salute your short trip

Fresh from her weekend in the woods, Maria and I had lunch yesterday, to talk about her adventures in the wild, wild wilderness.

Like all camping trips, it started off real slow as they unpacked and pitched the tent. Of course, Maria wasnt the only one pitching a tent. As Maria helped Louie unpack the truck and set camp, she could sense that he wanted to be more than just friends. Duh. But not wanting to ruin a perfectly good weekend before it had even begun, she talked to Louie over "tall boys" and told him that if anything was to ever happen between them, it would have to be eased into and not forced. Kinda like sex with a virgin.

Of course, Louie saw this as his chance to shine. The primitive beast within Louie was released, and like any good agile hunter who provides for the clan, he made the best cheeseburgers Maria had ever tasted. He showed his compassionate side as he offered Maria the better half of the air mattress they slept on inside the tent and when it came to showing selflessness, he allowed Maria to spoon him in the middle of the night without a fight.

The next morning, as the sun crept through the clouds and the fresh pine-scented breeze came rolling down the hillside, Maria awoke to see that Louie was already bustling around camp making breakfast. No one was more surprised than Maria. And speaking of surprises, back in Tucson, my mother also awoke to a surprise. As she was watering her front lawn plants, she noticed that each one of the tires in her Expedition was flat. What she found was four nails buried deep in each one of the black rubber tires. Now I'm not one to point fingers or judge, but I suspect foul play and that a certain neighbor of mine is still harboring unresolved feelings...who knew people with arthritis were capable of revenge?

Later that day, Louie decided to take Maria on a small boat trip. As they both stepped into the plastic purple boat, Louie realized that he was too big for the seat belt.

MARIA: Is everything ok?
LOUIE: Yeah. It's just this is a little too small.
MARIA: Mine fits me ok.
LOUIE: Oh, well.
MARIA: I think it's because you have a little too much body fat.

From then on, everything said between the happy campers was taken with the proverbial grain of salt. Maria explained to Louie's that by consuming as much alcohol as he did, it was a factor that led to his horizontal growth. And Louie explained to Maria that by being as offensive as she was, it was a factor that could lead to a bitch growth. As they drifted off into the lake, the hot Arizona sun began to beam down upon them. Seeing that Louie was perspiring profusely, Maria suggested a swim.

LOUIE: Well, if you do, then I'm gonna head back to shore, because I dont wanna get wet.
MARIA: But I need someone to be out here with me.
LOUIE: Well, how much fun will it be for me? Sitting here in the boat, waiting for you while you swim.
MARIA: Well, you know, you can get down and swim with me.
LOUIE: But I dont wanna get wet. And the water's dirty!
MARIA: Louie, it's hot! Dirty water or clean water, it doesnt matter! It's water! And it's cold!

They ended up not swimming that day, and instead, ended up driving home. They drove in silence, only speaking when it was vitally necessary or if their cell phone's rang. After Maria got home, she realized how quiet it was. The rest of her family was away, vacationing in Southern Mexico, leaving her a house full of stillness. There was no one to talk to. No one to argue with. No one to see how miserable she was, now that she was all alone.

Swallowing her pride, Maria called Louie and apologized for ruining his weekend trip. He accepted her apology and soon, the two of them were laughing and gossiping like two old ladies at a beauty salon. It was then that Louie suggested a second camping trip. This time, in Northen Arizona in a real-life cabin with all the amenities of home.

ME: But you're not gonna go, right?
MARIA: Well, kinda, sorta, yeah.
ME: Maria! You called him fat and he called you a bitch! You guys obviously dont mesh well!
MARIA: Well, I still have some time off and I dont wanna be home all by myself.
ME: And that's your reasoning?
MARIA: Well, sometimes it's better to be with someone, than it is to be lonely. You just want companionship. Someone to talk to and hang out with. It's not so bad...

not so lucky

It's a fact of life, in every neighborhood, there's that one thing that makes it personal and unique. For some, it's that beautiful two-story brick house, with the little white-picket fence. For others, it's that sweet grandmother-figure that always has a pot of warm coffee on and serves it with a warm smile. For our neighborhood, it's the next-door neighbor's dog, Lucky.

Lucky is a black shaggy dog, with no particular, special sort of pedigree, just a particular, special sort of arrogance, which I believe was instilled within him from his owners. They didnt believe in leashes or dry dog food. They believed if one had no boundaries (or food with perservatives for that matter), one would be able to determine right from wrong in a more reasonable way. They were wrong.

The neighborhood was Lucky's kingdom and all of us, were merely his humble subjects. Lucky roamed the orange and red gravel-paved yards with a certain je nais se quois, not really caring whose land he stumbled upon, just so long as it was kept clean and available to him. And like all rulers before him, with no heart, he shit all over his kingdom. Literally. Which would have probably made for good comedy in a cute Disney Channel Original Movie, but unfortunately, this was real life. And it was not cute.

