we are a family

It came, it saw, it conquered, and before any of us knew it, Christmas was gone faster than a Keanu Reeves movie in theaters. But this year, Christmas didn't feel the same. As some of you may or may not know, my dad is currently serving a six-week tour in Iraq, which made this year's holiday season kinda... well, blah. I hardly ever ever see my dad since he's always working and my work and school schedules always seem to clash with my family's schedules. But now that I'm not working and am always home, it's weird seeing everyone in my family at various points in the day on a daily basis. Everyone, but my dad. We didn't even read the Nativity Story on Christmas Eve which is something my dad has always done, ever since I can remember. He should be back within a couple of weeks, but until then, life at home is kinda...well, blah.

On a lighter side, even though I may not have had a dad for Christmas, I did get two new step-cousins! A while back, I mentioned that my cousin Karina from San Diego had found her biological father, a policeman, who was standing on the same corner as her, waiting for the light to turn green. I don't know if it was fate that they met, but it was a prayer answered. All her life Karina had wanted brothers. I think that's why she always loved me and my brothers the most out of anyone in our family. Her mother did eventually marry someone, a lawyer from Brooklyn, who's financial advice was as bad as his pleather clothes, but all Karina got out of that marriage was a baby sister. Her mom, on the other hand, got a divorce. So, the dream of having brothers passed and life went on. Until her dad introduced her to his two sons.

She had brothers now! Marc, 23 and Raymond, 22. Raymond was older than Karina by just two months and as it turns out, they all grew up within 15-20 minutes of each other, never realizing it. Raymond and Karina attended rival high schools, so they saw each other at football games and bonfire beach parties, but never actually met. Now, they were hanging out every weekend, bonding and forging a relationship, trying to piece together parts of their family puzzle. It hasn't been a pretty puzzle (they found out, they may have a sister in Florida who looks like Karina), but it's their family puzzle.


Marc and Raymond came down this past weekend with Karina and it was fun hanging out with them, eating chicken wings, watching football games, getting drunk and going to the casinos. I never had guy cousins I could do that with. The only guy cousins I have that are close to my age live in Washington, but I haven't seen them in over 10 years. And even when I did see them, they were no fun, since they are really narcissistic and bragged about how they were gonna be the next hot model/movie star/singer, despite their lack of height, severe acne and tone-deaf ears. So, having Marc and Raymond around for a couple of days was fun, and it actually made time go by faster and helped me forget my dad was somewhere far away in a whole other world. Who knew family was the answer to your problems? Usually, they seem to be the problem, that I'm looking for an answer to. What a nice change.

'twas the blog post before christmas

Merry Christmas everyone! From my family to yours, have a safe and happy holiday and a terrific new year!

it takes a minute to think

Among the many glamorous, burger-flipping jobs I've applied for, one of them was working for the city as a Police Records Specialist. I only applied because they were looking and my wallet was empty, which seemed like the perfect match at the time. When they didn't get in contact with me after a few days, I moved on, thinking somewhere out there, a polyester-cotton blend uniform had my name on it.

A couple of weeks later, I got an email, inviting me to fill out and complete a pre-screening questionaire, so I did. And then I got invited to take a written exam at the Police Station. It was there that I learned that 181 people applied for the same job. 20 of them did not meet the qualifications and 65 of them did not return the pre-screening questionaire. 12 were temporarily disqualified and two permantently disqualified. 10 people withdrew, leaving a total of 72 people to take the test. I was in a room with 71 competitors, all wanting a chance to fill the four posisitions that were available.

Later that day, after completing the test, I received an email with the results of my test:

Congratulations, you have successfully passed the written exam for Police Records Specialist. You achieved a raw score of 143.00 correct out of 161 questions. The next step in this recruitment process is an Oral Board Interview.

It was like American Idol, only no talent required. Unless you count answering questions right a talent. And I was one of the lucky ones "going to Hollywood". So, I attended the interview without really thinking about the job or where my life could be /would be headed if I got it. And it was with that thinking that I actually had a good interview. No sweating, no stuttering, no shaking, no shitting! After the interview, I then realized I actually had a real good chance of scoring this job. A real good chance. I could actually be working for the city, working one of those jobs where I would have a desk, a computer and maybe one of those coffee cups with a funky saying like, "I'm Not A Morning Person". The only thing is, I wouldn't be starting until February. Which is when that that job in Milwaukee starts.

Leaving me with the life-changing question: Do I stay in Tucson and continue with the job recruitment process, which will undoubtedly be a secure and stable job or do I leave to Wisconsin and forge into the unknown, and follow my dreams? Not that Milwaukee holds the key to all my dreams, but I do think it is a waiting room for my dreams.

And while I make my decision, at least I have this great inspirational video to help inspire me in the meantime.

the letter

As most of you already know, for the past couple of months I've been in a struggling battle with my old boss, Alice, over un-cashed paychecks and it's not exactly a pretty thing. I've had to constantly call her to find out the status of the allegedly "struggling shop" and whether or not I can get paid. Not once has she made any effort to get in touch with me. That is, until this past Wednesday, when I received an email from Alice.

Hi David.

I don't have your home phone and want to give you some money. It's not much, but its a start. I have $60 cash for you today. I can deposit it for you. Also, which checks do you have? I have 2 here I think. Both for $231.03 each. As I keep selling things here and keep getting umc checks I'll be able to get you paid. I can pay you faster with any of the sales made here but it will be in small amounts.

I am sorry it is taking so long. Unfortunately we were not sellling enough the last few months and there was alot more money going out than coming in. I'm still negative each week, and am still playing catch up.(Even the shop phone is partly off - it goes straight to voicemail only!) But I really appreciate all the support you gave me, David, over the last couple years in trying to make the shop work. I've had way too much family drama that I ever could even image. I am sad the flower part of the store is closing but glad in a way to try to get out of the hole the flowers were putting me in. It was too stressful physically and emotionally. And I truley apprieciate your patience. I owe you more than just money...

By the way, I'm still getting tickets for Broadway shows if you want any......

I was planning on filing a small claims suit against her for all the owed money, but after receiving the email, I don't know what to think. To me, it seems like it's just too little, too late. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad she finally made the effort to get in touch with me, but I don't understand why it took so long.

Alice's husband's trial date is coming up and it will be decided then, if he is innocent in the double homicide he was allegedly involved with. If he isn't, it's more time in prison. If he is innocent, it's very likely, he will never work again, since writing "alleged double homicide" in the felony section of a job application is something most hiring managers just don't overlook. Which means Alice will be the primary income for her family and with the shop the way it is...it doesn't look good for her family. And with Christmas just a mere few days away...is this email something I can overlook?

to knit or knot?

It's been about seven weeks since I've last worked and not to complain or anything, but if anyone has a gun laying around that I can shoot myself with, I would really appreciate it.

I can't get a job for the life of me, either because I'm way too over qualified, I don't have the right amount of experience needed, or because I dress better than the hiring manager. Seriously, one of them kept asking me where I got each article of clothing and then proceeded to tell me what color they would have gotten it in and how they would have paired it with something else.

I filed for unemployment but that takes forever to kick in and I can't even file a small claims against my boss since it actually costs money to file it. Who knew it cost money to sue someone for money? Which makes me wonder how much money those people who file frivolous lawsuits have laying around.

My friend Maria heard my cries of plea and decided to pay me a visit. Only, she didn't come alone. She came with a ball of yarn and plastic sticks. Knitting needles, to be more precise.

I held the yarn and needles in my hands with as much enthusiasm and confusion as an Aboriginee looking at a blender. What was I supposed to do with it? Did she literally think I would knit?

"It's knitting needles," she said, obviously referring to the fact that I was still holding the yarn and needles like they had been dipped in radioactive goo. "I've just gotten into the whole knitting thing and it's really fun! It's helped me through studying so much because it's such a great stress reducer."

