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?

the knights of the night

In the days of Yore, chivalry refered to the medieval institution of knighthood and was often associated with the ideals of knightly virtues, honor and of courtly love. But in a fast-paced and independent society like ours, is chivalry really dead? Some would think so, including a famous singer who once sang that, "Roses are red, some diamonds are blue, chivalry is dead, but you're still kinda cute." But is she right? I mean, yes, no matter what anybody says, full-sized of half-sized, I am totally "kinda cute," but is chivalry really dead? And if so, what killed it?

Thursday afternoon, I was blog surfing when I came across a post by my blog friend K. In a beautifully written post, K talked about an Australian ice cream parlor in the East Village. The gooey, rich and velvety concoctions, gilded with designs and infused with teas and other subtle flavors was all I needed to read, before I decided I needed an ice cream of my own.

That night, with 20 bucks in hand, I convinced my mother and brother Collin to walk with me to Dairy Queen. We could have driven and arrived to our destination within three minutes, but there was something appealing of a summer walk. That and the fact that I was not about to waste my money on gas. That's what parents are for.

Walking back home with our Blizzards in hand, we first had to pass the Berkshire Shopping Center and the 24-hour Taco Bell. It was there, we came across the shortest, three-foot, ghetto, Emeniem-actin', South Pole-wearin', trash-talkin' midget ever.

MIDGET: Yo! Mommy! Ditch these punk-ass bitches and take a ride with me!

Was he really hitting on my mom? I mean, yeah, she did maintain a size four waist after giving birth to three sons and she was looking more mid-30's than early 40's, but my mom wasnt hot. Parents are never hot. Was this foo' trippin'?!

A big believer in the phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," my mother ignored the whistles and cat-calls coming from the long-lost eighth dwarf, Idiot. My brother Collin, on the other hand, wasnt such a big believer and instead, walked straight to the midget and stood his ground, staring at him straight in the eye. Which would had been easier, if the midget had stood on a step ladder.

COLLIN: Dude, dont talk about my mom like that.
MIDGET: What? Got something on it?
COLLIN: I aint got nothing on it, dude.
MIDGET: Fuckin' shut your mouth then!
ME: Collin. Dont.
MOM: Collin, please stop.
MIDGET: That's right! Best step back! Cuz you know I'll beat your ass!
MOM: Collin, come on.
MIDGET: I got my boys right here dawg! What you got on it?! I got my boys and they will beat your ass!
ME: Collin, dont listen to him...he's a midget. The world already shuns him like a leper.
MIDGET: Yo! Shut your face!
ME: Let's just leave.
MIDGET: Yeah! Listen to your ugly-ass looking brother!

I had just about had enough of this little gnome-creature and before I knew what was happening, I was throwing my medium-sized, Reeses and Cookie Dough Blizzard ice cream, with full force, aiming at the midget's head. And while trying to duck the flying ice cream the midget fell on the black asphalt. I rushed over to the fallen midget, and instead of lending out a helping hand, I gave him my foot. In his ass. Following my "great" chivalrous example, my brother threw his Cookies N' Cream Blizzard and together we kicked and beat the fetal posistion-layin', knee-high man.

COLLIN: Dont. Talk. About. My. MOM!
ME: Yeah. And. I. Am. Not. UGLY!

The midget's boys from the Lollipop Guild never came to his defense, and it was probably because they never existed. Which was sad, because it meant no one had his back. Unlike my mother, who left smiling, because she knew she would always have her children around to defend her. But me? I left feeling like an ass. Did I really just beat up a midget? If he was covered in muppet fur, it would have been like knocking the stuffing out of one of Jim Henson's creations, but this was a real human. Was guilt the real reason chivalry died?

bye-bisexual

Nicolas Cage and Lisa Maria Presley. Renée Zellweger and Kenny Chesney. Britney Spears and that guy she was married to for 55 hours. Sure, we all laugh at these blink-and-you'll-miss-'em marriages and chalk them up to celebrity flakiness, but it does make you wonder...was it really love at first sight?

