the dearly un-departed

My high school photography teacher once said that pictures not only captured memories, but immortality. Youth and beauty would forever remain in the confinements of glossy squares, and the subject would continue to live on forever.

Of course, at the time, I took those words with the proverbial grain of salt, not fully understanding how powerful they were. And without giving it a second thought, I photographed an entire roll of film, using my high school crush, Bianca Moreno, as my subject.

After we graduated from high school, Bianca was diagnosed with a tumor in her leg, that transformed into cancer. She had been battling with the disease for the past three years, losing her hair, but not her spirit. It was strange seeing my friend with a colorful Pucci scarf over her head, where her long hair should have been, but what wasn't strange was how optimistic we all were about Bianca making it through. Sadly though, she didnt, and late, last Thursday night, Bianca passed away.

When Madelaine called me to tell me the bad news of our dear friend, I almost thought she was playing a really cruel joke. Bianca couldn't be dead. She just turned 21. She still had her whole life to live. No. She couldnt be gone. She just couldnt. But despite my denial, she was.

We released white balloons that Friday night at Tucson High School's homecoming football game, in Bianca's honor. And once I finally started to slowly accept the fact that maybe Bianca was truly gone, she paid me a visit. Well, sorta.

That night, I had three dreams. In the first dream, I was at our old high school, waiting in the deserted quad, for Bianca. But she never showed. In the second dream, I was at an open deserted mall, waiting to meet up with Bianca so we could continue our shopping excursion. She sent a text to my BlackBerry phone, saying she would only be a few more minutes, but in the end, she never showed. In the third and final dream, outside a small French cafe, I waited for Bianca. She made a phone call, promising to show, but before I could catch a glimpse of my dearly departed friend, I awoke.

I didnt know what to make of my strange dreams. Everyone around me was convinced the reason Bianca couldnt visit me, was because she was having too much fun in heaven and though that should've been reason enough for bygones to be bygones, it wasnt.

Even when I saw Bianca laying in her immaculate satin-lined coffin, I kept expecting her to jump up and apologize to her family, her friends, and our entire graduating class, for playing such a cruel joke. I couldnt fully grasp the concept that she was really gone. She looked exactly the same in the photographs I had taken, just a little paler, a little tired, and a little sad.

This wasnt supposed to happen. I wasnt supposed to see my old high school classmates for another eight more years, when it was our 10-year reunion. But one classmate I was happy to see was my old friend Kelly...or would've been, had I actually gotten the chance to talk to her, before she left. As the funeral began to slowly dwindle down, I left, leaving the photographs I took of Bianca with her mom, and just a little more acceptance and understanding that she was really gone.

That night, before I went to sleep, I started to talk to both God and Bianca. It was a confusing sorta talk, as I was already half-asleep, and half-drunk, but somehow I managed to have a full conversation. Which came to an abrupt end when I asked Bianca for a sign to let me know she was really ok. I, of course, changed my mind and ixnay-ed my strange request, because I rememebered I get spooked real easily by spooks, and ended the spiritual conversation with a snore.

The next morning, I got my sign. There it was, on my French Colony desk, a year-old post-it with Kelly's number, that I thought I had lost, long ago. I had cleaned out the contents of my entire desk a week ago, unearthing both a giant scatter of forgotten papers, and the very unlikely, but very possible, resting place of the post-it. The very fact that I discovered Kelly's number, only a few hours after I asked Bianca for a sign, unnerved me. Was it possible, my mortal friend had become immortal and visited me in the night? Or was my dream and post-it sign just a matter of odd coincidences?

They say that hearts and clocks slow down as they approach the speed of light, the point in which matter is converted into energy. Bianca's heart approached that speed last Thursday, converting her matter into energy. Into pure white light. Though Bianca was no longer with us, was it at all possible that she was still around us?

its not my party, can i cry if i want to?

Eleven years ago, a man saw a small, vague, formless object hiding in the desert bush, on the outskirts of his ranch in Three Points. The pale moonlight cast dark shadows, making it difficult to unmask the strange moving creature. It was too big to be an animal, yet too small to be a threat to his land. But like any frontier, wilderness man, the man had to protect his wife and children, and went out into the night to investigate. What he found, was a small 11-year old boy, sleeping in the cool desert sand with only a handful of clothes to keep him warm. The boy was an illegal immigrant from Mexico, who had been working on the next ranch over. The man could see that the boy was tired and hungry and out of the kindness of his heart, he took him into his home.

The man discovered that the boy left Mexico, after it became clear that his mother's new boyfriend wanted him dead, rather than to be a part of the family. Every night, the boyfriend beat the boy, demanding he go out and work, and every night, his mother stood there and watched, taking sides with the man she believed would give her a future. The boy ran away from home, in hopes of a better life, and a chance to stay alive. After ariving in Arizona and working for weeks underneath the unforgiving, hot desert sun, the boy soon found hope. That man, who found him sleeping in the desert was my Uncle Miguel. And, unofficially, the boy became my step-cousin Juan.

Though he wasnt a blood relative, Juan became part of the family and was included in every birthday, graduation and Christmas gathering. With the help of my uncle and my Aunt Tracy, he learned English, and went to school, graduating with honors in his class. He got a job with my grandfather and uncle's drywall company, bought a truck and was living the above-average version of the American dream. Unfortunately, Juan's dream turned into a nightmare.

Three years ago, Tracy found out her father had been having a highly intense affair with her aunt, and the people she once thought were her cousins, were actually her half-brothers and half-sisters. It was a devastating and crushing blow to Tracy, that caused a major rift in her family, and divided them. Refusing to take sides, Tracy and her family were cast as black sheeps and were sent to live in exile and oblivion. Petty rivalry soon turned into bloodthirsty revenge, when it was discovered that a few weeks ago, Tracy forgave her father for his adulturous past. Outraged, Tracy's mother used the one blackmail card she had on her daughter: Juan.

Tracy's mother knew Juan was living illegally in Arizona, under the loving and caring eye of her daughter's family, making her daughter and her son-in-law criminals, for harboring a fugitive. Several times the border patrol came, and each time, Tracy and her Miguel sent them away, claiming to not know the whereabouts of their "son" Juan, when in reality he was just a few miles away at a friends house, in hiding.

For the next couple of weeks, Miguel, Tracy and their family remained strong. That is, until yesterday, when my family had gone over to help them move into their new house and I asked Tracy where her family was. And it was right there, in her newly refurbished kitchen, that Tracy broke down and cried out every one of her fears. She wondered why her own side of the family had turned against her and wasnt there for support when she needed them the most. She wondered if God had truly forsaken her. But most of all, she wondered what Juan thought of her and her family, and wondered if he saw them as just another family he would eventually have to run away from again.

To reaffirm the faith, that her family would never stop loving Juan, Tracy wanted to do something special for Juan's 22nd birthday, which happenes to fall on October 7, the day after mine. And it was right there, in the newly refurbished dining room, that Tracy, my mother, and the rest of my aunts decided to throw Juan a surprise birthday. In front of me, they discussed possible menus. In front of them, I wondered to myself, if they had forgotten my birthday. In front of me, they talkled about themes and decorations. And in front of them, I wondered to myself, if I was being selfish for wanting a birthday celebration like Juan.

get outta myspace

If you live in Tucson, and are over the age of 20, there are only two suitable activities you can do on a Saturday night; go to a club or go to a house party. I chose the house party.

