky hands and a distinct banana smell, the sun is shining through my office window and I have a lunch date with Irene and my babies.

What's a little spilled shake when you're alive and employed and loved?

*smooches...looking at the silver lining*
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of course I would not be this chipper if my USB drive had not survived the ordeal. nosireeBOB; this would be an entirely different post, for sure.

A Jaded Moment In History Presents: We Had Famous Dishes

Back in the day I was the BIGGEST "Beverly Hills, 90210" fan that ever lived, mostly because I had an enormous girl crush on Shannen Doherty. Oh yeah, I followed that brown-haired beauty from "Little House on the Prarie" to "Our House" to Heathers like a true stalker, and now there she was, on my TV every week.

While indulging on my newest nighttime obsession, I noticed that during an innocuous scene in the first season, the Walsh family HAD THE SAME DISHES MY MOM HAD JUST PURCHASED!! You don't even understand how much I cherished those plates. I wanted to dance in the streets and tell everyone that passed by, "Brenda Walsh and I drink from the same cup!!!"


(ffwd to 0:07 and you'll notice the mug Cindy Walsh hands Brandon is the pink/blue version of Mami's green/blue mug, as seen below. The Walshes were so cool they had the pink AND the blue set. I was so jealous!)

MY DISHES ARE FAMOUS!

 Today, not many of those dishes still survive. I think Mami has all the mugs but only three or four of the plates. Every time I visit her and see them in the cabinet, I remember that special bond Brenda and I shared-the endless cups of cocoa and tea we had from our famous dishes as we chatted about that bitch Kelly and that backstabber Dylan. Oh what a time we had!

*smooches...realizing that my crazy started way back when*
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I suppose I was just born nut-so!

ALSO, please ffwd to 2:58 in the clip to see my favorite Brenda/Dylan scene of all time. OF ALL TIME!

Face To Face With My Bottom Line

Yesterday I sat down with my Jaded Empire financial planner to go over my money and how I can have more of it to myself while getting these creditors off my back. After crunching the numbers and talking it out, the outlook is not horrible but it's not awesome, either.

Taking into account all my bills (but not what I spend in food) I'm left with an amount that is supposed to cover my groceries and paying back student loans. "Supposed to" being the operative phrase here.

I mean listen, the amount is not super low but it will mean a tightening of the belt and learning to shop like those people on that super coupon show (I don't watch it but according to Twitter there is such a thing). It will mean less trips to DC and Boston for now and no Pilates classes at the studio I love in Park Slope OR Socacize classes, either. I just don't have the money for it right now and it isn't a necessity, given all the fitness vouchers I've bought and still not used.

It will mean less dinners out (and I really wanted to go to Le Cirque with the babies this winter) and becoming familiar with the likes of Costco and BJs Wholesale. It will also mean that N might have to forgo after school this semester, too.

This is not a dire situation. We can live without dinners out and soca classes and after school. My First World Lifestyle is no longer working out for me so cuts have to be made. Esteban has already been dismissed. Netflix was reduced to online streaming only (no DVD rentals for us anymore) and I've seriously looked into some freelance work to bring in more money (if you know anyone who's PAYING REAL MONEY for a writer or editor, let me know).

I do not want to be working until I fall over dead. It's about that time that I make my money work for me, and that requires that I do what I must right this minute and get out of debt.

Of course, now all I can think about is all the fur coats and red-bottom shoes I can't buy...

*smooches...counting down towards a debt-free life*
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if the motherfucking Duggars can live debt-free with a trillion kids, then so can I!

I Try Not To Be Jealous.

It doesn't always work.

This summer, I took my daughters to Montauk for Ks Sweet 16 and what I thought was going to be a pleasant, relaxing, amazing trip turned into the biggest headache of my life. It got so bad that I almost broke down and cried in the street in front of my girls. Why? Why else- frustration with my lack of money. Why I agreed to have this party in the most expensive beach town EVER is beyond me, but as soon as we got there my funds were depleted and I just wanted to not be anywhere anymore ever.

(And the Oscar for Lead Actress in a Dramatic Performance During PMS Week While on Vacation goes to...)