Saturday night, I attended the engagement party of my friend Sean and his bride-to-be, Brittany. As far as parties go, this one was, well, odd. There was food present and drinks-a-plenty were present. The only thing not present was the bride. At least not physically. She was still 864 miles away, give or take a few miles, in Oakland, CA. But thanks to the internet and a couple of webcams, the fiancée du jour was present and projected onto a stucco wall. Which was a real shame since the bumpy wall gave the impression that the blushing bride had a horrible acne flare up.

As I made the rounds, I realized, not a single person there gave hope to the quickie marriage. Of course, most of the people there were Sean's old boyfriends, who, like my blog friend Ms. Bees Knees, believed in the age old saying, "Once you have cock, you never go back." But there was one optimistic hopeful in attendance.

MACKENZIE: So...how long do you think it'll be before they get a divorce?
ME: I dont know. I'm starting to think this isnt a joke.
MACKENZIE: Yeah, me too. It really is love at first sight.
ME: I dont know if it's so much love at first sight as it is, two people who had really great sex the first night and thought, well, if it's this good now, imagine ten or twenty years from now.
MACKENZIE: You're funny. But no, I still think it was love at first sight.
ME: Really?
MACKENZIE: Yeah. I totally think that you can find eternal love in those first few seconds it takes to land your eyes on someone.
ME: But then, wouldnt that be called, lust at first sight?

In a room full of non-believers, I wanted to believe that maybe there was such a thing as love at first sight. I mean, is it still possible? Could Sean and Brittany really be in love? For a swift, whirlwind wedding between a converted bi guy and a straight gal, the whole thing was creating a lot of questions for everyone, but the groom and virtual bride.

The next morning, waking up from a tequilla-shooter haze, I drove with Sean to the airport. He was on

SEAN: You know, David, I really appreciate you coming with me to the airport.
ME: Yeah, well I'm still a little drunk. I dont know any better.
SEAN: Well, anyways, I do. You know a lot of people dont think this is gonna work out.
ME: You dont say.
SEAN: Yeah. But I'm telling you it will. I just know it will. It's like...when you go to Disneyland and you know, no matter what, no matter how expensive the souviners and food are, no matter how long the lines are, no matter if a ride's down or if it's gonna rain, you just know that no matter what you're gonna have fun. It's more than a gut feeling, but I know I'm gonna be happy.
ME: But...you're bi! You used to have sex with guys! Like, arent you gonna miss that?
SEAN: Honestly? No...I mean, maybe down the road, I will, but I love Brittany way too much to hurt her. And if those old feelings come up, well, then I'm just gonna have to fight that much harder to stop them. Im not gonna give up that easily to temptation. I love her, dude. I really do.

So, maybe it's not that we're all cynical, non-believers in love. But maybe when it comes to matters of the heart, it's just that we havent experienced love at first sight, first hand. After all, doesn't it make more sense to believe in something that you've experienced more than once before then not believe in it at all? Maybe, we should all pay a little more attention to those first few seconds.

the beauty of books

They say, you should never judge a book by its cover. They say, you never know what kind of surprises are in store, when you look beyond outward appearences. They, are totally wrong.

Thursday afternoon, I was hanging out with my friend Ashley at The Downtown Flower Shop, when a picture of the Bradgelina baby popped up on AOL.

ME: Isnt she cute?
ASHLEY: Yeah, I guess...I dont know...I'm not really into that sorta thing.
ME: Babies?
ASHLEY: Celebrities. I could totally care less about them.
ME: Well, I'm not asking you to care about them. I'm just asking you to agree with me that she may very well be, one of the hottest kids on earth.
ASHLEY: David, that's wrong. Judging someone, solely on the basis of their looks?
ME: Oh, please, how else would you judge someone?
ASHLEY: Uh, maybe by their character. Duh.
ME: Ashley, nobody goes around, looking at people, saying, "My, dont you have a nice character soul?"
ASHLEY: Well, the point is, I could care less about looks. If you asked me what somebody was wearing, I wouldnt know, since I would only be looking at their face. In fact, I wish I were sometimes blind, since honestly, looks just arent that important to me.