My friend Steven had just sold his seventh house in the past month, a real record at the real estate agency he worked for, and to celebrate, his wife Ashlee had thrown him a formal soiree, a real high-class affair with catered chicken and mixed drinks so elusive, they could only be found in the middle of a bartender’s bible.

Of course, being a tequilla-shootin', pretzel bowl-eatin', beer game-playin' kinda guy, I knew I couldn’t ignore such an experience, so I took full-advantage to the entrance of this frosty-glass world. It wasn’t half-bad. In fact, the more drinks I tried, the more I wondered if I myself would ever have a signature drink. In classic American culture, when everyone dressed in suits and fedoras, pearls and white gloves, signature drinks were just as much a part of the classic lifestyle. Cocktails were socially accepted and before the health officials stepped in, smoking was just plain sexy. Of course, before I could partake in such adult affairs, I would have to learn to hold my alcohol down.

As I sat on the floor, performing the classic head-over-the-toliet-bowl routine, my friend Maria was downstairs, performing the classic head-over-heels-in-love routine. His name was Michael, one of the real estate agency’s newest prospects, and one of Maria’s newest prospect for boyfriend material. Smooth, classic jazz played in the background…candle lights hid every facial blemish and flaw, showcasing only what was true and smooth…and the intoxicating aroma of Michael’s after shave blended with the smell of bourbon on his lips made Maria weak in the knees. It was the most perfect night of her life. Or at least it was, until the two lovebirds parted ways.

After they exchanged cell numbers, Michael left Maria with one last thought; "Look me up on Myspace." Those five dreaded words any respectable woman fears when dating the six-figure dollar man of her dreams.

After it’s humble beginnings in 2003, Myspace.com had been changing the world all over, connecting people with their pasts and their futures. But unless you live in a dorm or your record label demands it, do you really need a Myspace page? Does anyone really need to know that Nip/Tuck on FX is your favorite show of all time? Do they need to know your body type and sexual orientation? And do they really need to know you have over 7,432 friends? My guess is no, but as my good friend Madelaine pointed out, in an age where the old strive to be younger and the young strive to be older, does age even matter anymore?

Maybe not. And maybe, so. Either way, I feel that if you are over 26, have a respectable career, and do not live in government housing, here are a few tips to keeping a good Myspace.

1) Let your pictures do the talking. It's the first thing anyone will see, and as we all know, a picture is worth a thousand words. It's also the basis for a good first impression, which really is the only opinion that matters the most. All school photos should be omitted, along with any where you are, or appear to be, drunk, topless and/or in a cement holding cell in Mexico.

2) Wow 'em with something sensational in your headline. Since it's the second thing they'll see, next to your picture, your headline better be more than just, "Hello." Try something unique that relates to your latest interaction with the world. If you went downtown to the historic Fox theatre and caught a double feature of Breakfast at Tiffany's and Funny Face, you might want to include a memorable quote. Something along the lines of, "Thursday?! It can't be! It's too gruesome!" or, "When I'm done, you'll look like...what do you call beautiful? A tree. You'll look like a tree." That'll get their attention and will open the lines for further communication.

3) Make yourself look good, but not too good. If one of your friend's went to high school with Cameron Diaz and another friend is Diane von Furstenberg's godchild, dont try to make your own claim to fame. Chances are, you'll be outed and will have a whole list of embarassing comments that'll be too hard to run from. Plus, I hear once you delete yourself from Myspace it's hard to go back and not be discovered again.

4) Myspace is no time to bare your soul. It can be tempting to reveal something mysterious, deep, or unusal about your life to hook your audience in, but chances are it'll only come across as odd. Honesty and openness is one thing, but psychotic and confessional is another. For example, talking about the person you love, is ok. Describing in painstaking detail about how you love to be spanked with a horse crop, while your lover wears a leather mask, is not.

5) Keep it simple and short. Sure, novel-length blurbs about yourself do show that you have a talent for writing, and that you do indeed lead a full life, just brimming with endless stories, but it also shows that you have way too much time on your hands. It's like that old showbiz saying: "Always leave 'em wanting more."

Maria has a date with Michael this Thursday. As for their future? Well, we'll see.

nobody buys you flowers

In every low-paying, under-appreciated job, there are certain customers that one must deal with from time to time. There's the customer that smells like the stentch of death. The customer that likes to explain in great detail their life story, starting at birth. And last, but not least, there's the customer, so extremely perfect in everyway, that it takes your breath away and makes you say, "Damn."

Her name was Christina, and she had come into the flower shop to buy her mother a flower arrangement for her birthday. According to Christina, nobody ever gave flowers to anyone anymore, so why not be original and break tradition? It was the most thoughtful and sweetest gift idea I had ever heard of, that I knew I had to make one amazing floral arrangement. The only problem was, since it was Friday, our floral stock was way low and so was my creativity.

Nothing I put together worked. The flowers were too open, too short, too ugly, and really too bad, since I had hoped to impress Christina with my artistic abilities. But no matter how hard I tried or how many flower stems I cut, it was just not happening. Fortunately, for me, Christina was kind and patient. That's when she asked if she could step behind the counter and help. Working for a local catering company, Christina had managed to pick up a few tricks of the floral trade and put together a really stunning rose and lily arrangement. When it came time to pay, I couldnt full-heartedly charge Christina the full price, since she had put together everything and saved my ass. So I gave her a discount. A huge discount. And in return, Christina invited me to her mother's birthday.

It was the most thoughtful and sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, that day. But it was also a little weird. So I decided to ask my friend Hadassah, a major party girl who worked across the lobby at Mike's Coffee Shop. When Hadassah wasn't at work, she could often be found sneaking into a club, flirting with older, drunken men, trying to score a cocktail or two.

ME: You know that girl, that just stopped by? The one with the ponytail?
HADASSAH: The one with the flowers? Yeah. What about her?
ME: Do you think she was cute?
HADASSAH: Yeah, I guess. Who is she?
ME: Well, she came in to buy flowers for her mom's birthday, but I couldnt put anything together at all.
HADASSAH: Is that why she was behind the counter?
ME: Yeah. So, she made her own arrangement for her mom and left and...well, she invited me to her mom's birthday dinner. Is that weird?
HADASSAH: Wait! You dont even know her and she invited you to her mom's birthday? Yeah, dude, that is kinda weird. I wouldnt go.

So I went. I knew, from personal experience, to always do the opposite of Hadassah's advice, since she herself was a backwards kinda girl.

An hour later, I was standing at the front door of Christina's mom's apartment, with Christina and the flowers on one side, and a shaky hand on the other. I didnt know what I was getting myself into, and sadly I couldnt find anyone to rescue me. But as it turns out, it wasnt I that needed the rescuing.

For someone who just crashed the party, Christina's mom and Christina's mom's boyfriend were oddly warm and welcoming. But it was Christina's own boyfriend, Gabe, who was even more odd. I, of course, use the term "boyfriend" loosely, as Gabe was clearly gay.Or was he? He wore a bright canary-yellow shirt that matched his flip-flops and glided across the carpeted floor in the tiny apartment with such grace, such poise, and such balance, that I almost thought he was dancing for us.

CHRISTINA: David, this is my boyfriend, Gabe.
ME: Hey.
GABE: I love your rosary! It's fabulous!
ME: Oh, thanks. I like...your...shirt?
GABE: Thanks! It's Paul Frank! And this, my sweet love, is for you!
CHRISTINA: A flower?
GABE: A red anthurium! Beauty for beauty!

