in company with craigslist

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Hey Dude."

"What's up?"

"Not much."

"Cool. So, what do you want?"

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

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

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

"Gem Masters?"


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

And now, surprisingly, Gabriel was talking to her.

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

1-$200-missing

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

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

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

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

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

tragic kingdom

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all summer long

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

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

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

the many faces of david tellez

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

sexy in the city

"You are cordially invited..."


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

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


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

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

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


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

an extreme case of the ex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

schadenfreude

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

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

and...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah..."

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

"So?"

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

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

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

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

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

happy birthday madelaine

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

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

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

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

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

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

$500. $500. $500?!

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

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

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

forgiveness

Like every other twenty-something living in Tucson, one eventually learns that life doesnt slow down. It's something that if you dont keep up with, you're left in the dust. And it's nice to know there are people out there like your friends who will help you if the dust gets in your eyes. Which explains why I havent been blogging for a while. So many things have gone since the last time I blogged.

I attended the birthday party of a local celebrity hair stylist and realized the fun and importance of living well beyond my meager means. Life's too short. So why not have a few bath towels and soaps printed up with your name on them? Of course, having your own personal supply of tuxedo shirts for the caterers isnt all that it's cracked up to be. There's some things in life that dont cost a thing and are equally as terrific and fun. Like participating in a state-wide "Rock, Paper, Scissors" Tournament or being able to rock out with Kanye West, ten feet away from him (thanks Madelaine)!

I've also been learning a lot about myself through the people I've been associating with; things I thought I already knew, but have to learn again. For example, just as my boss Alice was finally coming to the reality that she is now living the life of a single mother with a baby on the way and as her husband Azten sits and waits in prison, Alice's mother gave her the ultimate ultimatium: if and when Azten does get out, Alice was to choose between him and the rest of her family. Alice's mother was through with Azten. Enough was enough.

And though I believe one should never make someone choose between love and life, I think I may have to take sides with Alice's mother. Azten has hurt Alice too much. Just last year he was in court for a sex scandal and though he was proven innocent, it doesnt change the fact that he's put Alice through a lot of stress, a lot of hardships and a lot of turmoil. In fact, last Friday, I found out through a very reliable, but very discreet source that Azten has been having an affair with a single mother...and Alice knew all about it. Which then begs the question, just what kind of person is Alice to stay with someone who has caused her so much grief?

Dont get me wrong. I do understand the power and importance of forgiveness, but isnt the whole point of the matter to forgive and move on, not forgive and stay on? It's affecting the way I look at Alice. Everyday I see her, I lose a little more respect for her. How can I respect someone who cant respect, or for that matter, love, themself? And though it may seem like a sign for me to move on, my heart wont let me. With Alice's baby due in a mere matter of weeks and her personal struggle against the world, it just doesnt seem right for me to leave Alice in the dust. Maybe it is my responsibility and maybe it isnt, but I dont think I can just leave Alice as her world continues to shatter. Or can I?

the latest issue

Remember that article I did for that magazine a couple months back? Yeah, well, I still havent been paid for it yet. According to the contract I signed, I was to be paid at the end of the publishing month, meaning my paycheck was supposed to have been in my mailbox/checking account by February 29. March 1, the latest. But time went by, and I got nothing. What I did get was another contract for another story for the next upcoming issue.

Was this how things were done in the magazine world? Were stories handed out like candy, while the paychecks just sat around like a bowl of creamed peas? I had to find out. I had to take a stand. So, thinking like a mature adult would (and maybe even a professional writer), I called my publisher, Harry, and in a very diplomatic manner, I explained to him that I couldnt possibly write another word until I had been paid in full for my last story. It was actually one of the few acts I have done in my life, that made me feel like a grown-up. Of course, it took me a few times (more like fifteen) to say it perfectly, but thank God, voicemails now have that feature that allow you to listen to your message and re-record if necessary!

The next day, I got a mass email from Harry, explaining the fact that the first issue ended up taking a slight loss because the magazine ended up having a larger page count than anticipated. Harry then went on to say that outstanding payments were currently being paid and asked if we could all be patient and bear with the fact that we are a new business still trying to work out all the kinks. I am of course paraphrasing the email, but immeadiately after I read it, I felt guilty. So guilty.

Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe I was too forceful. I almost felt as if he was directing the email towards me, because I had called the day before. I knew it wasnt just me he was addressing the email too, but in the back of my mind, I couldnt help but feel I was the one who had opened up the figurative Pandora's box of regret and apology. I immeadiately signed my contract, faxed it over to Harry and left to Italy the following day.

While in Italy, I forgot about the late paycheck, the email and everything else in between. That is, until I reached U.S. soil. My email and voice mailbox was bombarded with messages from writers and photographers alike who I worked with. From their angry and bitter messages, I learned that they had still not recieved a paycheck and no one was returning their calls. I also learned that Harry had filed for bankruptcy in December of last year, which I'm not sure if it has anything to do with the magazine, but it was being passed in my direction as "general information".

Something wasnt right. I didnt know what to do. Was I supposed to return the messages, which would undoubtedly fuel their fire of anger when I told them I still hadnt been paid? I dont know. Somewhere deep down in me, I I wasnt worried. Something told me I would be paid real soon, as if this was nothing but a minor setback for a new and growing business. After all, if it's true Rome wasnt built in a day, then how could I expect the start of a magazine to be perfect after only one issue? Plus, these people took a chance on me, a complete unknown, and gave me an entire section of a magazine. How could I turn against them? Is it just me or am I being too naive?

goodbye rome, hello home

Italy was amazing. Truly bellissimo! If you ever get the chance, you should go and experience the art...

the architecture...
the food...
the fashion...
and the wonderment of the entire country that is Italy!
I went with my friend Maria, a tour guide named Jasper and what I thought would be five other college students. One was, but she was in her late 30's, and the rest were well over 50. Not that I discriminate against age or anything, but I thought I would be traveling with people in my own demographic range. Still, traveling with them was a blast, proving once again that age is nothing but a number and friendships can be made over copious amounts of limonciello. Five thousand miles and a 12 hour flight later...
I was in the country of spaghetti and Dolce & Gabbana.

Our first stop was in Florence, which from a distance, looks like Beverly Hills with it's Spanish-inspired orange brick and white buildings against a brilliantly blue sky, but a thousand times prettier.

According to the history of Florence, the Medici family, which produced three popes, dozens of Italian rulers, and numerous commissioned works of famous renaissance art, is solely responsible for making Florence the city that it is.

The city is home to a statue on every corner and a fresco on every wall. There's the David...
the David...
and the David.
Even the finger of Galileo...
and Venus on the half shell!
The next city we visited was Pisa and yes, I can definately say, the tower does lean.
And yes, the scary view is so worth it!

There's a church (a total understatement if there was one) right next door filled with Christian, Judiasm, and Muslim influences, showing that people of all different backgrounds can actually live together in harmony and create something tremendously beautiful.

After several days of filling up on pizza...
and gelatto (heaven in a cup!)...
we finally made our way to la citta eterna, otherwise known as Rome, the eternal city.
It's a city where the modern world and the ancient world mix, creating a place where time seems to have no power.
And there I was, walking on the same land Jesus, Caesar and Lizzie McGuire walked!
And then, just like in a classic Hollywood movie, it rained on Good Friday.

Unfortunately, back home, it wasnt a particularly good Friday for my boss Alice and her husband Azten. He and his friend Vinny were taken into custody on two counts of first degree murder with a million dollar bail set for each, because of a botched drug deal back in January.

It rained two more days back in Rome. Even during Easter Mass at the Vatican with the Pope...
which a nun told me was God's way of showing the vistors at the Vatican, that there were people out there in the world who face many trials and tribulations and it's our job to pray for them and help them in any way we can.
So, right there, in St. Peter's Square, with a nun from Guam, I prayed for Alice and Azten.

Understandably, my boss went through a period of denial, anger, barganing, depression, and before just settling into Kübler-Ross's final stage of grief, acceptance, she found out her husband was innocent. According to unnamed sources, it's a case of trying to put the blame on someone that unfortunately has to go to court and though I cant really get into details, let's just say everything with my boss, her husband, and their family, will be alright.

Talk about the power of prayer, huh? But if you think my prayer doesnt really prove anything, consider this fact: when I left, the euro was worth $1.64. When I returned, it was worth $1.50. I totally helped pay off the national debt with all the shopping I did, so...you're welcome U.S. You can thank me with another trip. Maybe Paris...or even London! I'm not that picky...

what's wrong?

I'm supposed to be leaving on a jet plane to Denver in a mere matter of hours to catch an international flight to Italy and though the premise of it all seems adventurous and exciting, I can't seem to get in the mood.

