Calling All Native Brooklynites!

I'm over here making moves, son. Either get on board or get the fuck out of the way. I'd rather you get on board, though.

Spread the word, mmkay?

*smooches...prepping myself for a busy winter*
----------
can't stop, won't stop

I Fill This Void

with food.

So much food that it rises up into my esophagus
Teetering at the back of my throat
Threatening to spill out of my mouth

I fill that void
with sex.

Anonymous, no strings, fake names sex
Leaving in the dawn in a cab sex
Never call me again ever sex

I fill this void
with whiskey.

Shots lined up at the bar like chorus girls
Kicking their way down
Jazz hands scratching at my liver

I fill that void
with danger.

3AM alone on the platform
Taunting with my indifference, my apathy
Daring someone to come at me

I fill this void

with you.

*smooches...digging in the crates for Thursday*
----------
this bad poem totally describes my 30s. totally!

My Favorite "Meet Cute"

I won't say what online dating site we met on because that's a part of my life I'd rather not relive, but we "met" on an online dating site. We were supposed to meet for coffee on a cold January afternoon and I chickened out. Chats and emails followed, maybe some texts, too, but we wouldn't lock eyes for the first time until Cinco de mayo, the night I also happen to be reuniting with Lani after not seeing her in forever.

We were at Puck Fair: me, Lani and Lani's then-boyfriend, Matt. We fell back into our friendship as if nothing had changed, except now we were legally allowed to drink alcohol out in public together. I'd started the night by getting drunk with Irene at Gonzalez y Gonzalez, so by the time I'd met up with Lani, it was a wrap. "D" and I had agreed to meet for a drink; I told him to come to Puck Fair (in case he turned out to be a CRAZY Lani would know what to tell the cops).

Standing by the bar, contemplating some Buffalo wings, light buzz in my head, laughing and talking with Lani and Matt, I feel an arm rest itself around my waist. I was nervous; this was all new. I was happy to be free of my marriage shackles but I'd been out of the game for nearly 13 years. What the fuck did I know about dating?

I turned to face him and looked into the same soft, brown eyes from the picture he'd sent. He smiled at me and his eyes said "thank god you look like your picture, too." I felt relief, relaxed, attraction. The rest of the night is a blur. I think we all hung out for a bit more before parting ways. He'd driven to Puck Fair (Say what, now? Who drives in Manhattan? People from Queens, that's who!) and offered me a ride home. The rest is history, or rather, none of your business.

We didn't survive the summer. The point is the Meet Cute; the butterflies, turning slowly to face him, his soft brown eyes, and a shared smile. I haven't had a story like that in forever. Since D.

Guess I'll just have to write one.

*smooches...inspired by a writing prompt and an awesome Spotify playlist*
----------
the best part of being a writer is writing your own happy ending, regardless of the crappy reality before you. imagination is everything.

Throwback Thursday, 4.10.14

So there's this thing that Instagram users have been doing for a while now called Throwback Thursday, where you post a pic of yourself from back in the day. Well, I don't have an Instagram account, but I love to share old pics and reminisce about the old days (while sitting in a rocker sipping some ginger tea). We're gonna give this thing a try over here in Jaded-Town, okay?

Here's a photo of Little Mari and my cousins Vanessa and Jorge Luis. If you squint your eyes and look in the back, there's me (in the big ass pink socks) and Nina, sittin' all fancy like we own the park.

Acostas in full chill mode.

I can only imagine this was taken shortly after I first met Nina; I think I was 14 or 15. Socks and watches were my thing--don't ask me why because I couldn't tell you. My mom sent me to Lawrence, Massachusetts to, I suspect, get me away from a certain boy I was low-key dating. It was supposed to be a punishment but SURPRISE, I made a BEST FRIEND FOR LIFE in Nina, and her mom is one of my favorite aunties.

Also, please look deep into Lil Mari's face. You just KNOW she was up to NO GOOD that day!

*smooches...in love with memory lane*
----------
can I live here forever?

"Fool For You" Dance Break

Even though I'm on a self-imposed man break, I miss the days when I was crushing on someone. Those honeymoon days, before you or s/he ruins the relationship, are so magical, you really do feel like you're floating on a cloud. Like nothing can touch you and your honey-bunny. Like there's nothing in the world you wouldn't do for them. Kind of how I feel for Netflix.

"Any mistake you make I, I just might forgive..."



Get into it!