One man's beauty, was another man's tasteless gift. Gabe's flower to Christina looked like a yellow penis sticking out of a crooked heart, but the very thought of recieiving a flower made Christina swoon and jump into his arms giving him a kiss that was usually only reserved for sailors on leave.

There we were, in Christina's mom's tiny apartment; me, Christina, her mom, the boyfriend, and the "boyfriend", all enjoying the cocktail and hors d'oeuvres part of the dinner, and ignoring the ginormous elephant in the room. The ginormous elephant being, of course, Gabe's sexuality. It got me thinking if Christina, or if the rest of Christina's family for that matter, knew her boyfriend was gay. Or was I just being a sexist? Was Christina so starved for romance she was willing to settle for a flamboyant boyfriend who gave her flowers? And though I only knew the girl for a total of only two hours, I wondered if it was my place to meddle with someone who had obviously settled for a guy who buys her flowers?

sex, lies, and no videotape

It all started late Thursday afternoon. I was online in the computer lab at school, chatting with my good friend Madame D, when my not-so-hot friend Corrie walked in. A whole summer and a day had gone by, since I last saw my journalism crush, and my, how she had grown. Or at least the amount of tissue in her bra did. As we caught up, I realized I still had some feelings for the girl, but at the same time, despised her. Her little laugh? Sweet, yet annoying. Her outfit? Hot, yet slutty. Even the way she curled my hair around her finger was pure ecstasy, but at the same time it made me mad that she ruined my perfectly messy, coiffed, second-day dirty hair. Still, there was something enticing about Corrie that made me accept her invitation to dinner, later that day.

An hour later, I was at Gentle Ben's, introducing myself to all of Corrie's friends. I realized that this wasnt an impromptu dinner date, as Corrie had suggested, but was actually the result of a month long friendly get-together. I was a last resort date. And though I should've been upset by Corrie's manipulative actions, I wasnt. Normally, I hate going out to dinners where I dont know anybody, but this time, I was actually having fun. Until the waiter came and took our drink orders.

CORRIE: I'll have a Tucson Blonde.
WAITER: And you?
ME: I'll have...I guess water.
CORRIE: Oh, that's right, David. I forgot. You're only 20. You cant drink, because you're still too young!

What a bitch. Humiliating me in front of all her friends, I couldnt understand why Corrie was being so vindictive and spiteful. Had my life been a gangster movie, this is the part where I would have stood up and pumped a full round of lead into her body with my machine gun. Instead, I just pumped myself into Corrie, as we later had sex in her car.

During the course of dinner, Corrie's friends felt bad that I couldnt legally drink along with the rest of them, and so they offered to sneak me their shots and mixed drinks which I happily obliged to. Too drunk to drive, I sat in the passenger seat of Corrie's car, waiting for my buzz to go down. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, Corrie had straddled her legs around me, running her fingers through my hair. All thoughts of Corrie destroying my perfectly messy, coiffed, second-day dirty hair flew out the window...as did my right foot, when I cracked the windshield of her AMC Pacer.

Mortified about my after-dinner aperitif, I decided to talk to my friend Maria, who had a lot of experience in embarrassing hook-ups. She explained that since I, the hook-ey, didnt see Corrie, the hook-er, daily it wouldnt affect our relationship, which had undoubtedly crossed the friend/enemy barrier so far, Webster himself couldnt come up with a word. The only problem was, whether I wanted it or not, the infamous Corrie character would continue to play a role in my life. And hopefully it would only be until I finished paying off her cracked windshield. There went my upcoming birthday money. Depressed at the very thought of losing money, Maria changed the subject and moved on to my upcoming birthday nupitals.

MARIA: What about a little birthday dinner? Like that Poca Cosa place you're always talking about. Something nice.
ME: I dont know. Maybe.
MARIA: Yeah, come on! We'll invite Madelaine and Alice and her husband and all your friends. Just give me their numbers and I’ll put the dinner together. All you have to do is show up!
ME: Well, that might be ok.
MARIA: Should I invite Skye and Isabel?

No sooner had the names come out of my friend's mouth, that I knew I was going to be sick. Isabel was my mortal enemy and Skye was her evil gay sidekick/henchman. Isabel and I used to work at Forever 21 during our senior year but after this huge debacle at the senior prom, Isabel simply told our manager, that I was the ringleader of a recent shoplifting fiasco that had gone down at our store. Of course, it wasnt true, but Isabel lied so well, that I was fired and she was promoted to head window designer, which led to the great divide of 2004, causing many friendships at our school to cease and dismiss. Ever since, I've hated Isabel, but have recently just gotten over the whole thing, after I learned that karma paid her a visit and stayed with her for a whole year.

ME: Are you trying to make my brithday not fun?
MARIA: Well, technically we are all friends now, right?
ME: I dont know. I havent spoken to Skye or to Isabel in forever. Do you think I should invite them?

Maria thought I should, but I wasnt as sure. The truth of the matter was, even though I had no strong feelings towards Isabel or Skye, I wasnt really in the mood to have them help me celebrate my 21st birthday. So I decided to ask my friend Sean for his advice. Sean was currently living in San Francisco with his new bride and had some surprising news for me. Originally, I had decided to go away for my birthday and fly away to somewhere exotic. Like New York. But considering the fact that all my college friends were in debts way over their head, a fly was not feasible. And though I was totally fine with just an intimate dinner, Sean sensed a disappointment in my voice and promised a trip to New York after February.

ME: Why February?
SEAN: Oh, didnt I tell you? I'm gonna be in a soda commercial.
ME: Shut, up. For reals?
SEAN: Yeah, for reals. They called me up, asked me to film a few scenes, and I did.
ME: No, way, you're lying.

As it turns out, Sean wasnt lying. In the commercial, Sean plays an office nerd, which was a far stretch for someone who up until last year discovered the benefits of eye contacts and hair product. He gets a surprise from a certain soda brand, that comes flying in and disrupts the files he's looking at. And though, Sean only made five hundred off the commercial, the company promised him anywhere between 30-50K after it aired during the Super Bowl. Which means, a trip to New York was plausible, but is it still considered a birthday gift even though it's four months late? Should I accept Sean's gracious gift? Should I invite Isabel and Skye to my dinner party? Or should I just forget about everything and do my own birthday my own way?

apathy doesnt live here anymore

Gifted with my new pshycic ability powers, I had to find out more about my odd déjà vu experiences. So I went with my good friend Maria to see our mutual, hollistic healer friend, Rainbow. According to Rainbow, it's been reported that recreational drugs increase the chances of déjà vu. Duh. But what's also been reported is that pharmacological drugs also have the same effect. In fact, it seemed that there was a greater effect if antihistamines were taken. And considering the fact that I had taken a combination of Benadryl, Dimetapp and some herbal allergy medication earlier last week to battle my uncontrollable sneezing fits, I couldn’t rule out the possibility. But what I could rule out was I had a liar for a friend.

RAINBOW: So...somebody’s birthday coming up...
ME: Yeah, but not for like another month.
RAINBOW: Oh. No. I was talking about Maria’s birthday. It’s this Sunday, right?
MARIA: Yeah...
ME: No it's not.
MARIA: Yeah. It is.
ME: Really? Why did I think you’re birthday was in the spring?
MARIA: Uh...I don’t know.

