riding in cars with sexual offenders

Last night, I realized that I was running low on hair product and deodorant, so I made a trip to my local Walgreens. Because the Walgreens is just down the street from where I live, I walked.

After getting all my beauty supplies, I ran into my friend Manny.

MANNY: Hey dude! What's up?
ME: Oh nothing. I needed stuff for my hair...so...yeah.
MANNY: Oh, that's cool. So, hey, I saw your blog online.
ME: Shut up. For reals.
MANNY: Yeah, man. Who's Melissa, and how come I dont know who she is?
ME: I cant tell you.
MANNY: Why? Why you gotta be like that?
ME: Just. Cuz.
MANNY: Well, I wanna know where she took you to. Does that place really exist?
ME: Yeah. It's all the way east on Speedway.

Confused with my simple directions, I ended up in the passenger seat of my friends truck and we drove in silence to the infamous parking lot spot. What is it with guys and the awkward silence between them when they drive? I know for me, I love to talk and converse, but when your in a car with another guy, you just dont say much. Still trying to figure that one out...

After 15 minutes of silence, we arrived. The moment we turned into the parking lot, a car that was parked in the back corner turned it's lights on, like they knew they had been caught. You know a little backseat action was going on. I laughed as Manny pulled in, and took a moment to look around the deserted area. Not five seconds after we pulled in, two other cars pull in, blaring red and blue search lights. They were cops.

COPS: Please step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head.

We were blocked in. Trapped. No way out. I had no idea why the cops chose to raid the deserted parking lot. So I got out of the car with my hands behind my head. If it werent for the fact that I was paralyzed with fear, I would have pissed and shitted all over myself. In my mind, it was Schindler's List all over again. There I was, with a gun pointed at me, hoping and praying to God this cop was not trigger happy.

He wasnt. The cop came over and had me put my hands on the hood of Manny's truck, while he patted me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Manny and the sexual couple from the other car were recieving the same treatment.

COP: What are you doing all the way out here?
ME: I just came with my friend to show him that this place really existed.
COP: How old are you?
ME: I'm 20.
COP: I'm not going to ask you again. How old are you?
ME: 20. I'm 20.
COP: Lemme see your ID.

And that my friends, was a problem. I didnt have my ID or my wallet. I just thought a trip to Walgreens with 20 bucks in hand, was all I needed, you know? It also didnt help my case, that I look much younger than I really am and that my friend Manny looks much older than he really is. As the cop kept interrogating me, I kept trying to grow facial hair and hope that God would give me instant deep-set wrinkles.

COP: So you just came up here...just because, or...
ME: Well, I wrote this story in my blog and my friend...
COP: What's a blog?
ME: It's short for weblog.
COP: Then why don’t you just call it weblog?

I explained that 'blog' is hipper and cooler. I was losing him with the hip, cool angle, so I backed off and agreed that they should call it ‘weblog’ and that I’d do my best to change the entire system. But in the meantime, I'd spend my time worrying about the outcome of my situation. I could imagine myself in jail, making that horrific phone call home, telling my folks that I had been arrested.

But that never happened. The cops told Manny and me to get back into the truck and to wait. Manny started to freak out. He overheard one of the cop's talking about "indecent exposure" and imagined his photo being placed all over the internet above the caption: SEXUAL OFFENDER. We didn't even do anything, and we were in the parking lot for not even a second. Sexual offender was not a title I was willing to put on my resume. I tried to clear my mind by turning on the radio. Beyonce's "Check On It" was on, and through the lyrics I was able to find serenity.

Watch it, while he check up on it...dip it, pop it, twerk it, stop it...check on me tonight!

In the end, the cops sent us along our merry way. As it turns out, the car hiding in the corner was occupied by a guy and an underage kid. They were smokin' weed and getting each other off. The guy knew he was busted beyond belief and to save himself from further emabarassment, he told the cops we had pulled into the parking lot not a second before they did. Thank God there are some sexual offenders out there, who still have some morals. As we pulled out the parking lot, I realized two things. One was to never ever forget my wallet ever again. If I have to, I will convert my ID into fashionable neckwear. That sucker will never leave me. And two...my days of backseat banging are totally destroyed. Never again, will I be turned on by the prospect of a quickie in a small crowded area. Damn.

the leader, the follower, and the confused

When your a kid, playing "Follow The Leader" is adorable. When you're an adult, not only are they shooting 3000 units of thorazine into your system, but the whole idea of being a "follower" and not a "leader" is deeply frowned upon. Why? Is it really so bad to "follow?"

The other day in my Geology class, my teacher, Mr. Talbot, droned on in a robotic-like voice, about how the layers of rocks in mountainsides and cliffs have helped scientists determine how old the world really is. But no one really cared. The information he was giving was nothing we couldnt learn from watching The Discovery Channel. And because the class took place right after lunch, no one was really in the mood to listen.

No one but Robert. Robert was a mouse-y looking kid with a high-pitched voice (that oftens crack) and whiskers growing out of his chin and cheeks. The fact that he has big floppy ears, didnt really help the mouse-like image he had going on. And it was with those same big, floppy ears, that he hung to every word Mr. Talbot was saying. Up until he came to the part about civilization.

ROBERT: Wait. Weren't there any humans living before 4000 years?
MR. TALBOT: No. The world was still being formed and...
ROBERT: That's a lie.
MR: TALBOT: Excuse me?
ROBERT: What you're saying is a farce. In the Bible...

It has been my personal experience, that whenever someone starts with the phrase, "In the Bible..." it only leads to fustration, arguing, and the occassional police restraining order. Robert carried on about what the Bible said about evolution, and for looking like a mouse, the kid knew his scripture pretty well. He and Mr. Talbot argued about science and God's creation for 10 minutes, while the rest of us groaned and talked about the million other things we could have been doing. We also tried to come up with ideas on to shut the debaters up, as neither Robert nor Mr. Talbot was about to throw the towel in. Until, out of nowhere, a voice bellowed out, "Who cares?"

The class grew quiet. Robert, Mr. Talbot, and the rest of the class all turned into the direction of Stacey Something-or-other. I dont think she meant to be so loud, it just happened that way. She was the voice.

ROBERT: What?
STACEY: Who cares?! You're arguing is pointless. You're not gonna change his mind, after he's been teaching the same thing for the past 30 years. And he's not gonna change your mind, because obviously you have strong beliefs in the Bible and all.
ROBERT: You dont believe in the Bible?
STACEY: I didnt say that.
ROBERT: Well, I dont appreciate you putting me and God down!

Robert was off his rocker. Just plain nuts. Stacey didnt talk smack about anyone. She just wanted him to shut up. So did everyone else, but no one else had the guts to say anything. So, unknowingly we annointed Stacey as our chosen leader.

STACEY: Well, I dont appreciate you arguing about something that wont make a difference on the test he gives later on. Whether your right or not, doesnt matter because the test will be about what he believes in. Not what you do.

At that very moment, Mr. Talbot's took his alarm clock out, turned the knob, and made it ring (thank God Mr. Talbot doesnt believe in school bells). Saved by the bell, I was totally glad Stacey had the last word. Robert probably had a Bible verse he wanted to throw at her and the rest of us heathens, but since half the class was already out the door, what good would it do him? As I picked up my backpack, he came up to Stacey and I overheard him say: "Just cuz you said something doesnt make you cool. You only did it because someone told you to. You're like a sheep. Get thee behind me Satan!"

Was Robert right? Was Stacey our "sheep"? And if so, were we her shepherds, who led her astray? I thought Stacey was the leader. Was she not Mel Gibson a la Braveheart with a painted face and kilt, leading the geo troops to victory? Or was she just following the crowd, listening to us and doing what we said. The whole situation was weird and confusing. I wanted to talk to somebody about what had happened and that's when I ran into my friend Ivan.

IVAN: So guess what?
ME: What?
IVAN: I quit my job!
ME: You quit? Why?
IVAN: I took your advice!
ME: What advice?
IVAN: Your advice. Remember how you said that an employee cant do a good job if the employer treats him like shit?
ME: Vaguely...
IVAN: Well, anyways, yeah, I quit.
ME: That wasnt advice, that was conversation! And what about your kid? You still have to take care of him!
IVAN: And I will. I still have my other job. Plus my tax return? Yeah. I just feel like I got rid of all this stress. And I have you to thank.

Stacey led my Geo class to an early out, Danny followed my "advice", and yet none of these options led to a good outcome. If your a leader, you're admired for taking a stand and for opening doors to other possibilites. But when you fail, you're mocked for even taking a chance. When you're a follower, you're frowned for trying to be something your not. Yet, you never have to worry about being blamed for failure. Which makes me wonder...what's better?

when your lips say it

Forgive me Friend, for I have sinned. Ok, so it's not exactly a true Catholic confession, but then again, I'm not a true Catholic. However, it seems that it's the only way I can apologize to my friend Maria.