Which is why I was in a particular foul mood, Thursday afternoon. Lucky had graced our yard with his pressence, which really wasnt all that lucky for me. In fact it was disgusting. And I knew, as I was picking up all that dog doo, Lucky wasnt wagging his tongue because he was hot...he was laughing at me. And apparently at all the other neighbors too, since it appeared he had visited them, as well.

No one in the kingdom was happy and so, one mere mortal peasant, Ms. Pelba, took a stand and rebeled, by calling the Pima Animal Control. They came while I was getting the mail, but I didnt know who they were, and figured they must have been the Mexican workers, our neighbor hired.

MEXICAN: Is this dog bothering you?
ME: Yes! Can you please take him away from here?

I turned and walked back into my house, not really caring who came to get Lucky, just so long as he was taken off our front lawn. Later that day, Lucky's owners came to our house, asking if we had seen their dog. Of course, we hadnt seen him since that afternoon and really didnt care one way or the other where he was that night.

The next morning, during her morning grunting and puffing, also known as her morning stroll, Ms. Pelba walked by, just as I was leaving, and let me know it was her moment of brilliance that led our neighborhood to a peaceful morning. I didnt know what to say or do, and so, I left, trying to figure out the right way to tell my neighbors that it was I, who sent away their dog, and that it was I, who would try and being him back.

And speaking of getting lucky, that afternoon, in a little bistro across town, Louie was having lunch with Maria. It was all so perfect. The food, the lighting and even the instrumental jazz in the background, all added up to the perfect ambiance for Maria to tell Louie that instead of partying hard and getting drunk at all odd hours of the day, she would accompany me to California. But before Maria could break the news to Louie, he had his own news to break.

Louie felt the whole drinking til dawn trip was a little prosaic, so instead he initiated a little camping trip to Patagonia Lake. As Louie raved about the not-so-great outdoors and the thrill of roughing it with no running water, Maria could see the excitement in his eyes and the happiness in his hands as he moved them all about...and foolishy, accepted his invitation to go camping. Ugh. As Maria retold the whole lunch conversation to me, I knew she felt bad about the whole outcome of the situation. She realized she had hurt a friend to help save the reputation of another friend, who she would end up hurting later. I could've gotten mad and rubbed it in Maria's face til the end of time like any good friend would, but knowing that this would be Maria's first time camping in the woods with no electricity, no running water, or the possibility to color-coordinate made me feel just a little better.

Sometimes, when the answer's right in front of you, it's hard to see. Sometimes it's begging to be revealed and sometimes it lingers around and waits...waits to see how everything will unfold or wait until a more perfect moment can present itself. Either way, when the truth is finally revealed, someone is bound to be hurt and crushed...is there really anyway to help soften the blow?

louie, louie

In the grand tradition of cheering up my heart-shattered friend Maria, no one was better at it, than Louie. Louie flew back into town, the day after our horse mishap, and every night, after eight, he would take Maria out. And far from over the aftermath of dismantling her once settled life, Maria happily accepted his invitation. Wearing an Arrow-brand shirt from Kohl's and Hugo Boss cologne, Louie made quite an entrance with Maria on his arm. They cruised around town, eating at all the four-star restaurants and dancing at clubs where the dancers wore two-stars.

Hanging out with Louie was exactly what Maria needed to help get her mind off Ray. After being down and out, Louie was the well-timed, little shot of insulin that Maria needed. Which of course, didnt bother me at all, except for one thing.

Two years ago, Maria and Louie used to work together at the same car dealership. No sparks flew between the two co-workers, but Louie did take an immediate intrest in Maria. So, he did what any red-blooded American guy would do. He asked her out. And being the single and sweet girl who just couldnt say no, Maria went out on a date with him. Unfortunately, Louie's wish of making Maria his girlfriend didnt come true, and being the true gentleman that he was, he took a step back and remained a close and peronal confidant. But with Ray out of the picture and Louie stepping in, I wondered if maybe old feelings had resurfaced.

Sunday afternoon, Maria asked me to come along with her to dinner. Louie had made a killer sale at the dealership and was in the mood to celebrate. But not knowing all his friends, Maria asked me to tag along for company and conversation. Of course, she ended up being twenty minutes late to the Diamond Agave, which meant I had to have, what I like to call, the awkward-acquaintance chit-chat. That talk you have with the friend of a friend in hopes that the only reason you have to hang out with them, is for the sake of a good party or a good alibi.

LOUIE: David...you're good friends with Maria, right?
ME: Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?
LOUIE: Does she like me?
ME: Dude...I dont know. I never really asked her.