As it turns out, Maria had been lying about her birthday all these years. She was not born in March as she had once suggested, but rather, was born in the fall. A year older and still, none the wiser, Maria didn’t recognize her birthday as a day of celebration, but rather as a day of re-evaluation of how her life was turning out so far. According to Maria, she was no closer to achieving her life goals than when she first thought about them. The social life she once had, was slowly disappearing due to the demanding work that was required of a pre-med student. But the worst part of it all, was that on her special day, Maria didnt have a special someone to wish her a happy birthday.

And while Maria was wishing for a special someone, her ex-special someone wasnt doing any better. It happened last Tuesday, after school, in the computer lab. Topher and Maria were just walking in, as Ray was just walking out. He was disheveled, a total mess with baggage under his eyes and absolutely no color coordination in his wardrobe. For a few slow-mo seconds, Maria almost felt sorry for her refugee-looking ex. But when she remembered that he had broken up with her, she felt thankful that she had worn a low-cut top, because on the off chance you should run into the person who broke your heart, you never want to be caught looking tow-up.

Still, there was something about seeing Ray in his natural school habitat that sparked old feelings in Maria. In fact, seeing Ray had ignited something in Maria so fierce, she had actually considered talking to him just so she could have someone to be with on her birthday.

It was really sad. But Maria’s birthday of re-evaluation got me thinking about my own upcoming birthday re-evaluation. It was like that time Ms. Tyler had made me consider my contribution to the world. And considering that this is my 100th post, it seemed only fitting. So I gave it some thought. Maybe I wouldnt do anything for my 21st birthday. Maybe I would just lay low. But did I really want to lay low, or was this just a bad after effect of feeling low?

Five minutes later, I saw that the day’s mail had brought me the newest issue of GQ. Reading articles of what the new 21st century man should strive to be, I came across an article entitled, "50 Things a Man Does Not Have to Do Before He Dies". I realized I had already done ten of them, which meant I still had a lot more rules to break and a lot more living to do. And if I had a lot more living to do, I couldn’t just sit around like Maria, thinking about what I hadn’t yet accomplished.

Still, if Maria was gonna be sad and cynical on her birthday, I figured my gift for her would have to help her see life the way I saw it. They say that you should live life to the fullest and so to help my friend start living life instead of loathing it, I came up with the ideal gift that would help her out.

• Kermit the Frog’s book, Before You Leap: A Frog's Eye View of Life's Greatest Lessons to remind Maria she still has a lot of life to see.


• The new Beyonce CD, B'Day, to remind Maria to live life with a smile in her step and a song in her heart.


• A chocolate scented candle, to remind Maria that sometimes, all you need is a good scent to help you remember the good ol’ days.


• A gift card for Applebee’s, to remind Maria that no matter how many new things you experience, you cant beat the simple pleasures in life, like boneless buffalo wings.


• And a vibrating cucumber, because really, what’s a good gift without a little sexual humor?

my déjà vu, my déjà vu

We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances - of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if we suddenly remember it. Charles Dickens wrote that, a very long time ago, in his classic book David Copperfield, a young man living in classic Victorian England. But this was Tucson, circa now, and the same truths held then for the French phrase, déjà vu, were still as strong as ever. Maybe even stronger.

It all started on Tuesday, while I was at work. A customer had just left Mike's Coffee Shop and crossed the lobby of the Frontier building to the flower shop, where she commented on the lovely aroma the flowers gave. Immeadiately, something in my mind clicked and for the next three minutes I was living a very weird, very real, déjà vu moment, it could only be described as déjà vécu. Everything that was said and done, I had seen and heard previously from somewhere else, not so very long ago. As if my history were repeating itself. And like any good déjà vu, I immeadiately shared it with all around me, but didnt give it a second thought.

The next day, my sense of déjà vu was even stronger, when I saw my old friend, Chloe. We ran into each other on the corner of Stone and Pennington, while I was heading off to school, and she was heading off to work. As we laughed, and caught up for the next few minutes, I realized I had had a similar conversation with Chloe, and was struck with another déjà vu moment.

ME: Déjà vu...
CHLOE: Well, call me, ok?
ME: I will.
CHLOE: Here, let me give you my number.
ME: Oh, I already have it. Three-oh-eight...something, right?
CHLOE: How did you know?
ME: I think you already gave it to me.
CHLOE: David, that's my new number. I just got it last week.

I couldnt believe it. Was Chloe serious? Or was she playing some sort of cruel joke on me? How in the world would I know the first three digits of her new number. Unless it was magic. But then again, magic isnt really real...right? At least that's what I used to think. At one time or another we all believe in the possibility of magic. That somewhere out there it exists, waiting to be discovered by us and to be used whenever we need help. But I wasnt in need of help...was I?

The only thing I could possibly think of that I needed help in, was my psychology test. Being a talented procrastinator, I had managed to put off three weeks of studying up until the day, or rather, hours of my first test. But trying to memorize psychology terms and the history of the practice was as useless as trying to finish an episode of Laguna Beach: Season Three, without wanting to strangle half the cast. And so it was with a furiously heavy heart that I entered the testing lab to take my psychology test. But I would surive. I was young and us young people have a way of rolling with the punches.

But surviving my dreaded test, I needed not. As I sat in the flourescent-lit room feeling all low, I realized I had seen this plastic, paper-protected test once before, in the same testing room, not so very long ago. And I had seen this multiple choice answer sheet once before too. Only, when I saw it, it was already filled out with a big purple A on top. It was a déjà vu so extreme, I knew I couldnt ignore my nagging gut feeling no more. I quickly penciled in the empty circles with my number two and finished the test within a mere seven minutes. It was a personal test taking record and I knew it could go two ways: I could turn it in and fail miserably, forcing me to grovel at my teacher's feet for a second test re-do, or I could turn it in and question this whole déjà vu thing later.

Five minutes later, after my test was graded, I got my answer...it was a big purple A. This wasn't a coincidence. This was just plain weird. And I wonder...how long does déjà vu last and how does it all work?

labor weekend of love

Two years ago, my best friend Madelaine and my good friend, Selina, had a falling out because, of many things, a boy. A boy named Andrew. Selina knew of Madelaine's longing desire, so when she saw how long Madelaine took to make her move, she went in for the kill and snatched Andrew, closing him for business, and closing any possibilty she and Madelaine had for a life long friendship.

Of course, Selina's senior year romance had the shelf life of a gallon of milk before it began to currdle, proving once and again that choosing a date over a friend is never good. And seeing how Andrew chose Selina over Madelaine, I wasnt sure what to make of the situation, when Madelaine told me he sent her a text last week.

MADELAINE: It was just weird that he remembered my number after so long...wait hold on, I have another text coming in.
ME: Madelaine, I dont know. I wouldnt get...
MADELAINE: It's from him! "Hi Q-T! Uve ben on my mind all day...hope u had a good day 2!" Isnt that sweet? What should I text back?!

The girl was gone. One text from Andrew and Madelaine was already making weekend plans with her new beau in mind. But I didnt trust the guy. If he chose someone else over my friend Madelaine once before, what was to stop him from doing the same again? Still, Madelaine believed in second chances, which meant, Andrew would be a part of her life, whether I agreed or not.

Meanwhile, in a school campus across town, my other good friend Maria was also finding love. His name was Topher, a "hot" twenty-one year old, biochemistry/physics-major. AKA nerd. According to Maria, seeing Topher in his white lab coat made her beaker boil. It was a scientific expression gone good...or would have been, had Maria not made the horrific discovery that Topher was already spoken for.