See, since the fall season line-up of ABC began, back in 2004, my friend Maria and I have been devout and loyal fans to the greatest show on earth...Desperate Housewives. Every Sunday night, we would watch the show through our phones and just be amazed at how the story line just unfolded within the hour. Never had we missed a Sunday night, except for the one time Maria went to a study group and found out that the hostess' hippie parents didnt believe in television. But that was the only time. Well...that time...and this past Sunday.

But I have totally semi, almost, plausible excuse. I think.

With a whole day devoted to nothing, I spent Sunday afternoon reading A Million Little Pieces. I had been meaning to read the book ever since Oprah showcased it on her bookclub, but I havent exactly had the time. I was up to the part where James and his parents meet to discuss the issues of his addictive personality, when the phone rang.

It was Melissa (that's not really her name, but considering the fact that I always get caught on my blog by people who I talk about, I figure I might as well give my non-established character's fake names). She was bored out of her mind and asked if I wouldnt mind just hanging out with her.

MELISSA: We'll go out for coffee or something. Or get something to eat. Just...anything.
ME: OK, well, that sounds good. Uh, where do you want me to meet you at?
MELISSA: No, I'll pick you up.
ME: Are you sure? Cuz I could...
MELISSA: Yeah, I'm in your area anyways. Besides, my car's bigger.
ME: Ok. And? Your car's bigger? So?
MELISSA: Yeah.
ME: What does that have to do with anything?

Apparently it had a lot to do with everything, as I would later find out.

ME: Don't you live like a million miles away?
MELISSA: Well, yeah, but that's why I drove out early. If I was gonna pick you up, I had to head out early, right?
ME: How'd you know I'd even say yes?
MELISSA: Just a feeling. Now hurry up!

And so I did. As I put on my ripped Trailer jeans (or as my blog-friend Charlotte says, "easy access jeans") I noticed that it was a little after 6 PM - two short hours away from DH. I figured a quick coffee and quick bite to eat wouldnt take no more than an hour...besides, I wanted to hang out with Melissa, for one reason and one reason only.

See, Melissa has these amazing lips. There nothing like Angelina Jolie's lips, but something about them just...makes me smile and feel all warm inside. I cant really explain it, but when I see her smile, talk, eat, or do anything with her lips, I slip into this trance and just stare at her mouth. Remember the movie, Clueless and those awesome shots of Alicia Silverstone's lips? The way she sorta scrunched them and used them as a flirtation device? That's exactly how Melissa's lips are.

We went to Starbucks and this little Chinese place and had a great time talking. Well, Melissa had a great time talking. I had a great time looking at her lips. But her lips weren't the only thing I looked at. Actually, that's not exactly true. See, several times during the duration of Melissa's conversation to me, she casually scratched her middle area, aka her other pair of lips. It was a little odd, but no where weird as my sharting friend Shecky.

MELISSA: ...and then I'm just getting over this throat virus, which is so good, cuz now I can finally party!
ME: What do you mean? I thought tequilla helped sore throats.
MELISSA: Well, I got this infection in my throat and it closed up, so I really couldnt drink.
ME: Oh, wow.
MELISSA: Yeah. But it's all good now, since it's opening up, which means I can party and go all crazy and do what I like to do!
ME: Which is...what? Drink?
MELISSA: That. And make out. And have fun with guys. Doing. Things.

She licked her lips, when she said "things," which made me wonder how pure her lips were. Had other guys taken advantage of those lips? Had other guys done "things" with her lips that I had only dreamed of?! Ugh...it was like opening a Christmas present from your grandma, only to realize you gave it to her three years ago as a birthday present.

I started to lose interest in Melissa's lips. Basically, she had said in the most nicest and polite way that she was a total whore. Somewhere between the restaurant and the dirt road Melissa was driving on, the hot lips lost their magic. As I pondered about this, I realized I had no idea where was this dirt road was leading to. It was 7:30 PM, which meant it was too early to go home, yet to late to be going on some road-trip adventure. Where was this brazen woman taking me and why were we driving away from civilization?

Ten minutes later we reached our final destination, which was at the base of The Rincon Mountains. Melissa parked her car in the empty, makeshift, dirt parking lot and took a deep breath. She turned to me, took a hold of my hand, and in one smooth move, she slipped something between our hands, the same way a slick customer does to a maitre'd. There was something between her palm and mine, but I couldnt make out what it was.

MELISSA: David...
ME: Yeah?
MELISSA: I just want to let you know, that I think you're a nice guy...
A nice guy?! Just a nice guy?! Are you breaking up with me?! Oh, wait. We're not even going out. Whew... Wait, are we?
MELISSA: ...and I appreciate you for just listening to me and just letting me talk...
If I say, "It's not you, it's me," first, will she buy it?

Melissa continued to tell me why she thought I was special and just how much she enjoyed my company and friendship. And all the while she held my hand, pressing that mysterious something between our palms. I didnt know whether or not to smile or nod or do something, so I just stared. The girl with hot lips was totally hitting on me, and it was just totally unexpected. As Melissa finished what she had to say, she let go of my hand, and finally allowed me to see what it was I was holding. It was a condom. A true-blue Trojan condoms that was made for her pleasure.

I froze as I held up the condom. Was this actually happening to me? Was Melissa actually suggesting sex? Melissa bit her bottom lip as she took another deep breath. That's when things started to get more weird. Melissa opened her car door, and stepped outside, but only for a second, as she made her way to the back seat. Was this girl serious about having sex in the back of her car? A part of me got turned on, but the other part remembered that she had just finished telling me she had just gotten over a throat virus and couldnt wait to get drunk to go down on random guys. Was it all pre-sex talk?

Melissa removed her shirt and began to unbutton her jeans when all of a sudden she started to scratch her panty-covered lips. At first it was a small scratch, like she was nervous, but then her hand just went downtown and she scratched like there was no tomorrow. Feverishly she scratched away at her middle section like it was a lotto ticket. Was this the way girls got off nowadays? They scratch their hot lips until they bleed? I know I probably should have turned away and given her some time to scratch alone, but it was like a bad train wreck. I stared at Melissa, half-naked and half-moaning, shocked and confused at the way she was behaving. Total turn-off.

I didnt know what to do, so I excused myself, like the gentleman I was, and quickly jumped out of the car, half-running down the dirt-road. I hid behind some bushes, as I called Yellow Cab to come and rescue me from (as I found out later) Melissa the Crab Queen. During the cab ride home, I realized I had committed a cardinal sin. I'd forsaken my friend for the possibility of sex. I'd forsaken a Sunday tradition of great television, for someone who wasnt even worth it. Am I bad friend? The thing that I'm really concerned is what do I tell Lupita? The truth? Haven't I suffered enough?

prairie-dogging 101

Are we still living in a world of political correctness, or is it just a thing of the past? I used to think people had common courtesy. I used to think that some topics, were just not allowed to be discussed at length, during conversation. And I wonder, the people who do talk about these certain off-color topics, are they brave or are they just plain stupid? Do they have more confidence than me, or is it all just an act?

The reason I'm asking this is because yesterday, in one of my classes, I couldnt stop listening and laughing at the comments a fellow student was making. We were all supposed to interview a fellow student in the class, and write a feature story on one another. And of course, I got stuck with Shecky the Comedian. And I could not stop laughing as this girl, who was interviewing me, as she kept talking about her bowel movements.

SHECKY: Oh...shit!
ME: What?
SHECKY: Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!
ME: What? Are you ok?
SHECKY: Yeah...it's just...I gotta go!
ME: Oh, you're leaving?
SHECKY: No! I gotta go! As in I gotta go drop a few kids off at the pool!
ME: What? Isnt it too cold to be swimming?
SHECKY: No, I mean, I gotta go take a dump!

Now, honestly, this was my first time I've ever heard a girl say the word "dump." I guess I always thought that it was a word reserved only for bonehead guys. I dont know...maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

But this gal, who was full of class, sass, and apparently, gas, just kept right on talkin'.

ME: Ok...so anyways, I guess...
SHECKY: Oh, man! I cant hold it! I need to bombard the porcelain throne with a drop and plop.
ME: Ok, dude, that's...that's just...we dont know each other that well for you to be talking about your bowel movements.
SHECKY: Uh-oh. I'm prairie-dogging it now.
ME: You're what?
SHECKY: Prairie-dogging it.
ME: I dont even know what that...
SHECKY: You know how when a prairie dog sticks it's head out the hole? Like this.