What's wrong with me?

Everyone I talk to keeps asking me if I'm excited, if I'm thrilled, if I'm ready. I think I'm ready. I mean, sure, I still have to pack and get ready (I only have my shoes packed so far) but I have everything I need. Passport? Check. Camera? Check. My Italian phrase book? Check. I got everything I could possibly need to have a great time in Italy. But I'm still not excited.

Last weekend, I attended another First Fridays event, with Hadassah. This time, the theme was "A Night In Hollywood" which wasn't as glamorous as I thought it would be. Instead of classic Hollywood where all the stars and celebrities hang out, we ended up on the boulevard where all the drag queen prostitutes and iconic film characters mingle. Still it was a ton of fun, with mile a minute laughter. And the guy that noticed my date and I having the time of our lives? It was no other than fashion footwear businessman, Phil Touche.

I had interviewed Phil for my article on First Fridays, and doing as acquaintences do, he greeted us warmly, and complimented our "put-together outfits". In fact he loved my G-Star coat so much, he wanted to buy it right off my back! Talk about wearing the right thing at the right time. I declined the offer and instead accepted his invitation to a fashion show, sponsored by the Southern Arizona AIDS foundation.

The following Sunday, Hadassah and I arrived at the university of Arizona grand ballroom which had been transformed into a fashion show extravaganza. Tall models, flamboyant hair dressers, and snooty waiters were all there ready to entertain and criticize our every move. It was so much fun! The clothes were amazing...even the dress that had over 2000 condoms sewed on! Who'da thunk thin rubber could be so classy?After the fashion show and the mad grab towards the $300+ goody bags, we were invited to the after party at Level. Usually the nightclub isn't open on Sundays, but for such a fantastic event for such fantastic people, they made an exception.

The club was packed. Local celebrities were in tow, such as Toni from Toni & Guy Hair Salon, Chuck George from Channel 13 news and some model I saw on a local magazine two times. Phil introduced me to one of the organization workers of the event who in turn introduced me to everyone worth knowing in Tucson. It was so surreal and so unbelievable, I didn't want the night to end. In fact, I think its one of the reasons why I haven't been as excited to go...

With so much going on in Tucson and so many new people to see, things to see, and places to go, I feel like I'll be missing out on so many things. I know it doesn't make sense, considering I'm off to Italy, but then why can't I be excited? Is this normal behavior? What's wrong with me?

goodbye home, hello rome

So, I've decided I need a break. Life has just become too overwhelming with work, school, family, friends and everything else in between. Judging by the lack of posts on this blog and the comments I havent left on your blog, you can kinda sorta tell something is up. And it's not a bad something, it's just...stuff, you know?

In fact, spring break couldnt have come at a better time this year. In exactly one week from today (okay, more like eight days), I will be granted two weeks of vacation from work, from school, from family and everything in between. No, I wont be at Daytona Beach trading tips on how to excel in the drinking game of quarters, but rather, I shall be strolling along cobblestone streets and ancient ruins in the wonderful boot-shaped country of Italy!

It's been about six months of hellish preperation (the trip organizer is a middle-aged woman with a thick Middle Eastern accent, and try as I may to keep an open mind, I can only understand everyother word she said, making the trip enrollment process twice as long and twice as hard), but finally, finally, it's almost here! I'm going with my friend Maria and six other students from the University of Arizona. I havent met any of them, but I am hoping to God and crossing my fingers they arent nerdy travelers who wear four-foot long backpacks and velcro.

Already, I've been preparing myself for Italy. I've eaten at the Olive Garden four times last week, watched many Italian films such as The Lizzie McGuire Movie, and even went to the opera to a three hour performance of The Magic Flute (ok, so it wasnt an Italian opera, but the atmosphere was very much the same). I'm ready for fun and adventure...the only thing is...is Italy ready for me?

roses are red, february blows

Now, if you think I'm one of those hairy, flag-burning, hemp-wearing, political-minded, vegan liberals who think Valentine's is nothing but a holiday, drummed up by the billion-dollar card and candy industry, I'm not. I just work at a flower shop. Technically, I'm a floral designer, but I hate using that term. It's so...not me. I didnt go to school for it and I never took a class. I just fell into the job and so it doesnt feel right saying "I'm a floral designer." Plus it's a total buzzkill when trying to talk to a girl. I may be a socialite by night, but by morning, I'm just a regular nine-to-fiver who also goes to school.