Stress reducer? More like stress inducer. Especially if you don't know how to knit. Maria tried to teach me how to knit with a little poem about sheep but it was useless because my hands we're not built to knit rows and rows of yarn. I mean, what's the point of knitting? With all the technological advances we've made to dress stylishly and comfortably, do we really need to make our own clothes and accessories out of yarn? And if so, can't we just wait for a line to come out at The Gap?

I don't know. Maybe I am too rash. What do you think? Should I give this knitting thing a shot? Does knitting really reduce stress?

songs for the season

It's December! The start of one of my favorite months! Our Christmas tree has been up since Halloween, so the platinum bells have been ringing for a while in our house. And with that in mind, I thought, for those of you who are not yet in the Holiday Spirit, I'd share with you 25 FREE downloads of my favorite Christmas songs for you and your loved ones to enjoy!


1. Faith Hill - Joy To The World!

2. Kristin Chenoweth - Do You Hear What I Hear?

3. Amy Grant - O' Come All Ye Faithful

4. Dean Martin and Martina McBride - Baby, It's Cold Outside

5. Tony Bennett - I'll Be Home For Christmas

6. Bing Crosby - Happy Holidays (Beef Wellington Remix)

7. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Mr. Heatmiser

8. Kay Starr - I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm (Stuhr Remix)

9. Bette Midler and Johnny Mathis - Winter Wonderland/Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

10. Carrie Underwood - O' Holy Night

11. Michael Bublé - White Christmas

12. Burl Ives - Silver and Gold

13. Goldfrapp - Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

14. Fountains of Wayne - Valley Winter Song

15. Harry Connick Jr. - The Christmas Waltz

16. Brian Setzer Orchestra - The Nutcracker Suite

17. Ella Fitzgerald - Sleigh Ride

18. Britney Spears - My Only Wish (This Year)

19. Taylor Swift - Last Christmas

20. Disneyland's Country Bear Christmas Special - Christmas Medley

21. John Denver & The Muppets - Twelve Days of Christmas

22. K.T. Tunstall - Mele Kalikimaka (Hawaiian Christmas)

23. Celine Dion - The Magic of Christmas

24. Josh Groban - Silent Night

25. Kristin Chenoweth - The Lord's Prayer

thanks

It's Thanksgiving! I love Thanksgiving. Have you noticed this Holiday doesn't get as much hoopla as most holidays? It's because it isn't controversial! It is simply a day to give Thanks and celebrate with friends and family. Unless, of course, you're in my family.

Because my dad is leaving to Iraq for a six week tour starting tomorrow, our family has had some early Thanksgiving dinners. And at each one, people were left more disappointed than thankful.

At the first dinner, all seemed well. My cousin Karina, had taken the week off of school, flew in from San Diego and graced us not only with her presence, but with some shocking news as well. She had found her dad. What's weird about the whole thing is, she wasn't even looking for him. She was waiting at an intersection with a friend, when a policeman asked her if her name was Maria. It wasn't, but she told him her grandma's name was. And then she told him, her grandma lived in Tucson. Two and two were put together and after Karina revealed her mother's name, the policeman said, "I'm your dad."

Since finding her father, Karina has been spending a lot of time with her dad, which really stuck in her mother's craw. Which is understandable since Karina's dad left her and her mom when Karina was just a baby. No word or any sign of notice, just gone. Here one day, gone the next, leaving my aunt and cousin to fend for themselves.

And if one surprise wasn't hard to swallow, me leaving to Milwuakee, was just as hard. I thought my mom had told everybody, but I guess not. There were a few cheers, mostly jeers, all followed by tears. I couldn't possibly think about leaving Tucson. Who would say all the lame jokes and tell the bizarre stories? I didn't have an answer to any of these questions and for a brief moment, I felt sorta bad for leaving. My family did have a few points. What did I know about shopping for food or paying a utility bill? Sure, I could order decent take out, but was that enough to survive on my own?

These questions were nothing new, but I'll admit they were questions I never really gave a second thought to. I think I just got caught up in the aspect of moving and starting a whole new adventure.

On top of it all, I was actually honest with my cousin, when he asked me how I felt about his girlfriend Tori, which he did not take too kindly. I told him she was a name dropper. And a pathetic one at that.

"My mom only shops at Macy's. Our entire home is decorated like a Macy's Christmas catalog."

and

"I buy all my jewelry and accessories at Urban Outfitters. Everything else looks so gaudy."

Some family members found her cute and endearing, but I just found her boring, with her upper-middle-class, brand name dropping. So, I ignored her throughout the day. Which is when my cousin decided to ask me about her. I thought he was looking for some encouragement to dump her. If I had known the truth, I would have lied. Because that's what family does. No one wants to hear about deadbeat dads or moving away or your true feelings towards the girl you just moved in with. No. Thanksgiving is a time for giving thanks and that's all. Everything else should be taken with the adult approach of mutual delusion and complete and utter denial.

I'm thankful, none of my family knows that.

patience

I called my boss Alice yesterday to try and resolve the issue of unpaid paychecks, only to discover she was traveling to Phoenix to go...shopping. SHOPPING! Ugh! And all she could say was patience was the key to resolving all our issues. Fuck patience, I felt like telling her. I wanted to scream at her. She knows I need my money and she has money, but like a non-organ donor, she's been relentless to let it go.

So I hung up with her. She was on the freeway and all I needed on my conscience was to know she got in an accident with her children in the backseat. So, I called up the Board of Labor and the unemployment office, only to discover it takes weeks to file everything. And to make things worse, at the bottom of the claim, near my signature it states in black and white:

"I UNDERSTAND that acceptance of this claim by the Labor Department does not guarantee collection."

So, even if I do file a claim, it doesn't mean she has to pay me. And if she received the claim, it would only upset her more, which means there's a less likely chance she will pay me. So, now, it's nothing but a waiting game. It's all I can do at this point. And it sucks because I feel like one of those damn damsels in distress. I'm here at home all by myself with an animal sidekick (my puppy), my hair is growing longer and out of control and my wicked witch (more like bitch) of a boss seems to be gaining more and more power rather than losing it.

Proving once again, a soft heart will only hold you back in the real world. You can't just be nice. Nice guys always finish last. But don't nice people occasionally succeed? People like Jimmy Carter and Audrey Hepburn? Or what about Mr. Rogers? But then again, his ratings were never that high.

raving & ranting

Last Thursday, they turned my iPhone off. It probably has something to do with the fact that I haven't paid my bill in over two months, but who can really tell about these things? All I know is that I feel as if I've lost a part of me. A part of me that I can still sometimes feel. The way an amputee can sometimes still feel their lost limb.

It'll turn back on soon, I have faith in that, but in the meanwhile...it's made me realize how dependent I've become on this 4.5 inch multi-communication device. And to think a decade ago, I was okay without having to know who e-mailed me or who called me.

That's why I LOVE this rant!

the flyer

It's been over two weeks and my boss Alice still hasn't made any effort to make contact with me. No text. No phone call. No email. Not even snail mail. Nothing. Then, my co-worker, Amanda, who hasn't worked since the last Monday in October, made a trip to the flower shop to talk to Alice about her paycheck. The shop was closed and in its place was a flyer:



Something is definitely shady. Something needs to be done. Something like...legal action.

change

I was at the gym, when it was announced that America's votes had been tallied, and Barack Obama was presented as our future, historically significant, President. And as he took the stage with his historic future First Family, I started thinking about change. If most Americans were open to the idea that a man from a culturally mixed background could be president and were ready for a great change, then so could I. Except, this time, I would change myself.

The year of 2008 has been a really eventful one for me. It started off as really good and I thought things would only get better. I had a great job. Two, great jobs, in fact. One of which allowed me to attend some of the best and most sought-after events, nightclubs, parties and affairs in Tucson. I never got caught up in the glitz or the glamour of it all, since I knew most of the golden carriages and golden people I had seen and met would turn into pumpkins and mice at the end of the night. Still, I had fun and I even got to share that fun with my family and friends.