And then, at that very moment, she pressed her lips together and pushed her tongue out. It was a picture I did not wish to see.

ME: I did not ask...
SHECKY: Ugh, and the bathrooms here suck. All the girls just stand around waiting for you to just blow one out.
ME: Wow...I...
SHECKY: Oh chicken tandoori, why must you aggrivate me?!

And at that very moment...Shecky farted. Well, actually, she sharted. You know...a fart that was followed by a little more. Yeah. It was like a herd of elephants, trumpeting their trunks in the middle of the jungle. The room fell silent as everyone turned in our direction. My jaw dropped and my eyes got all big. I was so embarrassed, and I wasnt even the one who created skid-marks in their unmentionables. Red-faced Shecky ran out the room, leaving behind an ungodly stench of roadkill carcass. Everyone burst out laughing, but me. I couldnt help but feel sorry for Shecky. Never in my life, have I heard so much fart humor used in an opening conversation. And I wondered if it was because she laughed in the face of PC, that Shecky sharted in her pants. Or was it because she lived life with a brain fart (no pun intended) and was just clueless about the whole common courtesy thing? Either way, the situation, did give me some hope. All reference of "Band-aid Boy" were forever gone, and the students welcomed a new face to mock: Sharts.

the life and times of band-aid boy

Today was the first day back to school. Today was also the day I woke up with pimple the size of Mount Vesusius on my chiny-chin-chin. And it was one of those big suckers too, that took up so much space on my chin, I couldn't pop it. Ugh, I hate those ones. But like my friend Rainbow says, "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will," meaning if you look for the bad in a certain situation, you'll find it. And so I had to find some good in my pimple problem. The good that came out of me not popping my pimple is...if it were to pop, it probably would cause more destruction than the actual Mount Vesuvius. Except the townsfolk wouldnt be covered in ash. They'd be covered in an oily pus-like substance. Ok, paging new topic...

So I decided to cover it up with a band-aid and I even created a cover-up story to go along with it. My story was, I tripped over some rocks and fell down on the sidewalk. I thought it was a good enough story to shut the mouths of the curious, but it wasnt. Which leads me to wonder why so many people are fascinated by scars and scabs? I mean, I know why I love scabs (they are so much fun to pick at!) but why does everybody else like 'em?

By the end of my first class, I took the band-aid off. Not only was it a big disappointment in the "I-fell-and-cut-my-chin-so-lets-not-talk-about-it" department, but it gave me a horrible nickname: Band-aid Boy. The teacher totally forgot my name, and said, "Uh...you...Band-aid Boy..." which led to a few snickers from some of the students. But only a few, since everyone else was half-asleep. Thank God, but still. Who wants to be known as "Band-aid Boy?"

See, I had specifically bought a red jersey track jacket for the first day of school. The moment I saw it at the mall, I knew I had to have it. And because it was half-off, it only made the jacket more attractive. I knew that once I put it on, everyone would be talking about it. They would see how cool I was, as I walked across the quad. Everyone would approach me and tell me how cool I was. I would be known as "The Guy With The Red Jacket" and they would all love me. And the teachers would tell me that because my jacket was just to nice to be worn indoors, they would sent me outside and tell me to just have fun and not to worry about homework. Of course, this whole scenerio played out in my head as I stood in line, and I couldnt wait for my daydream to play out.

But thanks to my big ass pimple and my teacher's comment, that very dream was crushed. No one called me, "The Guy With The Red Jacket". They called me "Band-aid Boy." It was like a bad nightmare, and the fact that it took place at school, did not help. The zits, the wretched nicknames...throw in warm vodka and a pregnancy scare and its high school all over again. Isnt that time period of my life, supposed to be over by now?

the celebrity imposter mix-up

So, I'm going through my old email, when I come across one by DJ Ken Carr, the local celebrity who was totally hitting on me, the first day of work. It was marked December 24, which meant two things: 1) My Spam Box so needs to be cleaned out and 2) It's been about 3 weeks, that I've been living such a nieve life. Here's what Ken Carr had to say:

So I'm bumpin' around the internet today and I ran across your blog in which you talked about me.

It was a fun story to read. I'll clear a few things up for you though...

I've never been in a Kohl's store before. I know there are two of them in the Tucson area and I've driven by the one on the east side but I've never been inside of one before. I'm sure they are nice stores but neither one is close to where I

On Black Friday I did a live show from center court at Tucson Mall from 5:30-10am and then went home and took a long nap because I was exhausted. I didn't even do any shopping that day.

It is true that I am gay. That part you did nail. :) There are tons of celebrities both local and on a bigger scale that are gay. Many that would probably surprise you.

Thanks for the fun read - hope you have a great holiday.

Ken Carr

How embarassing is that? I mean, it's not like I havent embarassed myself in front of celebrities before (like that one time I was at Disneyland, and I farted and blamed it on Eric Christian Olsen and then he turned to me and said, "Not cool, kid. Not cool."). When I wrote the story, I didnt think anyone outside of the blogosphere world would read it. Whoops. And Ken Carr, if you're reading this, I am so sorry if I embarassed you or anything. Cuz I totally didnt mean to. My bad.

that damn donna reed

Is it possible to have a grudge against somebody who has been dead for almost 20 years? I'm of course talking about the incomparable Donna Reed, aka the quintissential 50's mom with the perfect smile and perfect hair. In the past, I've never had a problem with a black and white TV character I only know from Nick@Nite, but lately, the spirit of Donna has been everywhere I go. And it's been annoying. Especially, when that spirit is dead and cant be harmed.

It all started earlier this week, when I went to work on Monday. Donna, (the secretary, not the spirit) was sportin' a new mountain-high, hairsprayed hairdo. It came as a shock to almost everyone. There was just no preparing for Donna's psychotic fashion sense. And of course, Donna walked around the store, like she was Ms. Thang. The sense of pride she had for her solid, non-movement hair, blinded her to the ridicule and laughter the entire store had in stock for her. Of course, not wanting to be so mean and cruel, we laughed behind her back, as people with manners do. Well, most of us did. Or at least tried to.

During a small break on the registers, the topic of the most awesomely bad hairdo's within the store came up, and if you were on the southside of the store, you would have been wiping tears from your face and straining to catch your breath.

SHEILA: And what's up with Jaime's hair?
ME: Oh, I know! There's too many blond streaks! It almost looks whiteish grey and she looks like a nana!
SHEILA: She does, huh?!
ME: Yeah. And did you see Lacey's?! Ok, what's up with her? She went from brown hair to blonde slash orange?
SHEILA: Yeah! I know! I saw her, and it looks and she looks so weird with those orange roots. What color is her hair anyways?
ME: I think it's black, cuz her eyebrows look black. Ugly and black.
SHEILA: The curtains dont match the carpet, eh?!
ME: Ew. Wouldn't you like to see her carpet swatches.
SHEILA: Shut up!
ME: Oh, but dude, the worst one has got to be Donna's!
SHEILA: Donna. I forgot about Donna.
ME: How could you forget about Donna?! That rock-solid hair! It looks like a muffin top! I can almost hear her offering us milk and cookies. "Hey kids! I have a swell idea! Let's get golly gosh gee crazy and have chocolate cookies before supper!"

Unbeknowest to me, short little Donna was hiding within earshot between a rack of Sonoma short-sleeved tees, folding the cotton suckers to perfection. The next day, she brought in this huge box of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. A huge box, like the kind you stuff with Holiday ornaments and decorations. Before I knew it, I was called into the office, and, well, long story short, I am working weekends from here to eternity.

But it's not just at work where I encompass Donna. It's also in the home.

Living the single life hasnt exactly been easy for my next-door neighbor Richard, and so his daughter Jennifer moved in and has been helping out. And being the friendly woman that she is, she has been coming over and hanging out. It's been real cool, cuz A) She's cool and B) She annoys my mother. And it's not that she has a big obnoxious personality. It's cuz she's a lesbian.

MOM: And why does she always have to come over? Why cant that dyke just stay at her own home?
ME: Mom! That is so mean! Jennifer is a nice lady! Dont call her "dyke!"
MOM: Well, thats what she said she was! She didnt say, "lesbian." She said, "dyke."
ME: Well, you dont have to say it like that.
MOM: Why do all the dykes have to be so lazy?
ME: And you're ignoring me...
MOM: Why cant the dykes just stay at home, pull out the mop and broom and clean their house?
ME: Uh, hello, mom? Can you hear me all the way over there in the 1950's?
MOM: They act like they're just too good to be with men. They should just stop being gay, and marry a husband who's a guy and have a nice life with a real family.
ME: Mother. I hope to God you are having a seizure right now. Are you even hearing yourself talk?
MOM: David, yes, I am hearing myself. Dont mock me.
ME: Well, if you werent talking crazy. Lesbians are people too. They dont need husbands and children to have a full life. We all cant be living the Stepford Life, Donna Reed.
MOM: Donna Reed. She was a nice lady.

