Month: July 2009

Sirenita Rabiosa

Dim Sum… Naw. Pho… Ok get out of Asia Lucie you’ve been there all week. I could just go down to that deli and get a sandwich. Or a hot dog? Enh, I don’t feel like putting up with hipsters right now. I wonder if Young is hungry yet, of course he is what am I saying. Ooh Tennessee Senator resigns over affair? Focus Lucie, focus… Lets see, what about Indian! Yeah… Oh no wait I’m supposed to go to Dosa with the girls tonight. Did anyone leave anything good in the break room? Maybe I should just take a peek…

…and so she went on like everyday around lunch, meandering through her internal dialogue never knowing that if she just got close enough to that plant, she too would fall victim to the blood lust of a rabid, little, green mermaid from Tijuana hellbent on reeking havoc on the streets of San Francisco.

Green Mermaid

The Dawning of the Age of I Don’t Know What…


Its always been a little fantasy of mine (I have many) to be a part of some grossly incestuous artists’ commune where everyone paints all over each other’s naked bodies and smokes each other’s weed. But I’m a little to self-conscious for that and plus that shit’s expensive. But everybody’s an artist in their own little way no?… at least that’s how I see the people in my life. And even if you don’t agree, I’d like to share with you some of their art… or whatever you want to call it. For the purposes of this particular post, here’s a list of blogs, websites and what nots that represent the work of people in my life that I know or have known in real life, whatever that is anymore… sorry virtual buddies, I’ll catch you on the next blog. And in no particular order…

I met Lissa in third period Spanish class on my first day of high school and I shit you not I went home to my mommy and told her I’d made a new friend. We didn’t really talk after that until years later when I started dating one of her best friends, and we had the opportunity to get to know each other all over again. Or for the first time. Today I’d say I consider her family, and that friend of hers… Let’s just say he’s he’s folding laundry in the living room as I write this.

Oh by the way Lissa and her amiga Milana have joint blog that I’ve been frequenting. Check it out.

When I studied abroad in Madrid, I lived with a whole cast of crazy characters. One of the sanest happened to be Andrea, but that’s not saying much. No, she’s as lovesick and crazy as I’ve always been. And though we connected over tapas and cañas in Spain, I think we can both agree that we really got to know each other over beer and burgers when she came and visited me here in Phoenix.

I was able to squeeze David (pronounced The Veed) onto this list because I really did meet him once or twice many years ago through my ex boyfriend Rudy. We only ever communicate these days the way many of us do, via anything not face to face, but this fool is funny and his art is pretty cool too.

Speaking of peeps I wanted to squeeze on this list, Uyen is a girl I only hung out with a few times in San Francisco. But we seemed to get each other’s jokes (which is important) and I stumbled on to this funny ass joint blog of hers a little while ago, so I wanted to throw it in. I met her through my multi-talented friend Puto, whose real name is Young, but I call him Puto because that’s what he is.

(If you are my boyfriend just skip the next paragraph)

On the boy front there’s Mark, an artist I met on the MUNI in San Francisco. If you have a pet toy from Old Navy chances are he designed it. Probably one of the only boys from my past that I do not talk to any more is Julian, but I did discover his blog once on a google search of my own name and probably against my better judgement, thought it was appropriate to put on this list. Dario is a boy I fucked once and never heard from again.

(Ok you can start reading again babe.)

If you like beautiful photography check out Joshua’s photo blog. He is a free lance photographer, and I don’t know how he whittles down all the great shots he get’s for this one blog. Looking for a tiny aquarium? Check out Chris’s web site. He’s an all around good guy who I’m happy to call a friend. Simon has like totally been one of my BFFs since the day we met at City College of San Francisco when we tutored other students on how to graduate faster than us. We fully plan on starting a joint blog, but I don’t think we are ready for that much fame yet.

If you don’t know by now I work for a lovely little restaurant called Lola Tapas that I happen to be ever loyal to (stalkers if you come in please be ready to have a glass of sangria and a good time). This great little hub is owned by my friend and boss Felicia and her blog leaves you privy to just some of the behind the scenes action, but we could probably fill blogs, books and movie scripts with the delicious chisme that never comes in small portions here. Just ask the head Chef Eric or Air-reek the Latinized pronunciation we’ve thrust upon him.

