I Used To Have This Uncle...

...Julio Cesar.

He was Papi's nephew, but he and Grandma took him in and raised him as their own, so to me, that was my Tio Julio.

Julio was always in trouble; did lousy in school, repeatedly had his ass whooped like a slave by Papi. One such beating left nasty welts on Julio's back. Us kids cried and cried for him. I don't know what he did to deserve that beating, all I remember is crying, and my mom putting ointment on his back afterwards.

I hardly remember ever really interacting with Julio, but there's a photo of him carrying me as a baby. It's a sweet photo.

He married this girl, Nina, before he enlisted in the Army, this black girl from the neighborhood. She wasn't really welcomed in our home. Even as a kid I could sense the tension between her and Grandma. Not sure what went down between them, because as a kid in a Dominican household, you're not really privy to that kind of information, but they did not get along.

Then he came home after boot camp, in his uniform, looking all official. Still short, but official. He came to get Nina; he was shipping out, but I forget where... Hawaii, maybe? I don't remember. Last time I saw them, hmm, well I remember them at my 9th birthday party- last time all of us were together- and then later, after he and Nina had had a couple of daughters he brought them home to meet us. Beautiful little girls with Hawaiian names. YES, HAWAII! That's where he was.

Later he had a third girl, another Hawaiian name, and a letter postmarked from Oklahoma. A Dominican in Oklahoma. Have you ever heard of such craziness?

Then. Nothing.

No more letters. No pictures of the girls. He stopped writing or coming home. Grandma and Papi moved to New Jersey and then, shortly after, to Los Minas, where Grandma died.

My Titi Gloris tried to find Julio. Let him know what happened to Grandma. I tried to find Julio; wrote to the Army and everything. And nothing.

Got a letter from the Army stating that no such person by that name and SSI number has ever been in the U.S. Army. Excuse me? What?

In my mind I played out two scenarios.

ONE- he managed to pull off the biggest scam on us just to get out of the house and away from us.

Or.

TWO- his death is being covered up.

Conspiracy theories swim through my head like a motherfucker at least once a month.

Why am I writing this? I read an article in the NY Times about the rising death toll in Afghanistan. I recently reconnected with a friend from school who'll be going back out there next year. I also connected with another former classmate who just ended a tour out there. And I ran across this website, iCasualties, and it made me cry. Made me angry. Made me want to scream.

19-year-olds were on this casualty list. 19-year-olds. Some one's son. Daughter. Gone before they could even legally take a drink at the local pub or rent a stupid car from Hertz.

Is this what happened to my uncle? Where can I find his name?

And what about my other uncles, out in DR, in law enforcement, life on the line everyday. And Abuelo with his guards and chaperones and stash of weapons in the house. Or my aunt, prosecuting crazy drug dealers in DR, life on the line every day. Or my cousin in Lawrence, a State Trooper, wounded in the Army, life on the line every day.

"It is well that war is so terrible — lest we should grow too fond of it." - Robert E. Lee

*smooches...feeling a little down and a little helpless in the face of all these wars*
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see THIS is why I shy away from newspapers. now all I can think about is dead 19-year-olds, my uncle M.I.A., and my family in danger.

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...

The Problem With American Children...

...is that they have no real consequences for stuff like this



and this



And don't even get me started on the OTHER 7 year old who drove his grandmother's car to the mall... HUH? WHAT?

I think I will open up a "reform" school where bad-ass kids AND their parents and/or caregivers will be required to live for, say, a month, and learn how to be PARENT and CHILD. After a month I'd work with them on an "outpatient" basis.

Because obviously, somewhere along the line, there was a communication breakdown on what that relationship entails. This includes but is not limited to:

>telling your kids grown folk business- can you just let your kids be kids, and not burden them with tales about how your boss is a dick and how your best friend is having an affair with the mailman? Thanks!