I had taken my first world tour and left the small U.S. region of the southwest to cross the Atlantic and into Europe. I was in Italy, the birthplace of pizza and Prada. I got to see priceless works of art and taste unbelievably delicious food. I had never experienced such a beautiful country with a beautiful culture and it made me want to explore other regions of the world and absorb as much as I possibly could.


I met a lot of new people and made a lot of new friends this year. I even got to spend time cultivating some of those friendships and learned a lot about myself along the way. I had no idea I liked beer! The best part was that Lucy, my pride and joy, had actually survived a year with me, which was a miracle considering every living thing (including plants, birds, and that one time I had to babysit) I took under my wing before, became physically and/or emotionally damaged (don't worry...the kid wasn't that damaged when I returned her and eventually her hair did grow back). I had actually been able to take care and love another living thing without hurting it or destroying it.


But then, before I knew it things changed. The magazine went bankrupt and there went my front-of-the-line-VIP-access pass. A carton of milk had more shelf-life than my career as a writer. I don't even know if it can be considered "experience," since the only thing I learned from it was the delicate art of schmoozing. I didn't get paid for any of my stories because I was told the magazine was "still getting everything sorted out," which apparently is code for, "write as much as you can, while I rob you blind." Talk about the phrase, "fool me once..." And though I'm upset about the money, I'm more upset about my next scheduled story never seeing the light of day. It was supposed to be about making downtown the "IT" place to be and it was my chance to help change the culture of my generation and the future of our city. And next to my article was going to be a picture of my name in lights on the marquee of the historic Fox Theatre. Which, is a little vain, I'll admit, but it would have been exciting, nonetheless.


And if having a job that didn't pay you, wasn't bad enough, having another job do the same is just as bad. As bad as having to poop right after you take a shower. I thought my job at the flower shop was stable, but after trying to cash in a bounced paycheck, I'm guessing not. Fool me, twice. It's been about three unpaid paychecks and two weeks since I've spoken to my boss Alice. In one low swoop, she single-handedly ruined my credit, my birthday, Halloween, Elton John, and Las Vegas. I'll never be able to look at any of those things ever again, without thinking negatively about Alice. I really did try to keep an open mind and try to be patient and understanding with her, but all the facts point to her mis-using sale money for her own selfish needs like sushi dinners and Girl Scout fees. I do understand that this year hasn't been easy for her, but to take advantage of a loyal employee is beyond disgusting. It's really made me question not only the relationship of our professional lives, but the relationship of our friendship, as well. And the thing I hate the most is that it's made me bitter, affecting everyone around me.

My friends flew back in from Vegas on Monday and I haven't been able to talk any of them. There's an air of awkwardness between us, because, no matter how much I want to hear about what happened in Vegas, a part of me doesn't want to know, since it's a painful reminder of what I missed out. It's not every day you're allowed the chance to see drunken D-list celebrities up close and personal. Up until the very last moment, I had hope in my boss, that she would somehow see the error in her ways and somehow find extra cash to give to me to take to Vegas. But hope never came, and an already paid plane ticket and concert ticket sat unused. Alice never contacted me. Well, unless you count that lame text she sent me to try and make up for it.


And it was there, working out on a full body core machine, that I realized if I didn't change, I would just become more and more bitter. So, I've started looking for another job. I was able to send out an email to one friend without it being weird. And according to a lawyer, they agreed to represent me if I should decide to file a lawsuit against my boss for unpaid wages. Yikes. I don't know if I want to take it that far yet, but at least I'm heading in the right direction.

day of the dread

Today, I was supposed to be on an early morning to the City of Lights; the U.S. version, not Paris. I'm talking about Las Vegas. I'm supposed to be there, right now, celebrating my birthday with my friends. They're there, but I'm not. I'm here. Stuck in Tucson, with packed luggage. Stuck in Tucson, with the hope that by some chance, a miracle would occur. Stuck in Tucson, with absolutely no money, a frozen bank account from a bounced paycheck, and an unpaid bill that has found its way to a collections agency. I couldn't let my situation stop my friends from having fun, since this was their vacation too, so they flew off...off into a weekend of unforgettable shenanigans. It's a situation I never thought I would find myself in. I never thought my life would ever reach such a financial low. And I know I can't rely on anyone to bail me out, since I'll probably end up more in debt owing someone for a problem I got myself into. I just have to pull myself out of this disastrous funk.

I just wish I knew how...

the pushover

It's official! I'm moving to Milwuakee, at the beginning of next year! As I type, a two-bedroom apartment is currently being found for me and my friend Gwen, who will accompany me on this move. She will be the manager and I will be the clothing buyer for a new store. It's all still very new, but very exciting. The only thing is...I've told everyone but my boss, Alice.

Things have been kinda tense at the shop, lately. This Friday will mark the fourth paycheck that I have not received from her. That's not even counting the two un-cashed paychecks I have at home from earlier this year. I don't know what's going on with her or her money managing skills, but she keeps telling me that when everything clears, I will be paid in full, along with any late fees I inccur. It sucks when your manager is your friend, because lines become crossed and what should be an easy answer or solution to a problem, well, it isn't.

I like to think of myself as the kind of person who has faith in people, no matter what, believing that somehow the good will always overcome the bad, in all and every situation. And I'm a very supportive person, which is one of the reason's I've stuck around. I knew my boss Alice would be going through a hard time, after her husband landed in jail and she was several months pregnant, but I never thought I would regret my decision so much.

It's made me lose respect for her, and even worse, it's made me lose respect for myself.

that's what you get for partying up in vegas

As some of you may or may not know, last Monday was my birthday. Twenty-friggin-three years old! God. Practically, middle-aged. And it was actually one of my first birthdays that I didn't freak out over. Usually, when I get older, I can feel it, emotionally and physically. But this past one...well, it kinda just swept over me. No biggie. Maybe it was because I don't look like I'm in my 20's, that I didn't freak out. Or maybe it's because I didn't celebrate my birthday.

This year, I chose not to celebrate my birthday, until the end of the month. The reason? I'm going to Vegas!

It all started a couple months back, when my friend Hadassah and I were on our way to a party and that Elton John song, Tiny Dancer, came on the radio. I casually mentioned that someday, I would love to see him in concert. I knew all his songs, since I grew up listening to classic hits of the 50's, 60's, and 70's, thanks to my dad, and to see a living legend like Elton would be just beyond awesome. Hadassah, remembered that little piece of information and gave me two tickets to see Elton in Las Vegas for Halloween. I was so ecstatic!

From then on, a motion was set forth to carry out a party held in my honor in the city of lights and sin. Halloween weekend would be my new birthday. There would be Elton, dinner at Tao, dancing at Pure, and a guarantee run-in with at least a costumed celebrity or two! And though it all seems to be coming together, one part of my plan seems to be falling apart.

Originally, I decided to get a suite at the MGM Grand Hotel. But as more people decided to come, a condo seemed like the best thing. I found a listing online using Craigslist. The ad listed a three-bedroom condo, behind the Flamingo Hotel for $100 a weekend night and $50 a weekday night, which made our four day, three night trip come out to a grand total of $250, taxes and all included. It was almost too good to be true. At such a ganga of a deal, I immediately contacted the seller and we arranged payment through Paypal. Everything seemed to be fine, until about two weeks ago, when I tried contacting the seller to ask him more questions. He was unresponsive.

I left voicemails, emails, and if we still used telegrams, I would've sent him one too! But nothing. I was constantly checking my iPhone to make sure any and all voicemails/emails were still coming through. They were, but his wasn't. And just as I was coming to the realization that I may have been scammed and that I would have to start looking for another place to stay, the seller called me, this past Friday. He explained he was at the airport and had to leave on an emergency trip and apologized for any inconvenience he bestowed upon me and my "Las Vegas birthday entourage" (his words, not mine). He had been extremely busy and had absolutely no time to get in contact with anyone but he assured me our reservation was still active and that he had placed in the mail, a room key and brochure, along with any information I would need during our stay. It relaxed me just a little bit, but just a little bit.