*smooches...grooving deep in my seat*
-----------
last time I saw Ms. Smith live she blew my mind; can't wait to go back!

I Swear I Wrote This BEFORE I Saw "The Matrix"

Cover art where my baby dwells

As my part of my now-defunct thesis (let's just call a spade a spade- I don't give two shits about finishing that shit), I wrote a short-short, "On a Blue Day," about a girl and her penchant for uppers and downers who moves back home to attend a funeral. It was just a small experimental piece that was part of an assignment I had at FDU where I had to mimic the writing style of an author I can't remember right now.

But the gist of the assignment was repetition. There had to be an element of the story that kept repeating every few lines, if not every line. So there's a lot of mention of the red uppers and blue downers throughout the barely-two-thousand-word story.

On a deeper level, this story touches upon this girl's continuous habit of self-medication, which at the time was reflecting my own way of handling a crisis- that crisis, of course, being my grandmother's death, which was still painfully fresh in my mind in 2005.

Well this poor baby had been rejected from many a flash fiction contest. I would read it over and over and think What aren't people getting? This is a good fucking story! But alas, editors from here to LA didn't feel the same, until I met a young woman named Hannah Clayman who ran a zine for women in Brooklyn, You Should Be Here. She encouraged me to submit something and, with a few hours left until deadline, I sent off the story. I think she wrote me back the next day to say they "loved(!)" my story, and I was all FINALLY! SOMEONE GETS IT!

So now I can finally add another credit to my name: I've self-published a book on writing, I've been interviewed for a prominent Dominican news source online, and I've published two short stories--one online and one in print.

I say that deserves some fucking Shake Shack and Haagen Dazs this weekend!

*smooches...trying not to rest on my laurels*
-----------
there's still so much I need to do, but I'm enjoying this journey so far.

Thirteen Years Of This Bundle Of Energy

I decided to have a second baby for two reasons. One, I was unhappy and thought another cuddly baby would solve all my problems; and two, I firmly believed (and still do) that every child needs a sibling. My first experience as a mom was a breeze-K was such an easy baby-that I just knew the sequel would be just as fun. Enter N.

A sister or brother is seriously a friend for life

She's always been a rough-and-tumbly kind of baby, climbing up on kitchen counters, eating sugar and baby powder when unattended, hanging precariously from monkey bars and speaking out of turn. Just a pure thug. I learned early on not to let that little face fool me.

There was one instance while we were potty training her, where she pooped on the floor and then kept it moving like it wasn't her. Seconds later K stepped in it because HELLO, who expects to find poop in the middle of the floor inside the house? Oh my, did that little thug laugh her ass off...she gave no fucks about poor K's poopie foot. She'd done her business and was moving on with her day.

And that's pretty much how she's YOLO'd her entire existence on this earth. It's been 13 years of What Will N Do/Say Next?

Giving no fucks at her Guela's birthday party

Giving no fucks about chicken pox

Giving no fucks about website photo shoots

Giving no fucks about not knowing how to swim yet

UV Rays? She gives no fucks

And I've enjoyed every minute of it.

Now she's this huge, almost-young-woman who plays sports and builds things out of nothing but pure imagination and scraps of whatever she can find, who has opinions and knowledge of stuff and grown-folk underwear, and I'm all HUH?! Where's my squooshy baby?!

Giving no fucks about empty calories, either

Still, I regret it not.

HAPPY (Belated) BIRTHDAY, 

SCHMOO-PIE!

*smooches...just for N on her birthday*
-----------
let's see if I still feel this way next year...

Staying In The 90s

I think it was comedian Jerry Seinfeld who joked about older people and their way of dressing, stating that it appears his parents selected a decade and just decided that's where they'd stay. I laughed so hard at that joke and today realized: it's true. Why? Because I'm living it. I've decided that most of what has happened after the 1990s--whether it be music or fashion--is all well and good but for the most part, it's not for me.

Given a choice, I'll always prefer baggier cuts of pants (oh how I miss my Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls!) and flannel shirts and Doc Martens. I mean, you already know I STILL own and frequently wear Docs. And today's music... I could take it or leave it.

Or maybe it's that the 90s represent the funnest, most carefree times of my life, before kids, debt, physical ailments and these extra 30lbs (she wrote while eating cheddar-flavored Sun Chips).

I still long for my dark, matte lipstick, chokers, bangs, baby doll dresses...basically Brenda Walsh's entire wardrobe from the first two seasons of Beverly Hills, 90210.