>not being afraid to put your foot down. So what if they say, "I hate you" afterwards. THEY'RE KIDS! They don't know shit. Once you accept that, it's all gravy.

>instilling the proper amount of fear in their hearts. I don't mean have the kid trembling and flinching everytime you pass by; I mean enough fear that when their friends say, "Hey, let's go steal this car right quick" they'll be like, "And have my crazy-ass mother come down on me? You're out your ever-lovin' mind!"

On a side note- my girls better never even have a passing thought about doing anything even remotely similar to what I've seen in these videos...LAWD, the ass-whoopin' that would commence would make Joan Crawford say "Daaaaamn, girl, calm down! They're only kids!!"

Mommie Dearest - Joan Crawford Abuse


shiiiit, I might as well buy my orange jumpsuit now, just in case...

*smooches...giving my kids a preemptive side eye...*
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...and please don't get me started on parents who like to say, "Me and my [daughter/son] are like best friends!" I HATE that shit! YOU ARE PARENT AND CHILD!! NOT FRIENDS!!

get your own damn friends, you fucking losers...

What? oh, the weekend update? yeah, listen, I'm ridin' the crimson wave right now... I hardly have time to deal with photoshop. I'll try again for tomorrow's post!

It's A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

There are too many details flying around in my head from this weekend, so I need to compose myself and get the words right.

In the meantime, here's another page from my journal; something I wrote about two months ago after taking a nice stroll through my hood:

*****

I love Brooklyn.

The diversity, the architecture, the history, the culture and all the kitchy little enclaves you can discover on an impromptu walk.

I've lived in other cool places: Long Island, Riverdale, Jamaica, and even upstate for a bit (I'm choosing to erase any and all memories of my 9-month stint in New Jersey..), but I have to say, even with its limited transportation options and lack of West Indian Food eateries, I really truly like my neighborhood.

Which is not really much of a hood per se- it's more like a quiet suburb tucked away from the mean streets of the Brooklyn many people picture it is in their heads:




















*smooches...willing to live here forever if Park Slope remains out of reach*
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...you probably think this ruins my street cred, but don't be fooled! I'm straight GANGSTA... lol, okay, maybe not...

By The Time You Read This...

...I'll be halfway to Boston.

Can you say, "ROAD TRIP!!!"

Yup, even with the crazy gas prices, we drivin up to New England to hang with the party posse. And of course by "we drivin" I mean somebody else is drivin because, well, no one wants me behind the wheel. Something about me not having a license or knowing how to drive. HMPH! Details, details... I can ride the hell out of a bike, though! LOL

But this is my long, drawn out way of saying that I'm instituting a mandatory 24HR internet silence so that I can party in peace. This means no emails and no Sunday blog post... I know, I know, but you'll be okay, I promise! I have TONS AND TONS of archived posts.

First of all, in honor of my sweet honey-bear's birthday (TODAY!), here's a post I wrote about him last year. Everything I wrote then still applies today. He will always be the love of my life. ALWAYS!

Here's one I wrote about the time I had a mouse in my apartment. And here's another I wrote about Mr. Baseball (and here's the one I wrote about how I finally had to end it with him, despite the fact he was a great kisser and had the best fucking body EVER!). And OOOH, make sure you read this top ten list... I had loads of fun writing it!

Then of course you have to revisit the Perfect Man post; that was a fun one. And the letter I wrote to my reproductive organs, too. Finally, why not take a peek at what started it all- the very first Jaded NYer post?

There, that should keep you good and busy until I stumble back home after causing more damage to my liver. Just consider this post the equivalent of a clip show. You know, the episode of your favorite show they air when they need a filler episode? The one the writers phoned in? Yeah, this is the Clip Show episode of The Jaded NYer...

But just think of the tales I'll have for you on Monday!

*smooches...so happy that it is officially SUMMER*
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you know the best part about living in NYC? Leaving it from time to time, and then coming back with full appreciation of your hometown.

peace n hair grease, y'all... see you Monday!