I still haven't received anything in the mail and although yesterday was a holiday and no one in the U.S. got their mail, I'm not sure whether or not I should remain freaked out...

the bad news week

So, you know when you get bad news and you think, nothing can top this? I totally wasn't even thinking that thought when I got my bad news, but somehow, I just kept getting more.

It started when I found out Azten, my boss's husband who's been in jail since March for possibly being involved in a double homicide after a drug deal gone wrong, received a letter in the mail that had my name and birthdate on it under the subtopic of OTHER CHARACTERS. I was now an official witness in Azten's trial case.

Apparently, one of the defenses is that Azten was working at the flower shop on the day the murder happened and I was the only one who saw him at the time of the murder. There's security camera footage, from the building that I work in, that shows me answering the phone, going outside and bringing in a large package. What was in the box and who delivered it to me? Hell, if I remember! But I do know it wasn't filled with drugs or a dead body. At least, I think so. I can't remember. The camera didn't show who or what dropped off the package but Azten claims it was him.

On top of having a life or life sentence decision hanging over the top of my head like a gloomy bad day rain cloud, I also found out my services were no longer needed at 520 Living Magazine, the magazine I wrote for. I had spent the better part of the month trying to get in contact with someone at the magazine, to figure out if we had any upcoming meetings for story ideas and when I would be receiving a paycheck for the last two stories I wrote. Finally, an answer came. It was Freddie, the art director.

Larry, the publisher and the guy who personally hired me, failed to come up with the money to publish the summer issue. He only managed to have enough for twenty copies, which he had planned to use as an example show future advertisers. Being that the first day of Autumn has just passed, I have no idea what an advertiser would see in a summer issue that never came out. On top of not being able to print out the summer issue, writers weren't paid. Neither were the photographers or anyone else that worked for the magazine. What happened to the money from the past advertisers? I have no idea. What happened to Larry? Well, he now works as the assistant manager at a Lowe's Hardware store.

A class action lawsuit is being filed against Larry and Dollarworks Publications, and though I know I should join my fellow writers and staff against the unfair treatment, I doubt any of us will ever see a single cent. So, is it even worth it?

But the biggest bad news I got this week was when I found out my friend Hadassah refused to put in a good word for me towards a job I really want. As some of you may know, Gwen, the coffee manager across our little flower shop is leaving in mid-December to be the manager of a clothing store in Milwuakee. The store would be owned by the sister of her current boss, Mike Lightyear, and Gwen personally suggested me as the clothing buyer based on my own personal style alone. It would be a fantastic opportunity, which would only be better if Mike Lightyear's secretary and right-hand man, my friend Hadassah, would give a recommendation. Except, she doesn't want to.

Hadassah has been coming up with the lamest excuses, like, my services are needed at the coffee shop to create new items for the menu or to write the menu on the chalkboard with my "perfect" penmanship. Okay, I'll admit, I've created a couple new sandwiches by suggesting some ingredient changes and my "R's" are kinda cool, but still! That shouldn't be the reason that keeps me from a great job opportunity. And I know that her excuses are to keep me from leaving Tucson, but shouldn't a friend help support another friend, rather than keep them in town for their own selfish reasons?

the anniversary party

Once upon a time, many years ago (25 years, to be exact) a prince followed his heart and married a young maiden, despite his family objections.

No one from the prince's family believed the prince's marriage would last, until one day, his beautiful princess bride revealed she was with child. A little baby boy named David was born. He was an absolute joy and the most absolute perfect baby of all time.


In fact, it's been said, that his magical smile and unforgettable laughter helped smooth out the strained relationship between both his parent's families, allowing them to live in peace. Who knew, his powers of charm would be needed once again?

The anniversary party began almost a week ago, as my entire family cleaned and decorated our entire backyard and prepared the food for the anniversary party this past Sunday.

Drama had already begun, when my mother had to tell last minute RSVP-ers that they could not come, since this was a formal sit-down dinner with only so much seating and so much food. One of the people most upset, was my Tia Marie.


She had invited all our family from Texas and was super pissed when my mom had to tell her to dis-invite family. In fact, she sat throughout the entire dinner with her arms crossed, claiming she wasn't hungry or thirsty. Talk about being an over-grown brat!

Then there was the issue with the party coordinator. She felt that the head table had to be special and stand out, so she used a cotton candy pink and white striped tablecloth. Sure, it was a garden party, but aren't candy-looking tablecloth better for a circus than an anniversary?

At least, that's what my Tia Daisy thought. She and the coordinator had a big verbal fight over what the head table should look like, and it wasn't until I suggested we move the odd-looking table to the middle, which would change the head table but still keep the weird tablecloth, that peace was restored in our backyard.


I don't know what the hell the coordinator was thinking when she suggested the ugly tablecloth, and I felt bad that the servers my mother hired had to deal with her for the next few hours. According to them, she was a monster inside our kitchen walls.

The hours devours were not allowed to be served until a certain time, which meant guests that arrived early, would have to sit around outside and wait. The appetizers waited for so long, they ended up getting soggy and messy, which ruined the first hour of the party.

That and the unexpected guests.


People brought their dogs. Which wouldn't have been a pain, but they weren't even cute dogs and they weren't even trained to be still or quiet.

The mariachi band we hired arrived late and didn't know the words to some of classic songs.

And our little old German lady neighbor gave the oddest toast: "Here's to Mike and Ruthy and another 25 years. Well, ten, actually, since that's when our Savior comes back to earth."

I did my best to try and keep the party easy and laid-back by helping serve the drinks and food, start conversations between friends and family and being an all-aroun-charming-go-to type of guy. It wasn't my job, but I knew it had to be done. All in all, we really should have stuck with our original plan: a trip to Hawaii, with my parent's renewing their vows at sunset at the beach. Because, the more you try to make something perfect, the more un-perfect it becomes. My mom tried to have the perfect anniversary dinner and nothing went as planned. Which is kind of expected when you come from a family that is known to be loud and unexpected (hello, we are Mexican). Still, when you can make Spanish Fly from lemons, can you really complain? Lesson learned.

Next time, we eat Taco Bell in Hawaii and call it a day. Or a party.

until then, for now...

So, I know I said I would be more active in posting blogs, but these past couple of weeks, have taken their toll on me. Firstly, my boss Alice gave birth to a new baby boy.

On August 28, weighing at 7 lbs. and 13 oz., baby Alexander James was born. While his father, Azten, stayed in jail. If that wasn't a sign to leave your cheating spouse who continues to associate with shady characters that allow him to miss the birth of his first son (actually Azten has a son with his first wife, but this would have been his first with Alice), then I don't know what is. Alice, of course, doesn't see it this way, and continues to believe once Azten's trail date rolls around in December, life will be perfect. Until then, I have been put in charge of the flower shop.

It's been a little stressful, dealing with customers, impossible floral orders and a cooler that broke down last Thursday, but so far I've managed to keep up the shop while Alice is out on maternity leave. And even though it hasn't been my cup of tea, the one thing I can appreciate is the fact I know I do not wish to continue a career in the floral business.

As I came to this conclusion, another career opportunity presented itself to me. Gwen, the coffee barrista we all love but can never have, asked me what I thought about becoming a fashion buyer/manager for a new clothing store her boss's family was thinking about opening. Judging solely how I dress at work, Gwen thought I would be a perfect choice to help start the store. It sounded like such a great opportunity, until, Gwen told me where the store would open up at: Milwaukee, WI. That's right. I was asked if I would consider moving 1800 miles away to open up a store, which would be a cross between Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters and Buffalo Exchange.