Anna is another Lola girl from way back, and someone who happens to appreciate the comedic value of unicorns. So is Kira, a girl whose Cher impression is as funny as her use of Spanish false cognates. Escuchameeee!! Then there’s Charice, she runs a very important non-profit, and has some how mastered the art of balancing hipness with Do-Dooderdome. And new to the Lola team is Vida, she’s an Art teacher who’s quote of the century was uttered only nights ago when she was explaining to her downstairs neighbor that the drums sounding from her housewarming party were ok because “we’re Latin, we mean well.”

Well that’s the short list. And I have to say I hope it grows. For those of you who’s stuff I didn’t post, hit me up. Show me what you’ve got. Let’s put some flower’s in our hair and bust out the body paint.

Little Glowy Things

Did I ever tell you about the time I got my ass kicked in Puerto Escondido? Yeah, it was the summer of 2006 and I was studying abroad, something I wish I could do for the rest of my life. We had a three day weekend, that is the students at El Instituto Cultural de Oaxaca, so a group of friends and I, self dubbed “La Cliqua,” decided to go in on a rental van together and embark on an eight hour journey across a treacherous but beautiful mountain terrain. Those mountains are a story in themselves but I’ll skip ahead to the me getting my ass kicked part of this tale.

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It was our second night there, and we’d already had a good amount of partying under our belts, as any students serious about immersing themselves in another culture should. To be honest though the scene we’d found ourselves in by 2am, a bunch of drunk gringos slobbering all over each other, had ceased to tickle my fancy. This Pocho was never one for MTV’s Spring Break and where were all my hip gay boys at anyway? So when buzz spread of an after hours beach party… I was there.

Complete with drum circles, pot smoking and much better musica than the strip had to offer, I’d found my second wind and proceeded to party. La cliqua was minus uno that night, with Megan at the hostel, nursing her self-inflicted beer bottle wounds from the night before; hey even the craziest of party girls (and believe me she’s one of them) need some down time. Demonio was hopped-up on coke (allegedly) and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Mary was being true to her name, but I don’t remember where. Katia was immersed in intellectual conversation with Duglas, the bartender we’d met the night before. And Mely and I, we were getting our feet wet with a couple Australian boys on the beach, just tripping out on these crazy little critters that glowed in the light of either the moon or the stars… I don’t remember which. It was my kind of party, but by about 5:30am Mely and I decided that the comfort of our hostel was a little more appealing.

No one else wanted in on a cab, and there weren’t any outside the party anyways. So Mely and I thought, hey lets walk down this dark ass road to that far, far away street light that promised no more cabs than the spot we were in. Brilliant. And wouldn’t you know it, we stumbled onto a group of about five or six guys from the party. No biggy. Oh except for the fact that Mely, a relatively conservative girl was wearing a short, white skirt per my provocation and I quote “You’re on vacation, slut it up.”

At first the guys were nice enough. Drunk enough, as we were, to want to keep the fun going right there in that half way point between the party and the street light. But lets just say they didn’t want to have fun with me. Mely claimed she was my girlfriend but I don’t think I was all that convincing, so what was left of our better judgement told us to go back to the party and wait for a cab there. Mely, a petite woman who looked like a petite girl, stuck close to me and I stuck close to… well Mely. And the guys, they stuck close to Mely too, all the while, laughing and joking and asking if they could see up her skirt and shit. I was getting nervous but the party wasn’t that far away, so I told them to leave her alone, cause they weren’t listening to her. Finally they cut their losses and just went in for the grab up her skirt like it was a cheap 70’s Mexican flick and she screamed. “Ey! Déjela en paz” I eh hem demanded, and this time one of them put his hand on the back of my neck calling me “Amigo” and I promptly removed it.

He broke. We weren’t amigos anymore.