Thank you Donna Reed for shining such a positive light on your stay-at-home lifestyle and making it my mother's deluded religion.

What exactly is it about Donna Reed that makes us wanna live perfect cookie-cutter lives? Didnt the movie, The Stepford Wives teach us anything? Isnt life all about the little imperfections? I know that the tiny cowlick on my left eyebrow is just a tiny part that makes me, me. So why be anything else?

'twas the night before christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the store
All the creatures were stirring, buying last minute gifts galore.
The shelves were disheveled, all the shirts were a mess,
And the jeans were mis-hung by shoppers, who could care less.

The children ran down the isles, screaming so much,
All hooked up on sugar, candy, sweets, and such.
While their parents just stood there, with a plastered smile
In a line that stretched out for miles and miles.

When out on the floor there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my register to see what was the matter.
Away to the isle I flew like a flash,
Tore past the jewelry, and the belts with sash.

The light on the breast of the newly folded clothes
Gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a fallen shopper, with a mighty large rear.

Carmen, my manager, so lively and quick,
Bent down to the customer, ever so slick.
More rapid than eagles, her apologies soon came,
But the customer shouted and cursed her by name:

“You Stupid! You Bitch!
Oh, what the f***!
If your going to wave,
You should say ‘duck!’
Look what you did!
And look at my eye!
Ow! It hurts! It hurts!
I think I’m going to cry!”

What had happened was Carmen, trying to boost sales,
Tried to do a little dance, but ultimately failed.
“Say, ‘Next please,’ with a smile so nice!”
Then she whacked a customer, right between the eyes.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the crowd
A prancing and pawing that was not so loud.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the isle, my co-worker Grace, came with a bound.

She was dressed all in red, from her head to her toes,
and her vest was of Rudolph, the reindeer with a red nose.
A tiny little lady, no bigger than 4’2,
She came squeaking by, in her shiny black shoes.

Her eyes, how they twinkled! Her small glasses, how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!
Her droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the teeth from her smile was as white as the snow.
The way that she waddled, right down the isle,
Made everyone stop and look, and just smile
She had a broad face and a little round booty,
That shook when she laughed, like a bowl full of fruit-y.
(Ok, so fruit doesn’t actually shake, but it rhymes…sue me!)

She walked to the customer and in a sweet voice, she rang:
“Are you alright senorita? That was quite a loud bang.”
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head
Soon gave me to know we had nothing to dread.

A few moments later, after the commotion had settled
Grace talked to the customer, and in a way, sorta meddled.
She talked to the customer and helped her to understand,
That shopping on December 24th, was no where near grand.

“Senorita,” she said, “Why cant you see?
That Christmas isn’t about presents, it’s about family.
I’m sure you’re buying, with good intentions in mind,
Pero, go home to your family, there’s still time.”

Grace’s words of wisdom, were a blessing in disguise,
As she spoke, she helped everyone to realize,
That buying gifts, so late in the year,
Was no way to celebrate this Holiday cheer.

The customer realized, that Grace was right,
She should have been home, celebrating the night.
So she gathered her belongings and drove out of sight,
And I thought to myself, “Oy, were closing early tonight!”

Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!

friendly gestures

Remember those scenes in The Little Mermaid when Ariel tries to "talk" to Prince Eric and tell him her true feelings, only to be left devastated because he doesnt understand, and in turn the putz leaves Ariel for someone else who actually has a voice? I know exactly how fustrated she must've felt.

After having my tonsils lasered out, I've litterally have had no voice. Just a raspy whisper with a lot of flem. I sound just like my neighbor Ms. Pelba, from down the street. She's been a heavy smoker for more than 50 years and every five minutes or so, she hawks up some kind of mucas-y goodness from the depths of her lungs and spits it out, as if she were going for a Guiness world record. It's really gross and no one has been able to spend more than 10 minutes with her. Just like me.

And it's not my fault. I cant help it if I sound like Charlie Brown's teacher and am always hawking up my beluga caviar-looking flem. How else am I supposed to get better? I know one major factor that could help would be much-needed bed rest, but for some reason, the very idea seems so foreign to my new managers.

During the week of waiting to know if I had gotten the job, I had scheduled an appointment with St. Joesph's hospital, because my primary physician had requested that I do so. After I got the job, I explained to Gina that I was going to need two days off for rest and recooperation. Apparently it went in one ear and out the other, because the day after my surgery, I was scheduled to work 12-8:30.

I wasnt in any pain, and I was still able to do my job, but still, you know? Working the floor and register have been so hard because not only do the customers want an answer right away, but if we were playing charades and we were on the same team, we would totally lose.

How hard is it to follow simple hand movements and finger pointing? I swear, Helen Keller had it easy compared to these folks. I even switched my means of communication to writing on post-its, but that took too long and people would walk away as I tried to write all fast to them. How rude is that? And then if I'm not dealing with people who dont understand, I'm dealing with the people who do. So many people have come up to me and sign language their questions to which I respond with an arched brow and a shrugged shoulder. So how exactly am I supposed to deal?

the weekend update

It's barely Friday, and already this week has worn me out. I so could use a day off.

Last Saturday I made a killing at the funeral ceremony of Barbara Cooper. No pun intended. Yes, the ceremony was finally held this weekend, despite the fact, that Barbara had been resting in an urn for over a month.

Of course, it was still my responsibilty to deliver the neighborhood eulogy. But with studying for finals, dealing with the witches of Kohls, and trying to maintain my less-than-perfect social life, I had no time to even process an idea of what I was going to say. It wasnt until the night before that the words came to me.

"How can we honor the memory of a woman like Barbara? Well, she was governed by the laws of physics as are all living things. It is a scientific fact that hearts and clocks slow down as they approach the speed of light, the point in which matter is converted into energy. Babrara's heart approached that speed on Friday evening, 7:57, according to the coroner, converting her matter into energy. Into pure white light. Though she is no longer with us, she is all around us."

Not a dry eye within a mile of East 5th St. I was so proud of myself for delivering such a touching tribute and even more prouder of the fact that I didnt use the words "whore" or "adultress" in my speech. Everyone at the ceremony came up to me and told me that it was just so beautiful and so touching. Too bad it was totally unoriginal and copyrighted. Yup. And it's all thanks to my Season One DVD of Third Rock From The Sun. I know, I know, but when you're writing about a dead woman at two o'clock in the morning, any and all ideas seemed to be good at the time. Moving on...

After the ceremony, I went into work, and I gotta say...it's actually starting to grow on me. The managers may be total assholes, but most of my co-workers are actually pretty cool. They're really nice and most of them have even shared stories with me about how shitty the managers are. Which was kinda nice knowing that I'm not totally delusional about the Nazi camp they run. Some of the tales they've shared with me are so juicy that if I ever need to blackmail them, God forbid and knock on wood, I am ready. Wow. Ouch. That did not come out the way I meant it to be. Is it bad that I'm already thinking of blackmailing my co-workers? Wow...I so need to stop hating on my managers.

But, while having fun at work, and chatting away with my new found friends, I got the best news of all. Wednesday, my friend Priscilla gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Weighing in at 8lbs and 8oz and measuring 20in in length, Nicholas Scott Johnson was born. I just came back from the hospital and lemme tell ya...I can so already tell that the kid is gonna be one major heartbreaker. The kid has got the biggest feet on a baby, that I have ever seen! And you know what they say about kids with big feet...

I still cant believe my friend gave birth to a baby. I mean, I knew she was pregnant and all, but still, you know? I guess I just never fully grasped the concept. But she's fine, and so is the baby, and I cant wait to see them again. Priscilla even asked me if I would record some baby lullaby songs, because she said she wanted the baby to hear me sing, which made me smile so hard. It's cuz a long time ago, for Valentine's Day, I sang Priscilla a song and she's always wanted to record my voice? I still dont know why, cuz I dont think I'm all that great, but it sure made my day. So I told her I'd give it a shot, and that I would try to record a song, once I get my voice back.

I have my voice with me right now, but by this time tomorrow, I wont be able to make a sound. Not for a full two weeks. The reason? I'm having a tonsilectomy tomorrow morning. I know it's a routine procedure, but I'm still a little freaked, you know? Dr. Huerta said, that because of my enlarged tonsils, and how my throat is shaped like a triangle, rather than a circle like most others, they needed to come out, or else I could choke to death mid-sleep. The other good thing is, according to Dr. Huerta, I will no longer snore, snort, have allergies, or get any more sick throat problems, like that mono I had a while back.