It was never so apparent to me how many bad financial decisions I've made in my life than this summer in Montauk as I watched the other vacationers eating out at the fancier places and driving around in fancy cars or hanging out in their suites or beautiful beach homes. It occurred to me that at the rate I'm going this would never be my life, and then I was upset for having cheated my kids. Especially when their friends have so much more...

Listen, I know it's stupid and useless to covet & regret. I don't begrudge anyone their wealth or success because I know my own misfortunes are my own doing. It was just frustrating because I wanted to show them a great time. I wanted them to experience a bit of luxury, an escape from the tiny matchbox where we live, to order from a menu and not have to care. I know it's not a necessity but I wanted it for them so badly and it pissed me off to no ends that I couldn't give it to them.

Instead of a beautiful weekend at the beach, we ended it all with the longest walk to the train (because I couldn't afford a taxi) and the longest wait on the platform (because we made a wrong turn and missed our train).

If you ask K, she'll tell you she had a great time (except for the walk to the train and her mom LOSING HER FUCKING SHIT ON A DESERTED ROAD) and her birthday was awesome. At least, that's what I'm hoping. If you ask me? I've failed my babies...

*smooches...looking forward to a better 2012*
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I WILL handle my money better and my kids WILL have a great(er) summer. you'll see.

Joshua I – Beloved Friend And Confidant

Not much good came out of my stint at the Waco School for Girls, but there were some highlights. Like the friendship I cultivated that is still going strong even though there are 3,000 miles between us, and the realization that I was in a shit marriage with a shit man. And, of course, Joshua I, the Dell Dimension 4700 desktop computer I invested in with my fabulous new private school salary.

Prior to Joshua we had the crappiest computer Rent-a-Center had to offer (UGH!) and when this sleek Dell came into my life a choir of angels sang Prince songs to me. Shit like ADORE and DIAMONDS AND PEARLS and fucking LET’S GO CRAZY. Angels, dawg, ANGELS!!

Basically I was really excited to get this computer. Even though the school supplied everyone with Macbooks, I was in love with this computer. I even had it custom built; told the Dell customer service dude everything I needed it to have and had it made just for me. I was ready to take over the world with Joshua as my sidekick!

The name was a no-brainer: it was to be N's moniker had she been a boy (taken from the computer's name in War Games...yes, I'm that much of a geek. Shut up.), but she was born with a vagina and was to be our last child, so the computer became the son I never had. It was cherished beyond belief. I put so many restrictions on others using it that sometimes, no one else would WANT to use it at all. And often, whether people were around or not, I'd talk to it and say things like, "Come ON, Joshua, please just work for mommy! I'm trying to find a job!" or "OK, Joshua, clearly you're tired and want to go to sleep. We can watch ER tomorrow." It was a tumultuous but loving relationship.

There was that one time in 2007 when it wouldn't power on and swallowed my thesis whole. BOY WAS THAT A FUN WEEK! And then there was the time in 2009 when the DVD player started opening and closing on its own for no apparent reason. THAT WASN'T CREEPY AT ALL. Joshua has been around since Day 1 of this blog and seen so much fuckery that well, if he could talk I'd be in jail. We survived chatrooms, illegal downloads, porn marathons and stank emails back and forth between me and my ex during the first few months of our divorce. I honed my Photoshop and Quark Xpress skills on Joshua; discovered YouTube and Twitter with Joshua and finally, created much literary magic with Joshua.

Unfortunately, he's just a computer. One born in 2004 and used to death everyday of his life, not unlike The Giving Tree. And now, he's a tired stump that just wants some peace.

I write all this so that you truly understand the heaviness in my heart right now as I inform you that Joshua I is no longer with us. Whatever virus has taken over the motherboard is stronger than we can battle with our limited resources, and I wanted to keep fighting for him because I'm not the type to just replace shit on a whim, but after more than a year with severe computer problems in this very computer-dependent society, I had to finally throw in the towel.

I'm actually sad about it. I understand it's a machine and it's just a material possession, but it was one of the first things I'd ever bought with my own money that was just mine, and it played a huge part in my becoming more and more independent.

Joshua, my good (and sometimes annoyingly infuriating) friend, you will be missed.

*smooches...getting kinda weepy over a machine*
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I never thought my analog self would see the day that I shed a tear over a fucking machine...SkyNet has won. Abandon all hope. The end is near.