It's all I've been able to think about for the past couple of days. That and my parent's upcoming 25th anniversary party. It's this Sunday and our house has been a whirlwind of designing and rearranging our entire house to accomodate all our family and friends. That in itself is taking its toll on my parents as my mom's guest list continues to expand, stressing my father even more. He originally wanted a party with sub sandwiches and a mariachi band, but my mother went for the formal route, with actual silverware and waiters. After Sunday, I'll be able to actually think a little more clearer, but until then, wish me luck!

in company with craigslist

The other week, I found a planner in the lobby of the building where I work. At first, I didn't even recognize what it was, because in a technological world populated with Blackberry's and iPhone's, does anyone really write down their daily schedule anymore? I didnt think so, but apparently, so. Guess I'm just new-fashioned that way. I flipped through the planner and since I couldnt find any ownership information, I did the next best thing. I posted an ad on Craigslist and used an alias name for myself.

Three hours later and four emails later, a guy named Gabriel came to the shop and thanked me profusely, claiming I had saved his life. It was really no big deal. Anyone who has ever lost anything, would do the same. Right? Still, Gabriel wanted to thank me properly. With money. Which, I couldn't accept, so I said the first thing that popped in my head. I suggested a drink at the historic Hotel Congress. It wasnt until after Gabriel left, that I realized how lame and bizzare my proposal was. But, seriously, what are you supposed to say and/or do in a situation like that?

I met Gabriel later that day, for a really awkward drink. We both knew that the drink would last for a mere matter of minutes and then we would be off on our seperate ways, probably never ever seeing each other for the rest of our lives. What the hell was I thinking? I almost didnt go and at the very last moment, I almost ditched Gabriel and the awkward drink. But I couldn't. Call it ethics or morals, but I knew, it wasn't right to stand someone up for something you had planned.

"Hey."

"Hey Dude."

"What's up?"

"Not much."

"Cool. So, what do you want?"

"Uh, just get me, uh, like a gin and tonic."

Even more awkwardness. For the most part, guys really aren't social. Girls are. That's why we hate it when they take us out to meet their friends, because we know that we are in for a night of silence. I couldn't wait to down my drink and get the whole thing over with. That's when Gabriel's cell rang. Talk about saved by the ring.

"Hold on a sec. It's my friend Gem."

"Gem Masters?"


I dont know what made me even think of that name. I had never heard of the name Gem, until my first day in the sixth grade. In fact, the last time I ever heard the name was at my 8th grade graduation. Next to Colette, Gem was the only other girl I kinda, sorta, liked in middle school. It was the braces, that sparkling mouth jewelry that did it for me. That and the Old Navy, powder blue, fleece vest she wore. All of which, made me real nervous whenever I saw her in class or in the halls. I never thought I'd see Gem again and figured she would be nothing more, than a part of my past.

And now, surprisingly, Gabriel was talking to her.

The moment he got off the phone, Gabriel asked me how I knew it was Gem Masters. I didnt. It was pure coincidence. We actually spent the next hour at the bar, talking about Gem and how we each knew her. Turns out, Gabriel worked for some sort of humanitarian organization based out in Michigan that has an office here in Tucson, and during one of the company's "getting to know you" soiree's, he met Gem. He actually moved to Tucson because of her. I asked if they were dating and turns out, he never had the guts either. And just like that, I found out an old crush was single, my new friend Gabriel thinks my name is Luke and is it just me, or is it weird to say that I found a new friend on Craigslist?

1-$200-missing

I just had $200 taken from my bank account. It happened while I was in Disneyland and I only just found out about it a few days ago. It canceled out a credit card payment and brought in new overdraft fees which I already know will take forever to clear up, so there's something to look forward to. Something else to look forward to? Watching my back.

Turns out, the money was taken out from an ATM in Scottsdale on a Sunday evening. I don't know anyone in Scottsdale, much less the greater Phoenix area...except, I do know my brothers had spent the day water tubing at the Salt River. And they were about ten minutes away from the ATM that dispersed my money.But could they have done it?

According to a bank representative, the perpetrator had actually tried taking out $500, but was declined. They then did a balance inquiry and saw I only had $218 and still took out as much as they could. At first I was mad. And then a little embarrassed.

A long time ago, a friend of mine had given me some pearls of wisdom on how to save my money. They suggested I open up several bank accounts and then every time I got a paycheck, I would deposit it into a different bank account, and with my money so spread out, I would have to get in the mindset that I only had so much money in one account and could only spend so much, instead of spending it all. And believe it or not, it works. I deposited the $218 into my account because that's how much my bill was for, which explains why it was so low. I wanted to explain to the thief why I didn't have the $500 and apologize for inconveniencing his theft.

Weird, (I know...I have major issues. Let's not even get into it...), but what's even weirder is that after I was reimbursed $200 by my bank, I found another $200. This time, in my house. I was looking for matches in the china cabinet and that's when I found ten, twenty dollar bills rolled up and hidden in the top drawer. It was a shock to see the money there, and only made me think of the worst in my brothers. Who would try to hide $200 in a china cabinet? I hid the money in my room immeadieately, without telling anyone, thinking that the person who asked for it, would indeed be my perp. It's been about a week, and no one has stepped up. It's weird being in the same room with my brothers and no one has stepped up, claiming that they are missing $200 and I am no closer to solving this mystery than anything.

tragic kingdom

About a month ago, I was craving a churro, a fried piece of rolled Mexican dough, covered in cinnamon and sugar. But not just any churro. A Disneyland churro, since everyone knows they sprinkle pure, unadulterated magic on them as well. I told my friend Rose about my craving and she told me about a special Greyhound Bus was running, where you leave Friday night from Tucson, arrive at Disneyland on Saturday morning, and then, when the Cinderella clock strikes midnight, it heads on back to Tucson. It seemed like a perfectly good way to spend a weekend, and so I was all for it.

The following day, Rose told me she talked to her friend Erin about our trip, and Erin asked if she and her daughter could go as well. When she asked her boss for the time off, Erin's boss asked her if she wouldnt mind taking a client with her. Erin works with mentally challenged people, and the client in mind was Faye, a twenty-three year old with cerebral palsley and alcohol fetal syndrome. And if Erin took Faye, the company for which she worked for would pay for two-day Disney Hopper passes for everyone, our hotel, our food, gas, and would even provide us with a vehicle. It seemed like a really good deal. The only thing is...I didnt know how I would do with a retarded person for over 72 hours.


I'll admit it. I make fun of them. Not every day, mind you, but like most people, when I make fun of mentally retarded people, it comes in sporadic un-PC moments. Like when I watch There's Something About Mary and Warren comes on the screen. Or when I "walk" and "talk" like them. I've even used the word, "retarded" when refering to something or someone as "dumb." I know I'm not the only one, but it made me wonder if I could be around someone like that without being mean. Trust me, I did a lot of soul searching, and in the end, I decided to go, flaws and all, because I figured it would be good learning experience for me.

We left on Saturday night. Me, Rose, her daughter Dami, Erin, her daughter Micky, and her client Faye. The Expedition SUV we were supposed to have didnt pass inspections, so the company gave us what seemed like the world's smallest mini-van. We were packed inside. Seriously. Mostly because Erin decided to bring 20 dolls and stuffed animals for Micky, along with a suitcase filled with shoes because Micky couldnt decide which shoes she wanted to wear when she met the Disney princesses. And if that wasnt bad, Faye brought enough generic pads to fill all the bathrooms in Disneyland, despite the fact she wasnt on her period. According to Erin, Faye just liked being prepared.

Eight, very long hours later, we arrived in Anaheim. The sun was just coming up, just as the hotel front desk was letting us down. Our room was not available, therefore, we had to change in the bathroom of the lobby and prepare for a day at Disneyland. I wont bore you with all the details, but somewhere between Fantasyland and New Orleans Square, Erin had a mental breakdown. She was torn between helping Faye get around, while making sure her daughter was having a fantastic time. We tried to offer our help, but Erin kept insisting it was her responsibility and her burden to bare and spent the next half hour in the bathroom crying. By four in the afternoon, we had only ridden 3 rides and visited seven shops, where Erin casually spent over $500 on toys for her daughter. "I just cant say no to my little princess!" she said.