Except during Valentine week, when I literally have no life. Stripping flowers from their thorns and ugly leaves takes up much more time than you think. And it's all preformed in really cold conditions since flowers wilt in heat. But it's all to make some wife/girlfriend/mistress/gay lover smile for a day and a night. And though I usually love brightening up people's day and making them smile, this Valentine's I really could care less.

My boss Alice is pregnant. Two months pregnant to be exact. She found out last month, right before leaving to Vegas, and has been quite the hormonal creature. Her stomach has already popped out and she's already donning jeans with blue stretch material on top. Talk about "mom jeans". But the worst part is, she's becoming more and more forgetful and is going through some pretty heavy mood swings. All of which I have to deal with by myself since my co-worker is in and out most of the time, working here and at the coffee shop across the way.

Then there's the new foreign exchange student. His name was Pieryo and was from Peru. He was staying with Alice's mother and Alice's younger brother, Tyler, the all-star quarterback and most popular kid at school. He was immeadiately welcomed into the bossum of the cool kids and thus became a cool kid himself. Imagine, having to skip over years of adolescent hell and just skip to the good part. And I dont know if it was because we were both cool nerds, but we shared a lot of the same interests, including old school Michael Jackson.

I had heard a leaked version of Michael Jackson's new 25th remix album on Myspace and after I told Pieryo, he told me he had a video on Youtube of him doing the Thriller dance. Then I went to the movies with my co-worker Amanda and who should be there, standing in line, but Pieryo. All of a sudden, our common interests turned into an obsessive fascination for him. Everything I said and did was "so much fun, it's fun." At first, it was kinda cool changing and molding the mind of a foreign kid, but then it got weird, when he told me he wanted to laugh like me and

It didnt help that he hung around with me all day during Valentines day at the shop. But at least he was helpful. Which is much more I can say than for Azten, Alice's husband. During the past year and a half, Azten lost a brother and a best friend. He almost got divorced twice and was found not guilty on some charges that I really cant get into. All in all, you could say Azten leads a complicated life, mostly because he brings it upon himself. Which is why I couldnt figure out why he would impart complication onto someone else. Trying to shape up his life and help Alice out a little more, Azten has taken an intrest in the flower shop. The thing is, it's really annoying.

Azten has decided to move the flower shop in a whole new direction. He began by forming a more structured and disciplined way to do work, thinking it would make us more professional and productive. Then he decided to sell cigars, right next to the flowers. And now there's this talk of selling hotdogs and it's just...not right. He's interrupted our work space and the way of work that works for us. And we cant even say anything, because Azten takes everything so personal, which makes it that much harder to respect him. Not that he garnered much respect in the first place because of his behavior and the way Alice has talked about him in the past, but still. All I know is, this is gonna be a long pregnancy. And that basically was my February.

the published works of mr. david tellez

So here it is. My very first published article, as mentioned in my previous post, Masquerade.

First Fridays

by: David Tellez

If you live in Southern Arizona with a career that doesn't require you to have a facial piercing or electric lime-colored hair, there are two things you can do on a Friday night. Stay at home and watch another episode of "Who Wants to Dance with America's Next Top Idol?" or merge and mingle with other Tucson professionals in a relaxed and sophisticated setting.

The Tucson Young Professionals organization was created by the innovative minds of Megan Pellman, chair of the First Fridays Committee and president Leah Taylor. The idea behind First Fridays is very much the same as the mission of Tucson Young Professionals - focus on the promotion, attraction and retention of professionals in the Tucson region.

The group has become politically active in the community, taking a strong stand against 2007's Proposition 200, the water and trash fee initiative. So, what better way, to introduce Tucsonans, to a satisfyingly simple, yet, profound and active vision than our very own, culturally diverse realm of downtown? According to Taylor, this event, which is open to all members of the community (over the age of 21) at the Tucson Museum of Art, is the first step forward for greater things to come.

As a native Tucsonan, I was a little skeptical about the entire premise. Could an event like First Fridays really have the influence and appeal to help keep professionals in the Tucson region? After all, when you live in the same town for so many years, you start to wonder and dream about the possibility of a life different from the one you already know. I decided I would make an appearance with these so-called movers and shakers and see what this tedious town had to offer.