Take Your Tree Down Already

The arrival of the Three Kings marks the official end of the Christmas season, so I'd really appreciate it if my uber-religious neighbors would take down the blinding lights of historically inaccurate nativity scenes by morning.

In the meantime, the babies and I will be exchanging gifts tonight, and having a yummilicious feast of stuffed shells, turkey meatballs and garlic bread. It's not a traditional celebration at all, just something I like to do for my girls. They're good kids; they deserve it.

Feliz Dia De Los Reyes!

*smooches...just for me, the babies and the homie Melchior*
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that dude was straight gangsta wit it. he was all BAM- here's some gold for that ass 'cause I'm RICH, BITCH!!! and made it rain on lil Jesus...

Why I Won't Self-Publish

I am a snob when it comes to certain things: I'll always choose authentic Mexican food over TexMex chain stores, I refuse to acknowledge "urban" books as real literature and Reality TV, even though I immerse myself in many of those shows, is what is killing the industry. In the same vein, I don't put much stock in self-published books.

Since I was a little girl, dreaming of seeing my books on the shelves at Barnes & Noble, never did I imagine that the industry would change so much and become so dependent on technology. I will probably be the last hold out at the store buying books while everyone else has a Kindle or an iPad; I'm fully aware of this and accept it as my lot in life. However, just because computers are now dominating the world does not mean I will chuck any dreams of having Random House publish my book and sell glossy novels I've printed myself out the back of my car.

Self-publishing would be like me saying to myself: "Raquel, your book ain't shit, and all of the publishing professionals of the world think so, too. Therefore you might as well just save the manuscript as a pdf, copy & bind it at Kinkos and hand it out at the barber shops of BedStuy."

I understand others don't feel this way. Some might even argue that I'm putting too much stock in others' opinion and validation of my work, and that if *I* believe it's good why not cut out the middleman and just publish it myself? Point taken. But listen, I'm an artist. Writing is my art, my craft, and I'm pretty conceited about it. I need my ego stroked about how great I am. What better way to feed that need than to have your books accepted by the professionals that govern the industry? The positive write-up in the NY Times Book Review and Publisher's Weekly? I want all that MORE than I want to meet and marry John Cusack.

Others might say ebooks are the future and I should get on board now or get left by the side of the road with 8-track cassettes, VCRs and electric typewriters. Again, I get that. But I'm going to hold out for the agent that believes in my work as much as I do that they eat, sleep and dream ME; the editor and the big old publishing house that will finally answer my agent's many calls and read my first three chapters; the call I will get saying I have a meeting at 1745 Broadway to discuss a possible book deal; the subsequent book release party (which we've already discussed) in Brooklyn.

As I've gotten older I've let go of the Victorian Mansion w/a wrap-around porch dream, and the career as a Radio City Music Hall Rockette dream, and even the finally learn to play my own damn guitar dream. But this one, this published author dream, this give young inner-city Dominican girls someone to relate to dream, this put my people on the map for positive things dream, this show The Man where he can shove his racist agenda dream, this make my grandparents proud of me dream... I can't give that up without a real fight.

It's all I've ever wanted.

*smooches...striving to make this a reality*
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although, once I have my media empire I suppose I will be self-publishing all the time, right? Under one of the Jaded Empire Media imprints, of course...

New Babies, New Monday Musings Episode, Same Jaded (But Not Really)

Hello, hello, hello!!

How was everyone's week and weekend? Mine was pretty busy, stressful, crazy and tiring. But in a good way. It really helped to not have to worry about updating the blog every night, so much so that I almost forgot to update it today!

No worries, though- I always try to keep my word as much as humanly possible.

Here's some of what's been happening in my world since we last spoke:

New Babies
While at the mall buying N some shoes, I overhear the cashier say something about "free netbooks" so my nosy ass was all like WHERE??? See, now that I work from home K & I are constantly in each others' face about needing the computer. My solution was to get a netbook but of course the funds weren't there. Enter this cashier and her tall tales of "free netbooks."

Turns out Verizon was having a weekend sale- upgrade to or purchase a Blackberry Tour and get a free HP netbook (w/VZ service, of course!). I've been toying with the idea of getting a BB since I'm freelancing now, but was going to wait until Christmas. However, this deal was too good to be true. I took it as a sign and told myself: "If it's too much money then just walk away and go back to your original plan."

