the end of an era

My friend Hadassah had just come back from Europe. She now considered herself a world-class traveler, but considering she spent a week in Amsterdam, world-class pothead, probably wasn’t too far behind. She had experienced new things, saw new places, met new people. But inside, she was the same girl. The same girl, who had left to Europe to decide who her heart belonged to: Guy or Bry. It would’ve been easier if she met someone in Europe and started fresh, but things are never that simple. After all, this is real life. And like real life, Hadassah couldn’t put off her decision any longer. So, she chose Guy, after realizing he was the one she thought about the most and the one she wanted to come home to.

Hadassah had arranged to let Bry down easy in a public place, that way there’d be less of a scene and no chance of one last seduction. It happened at a sushi restaurant. Everything was going according to plan. The cucumber salads were fresh, the wine was impeccable, and Bry was just as perfect. But as the dinner progressed, so did Hadassah’s feelings. It didn’t make any sense. She was over Bry. At least that’s what she thought. But seeing him there, in his crisp white shirt and the light blue tie she had gotten him for Christmas, caused Hadassah’s heart to flutter and her speech to stutter. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to break this innocent man’s heart. So, she excuse herself to the bathroom, pulled out her BlackBerry and called me asking me for help on how to say goodbye.

HADASSAH: David! I cant do it! I cant! I didn’t think it would be so hard!
ME: Just do it. It’s not that hard to say "good" and "bye".
HADASSAH: I know, but it’s like…the end of an era!

Hadassah was right. It was the end of an era. All those times when we all went out for happy hour after work and all those times Bry and Hadassah shared a look in the lobby of the Frontier building when they thought nobody else was looking...it was all over. I guess I could kinda see why it would be hard for Hadassah to say "goodbye" to those memories, but I really didn’t know what to say. I mean, I’ve never really had to tell anyone goodbye before. The people who mean the world to me have never left me and the ones who don’t, well, let’s just say, saying goodbye was never so easy. It wasn’t until Colette, that girl we all know and love, asked me to help her move.

Colette had been accepted to asthetic’s college and needed help moving into a new apartment, once city, two hours and a hundred and twenty miles away. My blog friend Nikki suggested I go and help, because if anything, it would bring closure to one, very weird, unexplainable thing we had between us. And if I didn’t get closure, Nikki assured me that she would come over and slap one of us upside the head, hoping that some common sense would fall right in. Who knew violence could be used as a great motivator?

The following morning, I headed over to Colette’s house. She told me more than half her stuff was packed, which I took to meant that it had already been placed in the U-Haul and I would just be going along for the ride to help unpack later on. No. I was there to help put the stuff into the U-Haul, including one very large wooden dresser, that I swear, must have been built inside the room, because it was so huge and the drawers didn’t pull all the way out. Did this girl not know the advantages of shopping at Ikea? It was extremely heavy and if it hadn’t been for Joey, I don’t think I would have been able to do it.

Joey was a guy just like me. A guy infatuated with Colette, yet could never really understand her. It was a modern day love triangle. It was almost like that movie, There’s Something About Mary, with Colette being Mary, Me being Ted and Joey being Tucker. Pat Healy and Woogie were somewhere and it was a shame they never showed, because it would have made for one interesting afternoon. Not that me and Joey didn’t have our own fascinating thing going on. There we were, two guys trying to outdo each other by lifting and carrying furniture down a flight of stairs and into a moving van, each one trying to outdo the other. What is it about girls that brings out the Neanderthal in guys? Thinking back on it, it was so not worth the sore forearms and the strained back. Especially since it was about a hundred and four degrees out that day. But at least I know now I’m not made for manual labor. It’s better to know now at an early age, that I will need to hire help. That way I can start saving up! Smart.

My arms were stiff. I couldn’t move. I wanted to cry and have someone rub Icy Hot all over my body. But I couldn’t because I was driving up to Phoenix with Colette. Joey was driving the U-Haul, and from the few glances I made through the rearview mirror, I could tell he was in no worse shape than I was. But at least he got to be by himself and could cry without anyone hearing him. After we got to Phoenix we performed our masochist act all over again, this time, carrying the furniture up a flight of stairs. Never again will I ever help a person move. I am willing to pay for movers because the way I see it, it’s a whole lot less than the Swedish masuse I will need to employ very soon.

After one last dinner and one last conversation, it was time to say goodbye. First, Colette said goodbye to her mom and sister. Then, she moved to Joey. Then me. It was like that last scene in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy hugs all her friends goodbye, but saves her final goodbye for the Scarecrow, telling him, “I think I’ll miss you most of all.” I didn’t think I would miss Colette this much, given our history and the fact we were only a city away, but seeing her drive away and start her new life in a new city was really bittersweet. Then someone, somewhere had turned the radio on in their car and Paula Deanda came on.

I cant explain this feeling
I think about it everyday
and even though we've moved on
it gets so hard to walk away...

That was weird. But not as weird as the next song…4 in the Morning. Just hearing Gwen Stefani sing made me remember the concert Colette and I went to and all those memories we shared together since that first day in middle school, when we sat across from each other in the cafeteria. It’s almost like it was yesterday that I fell for the girl with butterfly barrettes in her hair and silver braces on her teeth. And even though they say that all things must come to an end, I really don’t know if this is the end for us. Only time can tell. But what I do know? It’s the end of an era.

dog show down

Some people are born to be dog lovers. Some are born to be dog haters. It’s just a rule of life. But it’s funny how the ones that are dog haters think they are capable of escaping a dog's sneaky charm. Their sneaky, vindictive, manipulating charm.