Friday afternoon, Ashley got her wish.

I was back at the flower shop, helping my friend Madelaine de-leaf and de-thorn 600 red and pink roses, for her dance company. It was long and arduous work, stripping the stems clean, while avoiding the red sharp thorns. It was a total war of the roses and I totally got the battle wounds on my fingers to prove it. Why did roses have to have so many thorns? Was it a natural defense mechanism they had as a way to stop people from picking them? And was it all worth it?

As it turns out, it was. But not because of how the roses opened up to perfection, once we were done. But because I got to work next to Alice's sister-in-law, Laura. Laura was an extremely attractive girl who had mastered the half-closed, dreamy bedroom eyes look to perfection. Not too thin, not too fat, not too tall, not to short, just totally perfect. If there were three bears eating porridge, I swear I would've thought I was in a fairy-tale. She was just hot.

MADELAINE: David, dont say that! She's 15!
ME: She is not 15. Did you see her boobs?!
MADELAINE: Yes, David. She's bigger than me, I get it. But I'm telling you, she's 15. You cant date her.
ASHLEY: Yeah, it's like an unwritten cardinal rule. Thou shall not covet they friend's boss' husband's sister.
ME: But she's hot.
ASHLEY: I dont know. She looks like she's about to cry or something.
ME: No, that's just a look. You gotta admit it's still hot.
MADELAINE: Nothing's hot about a 15 year-old with a 36 Double D bra size. And plus, she only looks bigger, because her waist is so tiny.
ASHLEY: Madelaine, you were looking at her boobs?
ME: How could you not? They were right there!
ASHLEY: Sorry! I wasnt looking down there. I dont notice those type of things. I told you already, I could care less about looks.

And that's when it happened. As we were cleaning the flower shop, Ashley's left eye began to itch. At first, it was nothing big, but as Ashley continued to rub her eye, it began to swell up. According to Ashley, it felt like something was crawling inside and it was really starting to bug her.

ASHLEY: David! What's wrong with my eye?!
ME: Ew. I dont know! But it's growing!
ASHLEY: David, shut up! What if I iced it?
ME: Do something...I'm not even lying to you! It's like you're trying to grow a third eye.
ASHLEY: Shut up, David! You're not helping me!
ME: Dude, I'm sorry, but you're eye is freaking me out.
ASHLEY: What the hell did I touch?!
ME: Well, who cares, right? You said looks arent important, right?

Ashley left the shop looking like the deformed, inbred child of Quasimodo and that weird guy from the basement in The Goonies, while I left the shop wondering if Ashley would change her ways and admit, that deep down, she was just as shallow as the rest of us. And here, she wanted to be my date for New Years Eve. Ha.

the people we pick

Friday morning, during a heated soccer match between Angola and Mexico, I was on the phone with my friend Maria, trying to understand the point of a soccer game.

ME: Now, why am I interested in this again?
MARIA: Because! It's the world cup! The entire world stops to watch the game!
ME: You know...I think Green Acres in on right now...
MARIA: Whatever, David. You just dont understand. You didn't grow up in a country where soccer was everywhere and everything.
ME: Yeah, you're probably right. The only soccer I played was in seventh grade in PE. That was horrible.
MARIA: Why?
ME: That was when we had that really hot spring, remember? And all Mr. Cota-Robles kept screaming was, "Kick the ball! Kick the ball!" The only balls we wanted to kick, belonged to him.
MARIA: David, hold on, I'm getting another call.

Seven minutes later, with no goals being made or a chance of Maria ever coming back, I hung the phone up, only to pick it up again.