We then had a late lunch at the Rainforest Cafe, where Micky and Dami soon fell fast asleep, prompting the moms to end our meal early and take the girls back to the hotel. We spent the rest of the day in the hotel, eating bad Italian takeout and watching the fireworks from our balcony.

The next morning, we had reservations for a character breakfast with Lilo & Stitch at seven in the morning. We arrived two and a half hours later, giving us only a half hour to enjoy breakfast and the Disney characters that wandered around the restaurant. By the time breakfast ended, we had lost half a day, and we hadnt even spent time in a Disney park. When we did spend time in the park, most of it was spent in the stores, where Erin continued to buy her daughter's love and affection with toy after toy after toy. Even though Faye was in her early 20's, she still had the mind of a nine year old, and seeing Micky getting every toy she pointed to, made her jealous and cry for her own toys. And when people look at you with a mentally challenged person wearing a plastic light-up crown in a wheelchair cry her heart out for a small Minnie Mouse doll, it doesnt look good.

Up until then, I had done really well with Faye. She kept to herself and only got excited when a real-life cartoon character walked down the street. I hadnt once even made fun of her, which, believe me, was a very big thing for me. And it was funny, because after all those years of "talking" like a retard, I was able to comprehend everything Faye said, even better than Erin. Except when she made an "O" with her left thumb and fingers and put her right finger in the hole and swirled it around (I dont even wanna know what that meant!). But towards the end, the Faye Erin knew started to come out. A mean-spirited and selfish girl, who knew more than what she let on. Feeling my thigh up and down while laughing, was totally not an accident. Neither was spilling that ice cream cone with the strawberry sauce on my lap.

By the end of the trip, I had been sexually harassed, had ridden only seven rides total, had a smile plastered on my face for over 84 hours, and had $200 taken from a Scottsdale ATM using my debit card (still trying to figure that one out). Erin smoked three cartons of cigarettes, drank over ten Starbucks decaf skinny soy venti caramel macchiatos, and spent well over $1500 on nothing but toys for her daughter, which I feel caused her daughter to miss out on the magic that is Disney. Micky never got to see any of the Disney princesses, ride any of the memorable Fantasy Dark Rides or even get to see Mickey Mouse himself! She only knew the corporate and merchandise part of Disney, which is not something you're supposed to see until you're a little bit older. I believe childhood is fleeting and so it's best to hold on to innocence for as long as possible. And somehow, Erin managed to blame it all on Faye and the fact she had to spend half her time taking care of her.

It was a horrible trip and I just felt bad for everybody. For Erin not knowing how to say "No" to her daughter or realizing her own faults. For Micky being a spoiled brat and constantly calling everyone, even complete strangers, "Poopy Head" or "Booger Face". For Rose, who was so embarassed by her friends actions, she spologized what seemed like every half hour. For Dami, who was manipulated many times by Micky, to do stuff she wouldnt normally do. For Faye being stuck in a wheelchair and wanting what she couldnt have. Mainly me. Maybe that's why I'm volunteering a day of my life at Faye's home.

all summer long

Hey guys! So, I know I've been away for a while (a long while...) but it's not something I planned. It just happened. June took forever to get through and July happened so fast. And so much has gone down, that it would be impossible for me to write it all down without doing a series of posts. But I wont bore you with all that. Instead, I'll just condense it into one sentence:

I was supposed to spend a month of my summer in New York City with some family friends who have a house there, except it didnt plan out the way I wanted, because the family friends decided to vacation in Washington because they wanted to explore the university in which their incoming college freshman son would attend, which was understandable, but didnt work for me, so my Tia Rachel invited me to go with her and my cousins to San Antonio to see my cousin Richard graduate from bootcamp, only to find out my pressence was wanted because recently my 21-year old cousin Vanessa had moved an hour and a half away to Phoenix to live with her 18-year old boyfriend and my family thought I could use my powers of persuassion to convince her it was a horrible mistake, which I could never do, because I'm a big believer that our mistakes help make us who we are, and if we never make mistakes, then we'll never learn, so, I ended up staying in town, where drama ensued, especially around Alice and Azten, my 8-month old pregnant boss and her husband, who were just coming to terms that they both had been living lies - he for having a scandalous affair and she for wanting to believe that it wasnt true - and I think Alice has moved on, because she recently ran into an ex- high school sweetheart, a guy named DJ, a guy who has been in love with her for the past 26 years, when they met in the first grade, a guy who gave her, her first hickie in the back seat of the school bus when they went out in the 10th grade, and a guy that's been coming downtown every Monday and Thursday for Grand Jury duty and spending his lunch hour with Alice and her two daughters, taking them out to lunch and even spending weekends with them, despite the fact he has a long-distance girlfriend living in New Orleans, and though Alice wont admit it, I think sparks have been flying and I think once Azten's first trial date rolls around in December, Azten will be nothing but a fleeting memory, which is sad, but I really do think it is for the best, when a family has to be divided, which I will soon know, because my father is being sent to Iraq in September for seven months, which is sad, but I know he'll be ok, because...he just has to.

And that...was the jist of my summer.

the many faces of david tellez

The other day, I was watching The Graham Norton Show and Graham talked about this website created by students at St. Andrew's University, called Face of the Future. According to the website, the site is an EPSRC funded public engagement project (whatever that means!) aimed at exploring the latest advances in facial computer vision and graphics, and what they mean for society. Basically, it's a fun game that shouldn't be taken seriously. Just like my pictures! I started off like this...



And ended up like this! This is me, as a baby. Don't I look adorably cute? It sucks that I'm missing half my right eyebrow.

Here I am as an old person. Apparently, judging by my dark skin, I will live out my final years in south Florida.

As an El Greco painting, I look like Lord Licorice from the game Candyland. But I do like the idea of a soul patch...hmmm.

According to the website, this is me as an "Afro-caribean". I dont even know what to say. Thoughts?

Half man, half ape, I'm still sexy as hell!

And here I am, as a drunk, which sadly, is exactly how I look in real life.

sexy in the city

"You are cordially invited..."


Just hearing those four simple words and I already knew I would have a night of fun. Last week, my friend Touche, Phil Touche (and yes, he does introduce himself in that "Bond, James Bond" sorta way) called me up and asked if I was doing anything Friday night. I wasnt really. I told him that my friend Hadassah had made plans with me and a couple of our friends to attend an afternoon screening of Sex and the City: The Movie, followed with dinner and drinks at The Bamboo Club. I wasnt really planning on going out, since I did just come back from California, but when Phil invited me and Hadassah as VIP guests to Tucson's official Sex and the City after party at Level, I couldnt refuse.

I knew that an event such as this, would call for a special one-of-a-kind, "supercalifragi-sexy nothing to be playing with" look, so I knew I needed to go all out. Everyone was talking about the party and whether animal prints were in or out, so I knew I couldnt disappoint. I decided on a classic nightclub look: a black dress shirt, dark denim jeans, and black leather shoes. The only difference would be, in honor of Carrie Bradshaw, a fedora, a pink tie, and a black and pink studded belt with a giant, pink crystal, diamond-shaped belt buckle. I would never wear such a hardcore pink in real life, but when in Rome. Or in this case, when in-vited.


The Sex and the City day had arrived. I saw the movie, and I gotta say, I loved it. I know it's been getting mixed reviews, but I loved every minute of it! I cried, I laughed, I had a great time. And despite the fact that I drank an entire bottle of Smart Water before the movie started, I never left my seat. That last hour was killer, so you can imagine my relief as Carrie and her friends toasted their cosmos into the final scene.