I guess what I'm most afraid of is my voice changing. Which is why I added this Audio Post, so that I may forever have a recording of my voice, one last time.

to sink or swim

OMG, work was so stressful today. I know I shouldnt be talking bad about the place that provides me with a weekly paycheck, (cuz nowadays they can look you up online in a heartbeat) but seriously...I wanna quit. After two days of training (three if you count that horrible Black Friday), I wanna throw in the towel and give up. The reason? None of the managers like me. And how far can a temporary sales associate climb the corporate ladder if none of his supervisors like him? Huh?

Donna, the secretary, doesnt think I have the needed passion that, I guess, is required for the job (I overheard her talking on the phone about who she thinks wont survive this Holiday season), Carmen keeps making little "jokes" of how she thinks I hate her (she's the boss-lady that made me run to all five registers on Black Friday, bagging everyone's purchases, while the other trainee's just stood there looking all lethargic), and Gina...oy...I cant get that woman to just smile at me. I swear, it's like she tries to be unpleasant. She could be riding Space Mountain at Disneyland, next to Santa Claus and a genie, while having a menage a trois with Brad and Angelina, smoking a joint, knowing that Ed McMahon would meet her at the front entrance to give her a $10 million dollar check, and the bitch, still would not smile. Ugh...

But it's not just the "being liked" part that bothers me...it's also about some other things. I found out, I was a "pity hire", meaning they had no attention of hiring my ass, and only did it because some of their employees were caught abusing their employee discount. How do I know? I was talking to a fellow employee, and during the middle of our conversation she asked, "Wait...are you a late hire?" She may as well have asked, "Wait...are you a leper with pink eye and the flu?" Was this what they of us? I couldnt let my fellow "pity hire" friend Kathleen walk and work around the store, not knowing what everyone saw her as. But after I saw her employee folder, I kinda paused on the whole thing.

While taking my training test on the computer, Donna casually laid Kathleen's folder on mine, and walked away. Of course, the tempataion was strong, and I looked at Kathleen's folder. On the front, Donna had written: temp, $6.50, apparel. While on mine, she wrote: temp, 6.25, mens. Exactly like that. I was a dollar sign and a quarter short of Kathleen's payrate. Why was Kathleen getting a quarter more than I was? We were both "pity hires", we started training the same day, and Kathleen told Gina that she had "absolutely no experience in retail." The only difference between Kathleen and I, was that she was in her mid-60's, smelled like White Diamonds, and was white.

Ok, so maybe that last difference shifted this post from light and airy banter, to a big ol' racist uproar, but just hear me out. Up until highschool, everyone thought I was of Cauasian background. But I'm not. I'm a total mutt with really light skin. I guess the fact that I dont speak a word of anything foreign, just only made me more White-r. It's a shame really. Both my parents and all my grandparents speak Spanish, but I dont. What makes it even more shameful is I can do a ton of accents (I swear I could give Tracey Ullman a run for her money) but I suck at my Spanish one. Anyways, the point is, I've never really experienced racism. I'm too dark to be accepted in the White community, yet too light to be accepted in the Hispanic community. Kinda like Jessica Alba. Race has never been a factor for me, because people dont know what to label me as, you know? But now, I wonder if times are a changin'...

Am I being treated unfair in the workplace because of the color of my skin? Am I being paid less because of my background? Or am I taking things out of content and way too seriously? Do I need to lighten up (no pun intended) or should I take a stand? A part of me, want to just throw the towel in and give up, cuz I may as well quit while I'm ahead. And another part of me, wants me to show them that I can do it, and that I'm not a failure. But then why show people up, who dont care anyways?

to strive or suffer

Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks

So...take one, huge, wild guess who hates their new job?

Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks kohl's sucks Kohl's sucks

Me. Sure, Kohl's has its flexible hours, they pay every Friday, and on certain days, they have double employee discounts including stuff already on sale. But yes, indeed, Kohl's does suck.

After working for what seemed like an eternity on Black Friday, Carmen, the store manager told me and three other employees that we would all be getting calls back later on that afternoon. But no call was made. I waited the entire weekend, and still, no call was made. It wasnt until I talked to my friends, Maria and Jose Cuervo, that I got the guts to call up Gina, the hiring manager, and ask her what the deal was.

ME: Hi, Gina, it's me David Tellez.
GINA: Hi...how...can I help you?
ME: Well, I was just wondering, if I was going to ever get a call back.
GINA: Um, yeah, we sent out letters to the people we wanted to hire, and, well, I cant remember, but I think you were on that list. I'm sorry, I just cant remember.
ME: Oh. Well, when should we be getting our letters?
GINA: Um, soon. Yeah. Soon.
ME: Ok, so, like...
GINA: Yeah, I'm sorry Gary...
ME: David.
GINA: Yeah, David. I'm sorry, but were really busy right now. We'll call you.
ME: When?
GINA: Uh, tomorrow and if we dont call, then you call us.
ME: Ok...but,
GINA: Ok? Thanks! Bye!

What a way to feel wanted, huh? Gina didnt call me the next day. Surprise, surprise. Instead, it was another manager and she offered me a job. I took it and went in for orientation yesterday. But the entire time, while I sat there with a smile plastered on my face, I wondered if I made the right choice. My head was saying that this was a good job that could pay off the bills that were accumulating under my name and I wouldnt be home all day playing Suzie Homemaker. But in my heart it didnt feel right. It still doesnt feel right.

Should I stand up against the oppressive judgement of a corrupt company...or should I just suck it up, work with the tension and just pay off my late $250 phone bill?

The Wicked Witch of the Library

The library. A grand building filled with millions of books that are available to anyone. A place where the intellectuals and the homeless gather to read, sleep, and absorb the wealth of knowledge that is at their disposal. But as I've learned today, one thing that cannot be learned at a library is decorum.

Yesterday I was at the library doing research for my final English paper, on people who lead double lives. The concept came to me after my class watched the movie "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" and I saw Oprah do a segment on the very same topic. According to the layout Mr. Julian gave us, we were to have several online resources as well as several written ones. Which explained my presence at the library. Otherwise, I would have been at home watching reruns of Full House.

After taking pages of notes and quotes on people who lead double lives, I picked up my resources and placed them on the cart near the Information Desk. It was then, that this lady, who was sportin a rainbow tie-dye dress and birkenstocks along with a spiky mullet and a bajillion bangles, came up to me.

LIBRARIAN: Excuse me. What do you think you're doing?

I looked around, trying to find the poor soul that this librarian was ready to attack. But, alas, I saw no one.

ME: Me?
LIBRARIAN: Yes, you!
ME: Oh. Yeah?
LIBRARIAN: I asked you what you were doing.
ME: Oh...uh...Putting the books away?
LIBRARIAN: No! You are not putting the books away! Instead you are putting them on my cart!
ME: Ok.

Obviously, she was going somewhere with this, but I was clueless as to where. I mean, how can you take someone seriously when they're dressed like a kalidescope?

LIBRARIAN: You took those books off the shelves and you need to put them back where they belong.
ME: Why?
LIBRARIAN: Do you think it is my job to put away your books?
ME: Um...
LIBRARIAN: I need you to pick up your books and put them back where you found them.
ME: Are you kidding me?
LIBRARIAN: No, I am not kidding you.
ME: Well, I dont know how to do that. Those books have numbers and stuff.
LIBRARIAN: Pick up your books and I will show you where to put them.

I dont know what it was about this libararian, but she scared the hell out of me. Maybe it was her bushy eyebrows. Maybe it was that weird freckle-mole she had near her left eye. Or maybe it was the small sweat moustache that she was beginning to form on her upper lip (of course, upon closer inspection, it wasn't a moustache of sweat...it was just a moustache). All, I know was that it was something. And that something made me pick the books off the cart and follow the bitchy librarian.

I couldnt believe I was actually gonna put the books back where they belonged. Who was this libararian, to think she had the power to make me listen to her? Where was my courage? Where was my confidence? Where were my witty comebacks that I learned from watching countless episodes of The Gilmore Girls?

This librarian needed to be put in her place, but for some reason, my mouth was dry and I couldnt think of a thing to say. That's when I did it. I threw the books in the air, toward her direction, turned, and ran down the stairs to the first floor of the library. I didnt even look back, as I rushed out the sliding doors. The last thing I remember hearing was those books making a "THUMP" sound, and it didnt sound like they hit the floor or the shelves. So possibly, I may have hit the old bag. But then again, she deserved it, right?

When Celebrities Flirt

Working retail on Black Friday, is one of the most challenging events a young adult could ever face. All those desperate women, fighting for the last of the last, begging you to help them out. It was like last call at any bar U.S.A. I tell ya...if it wasnt for the fact that they were after a George Foreman grill, I would so be turned on.