MARIA: David! You're not going to believe who that was!
ME: Who?
MARIA: Skye! And do you know what he just told me?!
ME: That he's gonna swallow another bottle of Advil?
MARIA: Brenda got married!

Brenda Lewis. You cant really describe her, you just had to know her. Brenda was a sweet and funny person, who held the best all-night house parties. Or as she used to call it, the weekend. Through training wheels and training bras, Maria and Brenda had been the best of friends. I was introduced to the BFF's in high school, through a mutual friend, and together they helped make my senior year one of the greatest years of my life.

Then, one night last year, after a series of unfortunate and too long to explain events, Maria and I had parted ways with Brenda vowing to never again speak to her for as long as we lived. Or at least until she called and apologized.

As Maria told me the surprising story, I realized it had been over a year that we hadnt talked to Brenda. Was our friendship really over? Did we all despise each other so much we were willing to deprive each other from sharing our delight? Or was Skye playing games with us? I mean, after all, Skye was the same person who told us he met Paris Hilton at his work, when she drove through town during the second season of The Simple Life. But Paris doesn't dine at Boston Market...does she?

The next night, boneless buffalo wings and potato skins from Applebees, were the perfect antidote to Skye's anecdote, as Maria and I sat in a parked car at the De Anza Drive-In. Unfortunately, before we could see The Breakup, we would have to sit through an hour and a half of pure agony. Or as I like to call it, The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Luckily, the dialouge was brief and predictable, giving Maria and I a chance to vent about the marriage of our old friend.

MARIA: I mean, we talked about getting married. Like what we were gonna wear, who was gonna get married first...all that stuff.
ME: Who was gonna get married first?
MARIA: Well, I was supposed to go before Brenda...so I guess that means...if Brenda was before me, I'm next.
ME: Wow, good job, Ray!
MARIA: Whatever...its just sad that this is how life is gonna be from now on, you know? I mean, I looked up to Brenda. She was like so awesome. And it's just sad that we cant even share our happiness with each other.
ME: Yeah, I know, it's sad. I miss being her friend too. But we dont need her approval to be happy. I mean, if she wants to hold grudges, that's her problem. The way I see it is good friends support each other after something bad has happened. Great friends act as if nothing happened.

As Maria pondered over my words, I turned to the giant screen to see if I could place Nathalie Kelley's accent. I couldnt. So instead, I mentally congratulated myself on being such a good friend. It was Brenda's loss if she wanted to continue harboring onto anger. Maria was a good person who totally didnt deserve to be sad. She was smart, funny, loyal, and she was picking her nose. From the corner of my eye, I saw Maria really going at it. It was gross. It was disgusting. It was weird. How could someone be that comfortable with themselves? Stuck in the car with my oddly confidant nose picking friend, I wondered...how could I pick a nose picker for a friend? How could I be friends with someone who had disgusting habits?

If I was a child, I would totally call Maria out on it, with maybe a finger point and fake gag. But being that I'm a mature and responsible adult, I took the grown-up approach...complete and utter denial. It's just...what do you do when the one person you look up to, lets you down? I know people arent perfect and I know there's that chance of being let down by those we put on a pedestal, but how do you cope?

matters of the head and heart

Once upon a time, an Events Coordinator from California took a trip to North Dakota. Heidi was attractive and bright and immeadiately fell in love with a local cowboy. It was all so wildly romantic, and like so many before her, Heidi's foolish heart took over. Unfortunately, theirs was a love that could not be, and Heidi returned back to her real life in California.

After reading of Heidi's adventures, from the postcard she sent me, I wondered if Heidi had missed her chance for true love. Sure, maybe falling in love and running away from home wasnt the smartest choice, but if you're following your heart, isnt it a chance worth taking?

