Month: January 2010

Well, Will You?

I was totally just asked to marry someone. Details at eleven.


Magnet Tagging

I was waiting for the light rail yesterday at Washington and Central, and I called my friend Simon. We  talked about blogging of all things, and girls, and green lights, red flags and all night benders. I don’t know about you, but when I talk on my cell, I can’t sit still. I tend to pace, look around, touch things, eve’s drop on other conversations, observe and report if you will, my friends on the other line often being subjected to something like “oh my god I can’t believe she wore that.” Yesterday’s conversation was no different. Just as Simon was telling me about a particular girl he knows, and her inability to enjoy life with out packing a bowl first, my sight was deflected, just a little, by something off to the left of the light rail destination sign. Now I ride the metro (and blog about it) enough to know, that this little photo of a grinning handsome, young man in a tie, wasn’t supposed to be there. I moved closer to it, and read on the photo the words: light rail blogger dot com. I had to stop Simon mid shit talk, and tell him what I had just found. It was a business card of sorts, in the form of a peel off magnet. Genius. I skinned the thing right off and took it to work with me, where I was graced with the opportunity to serve a party of twenty-five, which we somehow made room for in out little restaurant, who were all in from Houston on a conference, and who found their way to us via what? The light rail. It’s now Sunday morning and I still haven’t actually checked the blog out. Let’s do that together shall we?

For Reals Though

I never did get to go on that Art walk. I mean I did, I just zipped right through it though, didn’t go into any galleries or anything. Que lástima. But at least the dinner was like a work of Art in my mouth. Picadillo, I think it’s called, or as Vida put it, Cuban Hamburger Helper. Ground beef with cumin, garlic, raisins and tomato sauce, served with white rice and yucca. It was good.

I almost let this food go cold in front of me though, just to post a few, measly sentences for resolution’s sake. It was the first time I’d really used that BlogPressLite app on my iPhone, and I got a little lost in it. I even got a “who are you texting?” from the ol’ man, and he never asks me that. Just the same, I think we are all quite used to zoning out in front of eachother, I myself missed about three good punch lines last night alone.

When I finally came to though, Michelle was quick to bust out with, “Why don’t you blog about real stuff, enh? I mean like, what we really do.” By this my little Puerto Rican mama meant, why don’t I write what we really do when we all get together? Tell it like it is, if you will. Why don’t I just expose our naked ass selves, pulverize those little calaveras in our closets and sprinkle the dust all over the blogosphere?

My only response was that if she read through each blog, which I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, she’d see that I do. But shit, I’m about as honest on my blog as I am in, um, real life, is that what we are calling it? But blogs, they allow for a certain amount of calculated coyness that you can only hope happens accidentally in, well, real life. I mean if my friends want to read it, the real stuff, I’ll write it. I’ll just call my lawyer real quick and have her draw up the paperwork. But just between you (that being anybody) and me, these people, from last night, Vida, Michelle, Walks with Moon, Angelina, Monica, Tyson and my little Babetron, they all get themselves into some crazy, blog worthy shit and I’d be honored to have the opportunity to smear it all over the internet. Maybe I will Michelle, maybe I will.