MARIA: He's so perfect for me David...but he has a girlfriend. She's twenty-six, and already she's having him think about his future and finding a job and settling down.
ME: Well, that's good then. She wants to prepare him for the future.
MARIA: But he's not ready to settle down like she is. She wants kids and a house and she's even telling him what kind of job to get. She wants to turn him into her perfect match.
ME: Oh, that's so not good.
MARIA: Yeah, and it's because they're not on the same page. When you have that much of an age difference, it never works out.

I couldnt tell if Maria was just speaking about Topher and his relationship, or if she was hinting towards my own illicit affair. And if so, I knew I had to take notice. Maybe everybody had a point. Maybe conducting a sexual relation with an authoratative figure who had a family, wasnt the best choice of my college career. But then again, neither was Maria's.

MARIA: And he keeps talking about moving out and breaking up with her. And I think I should help him break up with her, so he can be single and then we can date and then we can be together.
ME: But Maria...that means you're gonna be dating a guy who left his girlfriend for another, younger woman. You're the younger other woman!
MARIA: Yes, but it's ok, because we're perfect for each other. They're not. Why would you keep perfect and non-perfect together?

What was it about Labor Day weekend that was making otherwise smart people become fools in love? And why was it ok for everyone else to have a horrendous hook-up, but me? Are there certain exceptions that I just dont know about or what?

the wanted

As the warm summer month of August faded away, my summer life was coming to an end, and my school life was just beginning. Fall was just around the corner, but considering how hot Tucson always is, it's hard to distinguish the autumn months from July. What was even harder to distinguish was how Alice would react when I talked to her about my hour proposal. I had hoped to find some charming way to break the ice, the same way Tom Hanks charmed Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail when he talked about sending her a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils, because it was fall in New York. Unfortunately, the only thing I could come up with was...well, nothing.

When I got to the flower shop, early Tuesday morning, I noticed a change. A disturbance in the flower force. One look at the time cards, and I knew what it was. Alice had hired a new girl. Full time. Her name was Wendi. Wendi with an "I" because "Wendi with an I, is totally divine!" But beyond the lame joke, Wendi wasnt all that bad. She was kinda smart, kinda funny, kinda pretty and she kinda got me. I'd have to kill her.

But before I could devise a devious plan, Alice called to remind me to pay the beverage delivery guy and I reminded her I needed to have a talk with her in private. Alice figured since I was already on the phone with her, now was as good a time as any and so I went right into my rehearsed speech.

ME: It's just, it doesnt make any sense that I'm only coming in for eight hours.
ALICE: Well, do you wanna work Fridays? I mean, you know were not a big conglomerate business or anything, but I think we can squeeze you in.
ME: Well, it's just I need to know if I have to get a second job or not, because...
ALICE: Well, David, you have to do whatever you feel is right. I mean, if you feel you need more money and have to quit you wont hurt my feelings. I'll be ok, David.
ME: Well, I'm not gonna quit...
ALICE: But if you want to, I'll be ok. I wont be mad.
ME: Well, if I can work Fridays...
ALICE: You just have to do whatever you feel is right, David. You need to be comfortable with your decision.

The one thing I wasnt comfortable with, was Alice's answers. Was she hinting that she would be fine if I left? I got the answer I was looking for, so why wasnt I happy? Would I not be missed? Was I not missable?

Later that day, after our math class, I told my friend Madelaine everything that had happened, and wondered just how long my future with Alice and Wendi-with-an-I would last. Madelaine was actually surprised Alice hired somebody so fast but before she could give me her thoughts on the situation, she left to her next class, leaving me alone with unanswered questions and my thoughts. That's when I saw my American Sign Language teacher Ms. Pati Retahd. She was a young teacher, in her mid-twenties, who was kinda smart, kinda funny, kinda pretty and she kinda got me. I knew I was going to like this class.

Because I had signed up a day late, Ms. Pati still needed to show me the Language Lab and offered to do so, after she grabbed a bite to eat in the school cafeteria. Ironically enough, Ms. Pati “forgot” her wallet and so I had to take on the role of gentleman and pay. We talked for an hour starting with the whole “So how’s school going?” speech and ended with the usual “What are you gonna do?” eye-roll. It was just so easy to talk to Ms. Pati, because it was like I was talking to just another fellow student. At one point, during the middle of our conversation, Ms. Pati reached over and pushed back the hair that had fallen over my forehead. Not that I have long hair like a Calvin Klein male model that hangs over the eyes and gives me a tortured soul look, but maybe she wanted to see my forehead. I’ll admit it was a little out there, but ambiguous enough that I could ignore it. Except, she did a second time. Then touched my arm. Then, I remembered that she wasn’t just another fellow student. She was my teacher.

The next morning, ten minutes late into my Religion in Popular Culture class, I was welcomed with a small television clip of the WB show, Dawson’s Creek where Pacey kissed his teacher Tamara Jacobs. Did the whole class know of my sordid lunch affair with Ms. Pati? Actually, thank God, no. The video was a documentary on the way pop culture has reflected the lives of young adults and what they see on television and vice versa. Maybe it was all in my head? Maybe I was reading too much into the whole Ms. Pati thing.

Later that day, when I was actually in my sign language class, I couldnt dismiss the obvious signs that were being thrown my way. Because we were one student short, I had to practice my signing with Ms. Pati. When she gave examples of the daily life of a deaf person, she talked about her family, her eight month old baby, and her fiancé. When class was over, Ms. Pati decided to let everyone out by having everyone sign their last name and make a feeling using only their face, because to a deaf person, expression is the tone of voice. Coincidently, I was the last one Ms. Pati pointed to, and because I was last, I had to make five different expressions. I only got to the third face, when a fellow student came in asking if they could ask Ms. Pati a quick question. I saw it as a way out, but didnt know what to make of the whole thing. Obviously, Ms. Pati wanted me. Or did she? And if so, I'm wondering how far I would actually go to having an affair with a teacher. Am I that kinda guy?

sweet fifteen

They say behind every great man is an even greater woman. That everybody needs a mate and that two heads are most definately better than one. I, of course, finally came to the significant reason behind this conclusion, as I sat alone, drunk and bored outta my mind at my cousin Camille's, Quinceañera.

Like other family functions, I assumed nothing would go right. With a ceremony as big as this, I expected to see flaws and disaster at every corner and I was not about to miss any of it. Already there was controversy, as Camille had let four members of her quinceañera court go and replaced them with four other friends at the last minute, making them learn a waltz within a mere matter of days. And the fact that Camille's parents were both seperated meant two disputing families would actually have to let bygones be bygones for one night which also meant the possibility of a family feud. Plus, centerpieces still needed gluing, ballons still needed helium and even last minute alterations to dresses had to be made, minutes before the entire shindig began.

Saturday morning, the day of the event, I left my house with the intent of getting dressed at the church. Why wrinkle a perfectly good outfit when my garment bag could be put to good use? An hour later, as I was changing in the small restroom, I realized my freshly starched Paul Frank shirt was missing a button. Panicking, I tried using my bubblegum as an adhesive, which ultimately failed because of the dry heat in the room, due to the lack of central cooling and vents. Apparently, The Catholic Church of St. Christopher's believed the small, concrete church should mirror entirely, the historic missions that were once abundant in the southwest.