But the women werent the only one's that were desperate.

As I stood next to my new friend Christine, bagging the early shopper's purchases, we laughed and made comments about the weird shoppers.

CHRISTINE: Did you see what that one lady got?
ME: You mean all those grannie panties?
CHRISTINE: Yes!
ME: I know! Why doesnt she just wear a shirt that says: "VIRGIN AND PROUD OF IT!"?
CHRISTINE: Or even, "YOU WONT SEE THIS MOMMY KISSING SANTA!"
ME: No. No, dude. No.
CHRISTINE: Shut up. Mine was good!
ME: Yeah. No.

It was all fine holiday fun and games until this thin, 30-year old looking, bald guy with horse teeth started to talk to us.

GUY: WOW...dont you two look lovely? You both have really nice eyes.

Which was true. We both have blue eyes. And set against our dark brown hair, we were both total knockouts, if I do say so myself. Except, nothing about my features was au natural. Thank God for L'Oréal #5 and 1-800 CONTACTS.

So we thanked him, and continued scanning and bagging his purchases, while he continued to talk. To me.

GUY: So, I know you, but I dont think I've met you before. Are you new here?
ME: Oh, well, sorta, kinda. It's kinda like a test-out sorta thing, you know?
GUY: Oh, ok, that's cool. Right on.
ME: Yeah. Right on...
GUY: And so if you get the job, your gonna work cashier right?
ME: Oh, I dont know. I guess. Maybe.
GUY: You should. I think you'd be real great at it. You have that special sorta something thing with customers.
ME: Thanks.
CHRISTINE: That'll be $212.59.

As this guy, paid for his purchases, I realized his voice was really familiar. I just didnt know where from.

CHRISTINE: $7.41 is your change, and you have a nice day.
GUY: Thanks. It was nice talking to you...to you...
ME: Oh, um...Luke.
GUY: Luke. I'm Ken. Ken Carr. See you later.
CHRISTINE: Oh my...do you know who that was?
ME: Yeah. He said, "Ken. Ken Carr." The fool thinks he's James Bond. Werent you listening?
CHRISTINE: No! That was Ken! Ken Carr from the radio!
ME: From 93.7 KRQ?
CHRISTINE: No! From 104.1 The Point!
ME: He switched stations? When did that happen?
CHRISTINE: Hello?! That's not the point! He was hitting on you!
ME: Shut up, liar! He was not hitting on me. He was talking to me.
CHRISTINE: Exactly.
ME: Besides, he said , we both have nice eyes. Remember?

CHRISTINE: Yeah, but he was talking only to you.

ME: Oh, and so it's my fault I've got the gift of gab? Besides, Ken Carr is not gay. He has a wife. They did a afternoon show, remember?
CHRISTINE: No. Dude, I dont think he has a wife. I think he likes the boys, if you know what I...

ME: Will you stop talking and just scan? Sheesh.

I wondered if Christine was right. Was Ken Carr gay? I mean, I know radio DJ's can be gay, but it never really crosses your mind. You just turn the radio on, hope the DJ's say and play something witty, and then you just turn em' off and continue with life. These local celebrities really dont play a factor in your life, as much as the one's showcased on the cover of US Weekly. But these local celebrities dont flirt with people like you and me. They flirt with other celebrities. Right?

And then it happened. Yesterday morning, I'd thought I'd tune in to 104.1 to chek out this Ken Carr fellow, and he totally gave Kohl's a good name, which did not make me feel so good.

KEN CARR: So I go into Kohl's for my After-Thanksgiving-Day Sale, and I gotta say...Kohl's is my new favorite place! I mean, the people there are so awesome and they make you feel real comfortable. And when you go to buy your stuff, you feel like your talking to a friend and not someone who just wants your money. I'm telling you...shop at Kohl's everyone!

Thanksgiving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving y'all! So, get this. Monday afternoon, Kohls called me. Apparently, they liked what they read on my application. Go figure. I guess they completely forgot about the small episode I created earlier that day, which was fine by me!

So yesterday, I went in for my group interview. Out of all the interviews I've ever had, this, by far, was the best. Most interviews are done one by one, and as we all know, those are the most stressful. Your nervous, your hands get all clammy, and while you sit and try to look relaxed, you end up looking constipated and sweaty. But this one was different.

In this interview, we all sat around a table, while the interviewee asked questions, that we answered as a group. All the answers were totally perfect and right on key. And because we all did such a good job, we all got jobs. Well...sorta.

We all filled out the proper paperwork (tax papers, drug testing, etc), but the interviewee said she still had to do background checks. Which is starting to freak me out. What if they find my record that says I was accused of shoplifting from my old job? I didnt get fired, because I had the option of retiring, but still. Is it a felony or a misdeamenor? Should I tell them before hand or just wait it out and tell them only if they find something?

I start my first day, tomorrow morning (aka Black Friday), and I still dont know what to do. But at least, I'm getting a paycheck, so thats one thing I'm thankful for!

Kaught At Khols

So, as most of y'all know, I have not worked since September, after I was fired for "stealing" a can of green tea (see September 23). And since then I have been desperately looking. The same way that one chick (aka Slutly Slutenstein) who's been looking for her baby daddy on The Maury Show.

Meanwhile, you'd think after 10 failed paternity tests with 10 different guys, you'd give up. But no. Slutly Slutenstein was determined to find the answer. No matter how many people were judging her, calling her names behind her back and to her face, she didnt give up. In a way, this slut was an inspiration. But circling all the want-ads, checking on-line, and filling out countless applications was getting me no where.

Until one day, I saw it. There it was, waving across in the wind, like a pair of boxers at a camp flag post. A sign, that read "Now Hiring." Kohls was hiring! Immeadiately, I went in and asked for an application, hoping the xerox-ed paper was an answer from Heaven.

Before I had been convicted of stealing a can of 99 cent green tea, I had always put down that I had never been convicted of, found guilty of, plead guilty to, or addmitted guilt to a crime. But after my September hearing, filling out applications made me wonder what the right answer should be.

The judge did tell me I had the option of taking a diversion class that would help with my supposed kleptomania problem and promised that if I took it, the charges would be dropped. I havent taken the class just yet, but I have made payments on it, which is just as good, right? Besides, what respectable establishment, in their right mind, would hire a convicted felon? Actually I think Wal-Mart would, but I still have my dignity...I think. And since it's best to err on the wrong side, I've been check marking "NO."

So anyways, the other day, on my way to class, I stop by Kohl's to turn in my application. I thought it would be a little weird if I walked in with just the paper, so I my carried my application in my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Backpack.

Once I got in the store, I placed the bag in a stroller and was immeadiately greeted by a barefoot male cashier. That's right...barefoot. As in no shoes or socks. Just feet. Odd to say, but the sight of the Barefoot Contessa, with the red streaks in his hair, gave me a small ray of hope. If they're this relaxed with their employee's, then I was a total shoe-in.

I walked around the store with my new found confidence and made my way towards the back, to the customer service. But just before reaching my final destination, I made a small detour to the ornament section. Obviously, I had to have the application in hand before reaching the counter. So I hid behind the ornaments, reached into the stoller, and pulled out my application. While doing so, several elderly women were looking my way, with a gasping look on their face, as if I just told them all that tapioca was no longer a dessert option. I quickly turned away from the decaying divas and continued along my merry little way.

Not five seconds after I turned my application in, were those elderly women approaching me with pitch forks and torches. Ok, so they werent pitch forks and torches. But one should never underestimate the power of the elderly when they carry an over sized crocheted tote bag and wear orthepedic shoes. Especially when they're coming towards you with the Barefoot Contessa.

BAREFOOT CONTESSA: Excuse me, sir, can you please follow me?
ME: Why?
BAREFOOT CONTESSA: Sir, we have reason to believe you are in possesions of some items that do not belong to you.
ME: What? No I dont!
BAREFOOT CONTESSA: Sir, follow me, please.
ME: Whatever! I'm leaving. I am not a theif.
DECAYING DIVA 1: He was acting suspicous! I saw him looking at the ornaments and hunching over his cart!
BAREFOOT CONTESSA: Ma'mm...
DECAYING DIVA 2: I saw him put something in! It's in his cart! Look!
ME: Whatever! Your glasses are too thick!
BAREFOOT CONTESSA: Sir, please...
ME: No. Bye!

And I left...both the store and my chances of ever getting hired there. I mean, really, what are the chances the hiring manager will ignore the small scene I created in the store? I totally should have taken something and just returned it later for store credit...