The truth was, that was a lie. I had asked Maria about Louie before, and she told me, that when she saw thought about her future, she never saw someone like Louie sharing it with her. The person she saw sharing her future was someone who looked like Ray. To Maria, Ray was Marlon Brando, the early years, while Louie was Marlon Brando, the Cannoli years.

LOUIE: Because I'm thinking of asking her to come with me to Rocky Point.

Rocky Point, a hop, skip and a jump away from Tucson to a city where the 25-cent pina coladas made you hop, skip, and jump into hook-up haven. And if that's where Louie was headed, I knew his whole "friendship" with Maria was headed into some dangerous territory. Maria had originally asked for time off, to travel with Ray to the Grand Canyon, but when her relationship fell apart, she thought her plans did as well. But there was Louie, flyin' in and tryin' to save the day. But while eating my wok charred salmon, I knew Maria didnt want to be saved.

MARIA: David, I think I have to stop hanging out with Louie.
ME: Why?
MARIA: I think he's getting the wrong impression. He keeps buying me stuff.
ME: Yeah, presents totally ruin my day too.
MARIA: Shut up. No, I mean, I feel bad that he's treating me out to all this nice stuff and not expecting anything back. Isnt that weird?
ME: Well...honestly, yeah. Just a little. And I think it's cuz he likes you.
MARIA: Yeah, but we've talked about this before. I told him I'm not looking for anything right now. He's nice and all, but I dont want to be his girlfriend.

Which makes me wonder...should I invite Maria to Disneyland, which would allow me not to go insane while hanging with my family and allow her to let Louie down easily? Or should I let Maria handle it all on her own, knowing that when it comes to matters of love, it's all fair?

getting back up with the horse

It was a regular Wednesday afternoon, and in typical Arizona fashion, trying to avoid the three-degree desert sun, everyone stayed indoors. And to help pass the time, I called my friend Maria.

ME: ...and then my mom's on this whole kick of taking us all on a vacation to California.
MARIA: What's wrong with that?
ME: Maria...my brothers and I are all over 17. I mean, I like Disneyland and all, but when you're that old, it's weird going with your "mommy" and "daddy".
MARIA: Yeah, I guess so. Well, you should come with me and Ray. We're planning on doing a a road trip to the Grand Canyon at the end of the month. And then, since we're like, right next door to Las Vegas...
ME: Yeah, see, now that's what I call a nice family vacation.

After I got off the phone with Maria, I started to wonder what would be more awkward...vacationing with the parental units or being the third wheel. On the one hand, vacationing with the parents would be a free trip, but then I'd pay for it later with all those cheesey character photos. With the road trip it would be kinda cool to see all of Arizona on a good buzz, but then when we got to Nevada, how lame would it be to be single in the city of sin? Wait...that one would actually work towards my advantage...ugh, I should've just gone to Spain with the dysfunctional duo.

An hour later, one of my vacation options dropped when Maria called me back with some bad news.

MARIA: David?
ME: Hey, what's up?
MARIA: He, uh...I...he broke up with me.
ME: What? Why?
MARIA: Because I'm Catholic.

It was an argument the newly-ex-couple had found themselves in, so many times. Ray was a Christian, a Baptist to be exact, and although they say Christianity is a form of Catholicism, according to Ray's pastor and personal friend, the relationship would never work out because their beliefs were just too different. Apparently, traveling with a sinner to the city of sin, was just too much for a saint to handle. Devastated, Maria cried herself to sleep that night.

The next day, I decided to help Maria forget about Ray, but no matter what we did or where we went, Ray was everywhere. He was the guy walking down the street, wearing the same shirt Maria got him for Christmas. He was the guy in line at Starbucks, ordering the venti caramel frapp. And as it turned out, even the burrito I ordered at Nico's Taco Stand was the same burrito that Ray would order. The worst time Ray came to Maria's mind was when we stopped at her job. She went in to clear up some paperwork and I went in to use her employee discount. When we got to customer service, the sales lady behind the counter reminded Maria that only "certain people" could use her discount. She asked if I was her husband, which prompted me to say yes, to help Maria avoid any issues with company policy, but prompted Maria to cry, because it reminded her that she probably would never get married or find love, ever again.

Still too depressed to be at her own home, Maria and I went to her friend Louie's house. Since we knew Louie was away on business and had a fully stocked mini bar, it only made perfect sense. Two feel-good-cry movies and several tubs of Häagen-Dazs later, I was still helping Maria figure out the way to win the age-old contest between ex-lovers, also known as "who will die miserable and all alone". Sadly though, we didnt come up with anything, and instead, just decided to call it a night.

Driving fast down an uncharted path, Maria soon came to a bump in the road. Actually, it was a horse. From out of nowhere it came and before Maria could swerve to avoid it, the horse and right sideview mirror came in contact with each other. As the car spun backwards, my side hit the horse's head and sent the horse flying backwards into the desert.