It was a quarter to ten and everyone was dressed to the nines and beyond. Past the glass doors and up the stone stairs, large, clay pots filled with beautiful golden fire lead the way to an open courtyard, where a grand and whimsical drink bar made entirely out of crystal ice, stood. Strings of lights, hung lazily through the dark and winding trees, while the melodic sounds of a single, jazz saxophone drifted through the air, creating not so much an atmosphere of sophistication, but an atmosphere of a sought after lifestyle. Welcome to living the good life in the five-two-oh.

People were laughing, passing and meeting smile after smile. There was something in the air that made you believe that this night was a chance to relax, have fun, possibly fall in love, or at the very least, have an adventure. After taking in the view of this spectacular gathering, I couldn't help but think of that Moby song, "Beautiful": Look at us, were beautiful. All the people push and pull, but let's just go out and ride. Talk about the things we try…

And there she stood. A Barbara Streisand look-alike with just as much character and style as the original. She wore tall pumps and dark, arm-length, leather gloves, which gave her 40's, inspired frock so much edge, she could have fallen off.

Her name was Rimma Shishkovskaya, wife of Oleg Shishkovskiy, one of the creators of Khortytsa Vodka, a locally owned vodka distributor that was co-sponsoring First Fridays. Shishkovskaya was a vision of radiance and was obviously enjoying herself and the fact that every fashion-conscious woman there made a mental note to themselves that arm length gloves were, indeed, back in style.

"First Fridays] is something Tucson has never done before. It's exactly what this town needs. A place where we can be entertained with our old friends and our new friends."

Shishkovskaya then introduced me to a tall, handsome, dark-haired man, she had met earlier that night. His name was James Henessy of Henessy Investments, a native Tucsonan and a real estate developer interested and passionate in the revitalization of communities in the Tucson region. Henessy said, that although it was his first time at First Fridays, it most certainly was not his last and became a member of Tucson Young Professionals that very night.

"I'm impressed," Henessy said, raising his glass to his lips and scanning the open courtyard filled with a star-spangled flock of impeccably dressed people on this delightful Arizona night. "There's a lot of space with a lot to do. Something around every corner."

And indeed, there was an array of glittering attractions around every corner. A captivating fire dancer, named Fire Grace moved her slender body and torches to an exhilarating drum beat. Across the way, a young ice sculptor from Ice T Inc., chiseled his way through a frozen block of ice.

Joining Shishkovskaya and Henessy on the sidelines was Philip Touché, owner and proprietor of Touché Shoes, a fashion forward footwear business that specialized in rare, hard to find and unique shoes from all over the world.

"These aren't your everyday mall shoes. We want people to know they don't have to travel to Phoenix to find what they're looking for. Luxury is here."

Luxury was here and First Fridays was indeed making a profound impact on the Tucson social scene, shifting its focus from previous kegger socials on A-Mountain to an upscale lifestyle. Assisting with this coveted lifestyle
was Anthony's Cigar Emporium.

"There's a nostalgic feeling behind cigars," says Tyler Klarr, general manager for Anthony's and clearly the hipster quotient, wearing a form-fitting, olive green army jacket with as much flair and style as an Alexander McQueen mannequin. According to Klarr, cigars are usually associated with an older cliental. But in most recent years, as A-list celebrities, such as Denzel Washington, Claudia Schiffer and Arnold Schwarzenegger have been reported to favor the brown leaf-wrapped tobacco, cigars have gained status as a necessity to the glamorous life.

I wasn't sure if I was ready to partake in this fashionable pastime, so I made my way to the Margaret E. Mooney Hall, which doubled as a dance hall. Colorful lights blared through the darkened room and I could literally feel the rhythmic beat of Janet Jackson's intoxicating song, "Feedback," when I saw a white-haired gentleman dancing a storm on the dance floor. It was John McNulty, a self-proclaimed, "Disco Queen" and the retail manager of The Museum of Art. I had to talk to him. After all, when you see an older and distinguished person at an event aimed towards a younger audience, you have to wonder what exactly is their motive.

"I just like to dance," McNulty says, as he does a little two-step. "This is a great alternative to the bar scene and gives people a chance to actually dress up and immerse themselves in a little art and a little culture. Tucson Young Professionals is also a great way for the museum to help open its doors to a whole new audience."