With absolutely nothing to form a resonable formal outfit, I entered the chruch and sat in the last pew, wearing my dirty denim Evisu jeans with the big torn-knee holes and a skeleton pirate T-shirt. The room was awash with Dillard's and Macy's couture and I stood out like a sore thumb. For the first time ever, all the men in my family actually wore slacks and neck ties, instead of the usual cowboy-boots-and-hat get-up that so many Mexicans confuse as formal wear. I felt unique and out of place, which I really hate. I needed to find sanctuary in a place, that at the moment, was in competition with the heat of hell. A place where I could gather my thoughts and regain my strength, because for a Saint who specialized in travel, Christopher sure wasnt making this ceremony go any faster.

An hour later, I was seated in the reception hall of Dove Mountain Resort, praying no one would notice my relaxed-casual ensemble. Needless to say, it didnt work. The topic of the evening wasnt how stunning Camille looked or how beautiful the tables still looked after the aunts and grandmas stole and hid all the candle and flower centerpieces, but rather, on a scale of 1 to 10, how comfortable was David Tellez? There was only one answer to my problem. The bar. Of course! The sweet nectar of mixed drinks had always helped me before, so why not now? Drinking my deliciously refreshing piña colada, I noticed the chefs bringing out the steaming silver trays of food for the buffet and decided to stay and wait in line. George, Camille's step-dad, and his sister Georgina who were also at the bar, noticed I was standing in line and joined me.

GEORGE: So David, how do you like the party so far?
ME: Well, you're serving both chicken and brisket. It is quite the spread.
GEORGE: Well, we just want everyone to have a good time. I see you're in your jeans so, I'm sure you're relaxed.
ME: Whatever. It's a long story.
GEORGE: No it's cool man. You're happy, I'm happy. But right now, I'm actually starving. You starving?
ME: Kinda, yeah.
GEORGE: Well, they're gonna serve the food soon anyways. Let's just go first.

And with the George's blessing, I served myself a bountiful plate of food, which was then I learned I had committed a major faux pas. The quinceañera court was supposed to be served first, not I. And it was with a heavy heart, and a heavy plate, I sat down and ate my food in front of my starving family. After my table was called to stand in line at the buffet, I wished I had somebody to accompany me. The longer I sat, the more alone I felt. It felt really sad not to have someone in my life I could make dozens of faux pas with and laugh about them. Obviously my piña colada binge wasnt helping whatsoever, and so after the quinceañera court performed their waltz, and the music started to play, I got up, hoping to dance all my troubles away.

I danced the cumbia, glided to the electric slide and even got low to the flo' with Lil' Jon. I was the dancing king and the dance floor was my kingdom. My moves were hot and as I looked towards the reception hall, I could tell everyone agreed with me. Why else were they oohing and ahing? Turns out their "oohs and ahs" were directed towards my t-shirt. All down my front side I spilled the briskit sauce turning my skeleton pirate shirt into an actual bleeding skeleton pirate.

I was totally out of the party mood so I decided to retire in the resort library and kill myself. Mr. Tellez in the library with the candlestick. But instead, I turned on the TV and caught the last hour of North by Northwest and The Cheetah Girls 2. Thirty minutes later, my Aunt Corinna found me slumped in the chair and offered me both a slice of marble cake, with an Oreo cookie cream frosting, and consoling. She confided to me how coming to family events like these were a little hard on her, because they reminded her that my Uncle Richard was still away in Afghanistan. Still, she came with a smile in her heart knowing full well, that eventually, everything would be ok. Which meant I had a choice. I could stay and mope in the library and die of shame or I could go back out there and dance.

And that’s just what I did, because as my Aunt Corinna said, when people feel lonely they just need to smile, because eventually everything will be alright. And even though I got yelled at by the mother of one of Camille's friends for dancing to nasty with her daughter, I didnt care. I knew that by the next family function, I would be a little more carefree, I would have the best clean outfit, and hopefully by then, I'll have someone to make as many faux pas as I do.

alice the advantager

Early Thursday morning, in a house located in central Tucson, a wife was waking up to find her husband sound asleep. It was his birthday, so she decided to let him rest, while she got their two children ready for school. When she got home, she found her husband wide awake, demanding to know why he had to hear "Happy Birthday" from someone other than his wife. Was it so hard to wish him a happy birthday and let him rest? Was it so hard to make his special day, special? It was a very, merry, un-happy birthday indeed, for both my friend Alice and her husband Azten.

The moment she walked into the flower shop, I knew something was wrong. We opened for business in silence. Mainly because I didnt know how to ask Alice if she wanted to talk about what was disturbing her. And also because I broke another glass vase.

Eventually though, Alice did confide in me, after reciving a most troubling text from Azten that read, "I feel as though you're taking advantage of me."

ALICE: He takes advantage of me. I'm the one that gets the kids up. I'm the one that feeds them and gets them ready for school. I'm the one that gets dinner ready and reminds him to help the kids with their homework. I'm the one that pays the bills and I'm the one that...well, sorta cleans the house. And I'm the one that takes advantage of him?!

Clearly, this was a marriage of disadvantage proportions. And while both parties argued their points of view through phone texts, I couldn't side with anyone. Sure, Alice was my friend and all, but she was capable of taking advantage of people. In fact, her most recent victim wasn't Azten. It was me.

As I looked at the work schedule, I realized Alice had only scheduled me for a grand total of eight hours of work. For the week. And for the following week as well. Was I really working only two days a week? I knew it was part-time, but eight hours was a full-joke. I needed to talk to Alice. But how?

I hinted that I was capable of working more than just two days with all my free time, but Alice only suggested I take more classes. And so I wonder...how do I talk to Alice about my job woes? As a friend? Or as an employee? Is it at all possible we can define the line that separates our professional life from our personal one?

twinkle, twinkle, little scare

In life, there are certain events which you expect to happen. Like birthdays, weddings, the large lady in the velour jogging suit who slips and slides right into the steel counter at Cold Stone Creamery. But there are some events in which you simply can not plan for, like getting an additional 40% of a mall purchase or given the grand tour of a behind-the-scene's look at the Broadway play, The Lion King. And sometimes, when you least expect it, you get a job.

A few weeks ago, my friend Alice realized as the lazy days of summer dwindled down, so would her staff, as most of them were full time college students. And being that I was a part-time student with too much time, she offered me a part-time job with too much hope that I would do a good job. What did I know about flowers except that you could learn a lot from them, for especially in the month of June? Sure, I had seen my friend Madelaine arrange flowers into living works of art, but could I possibly do the same?

I realized that with every job I've ever had, I always went in with a basic knowledge of what was expected of me. But this was something new. This was something different. Alice was my friend, but was it possible she could also be my boss? Was it possible we could define the line that separated our professional life from our personal one?

So I asked my friend Madelaine.

ME: Dont tell Alice anything, but I dont think I'm gonna work there long.
MADELAINE: Why? What happened?
ME: I dont know what I'm doing, M! Why did I think I could work there? I dont know anything about making flowers!
MADELAINE: Well, it's like that with any new job. You learn new duities, new responsibilties, new procedures.
ME: Yeah, I know that, but I mean, now, it's just weird. I mean, Alice is paying me to work. I cant just be all whatever, you know? I cant just hang around and do nothing like I used to when you worked there.
MADELAINE: David, this isnt your first job.
ME: Yeah, but it's the first one where I'll actually care how well of a job I'm doing. At other jobs I knew if I messed up on anything, there'd be somebody else to fix it. But now it's just me and Alice.
MADELAINE: So it's just weird, then?
ME: It's just weird.

