Jay Nails Popped My Pedi Cherry

I have a weird phobia: anyone touching me below the calves. No one- friend nor foe- is allowed to grab my ankles, massage my feet, touch my toes. To me it's the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard and cause me to convulse involuntarily. I can't control it. I can't explain it. Except to say that as a child, through to my adolescence, I felt my ankles were too thin to support my body and had this irrational fear that they would snap under the pressure. So just accept it as fact. Everyone who knows me knows this to be true and has heard me scream bloody murder if anyone even had an inkling of a thought to touch my feet.

Today, thanks to peer pressure (hi Irene!), I had a...pedicure! For the first time in my life I let some strange Asian woman perform the most cringe-worthy maneuvers on my tootsies and I'm still alive to tell the tale. Had it not been for the fact that I firmly believe in the superstition to appease every whim of a pregnant woman lest you be cursed, I never would have gone through with it.

















So how was it? It was not without it's traumatic moments. Twice she grabbed my ankles and I winced and grimaced so she finally got the message not to do it again. When she was filing the nails on my toes I thought I was going to die. Luckily I still remembered my Lamaze breathing and had Tara Reid's botched plastic surgery story to help distract me. When she pulled out the pumice stone I had the strongest desire to get up and run away barefoot onto Eighth Street, but I composed myself and concentrated on whether or not the Us Weekly readers really thought that Scarlett Johanson was the sexiest woman alive. By the way, 67% agree.

Would I do it again? I suppose it wasn't so bad, but I would not make a weekly ritual of it. Maybe if I'm going to a wedding or on vacation, I'll bite down on a leather strap and get it over with, but other than that I'm happy with giving myself a pedicure, thank you very much.

And this certainly does not mean that my phobia has disappeared. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to grab my ankles, massage my feet OR touch my toes (this means you, Mari). Unless of course you have a death wish...I'm just saying...

*smooches...in a sexy new shade of red*
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to all the people out there tonight
who are comforting themselves
if you should happen to see my light
you can stop and ring my bell

That's When I Knew It Was Over...

I finally put away my laundry, you know, the bunch I washed last week, and found a tshirt that sprouted a memory within a memory...

When I was about 12 years old, maybe a couple of years younger, I fell out of love with my mother. I had just written this story, my first one, and I proudly thrust it under her nose waiting for praises and approval. Her exact words- and what does it say of this event that I actually remember her exact words to me?- "This is what you want to write about? Monsters and devils and death?"

No, "Wow, great command of the English language," or "Keep up the good work," just =BAM= with the criticism. Like it would kill her to say something nice and be in my corner this one time.
Right then and there I knew it was over between us.

When I first met my ex-husband, I was a sheltered kid finally let out of her family's homemade prison and proceeded to behave in a manner in which I knew they would never approve: drinking, smoking, pre-marital sex, and many other illegal things I will not cop to right this minute. One thing led to another and the rabbit died...fast forward to 1999: we got married. The ceremony, if you can call it that, was a simple one at City Hall, done quickly so that he could obtain and keep a position at a Jesuit college. I played my role and he played his, and we even liked each other enough to have a second baby.

Fast forward to 2005: I agree to move to NJ to work at a boarding school with him; he's tired of the Jesuit college and wants something else, something better and thinks the boarding school will be it. I resented being asked to leave NYC for the NJ countryside but again, tow the line, play my role.

A few months into the gig, in which, by the way, he is my BOSS, I get a visit from the head of school...let's call her David Koresh. So Koresh comes to talk to me about my "job" in this creepy tone and finally I get why she's really there: my ex COMPLAINED to her about having to supervise me. Actually told her I was UNDERMINDING HIS AUTHORITY at the dorm parent meetings, and just plain being difficult.

She sent us to a "counselor," the type that are supposed to help resolve work-place drama, except that this was no ordinary work-place drama. This drama had made its way into my bedroom. I was SUPER STANK about the whole deal. I hate doctors; with every inch of my being I DESPISE them. And shrinks are the WORST!! And he got us sent to one.

Needless to say, I was uncooperative during the entire meeting. At one point the counselor looked me in the eye and said, "Do you realize you're coming off as cold and uncaring right now?" Right to my face like I wasn't from NYC and wouldn't get one of my deadbeat cousins to pop a cap in her ass. Some fucking nerve! I looked over at my ex and he just looked down at the floor. Said nothing to defend me or us.

That's when I knew it was over. That is the exact moment I knew I could never love this man because, frankly, for all his good intentions, he did not love me enough to tell this doctor to go fuck herself. He just tucked in his dick and let her shit all over me like I was the wicked witch of the west or something. It was just like he criticized my very first and oh-so-important story. Him joining my mom in the opposite corner from me.

That's when he lost all my respect.

I remember thinking back to the moment I told him I was pregnant, and how he so gallantly said he would take care of us, and how I wished he had been an ass and ditched me instead. Then I wouldn't have had to sit there and let that trick ass bitch call me names.

But, perspective folks. If none of this had ever happened to me, I wouldn't be the proud owner of this t-shirt:

It's the little things that bring me joy. Always the little things.

*smooches...the warm and caring kind*
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i know men are delicate
origami creatures
who need women to unfold them
hold them when they cry
but i am tired of being your savior
and i am tired of telling you why

The Grand Unveiling...

By now maybe some of you are wondering what Hoover and The Toothless Wonder look like...well wonder no more! I figured- you've all been good, loyal readers- why not? But then I though- no, that would be awfully mean to post their pictures up on my blog like that...

So instead I hired a very talented and world-renowned artist to draw up some renditions using the photographs I had...

Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado:

Hoover

and The Toothless Wonder

* thanks to Jack for the awesome drawings...I almost peed my pants...