After the movie, Hadassah revealed she didnt have an outfit prepared and was clueless as to what to wear. So, she made a B-line for Dillards and came upon a shoe sale. Shoes marked down at 75%, plus an additional promotional discount, is heaven for a girl. For a guy, it's hell. I dont know how girls are able to find anything among flying shoe boxes and exasperated salespeople, but somehow when shoes are only sixteen bucks, they manage. And somehow Hadassah was able to find four pairs of shoes, all of which went with a little black dress she had in her closet.

We arrived at Level, half past 10 and the party was just getting started. It was THE event and beginning of the summer social scene. There were flirtini's, martini's,and skirts so mini, you'd say, "Oh my!" Touche, Phil Touche was already there, waiting for us at the velvet rope, with the VIP wristbands in hand. After we posed for photos and ordered our drinks, we made our way into the club, past the sheer curtains, and into the the plush VIP lounge. Along the way, we met Phil's other friends, Aly, a designer who works in both Phoenix and L.A. and A.J., an architect friend, from the land down under. They were a little older than Hadassah and I, but boy could they dance and drink like there's no tomorrow. The ceiling was covered with black and pink balloons, with streamers that hung all the way down, much like the restaurant during the Valentine's Day scene in the movie. Black gift bags with pink tissue papers adorned the suede seats with frosted shot glasses, filled with Patron Platinum tequilla on every table. Welcome to the good life.


For a brief minute, I hated the fact that I was there. See, I'm more of a homebody type of person. Sometimes I prefer staying in and reading a good book or watching infomercials and classic movies on late night television. Maybe it's because my party clothes are so restricting. So when I get invited to events like these, it's always a little bit of a shock to me that my pressence is wanted. And it makes me wonder, after having a taste of the good life, if I can actually party outside the sheer curtains. But I guess for now, I would just enjoy myself. Such is the turmoil of a party-goer.

an extreme case of the ex

During my stay in sunny Carlsbad, California for Memorial Weekend, my T-Zone had become a little oily and to prevent a disastrous outbreak, I stopped at Walgreens and picked up a bottle of Queen Helen's Mint Julep Masque. I was at the register when the cashier said, "Can I ask you a question?"

I hate when people say that. You never know exactly what's on their minds and to be thrown for a loop like that, can be very disconcerning. She must've taken my silence as a "yes" because right then and there she asked her question.

"If a guy is still friends - still talking - to an ex, does that mean he wants to get back together with her?"

It was a loaded question. One that should be left to those in the profession of diagnosing matters of the heart. Not me. So I did my best, using every ounce of knowledge I had garnered from movies, television, and of course, real life. I explained that

"If the guy was friends with the girl, before he dated her, then it doesn't necessarily mean he wants to get back together with her, just that he's looking for a friend. Which is weird, because that's why he has you for. If he wasn't friends before, then stay back! An ex is an ex for a reason. Its the same reason you don't go back to a hair stylist that gave you an ugly haircut. Too much heartache."

The cashier thanked me for my advice and I left with the satisfaction of knowing I helped make the world a better place. The same feeling that Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer must feel everyday. Of course, like the old saying goes, "if you give a mouse a cookie..." another situation will be sure to follow, and that's exactly what happened when I got back into town. The "mouse," in this situation, was my boss Alice and the "cookie" was, well, the same cookie.

"If someone is still talking to someone from their past, even though they know very well that that someone has brought pain and heartache to them and their family before...that's a bad thing right?"

I didn't know if Alice was talking about her mother, who had recently gotten married for the third time or her little, all-state high school quarterback brother who kept breaking up with the high school prom queen, but I knew Alice already knew the answer. I guess all she wanted was a little reassurance she was making a right decision.

I'm not sure whether it was meant to be or not, but after Alice and I talked, I found a letter left out in the open at work. It was to Azten. And it was stained with tears. Heart-breaking, emotional tears. Apparently, Azten had signed all the property and real estate that he and Alice owned together, to the woman he had an affair with, during his marriage. She was a real estate agent, like Azten, which explains how they met. What it didn't explain was why he would have her sell the real estate that he and his wife accumulated together.

As I read Mary's words of hurt and anger, which hopefully would be the last and final words to a man like Azten, I wondered how someone could have the heart to hurt someone else so much.

schadenfreude

Schadenfreude. It's the German word for feeling pleasure at someone else's misfortune. And approprietely enough, it's the exact word that I would use to describe a recent phone call I had with my friend Maria, when she started talking about the people in our past.

"Dont tell anyone I'm telling you this...but David...Brenda is huge! She's gained a lot of weight. A lot. I used to think she was so pretty, and she was, remember? But now, Isabel says she's like a blob. A blob with beautiful hair."

and...

"Well, since Skye's birthday is coming up, Isabel wants to throw him a very special, very fabulous, and very chic party at Brenda's house. I never thought of Brenda's house as the place to be, but still, I told them you'd be my date."

There she was, talking about the past and the future, when all I wanted to do was talk about the present. I had called to ask how her finals had been and what she had been up to, not "who wore what?" and "who's a slut?". Not that I dont like a good juicy piece of gossip every once in a while, but that day, all I wanted to do was just talk to my friend about themselves. All Maria wanted to do was talk about everyone else but herself.

"Yeah...I dont think I'm gonna go. I dont wanna get...involved...with them, again," refering to the turbulant and destructive friendships that (I thought) we both shared and experienced with Brenda, Skye, and Isabel in the past. "Just seeing them again will reopen all those memories, you know?"

"What about what you said in Italy?" Maria said. "About, when bad things happen to friends, the good ones support each other but the great ones act as if nothing has happened?"

I knew what she was talking about. It was early Sunday morning and Maria and I were scheduled to appear, along with thousands of other travelers, before the Pope for Easter Sunday Mass. Just as we were about to leave, Maria asked me if I had taken 20 euros from her camera bag. I didnt, but Maria refused to believe me. I had no idea what she had done with her money and didnt even know where she kept it, but Maris insisted that I had taken it, since I was the only one in the room with her. I felt betrayed. Especially since my only friend in Italy would rather believe I was a liar and a theif who would take a measley 20 euro, then believe that I wouldnt. I had no proof I didnt take Maria's money, but I had hoped our years of friendship would be enough evidence to prove my innocence. It was upsetting and it made my very first visit with the Pope, a very disappointing one.

After surviving hours of cold wind and hard rain (or was it cold rain and hard wind?) we made our silent way back to the hotel, to discover an envelope from the maid, propped up on the goose feather pillows. Inside was a folded up 20 euro bill, the same bill that Maria had lost. I was relieved and angry at the same time. I couldnt even talk to Maria, or look at her for that matter. My head wanted me to say, "I'm so glad you found your money, because you just lost a friend," but my heart wouldnt let me, because I didnt want to say something I could never take back. We spent the rest of that rainy Sunday afternoon in complete solitude. Me in the plush, art deco lobby with a book and her in our hotel room with guilt. The next day, after the grey skies cleared, both literally and figuratively, Maria tried to bring up the subject once more, but I pretended to not know what she was talking about. That's when I said those famous last words: "The way I see it is good friends support each other after something bad has happened. Great friends act as if nothing happened."

And here she was, a couple months later, trying to use my words against me! But it made me think. If what I said was true, then maybe those people werent really my great friends. So why be around them? I then explained, that another reason I couldnt attend Skye's very special, very fabulous, very chic birthday party was because I would most likely be spending the month of June in New York. True story. Some family friends of ours have invited me to spend a month with them and their family and seriously, could I refuse such a generous offer?

"Seriously? David didnt you just come back from Italy?" Maria asked.

"Yeah..."

"And didnt you go to Kanye West's concert last month?"

"So?"

"Where are you getting all this money that you can just up and leave and go to different cities and concerts every couple of months?"

"Well, I'm learning how to save, for one thing. And I dont just get up and...

"Dont you know the country's going through a recession? Do you even know what that means? I'll tell you what it means. (Don't you just hate it, when people ask you a question they already have the answer to?) It means people arent making as much money as they should be and they should be saving it because they could be going poor in a couple of months. You're extravagant lifestyle is making people upset because you're making them think they need to spend money to have fun. This is why we need a woman president!"