Here's my reasoning: Not everyone can win the lottery. Not everyone can be super rich, or skinny. And not everyone can wear orange. Sure, most people want to be skinny, lottery-winners, who can wear orange without looking like an inmate from a state prison, but not everyone can be. But if there was a chance you could be one of those lucky people, wouldnt you take it? I used to think so, but maybe I was wrong.

Earlier this week, I got an email from my good friend Sean. Sean was a screenwriter from L.A., who frequently came to Tucson to house-sit his mother's house, whenever she left for a business trip. Sean was a funny guy who so happened to be unlucky in love. He could never find a person to understand him. In every relationship he ever had, Sean was attracted to the person. And all the people he'd ever been attracted to, happened to be guys. Until now.

David, I wish you were online so that I could talk to to you. Anyway I am thinking about going straight, and I have said before that I am bi, but to say the turth, I am just tired of looking for mr. right, you know? The reason for this???? I have met someone (a girl, obviously) who gets me and will be flying to Spain to get married at the end of the month. yes, i know its real soon and I'm probably not thinking straight (better change that one LOL!) but i dont care. up until the end of the month, I will be alone for some time in which I will be going straight, (as best I can LOL) and was wondering if you wanted to hang out and maybe fly out with me. I sure could use a friend at the alter. but anyway thought I would throw that out to you. If you don't wanna fly that's cool too, and so you know, I will always be there for you as a friend.

Flying away to a whole other country to get married? Changing his sexual orientation? Who was this brazen woman that my friend had fallen in love with and was it all worth it? Sean's life was here...well, L.A., but, still. Could he really be that much in love? Could he really just leave everything behind? And could I really go to Spain, not saying anything?

When it comes to falling in love, is it smarter to follow your heart or your head? How can you trust either? They're both so completely fallible, and no matter what choice you follow, you're destined to leave with thoughts of sorrow. Still, a choice must be made, and when the time comes, how do you know which path to follow?

the illusionists

Late Friday night/early Saturday morning, my friend Maria called me, after getting off the phone with her boyfriend Ray (aka The Bad Kisser). They had just finished having, yet, another one of their dramatic phone calls and Maria needed someone to help her vent. Ray was spending the summer back in his hometown of Philadelphia with his family and I think the distance between them was starting to get to Maria. Of course, being the strong, independent person that she is, Maria would never admit it. She would just complain about it.

I was already half-asleep when she called, and was only half-listening, until Maria said, that I was actually the source of a lot of their problems. In almost every argument they she and Ray had, I was always brought up. Ray couldnt see how I could be friends with Maria without wanting to have sex with her. He couldnt see how people of the opposite sex could remain nothing more than just friends, without there being any sexual tension. He couldnt understand that sometimes, people move past the point of dating, and just settle as friends. And the fact that I really didnt wanna hang out with both him and Maria together, only added to his suspicions that I was after his girlfriend (apparently, Ray also couldnt understand he was a horrible public kisser, which really was the real reason for my absense).

Unsure of what to do, I decided to ask my friend Madelaine. It was Saturday afternoon and we were driving up to Glendale, on our way to go see Madonna in concert. After getting our groove on to Robert Holmes' classic summer song, Escape, Madelaine suggested that we both pose as boyfriend and girlfriend to help our good friend Maria. But could the simple pressence of a person on your arm, give the illusion of a couple? I wasnt so sure, but according to Madelaine, it could. Maybe by showing Ray that I was already "taken," he would be less threatened of Maria's friendship with me. And maybe, by arriving at the concert with a girl on my arm, I wouldnt get hit on, at was to be undoubtably the hottest gay spot in Arizona.

Totally worked like a charm. Though the concert arena was filled with the hottest people Arizona had to offer, not a single one of them flirted, talked or even gave us a second look. Wait. That doesnt sound right, does it? Hmmmm. The concert was a total eye-opening, jaw-dropping experience! As expected, Madonna turned up the heat, both literally and figurativly. After raising the arena to a boiling temperature of 90 degrees, Madge, in all her equestrian glory, descended from a giant, disco ball covered with $2 million in crystals, onto the stage. And as expected, everyone was pumped and sweating outrageously, grinding their crotches on one another. It was kinda like the softcore porn they show on Showtime. If it werent for the hard, chisled, adonis-like male patrons, the whole thing would have actually been kinda hot.