ME: You killed a horse.
MARIA: I killed a horse.
ME: You're so going to jail.
MARIA: David, shut up!
ME: I'm going to jail!
MARIA: I killed a horse!
ME: Now I'm not gonna go to California!

But then something miraculous happened. The horse, shook it's head and walked off. It was then that I realized, if the horse could survive, after being knocked down by something so big, shake it off and walk away, then maybe so could Maria.

blanket ailment

Maybe it was from hanging out with my friend Madelaine all week, who had self-diagnoised herself with walking amonnia. Or maybe it was karma getting back at me for challenging someone who was height-challenged (thanks Lisa B for that PC twist!). But whatever it was, last Friday morning, I woke up to see that I came down with the flu. It was your average sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, with-a-fever-so-high-I-was-seeing-koala-bears-kinda flu.

Laid up in bed, with only a satelite TV and my favorite soft powder blue blanket that I "borrowed" from the hospital from a long time ago, to keep me company, I knew my time on this earth was coming to a slow end. The light at the end of the tunnel was becoming brighter and nothing was helping me get better. Not my bottle of Nyquil or my mother's home remedy of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and prayer. And as appealing as lying in a bed all weekend may sound, yellow just really isnt my color.

Fortunately, like other flu’s, after mine had taken its course, it soon went away. Except for the coughing part. It stayed behind. This weird, dry, hawk-up-a-lung-kinda cough that wouldn’t go away, despite the vast amounts of cough syrup and lozengers I was taking. And it always came at the most unfortunate of times. During the silent prayer at church. During the movies, when Meryl Streep gave Anne Hathaway demanding orders in hushed tones, in The Devil Wears Prada. And even during the middle of the night, when I was already fast asleep. And as we all know, if I don’t get a good night rest, no one gets a good morning.

The worst time my cough made an appearance was the following Tuesday. It was the Fourth of July and like other outside-barbequing Americans, our family was no different. Except for the traditional crab we always have flown in from Southern California. Next to fireworks, it’s the one part of the holiday I most enjoy. But of course, since everyone thought my cough = a rare and terrible illness, I could not partake in the traditional leg-cracking, butter-dipping, pleasure that I so very much enjoy. I mean living in a desert, you don’t exactly garner the best, quality seafood, so to miss out on something so rare, I knew right then and there something needed to be done about my cough.

The next day, my pre-med friend Maria came over with a bottle of Jose Cuvero. She suggested I try her old, tired and true family tonic of tequilla, claiming that the alcohol’s burning sensation would clear whatever bacteria I had lodged in my throat. It, of course, didn’t clear anything. So much for Maria having a career in the medical field. But the drunken stupor did help me sleep well until the next morning. At which time the cough came back, prompting my friend Erica to try her own remedy.

Like Maria, Erica believed that any bacteria could be killed after it was burned and took me to Blue Wasabi for salmon skin rolls and wasabi. But like the tequilla, the effects of the wasabi were only temporary and it just ended up leaving a nasty and numbing taste on my tongue. Which was really sad, since I couldnt enjoy the rest of my sushi and even more sadder when I remembered sushi wasnt made for takeout. My cough got so bad, that at one point, my grandma suggested rolling a newspaper into a cone, sticking it in my throat and lighting the top of it with fire. Sure, it was an old Mexican trick to get air out of your ear, but was she serious?!

Tired with everyone’s inventive and creative remedies, I decided to try my own and headed straight to one person I knew could make all my pain go away with just a simple signature. My doctor. And though the prescribed medicine did make my cough less violent, it was still there. It just wouldnt leave. It was kinda like that story of the guy who hiccuped for 30 years straight which kinda freaked me out because who wants to live life with their mouth covered like they got SARS?

That night, right before going to bed, I realized the only thing I had to keep me company was the satelite TV. My favorite knitted, powder blue blanket that I "borrowed" from the hospital from a long time ago was in the wash, meaning, this would be the first time in many years that I went to bed without that blanket. Not that it was a security blanket or that this was ther first time I ever washed it, but still...it was weird going to bed without it. To me that blanket was just as much part of my bed as the mattress or the sleigh frame.

One weekend of drunken shannigans later, I realized I hadnt had any of my prescribed cough syrup or any contact with the blue hospital blanket. But I was feeling much better. My cough actually disappeared. At first I thought maybe it was the effects of good western medicine, but then I realized it was actually because I no longer was in contact with that dirty, infested blanket. My blanket had turned into a fabric of germs and that's what was keeping me from getting better. And maybe it was too far-fetch to connect both things together, but really, how often does medicine work if you fail to take it? The moral to the story? Well, there really is no moral, except how weird is it that something I looked to for comfort and warmth is the very thing that kept me sick?