This was an audience that obviously has been around, but untapped. Having heard similar words from Leah Taylor, I had to congratulate her on a job well done. If Tucson Young Professionals planned to make downtown Tucson, the place to see and be seen every weekend, First Fridays was indeed on the right social path. I found Taylor, wearing her fair blonde hair in an upswept style and a black formal gown, not only looking the part of the perfect hostess but also looking very pleased with herself.

"It's fabulous. Everything – everything, exceeds our expectations for the night."

Conversations of possible networking connections shared between old and new acquaintances were pleasant and polite. The catered appetizers from Café A La Carte were divine. And not a single catfight or unruly brawl was in sight. All in all, the night was a complete success.

I nodded in agreement with Taylor, as two immaculately dressed men came up to me and asked what I thought of the night's events. It was Oleg Shishkovskiy and his business partner, Jeff Sorrentino, co-owners of S&S Spirits and distributors of Khortytsa Vodka. The unlikely duo, met as real estate investors, who lived on the same street, their car garages facing each other, Sorrentino says. During its short, almost, four year run, under the influential eyes of Shishkovskiy and Sorrentino, Khortytsa has taken the spirits industry by storm. At the 2007 San Francisco World Spirits Competition, each of the four styles of Khortytsa that S&S Spirits entered took home awards, with Khortytsa classic winning a gold medal.

"Tucson is the perfect place to test market a product," Sorrentino says as his partner Shishkovskiy offers us a glass of the elusive vodka. "It's a city filled with every social-economic class and different cultures. Different tastes help us learn what works and what doesn't."

And to think, all this was happening in Tucson. Who knew we were living in an up and coming, trendy town? Maybe southern Arizona isn't as dreary as some make it out to be. Maybe there is something in the 520 that makes moments like these, worth living and staying for; to be a part of something destined for greatness. Time to get out the BlackBerry and start planning for the next event.

First Fridays is rated red-hot on the social-status scale. To find out more information, visit www.typfirstfridays.com.

masquerade

My friend Hadassah invited me to the annual Community Food Bank's Mardi Gras 2008 party as a guest of Buzz Isaacson Reality. The invitation red "Costume or Casual," which automatically meant drunk fun people. I couldn't wait! I even bought a fantastic pirate mask, imported from Italy to wear for the occasion. The night of the party, I arrived with my friend Hadassah at the historic Hotel Congress. Flashing lights from dozens of cameras went off, blinding us and making us wonder where the entrance was. Luckily for me, my photographer friend Robie was there and helped pull us through the paparazzi blockage…where we "bumped" into Bill the Arizona supervisor manager of Wells Fargo Bank and Dave Fitzsimmons, the legendary political cartoonist. Thus was the start of my Saturday night.

There was crab cakes, shrimp po'boys, cornbread, collard greens, shrimp jambalaya, and bottomless Hurricane drinks. The food wasn't all that, and certainly not $100 worth, but the unlimited drinks did make it better. From the fat friar to the lady with a pink wig, everyone was having a great time. Beads were tossed, skin was inadvertently exposed, and I could barely believe that I was blending in with such a crowd. People I was somebody because of my mere attendance and the fact I was sitting at a sponsor table. One partial observer so happened to be Dave Fitzsimmons and seeing that we were indeed enjoying ourselves, he asked us if he could draw Hadassah and I and immortalize us on his giant sketch pad.

It was such a memorable and magical night, I didn't want it to end. So, we decided to leave the party on a high note and made our way outside to the valet. That's when I saw him. My old high school friend Manny. We hadn't spoken in almost three years, when Manny got mad at me for planning a California summer trip and told me I was living in a fantasy world. I suspected it wasn't just the California trip he was upset about, but rather a series of events that led to his blow up. After that, he stopped answering his phone and was always "busy" at work. I was phased out. My friendship was no longer wanted. But there he was, shivering outside, in the cold, at the bus stop. I wanted to go over and say "Hi!" but stopped myself. If Danny thought a California trip was fantasy living, what would a $100 a plate charity ball be considered? He couldn't see me, because of my mask, but I could still see on his face that he still had his pride. I knew my presence would destroy that, so in order to keep it intact, I left.