The next afternoon, after a late-night-breakfast of In-N-Out cheeseburgers, I checked my answering machine, only to hear an unwanted familiar voice:

Hello? David? It's me. Paul? Yeah. Hi. Uh, I'm just calling to say that, I, uh, I get it. I get it, you know? I'm here at the Madonna concert and I just saw you right now with your girlfriend, and I get it. Yeah, so, anyways, I was just calling to let you know I wont be calling you anymore. Ok? Take care and...bye.

It was understanding at first sight. Maybe, there was some magic in Madelaine's illusion idea, after all. And if the presence of Madelaine on my arm could help make my ex-gay-non-boyfriend-stalker disappear, maybe it could help Ray get rid of his suspicions and understand that some relationships between people are more than just sex. Or is it wrong to help change people? After all if we can't accept who they are, how can we expect them to accept who we are?

the good lie

Monday afternoon, in a bundle of mail, one simple red and white postcard from Target stood out:

Hello, thanks for taking the time to apply with us.
While we're unable to off you a position at this
time, we do appreciate your interest in Target.

Collin didn’t get the job, and I, being the one with the mail would have to tell him. Damn. As I debated whether or not to show Collin the postcard, I was also toying with the idea of following through with my lunch with Zahqwandra. Did I still need to do it? I mean, I know I told my blog friend Buffy that I would, but saying that I would was just a meaningless expression, like "Let’s do lunch," or "I love you." But what if it was all a test? What if Zahqwandra was testing me to see if I was just using her to get my brother a job? I mean, in truth, I was trying to use what little connection I had, but I couldn’t let her know that.

The next day, I called Zahqwandra to confirm our lunch. Though I had mixed feeling about being seen with Zahqwandra in public, I told myself it would be all right, because I was doing this for my brother, for myself, for my blog friend Madame D, who got picked on for being a weird kid in school and for every kid that developed an eating disorder after being teased by me. Ok, that’s a lie. The truth was, I told myself that little white lie, so it wouldn’t seem as bad when Zahqwandra offered my brother a job and me a discount. And though they say that lying is never the answer, arent there some cases where a little white lie can help? They certainly help when you’re shopping with a female friend who asks, "Does this make me look fat?"

It was the day after 06/06/06, and I figured, if I could survive a day that was deemed unholy, I certainly could survive a lunch with a girl whose body odor was deemed unholy. Zahqwandra chose the Olive Garden because she was a huge fan of the $5.95 All You Can Eat Soup and Salad meal. I was a huge fan of being anywhere you could eat in the afternoon without being recognized. Two salads and a bread basket later, I had learned that Zahqwandra was actually turning into one of those loser-in-high-school-winner-in-life type of people. She had been accepted into some naval school in Virginia Beach, was advancing fast in her education, and was totally destined for great things. Unfortunately, I was not chosen to share her accomplishments.

ZAHQWANDRA: David…I already know that you like me.
ME: You do?
ZAHQWANDRA: Yeah. Ever since high school. Remember Lynette from Yearbook? Yeah, well she told me everything.
ME: Wait, what did she tell you?
ZAHQWANDRA: She told me, you would spray my backpack with your cologne spray, cuz you hoped the smell would make me like you.
ME: Oh. Really? She said that?
ZAHQANDRA: Yeah. And the thing is…I don’t see you in that way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a great guy and the sweetest person I’ve met, but I only see you as a friend. I’m sorry.