Did I mention that Maria is over-the-moon gay for Hilary? And, of course, obviously, insane. I sat there, stunned, not knowing quite what to say. There are some notoriously bad things happening in the world. War, poverty, and starvation spring to mind, but I didnt think my "extravagant lifestyle" was one of them. Come to think of it, I didnt even think/know I had an extravagant lifestyle. (Of course, as I write this, I'm on my way to San Diego for the weekend, while my younger brother Caleb is on a plane across the Atlantic, headed to Europe with his senior class) But seriously, who are all these people I'm upsetting? If they only knew I have about $75 in my bank account and a $200-something phone bill on my desk. It's not living extravagantly. It's called living in my twenties, beyond my meager means and enjoying the present to the fullest.

What's the German word for feeling misfortune at someone else's pleasure?

happy birthday madelaine

Two weeks ago, my friend Madelaine and I were discussing her upcoming birthday nuptials. She was looking for a fantastic night on the town and I was looking for a chance to wear my new DKNY summer white jacket. So it seemed obvious that dinner should be held at the deliciously chic restaurant, Cafe Poca Cosa. Since I was already downtown, getting off of work, I offered to go in and make the reservation personally with Suzana Davila, the chef and owner of the restuarant. Suzana was happy to accomodate me and all my friends because of the simple fact that we attended happy hour religiously at her house of Mexican-fusion. It was perfect and within minutes, Madelaine sent out a mass text invite to 19 of her closest and dear friends.

Somwhere between two weeks ago and this past Saturday, my friend Hadassah invited me to attend the after party for the Arts for All Sweet Chairity Auction, held at Skyline Country Club, which was the same night as Madelaine's birthday dinner. It sounded like fun and since the after party didnt start until after Madelaine's dinner, I agreed to go. The very next day, my mother told me that my brother had finally decided he wanted to go fto Pinnacle Peak, an Old West Cowboy-themed restaurant, for his birthday dinner on (of all days!) May 10. Luckily, his party began two hours before Madelaine's and luckily, I was young enough to pull off an appearance at each event.

It was the night of all three events and I was ready by four in the afternoon, with my hair all slick and my shoes all shined. I arrived at Pinnacle Peak with my family, only to discover my mother had never made a reservation. And being that it was Mother's Day Weekend, we would have to wait for about an hour...and a half! I After about an hour of waiting in an old-fashioned Old West saloon, complete with coyboys in Converse serving beer from pitchers of plastic boots, I got a call from Cafe Poca Cosa, reminding me that if no one was at the restaurant by 7 PM, we would be charged a cancellation fee. So I left. I didnt have time to go back home to get my car, so I took a cab downtown.

With minutes to spare, I walked through the glass doors of the resturant and checked in with the hostess, who had a free pomogrante vodka martini waiting for me. I was the first to arrive and took a seat at the bar as I got ready to play host for my friend's birthday. The second guest to arrive was Hadassah, with both a gift for Madelaine and a gift for me! Hadassah's brother had recently graduated from Washington State University, with a major in psychology and was moving back home to Tucson. He spent the better part of last week on a road trip with his dad, as they drove from Washington with all his belongings, back to Tucson. Along the way, they stopped in San Francisco, where Hadassah's dad's cousin, Bev and her husband Greg lived and stayed with them for a couple of days. During their stay, Hadassah's brother noticed a really outrageous framed lithograph that was kept in a backroom and wondered why it was hidden and wasnt displayed openly in the house. That's when he found out how his family was a part of American music history.

Bev and Greg used to live in Hawaii during the 70s and early 80s. During that time they met a man named Mark at a party and fell in love with a certain lithograph hanging in his house. He was desperate to get rid of it and sold it to Bev and Greg for $8,000. The happy couple immeadiately purchased the lithograph and displayed it happily in their home...until they saw Mark in the news. Did I mention Mark's full name was Mark David Chapman? The man who killed John Lennon! Apparently, the $8,000 was used to purchase a plane ticket to New York and the rest...well, is American history. Bev and Greg dont like discussing "the piece of art that killed John Lennon", for obvious reasons, but seriously...what a way to find yourself in American history.

I couldnt believe the bomb Hadassah had dropped at the bar at Cafe Poca Cosa. I also couldnt believe that I was there for almost an hour and no one else had arrived. Where was everyone? I texted the birthday girl and found out she was still in hair and makeup and still hadnt found anything to wear. If making a late appearance was considered fashionable, then Madelaine was Prada. Soon after, a girl, whose name I still cant remember, arrived and then two more guests. They all thought the party was supposed to start later in the evening and were shocked to know they were late. In fact, some friends didnt even think the party was still happening when Madelaine jokingly said that her finals had taken a really big toll and that sleep was all she wanted to do. I didnt know what to do. I also didnt know what to say to the hostess or Suzana who kept asking us if the rest of the party would be arriving shortly. The VIP banquet room was still empty, since we were not allowed in until the entire party had arrived and the restaurant had to continue telling guests no room was available. I could tell they were upset and when I mentioned that the birthday girl had yet to make an appearance they laid down the law with me. Cancelling the VIP room without a 12 hour notice was a charge of $25 per person. For a party of 20, that was $500. And since I had made the reservation using my credit card...well, let's just say I literally fell out of my chair.

$500. $500. $500?!

Hadassah saw the blood in my face drain so fast, she immeadiately whispered in my ear, "David, take a deep breath. Like right now." I did, but that still didnt help the fact that I had just lost $500 in two seconds flat. It was a record, even for me. Not that I wasnt used to spending that much, but usually it takes me 10 seconds and usually its for myself. At that exact moment, Madelaine walked in with her new boyfriend at arm. She was on her phone, trying to do her best at damage control, and trying her best to avoid her mother, who had walked in when Suzana told me about the cancelation fee. Madelaine's mother was upset. Very upset. And the moment Madelaine got off her phone, her mother beraided her, telling her that the money she was giving her for her Memorial Weekend Vegas trip was being given to me at the end of the night. Great. What was I supposed to say? "Happy Birthday Maddie! Sorry about your Vegas trip, but thanks for paying me back!" I was literally sick. Hadassah had escaped to the bathroom to cancel our appearance at the after party and I needed to talk to somebody.

Hadassah was shocked I had bursted into the women's restroom and immeadiately told the girl at the sink to leave, as we were trying to have a very important conversation. I was drunk and I was freaking out. This was a horrible night that just couldnt be happening! I was totally out of the party mood so I decided to go home and kill myself. But Hadassah wouldnt let me. She kept telling me it wasnt my fault, and I knew it wasnt, it's just...I couldnt help but feel bad that I was taking Madelaine's Vegas money. I couldn't imagine what was going through Madelaine's head. No special birthday dress, half the birthday guest list was a no-show, a bill of $500 was looming over her head, and now her Memorial Weekend in Vegas was canceled. What a lot of information to absorb in just a few seconds.

Dinner was awkward and all I could do was drink. And think about the fact that I needed another one, very fast. Everyone tried to make the dinner conversation light and casual, but the big pink suede elephant standing in the middle of table made it that much more harder. After being fueled by Mexican-fusion food and mint-infused drinks, I was beginning to slowly accept my fate of having to be $500 poorer and killing Madelaine after cutting the birthday cake. Too bad blood ruins the taste of buttercream frosting. And just before falling deep into an emotional hole, Suzana came and pulled me out. Because of the simple fact that I attended happy hour religiously at her house of Mexican-fusion, Suzana waived the $500 fee "this one and only time". I wanted to jump up and give Suzana the biggest bear hug I could muster with all my drunken strength, but I was too woozy to actually stand up. So instead, I kept saying, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" over and over again, hoping my relieved enthusiasm would show through my state of drunkeness. And that was how I celebrated my friend's birthday.