Can I get all of these in a size 12? Thanks!

Can we go back there??

*smooches...reminiscing about better days*
-----------
look at that, my calendar says this post is right on time! now let me go buy some feminine napkins...

Lianne & I Had A Date On Saturday In The Park

And it was everything I imagined it would be and more. She's amazing.



On July 13, I was on a bus headed home from taking K to orientation at college, and I kept Lianne in my ear on repeat. Just let her soothe me after a nice weekend of family time and introducing my child to her future. Then I received a bunch of texts about that damned verdict and my chill turned to sorrow.



I hate that Lianne is associated with that terrible day. But seeing her live...I can only imagine this is what communion is like for the faithful. She's not that verdict, after all. We shared a moment, and in that moment I was truly happy.



This concert reminded me why I write, why I create art. It takes people away from the misery and the bullshit, and instead shows them the beauty and the possibilities.



How was your weekend?

*smooches...still in a groove*
-----------
no one has moved me this much in a while

You Get What You Need

My babycakes turns 18 tomorrow. That little bit that barely fit over my torso is now a full-grown, able to vote, adult. WOW.

Look at those cheeks!

We started her coonery lessons early.

I didn't crop this pic on purpose; K w/her Celia. They were BFFs!

Where the panda obsession began.

K the baby model. (c) 1995 Celia M.

I want to tell her that the world is hers for the taking, that nothing can stop her, and whatever she wants in life she can manifest, but this past week has made me doubt this advice is true. At the very least, I speak into the Universe that my baby get what she needs.



This advice is as much for me as it is for her. To say I was at the precipice of a downward spiral in college is an understatement. Having a kid, for real, straightened me out (a little bit). Having to be a role model and caregiver and nurturer and nurse and educator and guardian and nutritionist and enforcer got us both through these 18 years with minimal scars: only one of us had to go to therapy! (Hint: it wasn't me.)

During her college orientation. COLLEGE!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE. 

YOU'RE MOMMA'S SPECIAL PRINCESS. 

NEVER FORGET IT.

Partners in crime for life!

And a special shout out to everyone who helped me raise her. You guys rock my socks!

*smooches...just for my boog-schmoog*
----------
how adorable was/is my baby???

10.01.97

behind my lids
images of dancing tree limbs
and tumbling leaves
flow through like silent films of
Autumn

i watch, serenely, smelling
the breeze, feeling the scents
on my cheeks, waiting for the intermission
trying to remember
where the concessions were being sold

*smooches...just trying to make it through the week*
----------
I figured you wouldn't rightly care if I posted a fall message in the middle of a heatwave

Lyrics to Love: Native New Yorker By Odyssey

Runnin' pretty, New York City girl
Twenty-five, thirty-five
Hello, baby, New York City girl

You grew up ridin' the subways, running with people
Up in Harlem, down on Broadway
You're no tramp, but you're no lady, talkin' that street talk
You're the heart and soul of New York City

And love, love is just a passing word
It's the thought that you had in a taxi cab that got left on the curb
When he dropped you off at east 83rd

Oh, oh, oh [Oh, oh, oh]
You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now [You should know by now]
You're a native New Yorker

New York girl, ooh, ooh, ooh

Music plays, everyone's dancin' closer and closer
Makin' friends and findin' lovers
There you are lost in the shadows, searchin' for someone [Searchin' for
someone]
To set you free from New York City

And, whoa, where did all those yesterdays go
When you still believed love could really be like a Broadway show
You were the star, when did it close?

Oh, oh, oh [Oh, oh, oh]
You're a native New Yorker
No one opens the door
For a native New Yorker

[Runnin' pretty, New York City girl]
Ooh...ooh...ooh...
Native, native, native New Yorker

Where did all those yesterdays go
When you still believed love could really be like a Broadway show
You are the star

You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker

You should know the score, you should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker, oh, oh, oh
[Native, native, native new Yorker]
You're a native New Yorker

Whoa, oh, ho, ho, you're a native New Yorker
You should know the score
[Native, native, native new Yorker]
You're a native New Yorker

What you waitin' for, no one opens the door
[You're a native New Yorker]
For a native, for a native New Yorker



***************

What else can I say? It's my theme song. I'm the native New Yorker being dropped off on East 83rd, talking street talk, makin' friends and findin' lovers. Every time I hear that song I'm transported to my grandmother's apartment on Patchen Avenue, me and Minerva listening to LP's, singing along like our lives depended on it. See we weren't allowed to play outside, and whenever there was nothing good on TV, we would throw on the records and let our imaginations take over. I still do it today.