Later that week, I received a call from Aleah, the sales director for 520Living Magazine. She had, yet, another complaint about Carrie James, the president of Tucson Young Professionals, which created First Fridays, the event I wrote about. I had confided in Carrie, asking her if she could look over my article, because I knew she had been a guest writer for several newspapers in town and I wanted to know her professional opinion. She loved it. She thought it was a whimsical piece that reminded her of Vogue and I thoroughly thanked her for it. A few days later, when Aleah had a meeting with Carrie, to discuss advertising in the magazine, Carrie voiced her concern about my article saying it was "cliché and too cheesy." Ugh. She then showed Aleah a copy of my article, bleeding in red pen, with her own paragraph suggestions and her own witty remarks. But the most crushing blow of them all was the fact that she wanted her name next to mine, because she "contributed." And because “James” was alphabetically first than “Tellez”, it would be her name the readers would read first! I couldn't believe it. I thought Carrie was my friend. Well, maybe not friend, but close acquaintance. After all, I knew her before she the president of a networking group and just a regular, run-of-the-mill bank teller at Wells Fargo who always asked how my day was after getting her morning coffee. One minute, she was praising my writing, the next she was bad-mouthing me and trying to take credit for all my hard word. Talk about wearing a two-faced mask.

Carrie James was my first lesson and first rule in the magazine biz - keep your friends close, and your back-stabbing enemies even closer. It then made me wonder what Manny was to me. Friend or enemy? I saw him again that very week at a Subway sandwich shop, downtown. He sat on a barstool, at the window facing the street, with his head laying on the yellow-linoleum table. He was asleep and from the small puddle of drool coming out of his mouth, I knew it was probably a deep sleep. Because I didn't look like I had stepped out of a charity ball, I decided now was my chance to approach Manny. He sat next to two other guys, not much older, who were sharing a soda, a sandwich and a conversation, that ended abruptly when they saw me staring at their friend. They didn't look too happy that I was staring at them, so I left. Maybe some other time. Besides, with school, work, and a magazine coming out, I couldn't let the opinion of one person hold me down. So, I shifted my focus and prepared to make my appearance as a professional, published writer.

The plan was to pass out free issues of the magazine at the upcoming First Fridays event. The theme was Mardi Gras (again!) and since I had already pimped out one mask, I needed a new idea that no one else would have and stand out amongst a star-spangled flock of professional people. That’s when I remembered Kirstin Dunst in Marie Antoinette and the black painted mask she wore to a masquerade party. I needed something original like that, so I made an appointment with a friend at the M.A.C. cosmetic counter at Dillards, where I gave them full permission to go wild on my face. The results? Utterly fantastic! No one had as original an idea as mine, except for my friend Madelaine, who also got her face painted by the same M.A.C. friend. The mask went perfect with the “journalism-y” look that I was going for, which included a fedora, a necktie necklace and these beyond awesome Prada shoes I found in Scottsdale.

Minutes before I had to arrive at the party to set up our magazine booth, I discovered that our magazine was still on the road. According to Aleah, the magazine hadn’t left the printing press on Thursday afternoon as originally planned. It left Friday afternoon, which meant there was a 50/50 chance that it wouldn’t arrive in Tucson until after midnight, which meant, not everyone would be able to see the finished, published work of art! Aleah and I spent the next two hours stalling for time, calling Harry, the publisher of the magazine every ten minutes to see if he had an update on the status of the delivery truck. And then, when all seemed hopeless, there was our magazine, making a grand entrance to the front of the Tucson Museum of Art, the venue which First Fridays took place. I immeadiately opened one of the brown boxes and became mesmerized by the glossy periodical. It was a real-life magazine, with my article on page 24 and 25! It had my name and everything! I was literally on cloud nine!

After my cloud landed safely back on earth, I began attaching personal thank you-notes to the magazine, thanking everyone that gave me an interview and helped me write my article. Including Carrie James. Being the bigger person takes a lot more deep breaths than you I realized, but I was able to leave a succinct and polite message. I was just making my rounds at the party, when Carrie came up to me and very rudely asked if I had gotten permission from the chair of First Fridays, to hand out issues of the magazine during the party. I explained to her I wasn’t just passing out issues, like a Jehovah’s Witness, but that I was personally thanking certain people. It still didn’t sit right with her, and she made the biggest bitch fit, before storming off to find somebody to reprimand me. Right then and there, I lost complete respect for Carrie and so did everyone around us, when they saw her lose her cool when she didn’t get her way. If she didn’t take off her stuck-up mask of jealousy very soon, there was a very slim chance she would continue as president of a professional networking group before becoming impeached.