But after speaking it through with a great Verizon rep (my new BFF, Colin) I chose an option that works well with my current budget and lifestyle. That said, say hello to Phillip:



And Joshua II:



We are also looking to adopt a wireless all-in-one printer by Christmas, so if you hear of anything hook a sistah up!

New Monday Musings Episode
Do you like food? How about cupcakes? How about food AND cupcakes delivered to your door??

Then you might want to tune in to Monday Musings tonight, because Darius T. Williams of Everyday Cookin' is BACK to talk food n recipes and CUPCAKES!



Oh, you didn't know he started his own cupcake business in Chicago? See, that's why you need to tune in... that and the fact that a LUCKY caller will win some of these yummy cupcakes and even a home cooked meal*. And all you have to do is tune in...

Same Jaded (But Not Really)
Remember when I was talking about being open to re-marrying and having more kids? Right, well maybe I need to specify that I have not gone soft and I'm not looking to shack up with just ANYONE. I was just saying that instead of being all mean n shit I would actually welcome that "L word" into my life if it presented itself in a manner I found attractive and suitable.

All others need not apply.

This is real a departure from the OLD Jaded that would just be with someone to say she had someone without thinking of the long-term. And that's what's NEW; I'm taking the LONG-TERM into consideration: will you fit into my life? Will I fit into yours? Will I wake up one day wanting to stab you in the throat? Will my tantrums cause you to add strychnine to my whiskey in frustration? All legitimate questions that run through my head these days.

So please excuse me if my celibacy stays intact for longer than expected... all of a sudden my priorities have changed...

*smooches...gettin' all serious on you*
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but whatever; you LOVE it.

*regarding today's contest- the cupcakes are a definite prize; the home-cooked meal is only a prize for callers from NYC because that's where I live and I'm not traveling to you to deliver no stinkin' ass prize.

I Was Bored, Then Vanity Ensued...And Then I Woke Up

Believe it or not I sometimes come to a point during the week when I realize I've been on autopilot for like TOO LONG and will just plop myself down on the floor and be quiet. And not meditation quiet because I've been really bad with remembering to do my 20mins 2X a day, but just sitting down nearly comatose wherever I am and just being quiet so I can hear what the fuck The Voices are talking about.

On one particular day, after a long, hot afternoon celebrating my baby's 9th birthday in NJ, I retreated into Mami's room to watch The Iron Giant and could no longer fight gravity. Turns out, though, I missed the bed by a few inches and ended up on the floor in front of the mirrored closet doors. With Roscoe (my camera phone, fools! Keep up!).

Next thing I know, this happened:



because I was really feeling my sideways ponytail and that little piece of grown out bangs on the side. Then I was like, "ooh, check out my bod":



because I haven't really stopped to take inventory of how much better I look and feel at 15lbs lighter. Then I wanted to see how long my hair has gotten since my last haircut in January so I took it out of the ponytail:



and although the ends were split and cat-raggedy my 'do was looking cute in this pic. Then N scooted over and decided to join in on the impromptu, lazy-ass'd photo shoot:



We call that photo "Thug Life, Bitchezzzz". (Notice the side-tilt to her birthday tiara, the peace sign & the stankness of her face. I cannot with this child...)

Until finally, I came to my senses, realized I've never been the kind of girl who stares at herself in the mirror for millions of hours being vain and shit, and went back to being just me:



which is still pretty vain but not about looks; about intellect. And talent. Go and read for yourself.

*smooches...thinking, it's OK to feel "pretty" every once in a while*
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I should really practice it more; if Maria can do it, why not me?

I Wish...

...I could churn out an awesome screenplay set in the south, so that I could use "Darkness in the Delta" by Cassandra Wilson in the opening credits.

...that Haagen Dazs, McDonald's, Dominos, Popeyes and Atomic Wings didn't taste so freakin good, because then I wouldn't be 20lbs overweight.

...I hadn't insisted on wearing heels all those years ago because I wanted to be 6ft tall; now my knees and back are paying for my vanity.

...my computer would stop holding me hostage every night with its promise of Netflix, YouTube and Blogger until my eyes bleed.