I could’ve told Zahqwandra the truth and that the whole cologne spray was a teasing tactic, but I decided not to. Somehow it didn’t seem right. She was successful and whether or not her success was based on truth or deceit, Zahqwandra totally deserved all the achievements in her life. I did wonder if keeping the truth from Zahqwandra was bad, but then I decided not. Every day we lie. We tell lies to protect ourselves and the reputation of others. Of course, every now and then, the day arrives when someone finally decides to tell the truth, but maybe we don’t need to know it, because sometimes isn't it the little white lies that are told not to hurt, but to help make life more pleasant, ok?

everybody has a laughing place

The great thing about being young is the lack of responsibilty one has when partying hard. As inhibitions are thrown out the window, recklessness...es...ity is welcomed. Because when you don't really think about the consequences of your actions, you're much more likely to have fun, fall in love, relax, have an adventure, or at the very least, laugh. But the bad thing about being young? The lack of funds.

Friday morning, I got a call from a Mexican tile company asking if I was interested in a sales posistion with their company. The truth was, I was a bit cash-poor, and since man can not live on credit alone, I went in for an interview. When I got there, I found out my assistance was not needed, as they had already hired the first candidate they interviewed. Depressed, I went to the mall to buy myself a little happy, and ended up at a party.

That night, in a hotel room by the freeway, I was ready to forget my gruesome day and so I toasted the night away with an assortment drinks and an assortment of friends. Everyone was bumpin' and grindin' to Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous, and having a really good time. No drama or drunken devotions of love...just highly intoxicating-induced fun. And for me, one drink turned into many, and before I knew it, I was sprawled out on a synthetic-fabric down comforter, with a bong in one hand and a shot glass in the other. I was drunkity-drunk-drunk. And high. And starving.

And so I did what any intoxicated-induced individual, in my situation would do...I went shopping for food. A half hour later, with my confident cooking skills (thanks to my blog friend Alicat), my friend Miguel and I were in the hotel kitchen, preparing to make the world's best tuna-fish pasta salad ever. It was yellow. It was smelly. And it was so good. Or at least I remember it being good. The morning after, my stomach told me a different story, and I had to agree that the contents of the cuisine from the previous night was not agreeable. I was sick, and still depressed about the whole interview thing.

So Miguel called me up and asked if I would be interested in attending a Hasya Yoga class with him and our friend Blake. I wasnt exactly sure if my friends were speaking English, or if they were sober, so I went along to find out. It turns out Hasya Yoga, or as it's more commonly known, Laughing Yoga, was a form of exercise that helped to improve your health and well-being, by laughing. According to the instructor, Mrs. Christine, the average child laughs at almost anything and everything, up to 300-400 times a day while the average adult only laughs about 15 times, if that. It's been proven that laughter is a cure for many things, like depression, aches and pains, stress, suicidal tendencies, mood swings and even loss of sexual drive. I wasnt so sure how laughter would help with my depression or the person who was sexually incompetent, (because when you think about it, isnt laughter, the last thing they need?) or how the class would manage with a broken AC, but I figured it was all worth a shot.

Twenty two beads of sweat on my mat later, I was laughing with my new friend Doris in our Hasya-turned-Bikrim-Yoga class. The heat had opened my pores and an entire night of mixed drinks began to seep out of me! Which would have been embarassing, had it been only me, but thanks to Miguel and Blake who smelled like vodka stingers, and Doris, who smelled like gin martinis, it wasnt. As we stretched out and shared our Ho-Ho's and Ha-Ha's, Doris also shared with me that she was taking the class, in hopes that her new approach to a good life, would help her approach a good man. Her last three relationships were all disasters (incarcerated, gay, missing), but Doris was not gonna give up. She was a true life trooper and decided that it was better to laugh at life, than to be spend all her time hating it and mising it.

Which really was an inspiration to all. In life, there are certain events that are just beyond our control and out of our reach. As Mark Twain once said, "Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it." True, we could just bitch and moan when life doesnt go our way, but maybe the best any of us can do is not give up, play the hand we've been dealt, and laugh with everything we've got.