*smooches...with a sharpie, printer paper, scanner and photoshop*

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i knew you would always want more

i knew you would never be done

'cuz everyone is a fucking napoleon

yeah everyone is a fucking napoleon

Does Abuelo Know About This?

My mom's dad has a deep-seeded hatred for the United States. Being former military police I can understand why, but still, it's kind of funny. We finally managed to get him on US soil in '98 for my Aunt Rossi's wedding- it was a grand occasion, but he looked salty the whole time.

Now, while I don't read US news because, well, it's stupid, I do subscribe to the newswire service from DR- don't ask, just accept it, okay? I saw this little piece and it made me wonder if Abuelo was outside plotting to pounce Condi within an inch of her American life. The visual made me laugh out loud.

Leonel and Condoleezza

During a meeting with US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice yesterday, President Leonel Fernandez said that the United States has decided to aid the Dominican Republic by providing the country with radar equipment and other tools, to be placed on the border with Haiti, aimed at fighting drug, arms and human trafficking. Listin Diario reports that the meeting between the two lasted for about 45 minutes and the Dominican Republic's possible candidacy for the UN Security Council was discussed. The President said that he would consider the Venezuelan government's suggestion that the Dominican Republic could be put forward a candidate for a seat on the United Nation's Security Council, commenting that the United States would not oppose this move. However, the US is likely to continue supporting Guatemala because it could still win the vote, according to State Department spokesman Sean McCormack, as reported by Clave Digital. Fernandez explained that Washington could not publicly support the DR because neither of the two original aspirants had withdrawn from the race. The winner of the seat on the UNSC will represent the region at the United Nations, but some suggest that the benefits of the position go beyond this. A country may use the UN Security Council to settle disputes in their favor. For example Guatemala has an ongoing border dispute with Belize, as has Venezuela with neighboring Guyana. Some believe that both nations could use their position on the Council to find favorable resolutions to their problem. Also, according to a report by JT Nguyen, writing for the Global Policy Forum, the benefits for a developing nation can be financial. Nguyen writes that a "developing country serving on the council expects to receive during its tenure an additional 16 million dollars from the US in foreign aid and 1 million dollars from the UN. The aid may increase in time of crises: 45 million dollars from the US and 8 million dollars from the UN." Nguyen cites a Harvard study when he writes that member countries are "willing to trade their vote for favors: they promote another country's interests in the Security Council in exchange for development aid from a UN agency over which the other country has influence." This has been the tensest volley for the seat since the 1979 contest between Cuba and Colombia, which ran for three months and a total of 155 polls. Mexico was chosen as the compromise candidate. Guyana, Cuba, Jamaica, and Trinidad and Tobago are the only Caribbean nations to sit on the UN Security Council.



First, can't DR and Haiti just freakin' get along already? How long will this feud go on? Both countries are poor and are considered the scum of the earth by The Man, so who cares if one has half a square inch of more land or who brings drugs where? Just get over yourselves. You share such a teeny tiny island. Kiss and make up, dammit!


Second, Venezuela and Guyana have border disputes? Why? Those countries are such nothing places, I mean who cares? Sure, Venezuela produces some kick ass novelas and yummy arepas, and Guyana...hmmm I know nothing about that place. What do they produce (besides assholes who break up with you for no reason...oops, did I say that out loud?)?

Another thing I found funny...buying votes for the UN Security Council? But the UN is such a joke! And excuse me- why is the US handing out greenbacks like we have it to spare? Has anybody cruised down the streets of Brownsville lately? We're poor and developing right here, baby. Keep some of that money HERE!!!

OMG- did I just sound like a Republican? Quick- someone ask me how I feel about gays in the military. Or the diminishing ozone layer. Or gun control! Hurry! Help me redeem myself!!

*smooches...from the left, I promise!!!*
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i am losing my love of adventure

i'm losing all respect

for me and myself tonight

i wonder what happens if i get to

the end of this tunnel

and there isn't a light

There's Nothing to Fear...

...except a group of teenagers gathered at the far end of the subway platform. Nothing good can come of that. They are not over there planning Suzie Q's surprise party or studying for their English quiz, they are plotting their next robbing and pillaging escapades, and maybe even getting a couple of girls pregnant. All before they go work the late shift at Burger King- if they even HAVE a job.

Do I sound harsh? So what- I speak truth and you know it. It was truth before I was born. It was truth when I was 15. And it will always be truth.

If I'm alone on a deserted block and a dodgy looking guy is walking towards me, I'm safe in the knowledge that I've been trained to take him down (except if he has a gun of course) and can defend my own honor. But if I'm alone on that same block and a group of four or more teenage boys are walking towards me, regardless of race, I hold tight to my purse and get ready to blow my rape whistle and pull out my boxcutter and turn to take a different route.

And if there's a girl in the group? Even worse. Bitches are vicious and I'd hate to get in the mix with them as they try to prove they're worthy enough to hang with the big boys. It's a sad fact that some of the kids in my neighborhood think they are East LA cholos from Echo Park. Honey, you're not- you're from Sunset Park...not as tough, so get over it. That doesn't make them less vicious, just pathetic.

That gang mentality, though, whether you are in Compton or Bay Ridge, don't underestimate it man! That gang mentality will slit your throat, shave you bald, slap you with your own wallet as it's emptied of its contents, and leave you clinging to life in an alley on Myrtle Avenue. It's a force to be reckoned with, a side effect of a classist society, a by-product of too many people on this teeny-tiny island.

And, as a mother of two young girls, just one of the things that keeps me up at night.

*smooches*

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everybody's in a hurry

here in purgatory

except for me

i'm where i need to be

at the arrivals gate