I didn’t get reprimanded that night and all Carrie could do was glare at me from a distance, wearing an ugly red and white prom-looking dress. The magazine was a hot hit and because of my thoughtful thank you notes, Aleah was able to talk to more potential clients about advertising in the magazine, hopefully making our next issue, an even bigger issue. It was all going so smoothly, until my nose began to bleed. The blood just shot out of my nostril, making my sky blue shirt look like it was on its period. I had to leave, before anyone noticed. And just as I was grabbing my coat before heading out the door, the coat attendant asked me if it was true I had written an article for the magazine. When I told her it was true and showed her the page, she pulled out a pen and asked if I could sign her copy! My first real celebrity moment! I signed the magazine with as much flourish as John Hancock did on the Declaration of Independence and left with the biggest smile of my entire life.

new year, same problems

Is it so wrong to say so early, that 2008 is indeed a terrific year? I know, the year has just barely begun, but I am already loving it!

I spent New Years Eve with a friend at the Historic Hotel Congress at their Brazilian Carnavale bash. It was a night of drinks, dancing, and delicious fun! There was even a drum line that weaved its way in and out of the hotel, into the club and back outside where flame-throwers and Brazilian dancers entertained bleary-eyed guests.

After watching the ball drop outside the hotel, we headed over to Maloney's, the kind of bar where everybody knows your name, except they forgot it, because they were so wasted. What they did remember, however, were the lyrics to Garth Brooks' classic little ditty, "Friends In Low Places".

It was the absolute perfect way to spend New Years Eve. The only downside was at around three in the morning, I got a call from Colette. I hadnt seen or spoken to Colette since October 12, when she completely ignored my phone calls and texts, forsaking the concert we were to attend later that day. What did she want now? I knew the only way to find out was to actually press the little green phone icon on my BlackBerry, but there was no way I was letting past drama destroy my New Year Eve high.

Two days later, I got a call from Aleah, the sales director for 520Living, telling me I had finally gotten my first story. I was to cover First Fridays, an event put on by Tucson Young Professionals, and talk about how it was THE trendiest and chicest place for a Tucsonan to be. I literally had only one day to prepare to merge and mingle with the big honchos of Tucson, but I totally pulled it off like an ol' pro.

I got to meet a lot of influential people, including Jeff Sorrentino and Oleg Shishkovskiy, local distributors for Khorstya Vodka, which was the No. 1 selling vodka in Eastern Europe and the third best selling vodka in the world...and that's without having touched the U.S. market. Watch out for it...it's gonna be big. There I was, talking and drinking vodka with self-made multi-millionaires and on the inside, I was freaking out about how surreal the moment was. But according to my friend Madelaine, who I invited for moral support, from where she stood, I looked like I belonged.

With the help of my friends, including the notorious Madame D, I wrote my very first, professional column of my journalism career. It was witty, it was funny, and, if I do say so myself, it was teriffic! I would talk more about it, but instead, I'm gonna wait until the premiere issue of 520Living drops on February 1. Meanwhile, these past two weeks have been a blur and my social calendar has been filling up quite fast. People I met that night have invited me to private parties and have personally called my cell phone, asking me if I would attend the next First Fridays event. Who knew an appearence could be so demanding? Everything was going just swimmingly, until, Colette called again.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I had just gotten off the phone with Leah Taylor, the president of Tucson Young Professionals. All of a sudden, my whole world had paused when Colette's name came up on that caller ID.

"Hey David. It's me...Colette. I know we havent talked in forever. I havent called you, you havent called me...so call me. Let's talk. I miss you. K? K."

Is it just me, or does everyone have a person in their life that comes to them at the most unexpected time? Sampson had Delilah. Scarlett O'Hara had Ashley Wilkes. I have Colette. Part of me wanted to call Colette back, but part of me didnt. I know I have a hard time forgiving people, usually because I give so many chances, that once they cross that certain line, I have a hard time forgetting what they did. Maybe this was a chance to work on that flaw. Or maybe it wasnt.

If this magazine gig continues to get big, I know I will have people calling me and asking me to use whatever connections I make for their own benefit (It's already happening. I got an invitation to a $400 plate charity ball, and people keep calling me and emailing me, asking me if I need a date. Tscha!), which means I will have to weed out the people in my life who are users. Sad, but true. But since, Colette doesnt know about my column yet, she technically isnt a user, but does that mean she still cant be weeded out?