...I could fall ass-backwards into a lot of money so that I can spend the rest of my days sitting in the bay window of my Park Slope brownstone reading books and eating mangos.

...that the Beatles hadn't already written the song "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey" because that was the working title of my autobiography.

...I wasn't so afraid of fame; hell, if an idiot like Paris Hilton can do it...

...my hair would comb itself.

...I had powers, like Prue on "Charmed" or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Or like Peter Petrelli.

...this presidential election was over already, because the suspense is killing me!

...I had enough hours in the day to volunteer at the NY Foundling Hospital; the thought of babies in need of hugs makes me sad.

...everything I wrote turned to gold; then my nom de plume could be Midas!

...I could burn calories from typing; I'd be the fittest creature on the planet...

...money would stop burning holes in my pockets.

...I could have been a student at the old Degrassi; I totally would have dated Luke (Andy Chambers) and been best friends with Lucy (Anais Granofsky).

...my brain would just balance itself out already... I'm tired of waking up with that knife in my hand...

...I had been nicer to and more appreciative of Grandma when she was alive.

...everyone I knew had Verizon so that my phone bill wouldn't be so high.

...I didn't even have a cell phone, so that I could go ghost good and proper, and reappear when I was good and ready.

...Axl & Slash would mend their friendship so that Guns N Roses could get back together and rock out like only they can.

...this blog didn't own my soul.

*smooches...wondering which one of these wishes I wish I had more*
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maybe the super powers... yeah, the super powers would be awesome...

OOPS!!

I'm not 100% certain, but I think there used to be a car here:



I mean, it was there when I came home that evening... If you ask me, the Wigger Council had something to do with it...

*smooches...sad to see that crime visited my block*
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but one car theft in two years is actually pretty good for Brooklyn, so let me not complain

It Ain't A Party Until Somebody Throws Up

BUT- before we get to the mayhem and vomit, you need to know that

I

Love

ROAD TRIPS!

And I need to tell you this because usually, I loathe being in a car. Y'all know I'm not a car person- I get motion sickness, I have those anxiety attacks and generally don't trust those coffins on wheels; I prefer my feet planted safely on the ground.

And y'all know I could give two shits about labels and luxury items. I'm a laid-back person who's not into flossin' like that.

Plus, with the price of gas what it is, and the wack-ass Bush Administration threatening to drill in PROTECTED Arctic National Wildlife Refuge for freakin oil, cars would normally not be my friend right now

HOWEVER...

That was before I went on a road trip... IN A FUCKING BMW 535xi, BITCHEZ!!!

What?! You can't tell me shit about SHIT now- I NEED THAT CAR! I MUST HAVE IT!! Arctic National Wildlife Refuge be DAMNED! DRILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER UP!

You know how y'all said that one day I'll want my license, that something will finally motivate me to learn how to drive? Who knew that all it would take was one sexy motherfucking GERMAN!

And that new car smell... ORGASMIC. I tried to play it cool, like I didn't care. But the difference between this magically sent from heaven machine and every other car on the planet became more and more evident the more I sat in it.

People- the chair fucking HUGS you; and when I say hugs you I mean literally adjusts to HUG YOUR BODY. And the seats heat up. And lays back.

Is it legal to marry a car seat in New York? Let me stop talking about it... I'm getting dizzy...

*****

Oh wait, this is supposed to be about the weekend... almost forgot... but that damn car... I had sweet n sexy dreams about this car. Still am...

*****

OK- back to the weekend.

Friday; met up with two really cool people from a non-profit that has caught my eye. I'm pretty excited about it, but I don't want to jinx anything so that's all I want to say about it. Just know your girl is working towards the greater good, FINALLY, instead of sitting around complaining about shit.

Then I went to Modell's and FINALLY bought my Santana TShirt. Number 57 all the way. I don't care that he lost to the Yankees this weekend. He's still my boo. OOH- a thought just popped in my head... Johan, in a BMW... I might need a shower...

OK, focus, Raquel, focus.

Then I went to a bar in the East Village to watch the Yankees whoop the Mets butt. I almost cried. And why do Yankee fans have to be so darn obnoxious? Can't they just win and shut the fuck up about it? SHEESH!

