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?