It's the only way I know how to write.

*smooches...turning the speakers way up*
-----------
tell me this ain't the jam and I'll call you a DAMN liar.

Jaded Photographs: June 2013 Edition

"The Life"

Man that was such a great day!

This is where I want to be, forever and always, uninterrupted. How can I make this happen?

*smooches...on my way to chocolate*
-----------
I was feeling a bit defeated because I got a sunburn, but I'm better now.

Tales From The Motherland, Part 3

Climbing up the mountain
to see Las Caritas

I went back to Santo Domingo again in March for another mini family vacation, and it was AMAZING. Last year our trip was so short and under the cloud of a death in the family, and while it was nice it was also very lacking. This time around we had a few extra days to lollygag all over the island, so we asked my Tia Iris to take us to La Descubierta. And let me tell you, it was the best decision ever made EVER.

Part of me doesn't want to tell you about this place so as to keep it safe from your touristy feet. I mean, look at what you've done to Brooklyn! However, I will tell you a few things to at least give you a taste of what an amazing time we had, and also why I've decided to retire out there instead of here in the States.

At one of the many
local swimming holes

First of all, the town is about five blocks long and quaint as fuck. No Starbucks, McDonald's, Saks Off Fifth--none of that bougie bullshit America supposedly cannot live without. You can't really get a huge variety of foods--that whole "avocados don't grow here anymore" nonsense had me ready to leave--but what you do get is still delicious. There is dancing in the streets. Clothing...what is clothing? There are more chocolatey people than vanillas. The swimming holes have some of the coldest, crispest mountain water flowing through them. Kids are kids. And even when the power goes out for days, you find yourself more comfortable and at peace with life than you've ever been.

After a while, you get used to
the cold water.

There's a beautiful lake. Iguanas that walk up to you and say "que lo que!" Remnants of our Taino ancestors. Mountains; GLORIOUS mountains. And more family than I know what to do with. Haiti, just 25 minutes away by car. Sexy baseball players a few towns over (more on that later!). FAMILY HISTORY.

The girls and I had a lot of fun. I feel so lucky to have been born into the family I have, and to have roots in that island. I read three books and wrote the beginnings of five stories while I was there. What better place is there for me?

*smooches...itching to go back*
----------
only thing I don't miss? monster-sized roaches!

Before Latinos Had Reggaeton...

...they ruled the airwaves with freestyle/house music.

Man do I remember those days! Here in NYC I think you can still relive the 90s house & freestyle era on WKTU (if the station's format hasn't changed. I don't listen to radio anymore. Commercials make me break out in hives!).

Need your memory jogged? Here are some of my favorites:

Geroge Lamond - "Where Does That Leave Love"


TKA - "Louder Than Love"


Corina - "Give Me Back My Heart"


2 in a Room - "Wiggle It"


Sweet Sensation - "Sincerely Yours"


Cover Girls - "My Heart Skips a Beat"


Do you have any near and dear to your heart?

*smooches...kickin' it old school today*
----------
did you peep this fashion, though? craziness!

Spring Poem

It's blinding me...

a warmth in my room woke me to the
delicious fear of a bright yellow
something, something so radiantly loud
that my face sought refuge from the glare

silently, peeking through my fingers,
i saw the drapes were open,
leaving me bare...exposed...weak
desperately shielding my eyes

helpless, I tossed my pillow
at that blasted window, scaring
away the chipper singers who had
begun to compete with the alarm clock

and like an angered Zeus who’d
lost his thunder, I sprung out of bed
still dizzy from sleep,
frantically wondering:

What happened to the snow?

*smooches...observing the swiftness of time passing by*
---------
I swear just yesterday it was Christmas!

Jaded Photographs: March 2013 Edition

"Pancake Weekends"

Sometimes I look at pictures of Fat Raquel and think HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF?! But then I take a moment and remind myself that Fat Raquel is losing the battle for my life; Healthy Jaded is winning for sure. It's a crazy-tough battle, but Fat Raquel honestly doesn't stand a chance!

*smooches...opting to always be everything Fat Raquel was not*
---------
I did used to make some kick-ass pancakes, though...