When the game was over, I had to drown my sorrows. So I went to the Angelika and saw War Inc on my baby's birthday. Unfortunately, as much as I love love love John Cusack, I hated hated hated this movie. I even fell asleep during it. So disappointed.

Wait, wait... another thought... Johan + John Cusack + BMW = my dying wish... *sigh*

Got home at 3-ish, only to get up at 6-ish. Because I like playing with fire.

Saturday, 7AM bright and early, THE CAR arrives.

My new friend RC had made these random plans to drive up to MA to hang with Cathi for the weekend- he's back stateside for the first time in a while, stationed in GA, but was up here visiting his family. Funny thing is- I'm calling him my new friend RC because even though we went to the same High School and College, back then we were damn near mortal enemies.

Something about him being immature (he *just* informed me that he's two years younger than me and it explained so much) and me being a total, hard core bitch. But this weekend we were like the best of friends. I guess we've both grown up since '94!

We got there early, ate something at IHOP (NOTE- do not ever get their scrambled egg whites... they use fake eggs and it tastes like nothing mixed with nothing and has the consistency of chicken fat. BLECH!), bought some liquor and showed up on Cathi's door ready to party. She had her babies, though, so we had to pace ourselves.

Enter Six Flags New England; Cathi took the babies to the water park and me n RC (RC and I?) tackled some roller coasters. And I don't really do roller coasters anymore, you know, vertigo and whatnot, but RC dared me. Called me out. I don't back down from a dare. EVER!

That fool even made me keep my eyes OPEN on those rides. AND he made me get on that bungee ride, too, and I swore that I'd never ever ever go bungee jumping. I should've known better than to get on rides with someone who says stuff like, "Once you've ducked mortars and snipers in the desert, everything else is easy."

But I ain't gonna lie- I enjoyed every minute of it, and damn if I didn't feel free as a motherfucker flying through the air on that damn bungee cord... air through my hair, just swinging back and forth... holding onto RC for dear life... I'm not even mad that he bought one of those souvenir pictures that has me looking like a straight fool on the Man of Steel coaster.

Then we got back and made plans for the grown folks portion of the evening. We changed clothes and went to pre-game it at Jim's (Cathi's boyfriend). Don't worry- she had a sitter for the babies... we ain't that ghetto!

Jim fed us and agreed to be our designated driver/chaperone, as the rest of us tied one one. The evening included a mechanical bull, alcohol, dancing, more alcohol, and alcohol and alcohol. But not me, cause I know when to say when, (and here's where the vomit comes in)... UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE I KNOW WHO CAN'T HOLD THEIR LIQUOR (hint- I'm not talking about me OR RC).

Here's a photo slide show I put together, which was MUCH FASTER AND EASIER than adding individual photos, and had I thought of this sooner this post would have been up on Monday... D'OH!

On another drunken note, how crazy is it that, by simply flashing his military ID around town, RC got special treatment? He was all like, "Membership has it's privileges" and he wasn't kidding!

AND why did I wake up with like three bruises I don't remember getting? I didn't black out, I stopped at a decent amount of alcohol, still had my wits about me. I can't remember anyone gripping me up... strange... I wonder if it had anything to do with someone's heavy ass legs resting on me like I was part of the goddamn furniture!

Let me say for the record that I thought I knew the meaning of dead weight from having to carry my kids around after they've fallen asleep in the subway or in the car, but DAMN, after having that fool resting his passed out legs over mine like I was made to be his personal foot rest... I'm surprised I don't have permanent indentations in my thighs! He's lucky his job is to preserve my freedom, otherwise, I might've had to smother him with a couch cushion.

See? Best of friends.

Oh, but the best part? Driving around in my new LOVER with Cathi, watching people watch us... cause we were in a fly ass BMW- WOO HOO!!! That's right, RC let her drive THE CAR and I've never been so mad at myself in my life! If I had had my license already that could've been ME behind the wheel!

And of course, Last game of the Subway Series on Sunday? Mets 3, Yankees 1 (go Perez; do your thang, buddy! Viva Mexico!! lol). Then, Ahhhh... smooth sailing all the way back to New York City... all hugged up with my, er, I mean RC's BMW...