Maybe It Does Take Two

One year ago, my friend Priscilla met this really cute Jamaican guy named TJ. TJ was the general manager of a local Papa John’s eatery and, at the time, he was everything she was looking for. He was charming, sweet, well-mannered, and not married. He did, however, have three children with three different ex-girlfriends.

But that didn’t stop Priscilla from dating him.

Priscilla believed she was the one person who would be able to change TJ. She believed she had the power to help TJ see the error in his ways. She made it her mission to improve TJ, and make him the boyfriend of her dreams. But, she was too late. After several months of dating, Priscilla discovered that she was pregnant and TJ was no where near her expectations of a dream boyfriend.

During the first few months of what was supposed to be young lovers bliss, the young lovers fought endlessly and had restraining orders put on one another. They weren't just crazy in love. They were crazy.

After one night in jail, two court-appointed counseling sessions, and three months of crying over TJ I realized I had to help my friend out. Stressing and obsessing over a guy, who obviously was no longer interested in her was just not healthy. Besides, she kept calling me during peak hours when I did not have free minutes.

I explained to Priscilla that having TJ in her life wasnt as important as she thought. I mean, sure they were gonna have a kid together, but that didnt mean they needed to be together. Rachel and Ross showed us that during the eighth season of Friends.

After I shared my wisdom of Oprah with Priscilla, I began to wonder if I had said the wrong thing.

Growing up with a single parent isnt something I've experienced, but its something that I have seen with members of my own family. Two of my aunts are divorcees with children and I've seen them struggle, trying to live everyday life and sacrificing everything for my cousins. Both of their ex-husbands are your basic dead-beat dad, and so I really do admire them for surviving the hardships they've endured. But I wonder if having a male figure in both their lives and my cousins' lives, would help.

Maybe it does take two members of the opposite sex to raise a child. I know for me, I would be one clueless human being if I didnt have my mothers love or my fathers wisdom. I probably would have survived without one or the other, but I'm very thankful, that I was raised with both. And even my friend Thomas, who has two mothers, I know his mother Lou Ann, went out of her way to make sure Thomas had a male role model while growing up. I never asked him why, but I always felt it was because there are some things fathers can bring to the table, and there are some things mothers can bring to the tables. And since parents are gonna screw up their children anyways, why not have both sides do it?

I decided to bring my new found wisdom to the table, and talk to Priscilla about including TJ in her life.

We has lunch the other day, and because she is due in early December, we discussed how the last few weeks of her pregnancy should be spent. She thought, sitting at home with her feet up on the coffee table, re-reading old issues of US Weekly was the perfect way to pass the time, whereas I thought she should patch things up with TJ.

PRISCILLA: David, I just want to thank you so much!
ME: For what?
PRISCILLA: For helping me realize that I dont need a man in my life...
ME: Oh...
PRISCILLA: ...and that I can do this all by myself. TJ is nothing but a piece of shit! I so do not need his triflin' ass! I dont fuckin' care who he sleeps with, just as long as his child support check is in the mail! You know what I'm saying?
ME: So then, wait. Will he be a part of your life? Yours and the baby's?
PRISCILLA: Hell no! Just the paycheck part and thats it!
ME: Really? But dont you think he needs some kind of male role model in his life?
PRISCILLA: What do you mean?
ME: Well, I mean, I'm sure you'll do a good job raising the kid and whatever, but like you cant teach him everything. You know? Like he's gotta have some guy around to talk to when he goes through puberty.
PRISCILLA: I guess.
ME: I mean no matter how many books you throw at him, it's always more comforting to hear someone else talk about it. About the changes and stuff.
PRISCILLA: Well, thats why I have you, my brother, my tio...dont worry. This baby will be well-loved and well-taken care of. He dont need no male role model, like TJ!
ME: Yeah. But still. Dont you want your baby to know the father? To have some kind of part in its life? I mean, I wont always be around like a father will, and I'm pretty sure once your brother and tio have their families, they wont be around as often, you know?
PRISCILLA: I dont know...

And so, I guess my real question is: Is it wrong to try to put back together a failed relationship for the sake of a child? Even though both parents cant stand to be in the same room with each other and they've both said, several times, that they want nothing to do with one another, is it wrong to try and make things work? Or am I like Priscilla, thinking I have the power to change people? Is it just wishful thinking? If so, should I just then accept the things I cannot change, or just try harder?

Two Souls And A Funeral

There are only two times when it is appropriate to discuss the souls of others. One involves a séance with a group of your closest friends. The other is for entertainment purposes to be shared with a group of blogging strangers.

The soul that I wish to discuss is Barbara. Barbara was a figure in the Tucson community and a major philanthropist. She was also my neighbor.

The summer we moved into our house was the summer after I graduated from high school and got fired from my first real job. With all that extra time on my hands, I was in charge of unpacking and rearranging our house. During that time, I also got to meet and greet our new neighbors.

Barbara and her husband Richard greeted us with a basket of goodies, including a rotisserie chicken, a bottle of Yellow Tail, and vanilla candles. It was nice to see warm and friendly people welcome us with a gentle hand of friendship. Unfortunately, that hand of friendship extended further than it should have.

The small windows in our bathroom overlook into our neighbor’s yard, exposing nothing but brick. However, when looked at a certain angle, some windows at the front of our house, exposed not only their entire front yard, but Barbara’s dirty secrets as well.

Every morning at eight, Richard would leave to work. And every morning at a quarter past, a strange man in a dark midnight-blue Saturn would pull up to the drive way, go inside and about an hour or so later, he’d leave. Nothing bizarre about a mid-day visit. Unless of course, it turns out to be a mid-day sex snack in the sack. There they were, Mr. and Mrs. Get-It-On-Like-There’s-No-Tomorrow. An adulterous couple so into each other, that I had no choice but to watch them bang like bunnies.

Barbara continued her affair throughout the entire summer and then some. It wasn’t until I attended a neighborhood barbeque, that I figured out that the strange man was Richard’s cousin. It was nice to put a name to the gyrating ass I had seen all summer, but it was sad to know that Richard had a cheating wife and a back-stabbing cousin.

If I was smart and heartless, I would’ve black-mailed Barbara and lived off her and her husband’s income for a while. Unfortunately, I no longer have that option.

This past weekend, Barbara’s daughter called and informed us that Barbara had died. Barbara and Richard were vacationing in Mexico and driving down a dirt road, when all of a sudden, the truck flipped, and crushed them both. They were soon flown back to Tucson to the UMC hospital, both in critical condition. Sadly though, Barbara did not pull through.

Because we were her closest neighbors, Barbara’s daughter has asked our family if we would be willing to do a small reading at the funeral. And because I’m the writer of the family, the job has been bestowed upon me. How am I supposed to write the eulogy of a cheating wife, mother, and neighbor? Should I tell Richard about what I know of his wife, or should I let his soul go to the grave, thinking he had a faithful wife and loyal cousin?

Is it wrong to speak ill of the dead, when the dead did ill acts while they were alive? Or no? The thing that haunts me the most is I may have been the last person Barbara spoke to. When she and Richard left last Wednesday evening, she called me and asked if I would be so kind as to collect the mail and newspapers and hold them until they returned from Mexico.

And if that wasn’t strange enough, last night at around one in the morning, I saw a strange car pull up to my neighbor’s house and drive around the mailbox. Someone got out and approached the mailbox. I didn’t get a good look at the person, cuz of the tree in front of my window, but I did sense that something wasnt right.

The next morning I went to go "collect" the mail for my neighbors and when I opened the mailbox, I was shocked. On the inside of the mailbox Richard and Barbara had placed label stickers of their names on either side. Barbara's name was missing. Should I be worried for my soul right about now, or not?

Cheep! Cheep Ass!

Yesterday, my friend Veronica and I decided to do lunch at McDonald's befofre math class. I swear, that Dollar Menu is God's gift to college students everywhere. If only they installed a Bowflex at every booth...

Anyways, so we order our food, sit down, chat and chew the cud. During the course of our fast food fiesta, Veronica looks into her bag and is surprised to find a Happy Meal toy. She opens it up and its this cute little gold fish with a cute little helmet on, that pops out of a small space ship. Instantly, Veronica fell in love with the cute little gold fish and totally went goo-goo ga-ga over it!

VERONICA: Oh, just look at it! It's so adorably cute!

ME: Yeah, it is cute.

VERONICA: Awww, and look at its little smile and little chubby cheeks!
ME: Yeah...

VERONICA: It's just so small and tiny and it's so cute to hold! It needs my love!

ME: Ok, Mother Love, calm yourself! There are people around us and they are looking at us for all the wrong reasons!

But Veronica went right on smothering the poor toy and even held it up to her cheek in a loving, yet terribly disturbing, way.