We concluded, that it was just my first, first-job jitters and with a job-hopping career like mine, it was about time I got them. I had nothing to fear but fear itself. And though I'm not entirely sure F.D.R. had first-job jitters in mind when he made that speech, I knew it kinda made sense. Without fear, how would we challenge ourselves? How would we measure our ability to scale new heights?

It happened on Friday. Her name was Raquel, a health care advisor who worked with families with little or no income, but dressed as if she was going out to a club. She was slick, she was smooth, she was a-scured. Because Alice's Downtown Flower Market is located in the lobby of the Frontier Building, most patrons, presume it's also an information desk. Which was exactly what Raquel did when she asked for the location of the stairwell.

ME: All the stairs are actually sealed off.
RAQUEL: But I thought this building used to be a hotel.
ME: It was. But they sealed off all the stairs. There's stairs on the outside, like the fire escape and all, but you have to take the elevator to the second floor to get to them.
RAQUEL: Well, that's what I'm trying to avoid. The elevators. I'm a little afraid of riding them.

Apparently, the very thought of going up and down in a confined area made Raquel shake. She pleaded and begged me to allow her to use any stairs that might have been sealed off from the public but made available to all Pioneer employees. But without a sledge hammer and a detailed blueprint of the building, my hands were tied. The only way I could help was ride with Raquel in the elevator. Holding her hand. Singing a song. I once read an article that said, when placed in a fearful situation, some people used singing as a tool to help keep them calm and relaxed and I figured it could work for Raquel too.

As I helped Raquel to her destination, I offered her a ride down later, and realized just how brave I was. To me, riding an elevator was simple. Hell, I survived the Hollwood Tower of Terror, so going down, floor by floor, at a slow pace was a total piece of cake. But for someone like Raquel, it wasnt so easy. Kinda like me and this new job thing. I guess we cant all be brave. For then when would we ever find the hero within us? So for those of us still searching and trying to conquer our fear, remember, sometimes, you just gotta work up the courage to ask for help and sing, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

blast from the past

It was the first Friday of the first week of my first year in the sixth grade. So far, it had been a good week, mainly because I had worn the hottest shoes of the year and immeadiately gained access into all the social circles.

We had just come in from lunch and were about to dive right into our Language Arts lesson when I heard a grumble. And then a rumble. It was coming from the seat up in front of me, where Joseph Bowen, class loser, sat. What made Joseph a loser was his desperation to be liked by everyone. He tried everything to get noticed, including handing out Bic mechanical pencils and Costco cupcakes. He tried telling jokes, but that backfired, because he didnt know whether we were laughing with him or at him. Truth be told, I wasnt sure myself either. So far, like his brown corduroy pants, nothing had worked.

But that first Friday, Joesph did get noticed. Apparently, the school's beef enchilada's did not agree with him and while trying to lift his leg to release some of the gaseous fumes that had built up in his stomach, he let out the most raunchiness shit bomb the school had ever heard. It ran out of his shorts from both the bottom...and the top. The gravity defying shart caused such an uproar that by the end of the day, Joseph Bowen got what he so wanted. Recognition. The incident was forever known as the Bowen Blast and stayed with Joseph throughout his middle school career and well into high school.

I learned two things that day. One, never eat anything served in the school cafeteria unless it comes pre-packaged or cellophane wrapped and two, never ever be the first one to get a nickname...find some other poor sap to get it first. Which was the same advice I gave my younger cousin Katrina early last week, before she started her middle school career. I thought I was helping. I thought I was making a differnce. Instead, I just made more of a mess. When you're in middle school, life is both a popularity contest and pure hell. It's a time when you realize you're not a child, not yet an adult. It's a time when puberty hit's you hard coming full force with an attack of unwanted hair and acne like you wouldnt believe (lucky for me though, I didnt get my first zit until the ninth grade). It's a time when one shouldn't strive to be unique, but rather strive to blend in with the others and hope to God, no one out's you as a fake. Who knew that wasnt the best advice to give to an impressionable kid?

Evidently, history has a funny way of repeating itself. Katrina and two of her friends were accepted by a group of seventh graders, which in teen terms meant instant coolness. And though they werent mean-spirited girls, one of the things they did do was ignore a fellow classmate, who was a real bitch back in the fifth-grade, which I thought was pretty genius. They neglected and rejected her in the hallway and in the classroom, but during a math lesson this past Friday, the girl got recognized the same way Joseph Bowen got recognized.

One call from the school principal and one from my Aunt Sylvia later, I was forced to explain that all my "helpful" advice wasnt really all that helpful. I wasnt supposed to tell the truth about the hellish life of middle school, but rather make it sound as if everyone who walked through the halls stood a chance. But how do you undo what you already did, without coming off as a liar? How do you behave like a parent at 20?

the old man and the prophe-sea

The future. It's a totally unpredicatable and unvoidable thing that can change with every breath we take. Sometimes we can plan our future, but sometimes our future can plan us.

Yesterday afternoon, I went with my entire family to a college orientation for my brother Darrin. Being that it would be his first year as a freshman, Darrin needed to meet with counselor's to discuss his future, while I needed to go to the restroom to get rid of an itchy booger. And that's when I saw him. The gray haired man. He stood at the restroom sink, looking into the mirror. The strange thing was, he wasn't looking at his reflection...he was looking at me. Through the small sliver of a crack in the stall, I could see this man's beady little eyes looking at me, watching my every nose-blowing move.

I froze and wondered what possible explanation could this old man have to just hang around an empty restroom? Quickly, I locked the stall and continued to "blow" my nose, hoping he would just leave.

A minute later, the gray haired man did leave. But no sooner did I leave the bathroom and turn around the corner to the soda machines, that I saw him again. Ugh. It was like a bad Will Smith movie that just wouldn't end. But this time, instead of running away, screaming, "Dear God, NO!" I would stand my ground. Not to say that it would have been perfectly normal to run screaming. It's a fight or flight mechanism and seeing as how a creepy old man is hardly something worth fighting, it stands to reason that one should then take flight. It's a totally valid way to handle it, no matter what anyone says. But not this time.

Two Sierra Mist's later, the gray haired man and I had actually struck up a conversation. Apparently, he was waiting for a teacher friend of his, and was just trying to pass the time by observing the college. But during the entire time, I felt uncomfortable, because I knew my fly was open. Why else was the gray haired man constantly glancing down at my crotch?

ME: So, is your friend almost done?
GRAY HAIRED MAN: Why are you a cop?
ME: No...I wonder why he would ask that?
GRAY HAIRED MAN: Just checkin'! Say, do you know of a more quiet bathroom?
ME: A quiet bathroom? Oh, snap! That's why he was just standing at the sink! He's a shy pee-er! Yeah, I think there's one upstairs.
GRAY HAIRED MAN: Well, I think it's more private in the RV Building right across. We can talk there if you'd like...

I couldn't believe it. Two years in college and just when I had given up on finding someone to flirt with outside the classroom, I was getting hit on. Leaving his proposal in the air, the gray haired man left and walked outside. I wasnt sure if he was for real, and so, I followed him to the window and watched him actually cross the quad and go into the RV Building. Did he actually think he would lure me into a deserted building?

Immeadiately, I knew I had to take action. I would inform the campus police of this sexual offender and be pronounced a hero at the college. They would print my name and photo on numerous posters, warning incoming freshman of the dangers of gray haired men who lingered around restrooms and I...wait. Where exactly is the campus police? Hmmm. Not entirely sure, I went to the one person I knew, who worked at the college.