*smooches...really, really trying to get down to GA to see that car, er, I mean RC again*
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I might have to rethink my anti-machine stance from now on... damn Germans...

also, new favorite show: Top Gear on BBC. I watched an episode on Sunday and am officially a fan after that one show. hope I can find them online...

And Nothing Is More Powerful Than Beauty In A Wicked World

Dear Makers of Women's Apparel:

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

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

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



won't turn into a peep show:



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

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

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

Sincerely,
The Jaded NYer

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

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Title courtesy of Amos Lee, "Soul Suckers"

The End Is Near

I haven't eaten solid foods because I can't swallow. I was laying under three blankets wearing a sweater over two shirts and my flannel jammies with sweat socks and still my body convulsed as if going through crack withdrawal.

My head is all "foggy" and my body hurts from the tip of my toes to that handful of grey hairs on my head. I just looked in the mirror before (BIG MISTAKE!!) and I look whiter than the whitest white person.

And it just took me thirty minutes to type this because I'm using one weak finger to do it.

I went to that stupid muthaf*cking Bengali "doctor" last night, and all he had to say- before snatching my $20 co-pay from my hand and NOT doing a throat culture- was, "gargle with warm salt water, drink plenty of fluids, take Tylenol for the fever and pain, and if it's not better in three days take this antibiotic."

Really, genius? That's your expert medical advice? Stuff I was ALREADY DOING??

GIMME MY F*CKING $20 BACK YOU F*CKING QUACK!!!!!

*smooches...so mad that I didn't get that Jewish doctor yet*
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I, Raquel Penzo, being of sound mind(?) and body, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament.

To my sister, Mari, I leave all my shoes, even if they are 1/2 a size too big, as I know she wil find good homes for them.

To Jack, I leave all my manuscripts. Finish them as you see fit, and try to get at least ONE story published in The New Yorker.

To Lani, I leave my copy of SCUM Manifesto; every time you read it think of me!

To L, I leave my two Coach bags; I know it's all she wanted.

To my eldest daughter, K, I leave all my other handbags, as well as my Latin American literature and Joshua (my computer).

To my youngest daughter, N, I leave both my manual and electric typewriters, my Calphalon cookware, my scarves, my "Cheers" playing cards and Roscoe (my new cell phone).

Both children are to equally share possession of my extensive DVD and CD collections.

To my mother I leave my beloved couch, Sofia; may you enjoy her soft comfiness for years to come.

To my cousin Minnie I leave Grandma's cast iron pots and my antique desk; take good care of her...she's at least 100 years old and one of her legs is wobbly.

The rest of my estate should be donated to the Salvation Army, and any monies I leave behind should be divided up as such: 80% used to set up trusts for K & N's college educations, and 20% donated equally among the following: Diabetes Research, Brooklyn Tech, Alfred University and Fairleigh Dickinson University.

But, uh, don't worry about a funeral...I've donated my body to science. Just pop open the bottle of Jack Daniel's hidden away in my closet and celebrate the fact that I don't have to go to work tomorrow.

Goodbye, cruel world!!!

A New Addition To The Penzo Family

Meet Roscoe:

My brand new LG Chocolate phone in Black Cherry. Isn't he GORGEOUS??

*smooches...so in love with this "new in two" promotion*
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dear Verizon: you're plans are expensive as all hell, but gosh darn it! I *heart* you...

I'm Gonna Be A Girl For, Like, A Minute

So you all know that every year I go to LA for L's birthday, and every year we try to do it up. This year she is really working it, arranging for the party to take place in a swanky Beverly Hills hotel. And I just know that what I have in my closet will NOT suffice.

Sure, my bargain finds are okay for New York, where your clothes don't really matter so much as how you wear them, but in LA it's all about the labels. It's not what you wear but who you wear.

On that note, I did a quick search of my favorite designer, Ms. Nicole Miller, and came up with these two beauties as a possibility for the LA trip...

This strapless number for $420.00 (will the twins behave in this outfit? Do they ever?):

Or this flow-y number with the great print for $475.00:

And of course, no outfit on the LA party scene will be complete without a pair of Manolos; these will run me about $555.00:

God...I can't even fathom how many music reviews I will need to write to be able to afford this trip! I might just have to see what I can get on eBay or at Century21!!

*smooches...really mad at my bank account*

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