After we finished our food, Veronica and I stood up to throw our food trays out. Veronica did hers first and then went over to stand by the door. I noticed she was toy-less and holding only a medium diet coke.

ME: V! Where's your toy?
VERONICA: Oh, I threw it away.
ME: What?! Why?
VERONICA: David I wasnt planning on keeping it.
ME: Yeah, but you were so...
VERONICA: Besides, it would have just stayed in my car forever and gotten in the way. I dont need more junk in my car.
ME: Yeah, but, I thought you liked it!
VERONICA: Well, yeah, but what do I need a little Happy Meal toy for?
ME: Veronica! You could have given that toy to some poor homeless kid on the street who cant afford toys!
VERONICA: Yeah! Cuz all homeless kids want toys and not food!

And thats when I did it. I put my tray on top of the trash, got on my knees and dug through the trash. As I sit here and think about it, I dont know why I did it. I guess cuz, as a kid, I used to collect and save my toys from McDonalds or Burger King. I swear, every toy they gave out from 1987 to 1995, I own. They serve no purpose, other than being my chachkas (aka dust collectors) but I still treasure them because they are a part of my childhood. And I remember as a kid, if I got the same toy again, I would either a) exchange it at the counter or b) give it to some kid whose parents didnt believe in the wholesome goodness of cheese burgers and chicken nuggets.

Veronica was horrified as I dug my way through the soggy french fries and jalepenos (Oy, I swear, only in Arizona will you see the people putting jalepenos on everything!), but just guess how I felt! I mean, how spoiled are you to throw away a perfectly good toy? Didn't she ever see the movie Toy Story? Sheesh...

VERONICA: David! Get up! People are looking!
ME: Well hold on! I almost...
VERONICA: I will buy you a new toy! Just please get up!
ME: No! I want this one!
VERONICA: People are looking!
ME: And?
VERONICA: It's for all the wrong reasons!
ME: Let them look! I cant believe you threw away your toy!

Eventually I rescued the toy from it's plastic bag prison and soon we were on our way to school. Veronica blabbed about how embarassing it was for me to rescue a toy from the trash

VERONICA: Even the manager was laughing his ass off!
ME: So?! When your that old and still have acne, who are you to judge?
VERONICA: I'm just saying, you shouldnt be digging through trash.
ME: V, it wasnt that big a deal. I betcha there is a kid out there looking for this toy and I am going to make his day when I go and give it to him.
VERONICA: Are you gonna tell him you dug it out of the trash?
ME: Well, no, but I'm gonna wash it first.
VERONICA: You are such a cheap ass.

And then I wondered of how much of a cheap ass I really am. I dont think I'm a cheap ass, but then there are some things I do, that can be considered cheap ass, but I like to think of it as a smarter way to save time and money. It's the only way of life I know how to live, you know?

Ever since I was a kid, I've known how to save a buck or two. If there was a sale and only one jacket left, I'd hide the jacket behind the linen section and bring it out the day of. It's how I'm able to own a ton of clothes and still have a ton left over. I mean, my first words were, "Can I take it back if I already wore it?" And I can list you a number of friends who have thanked me for teaching them the proper way to hide the tags in their clothing, that way they can return it the next day for a whole new outfit. And thats not being frugal. It's being smart...right?

California Fun In The Sun

What a bomb-ass Halloween! If your looking for a new way to celebrate the haunted holiday, I totally recommend going to an amusement park for the weekend of Halloween cuz it's so much fun!

My brother Caleb entered into some contest online and won a pair of tickets to Six Flags. And then the other day we heard something that at Six Flags one of the roller coasters rides backwards, and so we had no choice but to check it out.

FRIDAY:
Orignially, this was going to be a family trip, but last minute my mom and my middle brother Daniel canceled. My mom's excuse? She couldnt find a sub for her preschool class and so couldnt take time off. My brother's excuse? Couldnt find anything to wear that didnt make him look like an Arizona-ian. He wanted to look California-ian.

Which I guess means, he thinks Arizona is stuck in a time warp of 1872, where the men wear boots and 10 gallon hats and the women wear hoop skirts and bonnets. And it's like hello?! We are blessed with Hollister, Abercrombie, and like 3 malls that are all within 25 minutes of driving distance of each other. I dont know what he was thinking, but it was his loss. So, it was just me, my dad, my lil' brother Caleb, and an open road.

Seven hours later, after a long-ass drive, we found ourselves somewhere between San Diego and Anaheim, lost and tired. It took some time, but after complaining for 20 minutes, my dad pulled over and asked for directions. (I know guys arent supposed to ask for directions cuz it isnt right, but I knew we needed help, which made me right and my dad wrong, which made me happy, so boo-ya!)

We stop at this burger/martini bar called Tropics, and lo and behold who do I see but my cousin Katrina! It was a total surprise, since we hadn't planned on seeing each other, but there she was, all decked out like she was going to a party. And she was. A Hollywood Halloween party! Since her and her friends were gonna be busy on Saturday and couldnt exactly go out on Halloween night, they planned to party the Friday before and invited me to go along!

So imagine lil' ol' desert bumpkin, Arizona-ian, me, arriving on Hollywood Blvd. by a Limo Excursion! I know! Totally hot! We went to this Drag Bar/Club and had one hell of a time dancing and singing! And lemme tell ya...those men with their high heels and adam apples can sure bust a move with their fake busts! I even got the guts to go on stage and sing "I Got You Babe" with a drag Cher and got a standing ovation! I even got to meet that chubby red-head kid from The Sandlot (his name's 'Patrick' by the way and not 'chubby-red-head-kid-from-Sandlot'...dont ask) and Mayim Bialik (she played Bette Midler as a kid in the movie Beaches) and omg!, they are so down-to-earth people. Especially Mayim. But then again, when you're the adoptive parents of a whale, a wolf and a manatee, what else do you expect? (and I mean, besides a smelly house!)

SATURDAY:
We woke up the next day and decided to go to Disneyland and California Adventure. After all, how many times does one get to go to a 50th anniversary? (I already went during the summer with some friends, so I guess that means twice...) I've been to Disneyland every summer (and sometimes during November!) since I was 9 months old, and I have never gotten tired of it. Something about being in a place where you can visit the past, the future, and your childhood dreams all in one place just means a lot to me.

I think the thing I like most about it, is that it's a place where your dreams can come true. And it's just so much fun and so sweet when you get to see a small child or a retarded kid in a wheel chair look up and see their favorite princess or Disney animal walking down Main Street U.S.A.

Plus they had the entire park decked out in a 50th anniversary/ Halloween/ Christmas decor and it was totally awesome! Especially The Haunted Mansion ride. They fixed it up with all this Nightmare Before Christmas stuff, and put a total new spin on the ride. But some of the rides didnt even need decor to get you in the Halloween spirit. At The Tower of Terror ride, the ride cast members were so gloomy, it was like the entire crew was PMS-ing, which made the ride even scarier, cuz it seemed like half the crew really wished the elevator would plummet us to our death! So much fun!

And the fire works and the parades and all the Disneyland magic...you just cant put a price on it. (except, they have, and well...let's just say y'all better have a good credit card with some good credit!)

SUNDAY:
We finally made our way to Six Flags and OMG! That was fun! Well sorta. We got to the park a half hour after it opened and ran over to this roller coaster called "X". It's this way cool roller coaster that does a 360 degree spin, flips fowards and backwards, and just leaves you totally speechless. Or so we read. We waited in line for 2 1/2 hours before learning that the ride had shut down and would no longer be running that day.

Totally sucked, but when your surrounded by other roller coasters, why be miserable? Like sex, we rode each roller coaster fast and hard and had one helluva good time! And like sex, we had to work hard to get to the roller coaster. Six Flags isnt really laid out well, cuz there's all these up and down hills and few benches and it really takes a lot out of you.

Nightfall came and soon the entire park was covered with this spooky fog. And hidden in this fog and in the shadows were all these park employees dressed as monsters and psychotic people and it was their job to scare the shit out of people. And boy, did they do a good job. Especially in the haunted houses that were set up all around the park. Unfortunately, they did too good of a job.

As we stood in line, wathcing the shennanigans of scary monsters and terrified customers, I had my own scary moment. Ok, so I'm minding my own business when all of a sudden the trashcan behind me bangs real loud and this 4 ft man with 3 ft long arms comes "walking" (it was more of a 'I-cant-walk-so-good-on-my-right-foot') from behind and I jumped and gave a small yelp. Turns out, the guy wasnt one of the costumed freaks, but a janitor with a limp and a disability. How I was supposed to know?! I felt so horrible, but when you hire out costumed actors to act like hired employees...it's just bad taste. Thank God, that was my last day in L.A., but certainly not my last time!