Patchen Avenue Memories

Cooking "Dominican" food always reminds me of my grandmother. Almost everything I learned in the kitchen I learned from watching her. My mom taught me lots, of course, but mostly my skills can be traced back to hovering over grandma in the kitchen because I was STARVING and yelling "When is dinner going to be ready!" over her shoulder.

(Please note that I got home from school by 3PM and dinner was always ready by 4:30, and I always had some cookies or a PB&J sandwich with milk after school. So I was just being greedy!)

Yesterday the homie Tiffany opened up her kitchen so that I could commemorate the Oscars and the last week of New York's Dominican Heritage Month with some traditional-esque cuisine.

Please trust that Grandma used dry beans, not canned stuff.
She was an OG that way.
(c) 2013 Tiffany via Instagram lol

As she and the others asked me questions about my process, it dawned on me that a lot of it is stuff Grandma used to do (a salt wash for the tostones and sealing the rice pot w/aluminum foil) and Mami taught me to do (stab the raw meat so the seasonings seep INTO the meat and not just onto the skin), and then the kitchen smelled like cooking oil and VOILA- I was a kid again pestering Grandma about the ETA of my dang grub!

This also brings up other memories of growing up in that huge railroad apartment in the heart of Bedford-Stuyvesant Brooklyn, especially after sharing a lot of those details this weekend during my little talk at Church of Monika, like:

> Riding bikes indoors because we couldn't go outside
> Hosting a variety show in the living room (with an invisible audience, of course)
> Giving nicknames to the regulars who passed by our window (Flower Boy, Portia [Porcupine], Rainbow Brite)
> Watching The Exorcist in the living room under a blanket after Titi Gloris got us cable
> Hand-washing my clothes in the bathroom sink, regardless of them going into the washer or not

It was a pretty good life, I must say, and I have amazing memories to last me a lifetime. I hope my kids will feel the same when I'm gone.

*smooches...very aware of everything all of a sudden*
---------
and so looking forward to going "home" next month

What Will Keep Me Happy This Week

On Friday I learned that my social security number had been compromised, my road-trip plans with Irene were thwarted by vandals and that I didn't get a prestigious grant for which I had applied. And then two literary journals declined my stories over the weekend.

Let me tell you- this weekend had all the makings of a Bad Decision Smorgasbord: booty-calling an ex or two, eating some McDonald's (which I haven't done in years!) and canceling my writing life altogether. Good thing my girls were home this weekend, because instead I went food shopping, finally picked out a dress for Cathi's impending nuptials and other random chore-like things.

It was a struggle to stay positive (especially because I had to leave the house with a naked face on Sunday to get the perfect shade of foundation at Sephora, and I try to never leave the house with a naked face anymore) but I must say, an unexpected thing kept me in high spirits: when my long-time friends call me Rocky.

Not to dismiss the people I've met since 2006 when I moved into my own place, but when someone I knew in high school or college touches base with me and calls me Rocky, I'm transported back to the time when I was that girl, the one I'm just getting back to. For a while there I was Raquel or Ms. Penzo and I hated it. It was too formal and grown up and I'm too playful for all that. I was Rocky from third grade on and then all of a sudden, that girl disappeared. It was sad.

Today, I see signs of that girl again. She looks older and more tired than I recall, but she wasn't getting much sleep back then so I'm not surprised. Still, I see her. And it feels amazing!

That's enough to put a smile on my face well into Saturday.

*smooches...plotting to freeze your underwear when you fall asleep*
------------
don't ask why; I just felt like it

Just Say No To Drugs, Kids!

Remember the good old days of preachy sitcoms? When your favorite heartthrob had serious First World Problems that could be solved in 30 minutes or less? I especially appreciated the shows that were popular during Nancy Reagan's JUST SAY NO era, and how they made it seem like such a walk in the park to stay away or recover from drugs and its perils.

Alex's freak out on "Family Ties"


And Jessie's freak out on "Saved By The Bell"


Clearly neither of these shows took place in Bed-Stuy during crack-cocaine's heyday. But whatever.

I'll tell you what, though- I never did speed because accelerated heart rates freak me the hell out. And because of Alex and Jessie making complete asses of themselves. Thanks to these shows, no amount of peer pressure could get me to change my mind!

Now, if they'd only made one to talk about the detriments of whiskey and acid and pot...

What were some of your anti-drug episodes from old (or new) sitcoms? (I don't new shows have these anymore, seeing as drug use is so acceptable these days!)

*smooches...drug free since, um, well never-you-mind*
---------
I love when shows are able to stand the test of time.