Right there on that dark, dirt road I saw the machismo I am all to familiar with solidify on his face and he went in for a drunken punch. I ducked it but before flight or fight could even kick in the rest of ’em were on me like skiny dogs to a chicken bone. I remember covering my face, out of instinct and vanity. With dust kicking up in the air as we moved closer to the fenced entrance of the party, we must have looked like a cartoon fight with only fists, feet and exclamation points popping out of a cloud… oh and then there was my sandal. When a car pulled up on the road I was pushed on to the hood and I thought, surely these people will help me out, but they just joined in on the fun and started kicking the shit out of me too, one of them, some dumb broad whose weapon of choice was the heal of her shoe. By this time, the dust cloud of mayhem had moved right up to the party where I made eye contact with our Australian mates, stunned and uh… not wanting to get involved. And then, it was like we’d hit an invisible wall, and those boys didn’t want to be seen kicking my ass on the other side of the fence. They all just stopped. So with only one sandal, a hysterical Mely by my side and something resembling dignity I made my way back into the party.

At the bar we found Katia and Duglas and told their drunk asses what had just happened. There was something about Duglas that I trusted… maybe it was his name. He told us to be calm and not to inflame the situation anymore, because those boys, they were part of a cliqua all their own. And soon right there on that bar I found myself negotiating my safe release from that party with a skinny little dude with a tattooed tear drop on his face. Fuck. He wanted to know why I was starting trouble. Me, start trouble? No no no I only do that in the United States. I told him I was a student, I don’t know why, honestly comes naturally to me I guess, and that trouble was the last thing I wanted. That my friend and I were just trying to get home when his goons, who were standing right behind him, hit us up. After debating the situation for a while, he pondered the matter all stoic like, then turned around and gently slapped mi amigo on the face, looked him in the eyes and told his ass not to be starting shit for no reason. Just like that it was over, and I felt like I had an in with the leader of a crazy ass Oaxaca street gang.

The sun was up over Puerto Escondido when Mely, Katia and I finally got to our hostel. My back ached with the memory of a high heel and about a dozen cheap shots, my ego was slightly bruised too, but my face was in tact. I sat in bed with Blake, my trusted iPod and finally let a tear or two of my own stream down my face as I listened to Beck’s Sea Change and thought to myself, this is going to make a damn good story one day.

Bling Fling

I have no tattoos. No piercings. And I’ve only ever died my hair black… and that shit’s already dark ass brown. But what I do have is a jewel tooth. No not one of these….

jewel-792993

One of these…

Photo 374

I got it to help my friend start her tooth fairy business. I told her that if she finally fronted the cash for the kit, I’d be her first customer. She called my bluff and $40 dollars later I was sporting a hint of bling that got its fair share of complements and funny looks. But the thing grew on me you know. And just minutes ago while watching Hard Ball, I ran my tongue across my teeth and it was gone. We spent all that time together and now I don’t know if it’s chillin on my bed somewhere or if I’m gonna get a shiny little surprise in the toilet.

Well it was fun while it lasted (a year to be exact) but it’s time to say goodbye. Don’t worry though, I still believe in fairies. I do. I do.

Bender Moments

First the phone crashed against the wall. Well, that wasn’t the first thing that happened. First there were snide comments, clenched fists, raised voices, my mom leaving the table toward the stove to throw a corn tortilla on it. Sheer habit I think. My dad following her bitting his lower lip, and towering over her by an inch or two. She tried her best, to escape his incessancy, until finally she grabbed the cordless phone from the counter, habit again, and he ripped it from her and flung in across the room toward a collection of oak framed humming birds, one fell down and shattered on the tile beneath and the phone ricocheted onto the table and right onto the salsa, onions and freshly sliced avocados. That’s when we knew it was real.

After that it was all noise. A clamoring of my little sister sobbing, my older brother pushing the table away from him in defiance, dishes clattering, my mother screaming, my father yelling louder and my heart beating its way up toward my throat.

“Whachu wanna call da police… unh?” my father roared, punching his fist into his palm. My mother’s face twitched with anticipation. “Enh? Hija de puta!” This time he lifted his left arm and I flinched to keep from seeing him smack her clean across the face. But his hand never made contact, because now he was using it to hold her wrist, to keep the same knife she sliced the onions with from puncturing his neck. My older brother yelled “No.” My little sister screamed. And I opened my eyes wide to see what would happen next.

It took only seconds for him to grab the knife out of her hand and throw it in the sink. He pushed her to the ground and nearly tore the backdoor off its hinges to get out, leaving her screaming in defeat. That wasn’t the first fight they had, it was by no means their last. It wasn’t their most violent, or their loudest. But I don’t remember any phones or remote controls or any other projectile objects breaking against the wall after that.