Lou-Ann. She was a finacial aid advisor who just so happened to also be the twin cousin of my ex-best friend extrodinaire, Brenda . Their mother's were identical twins and so both Lou-Ann and Brenda inheirted similar looks. As I told Lou-Ann about my brush with possible statutory rape, I couldnt shake the feeling I was talking to Brenda. And even though I vowed never again to speak to her, I realized I didnt hate Brenda. In fact, I had no feelings whatsoever towards her. She was just another person in the world, and all those feelings I had for her during the time we were friends was gone.

What wasnt gone, however, was the unshaken feeling that the gray haired man was waiting for me. Hiding behind the bushes or a corner, just waiting to spring out and ask why I didnt continue our conversation in the bathroom. Lou-Ann explained it would probably take a while before the police would investigate the bathroom, which meant that most likely, the gray haired man would get away and stalk another young man, some other day. Upset by the whole outcome, I decided to find my dad, ask for the keys, and wait in the car.

It was dark and windy out, and the pouring rain was like a thick blanket, hiding my car. It also didnt help that hail had begun to fall, but I was determined to make it to my car, because standing not thirty feet away in the hallway, was the gray haired man. I ran to the car, trying to push my way through the wind, hoping this crazed man would leave me alone. He didnt. After I jumped in the car and thanked God for making me faster than the gray haired man, I realized I left the keys hanging in the car door. The gray haired man saw the keys, ran right up and snatched them from their resting place. I was in disbelief. Was this man for reals? Did he actually just take my keys?

Freaked, I combined my fight or flight mechanism and ran into the thick blanket of rain and hail, not knowing what I was going to do, once I caught up with my car key theft, but just hoping that he would hand the keys over and turn himself in. Of course, that would never happen, but what did happen was the gray haired man fell and biffed it hard on the gravel asphalt, throwing the keys in the air.

After picking them up from the ground, I ran back to the car shaking from both fear and my drenched clothes. What the hell was going on? Where the hell was everybody? And why the hell was it raining so hard? Then somebody banged on the car window, and after screaming bloody murder, I saw it was my dad. Apparently, the orientation had ended due to the really bad weather and just as people were leaving, they saw the gray haired man fall and me run away with "his" keys. But before they could help him up, the gray haired man ran, leaving behind many unanswered questions and leaving me with one less prophecy to worry about.

how i spent my vacation

I made it. I actually made it to California in one piece and I didnt have to kill anyone on the long and dreadful, 11-hour trip. According to Mapquest, the total drive should have taken a mere eight hours, but with my dad driving the car as if it's some kinda jet plane from his good ol' military days and my mom screaming and clutching her seat-belt and car door for dear life, well, these things do have a habit of prolonging time. Of course, the fact that we had to stop at every rest-stop from here to San Diego to help my brother Darrin overcome his fear of dehydration, also was of no help. And yet, I still had to spend a whole week with these people.

It's not that I dont like hanging out with my family, it's just that how can anybody face humanity after standing in line with their parents for the Mad Hatter Tea Party? Why is it that there are certain types of people who never show any emotion? No matter how great the situation, they never seem like they have fun. Eh...I guess it's because I do have blood in my veins.

After landing on native California soil, we realized we actually had some time to kill and with no real plans, we headed to Disney's California Adventures. For some, this park is a real eye-sore, with even some refering to it as Michael Eisner's wet dream. But I for one, actually do enjoy the park. Being able to take bit's and pieces from California and sprawl them across a 55-acre park makes it a whole lot easier to tour the state with a "let's-not-but-say-we-did" kinda additude. No muss, no fuss. And while enjoying my state of no fuss, I decided to get a corn-dog. What I found was a really cute corn-dog vendor. Her name was Melisa and after a very funny, very un-PC conversation about corn-dogs, I left, not really giving a second thought about Melisa or her batter-dipped wienies. That is, until the next day.

Hollywood. They say it's the land of dreams, where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul. But the price of seeing and hanging out with someone who works at a corn-dog booth? Evidently, free. It happened at Universal Studios, and at first, I didn't think it was Melisa, because really, what are the odds? But while riding the Studio Tour and driving down the infamous Wisteria Lane, and passing the real-life, canary-yellow Solis residence, I knew it was Melisa. And she knew it was me, which made it that more awkward when I posed to have my picture taken with Billy Bush and Nancy O'Dell.

But beyond the embarrassing photo op, ditching my family and hanging out with Melisa and her friend Jessica turned out to be most thrilling. Like, driving through the time-space continuum with Doc Brown or watching the fate of the world play itself out in the live-action show Waterworld wasnt as dull as I imagined it would be, because with a young-adult cynical twist, anything and everything can be fun.

Melisa and I eventually parted ways, but not before having sushi at Wasabi on Citywalk. Which is exactly where I learned that running into Melisa wasnt fate. It was in fact fatal. The entire dinner, Melisa kept texting and IM-ing through her phone, leaving me to converse with her third-wheel friend, Jessica. Not cool. No matter how pressing the message may seem, there's a time and a place for a text. Front row at a sushi bar is not one of them.

The next day, the family and I did Disneyland. Remembering that Melisa had to work for the Mouse that day, I secretly prayed I wouldn't run into her. But with my luck, I wasnt taking any chances. So I turned to the spiritual world. Actually it was Esmeralda's Prophecies Fortune-Teller Booth in the Penny Arcade on Main Street U.S.A. but it's all the same.

"Your life has been full of trouble, for which others are largely responsible, but you are now reaching a point when you will be able by your own efforts to control your own affairs. Beware of the proposals made by a gray haired man..."

I was just getting to the "gray haired man" part of my fortune, when a girl behind me asked me if I was done. She had wanted to read her fortune, but unfortunately, the machine shut down. Esmeralda had left the booth. I offered to share my fortune but she declined, saying it was a sign from God that she should not stray. Her name was Bethany and she was from an Amish community based out in Ohio. She was on a rumspringa with her friend Lauran and together they were exploring the wildly popular, southern coast of California. Disneyland just so happened to be one of their destinations. My religious-fanatic mother adored the two holier-than-thou girls and invited them to tour the park with us, because apparently, nothing is more fun than riding Splash Mountain while learning the Amish way of life. Leave it to my mom to make the Happiest Place on Earth sound dry and clinical.

But in all fairness, it wasnt half-bad. True, Bethany and Lauran weren't as cynical as Melisa or her third-rate friend Jessica, but there was something charming about their innocence. They had never known a place such as this, to exist and to see them experience it for the first time was sorta special. The only sad thing was, their families couldnt be with them to experience their happiness, because they were probably off somewhere raising a barn or sewing a quilt. It made me realize that hanging out with my family wasnt completely bad. Plus, hanging out with your family makes food and theme park souvenirs that much less expensive.

That night, right before I got into bed, I finally finished reading my fortune, wondering if maybe having fun was something that Esmeralda had pedicted. She didnt. In fact, what she did predict made me wonder if I made a mistake.

"Beware of the proposals made by a gray haired man but take the advice and assistance that will be offered you by a middle sized and smooth faced one. You will receive an offer to go to a small town and engage in business far different from the one now engaged in. Accept it. You will meet with one who will love you. That love will be returned by you. The first name of this person begins with M and you will be introduced at a place of amusement."

Meet with the one who will love you? First name begins with M? Introduced at a place of amusement?! Just how coincidental are those fortunes they give out at Disneyland?

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?