Take my mom for example. She’s a born dog hater. Everything about a dog, from the way they sniff your toes to the way they jump on you, annoys her. It was actually an honest-to-God miracle that she let Lucy, the little Pomeranian Chihuahua puppy I found at work, stay in our home. The first few weeks, I think, were a grace period, since Lucy was still weak from her hospital visit. After the third week, I heard her telling neighborhood walkers and family members alike that she was just putting the word out, that she was looking for a nice family who could care for a little puppy. I was appalled! Here I was, trying to nurse my puppy back to health and my mother was scheming behind my back to give her away! She claimed she had too much heart to just throw the defenseless creature out into the street, which is why she was trying to find a nice decent home for it, but as far as I was concerned, the matter was settled. No one was separating me and Lucy.

Lucy and I went everywhere. In fact, she was starting to become my favorite shopping partner. Dog lovers would stop us to pet and admire Lucy, while dog haters would just stop us and tell us we weren’t allowed inside their store. It didn’t take much to change their mind. Just a simple head tilt and a hind leg jump from Lucy was all it took to let us through with a warning that this was a “special once-in-a-lifetime chance”. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. But it made me realize, if Lucy was capable of changing the minds of these so-called dog hater’s, maybe she could do the same for my mom.

She started off by refusing to eat her dog kibble. Just like that. We tried three different brands including a doctor prescribed one, but she walked away from each one. It worried me, since the reason she had gone into the hospital the first time was due to malnourishment and low blood sugar. So, I called the doctor who suggested table scraps. Of course, coming from a Mexican family, we barely know the word “leftovers,” so we just had to add an extra helping when it came to feeding time. Eggs and oatmeal for breakfast, sliced ham and cheese for lunch, non-fat yogurt and rice pudding for a snack, and roast chicken or beef tenderloins for dinner (of course, the menu changed daily, as everyone knows you cant eat the same thing twice without getting tired of it, but for the most part, that’s Lucy’s diet).

Then Lucy started “telling” us her favorite TV shows. She loves old reruns of The Nanny and Sabrina the Teenage Witch (I think it has something to do with the talking cat and those special guest appearences by Chester the pomeranian), and will sit on the couch, not moving at all, until commercial time. Usually, she’ll watch whatever I watch, but the moment Yes, Dear or 7th Heaven comes on, she’ll start barking at the television as any self-respecting human and animal would do. She had a preference for goose feather pillows than the fiber ones. She preferred going to the bathroom in the backyard, rather than the front, since it was more discreet. She is a lady afterall. I’ve even caught her stopping in front of the mirror once in a while, just to look at herself from all angles, to make sure she looked good. Only five months and so brilliant! In fact, it was because of her lady-like personality that my mom realized, this dog wasn’t just any old dog. She was special. Which, I know, all people say about their dogs, but I think that’s only because they’re embarrassed that their dog doesn’t realize their tail is part of their body.

And being that Lucy was special, I couldn’t understand why her being of mixed breed mattered. After all, in this day in age, aren’t mixed people to the human race what Dolce & Gabbana is to fashion? So why aren’t dogs? It happened one day at the local PetSmart where a girl and her poodle met a boy and his mutt.

AMY: Hi, my name is Amy. Cute dog! What is it?
ME: She’s a Pomeranian with a little Chihuahua.
AMY: Oh. She’s mixed? Like a mutt?

There was something about the way she said, “mixed” and “mutt” that unnerved me. She didn’t say it in a mean way, but the way her left eyebrow lifted slightly when she said it, made me put up my guard.

ME: No. She’s not a mutt. She just wanted a little bit of both in her DNA.
AMY: Oh. Well, she‘s still kinda cute.

Kinda cute? I didn’t understand what the deal was with Amy or why she kept making such cruel comments. In my head, I came up with about five comebacks that would’ve totally put her in her place, but instead, I just smiled as she introduced Lucy and me to "Darlene, a full-bred, miniature poodle." Darlene just sat there, her head cocked to the side, gazing into the distance. In truth, she looked like maybe had been dropped several times over and over again. And then again, just for fun. And then once more. If it weren’t for the tongue hanging out of her mouth and the string of drool in the corner, I would’ve thought she was a statue. Full-bred? More like half-dead.

The icing on the cake came when Amy asked why Lucy didn’t have a collar. According to Amy, a dog’s collar spoke volumes about their personality, since it was the only accessory they could wear 24/7. Darlene was wearing a light pink synthetic woven cotton/nylon collar with sparkling rhinestones which made me wonder what level her volume stood at. What Amy didn’t know was that I had taken Lucy’s collar off before walking into the store, on account that I promised she wouldn’t have to wear it inside if she promised not to chase after big dogs during our walk. So you could imagine my delight when I pulled out of my pocket, a Coach Signature jacquard fabric collar with gold leather trim. It was a gift from one of Lucy's many admirers and I knew as I walked away from Amy it was the ultimate final and silent word.

Two days later, I went back to PetSmart to return the toy I had bought for Lucy. It was bigger than I thought it was, so I figured a smaller one would do better. That’s when I saw Amy and Darlene. Did this woman, seriously, have no other place to go? Did she plan her days around taking her dumb dog to pet stores, dogging dogs? Ugh. At least my collar stunt prompted Amy to buy Darlene a new collar, a rhinestone choker that could have easily doubled as one of those bracelets most commonly found at Icing’s or Claire’s. It was actually a pretty good idea, and if Amy wasn’t such a hater, I would’ve given her the proper snaps she deserved for being so creative. But instead, I made sure the little brown C’s on Lucy’s collar were visible through her golden fur.

There we were, standing in the presence of each other, each one waiting for the other person to make the first move. It was like one of those old black and white western movies where the sheriff and a runabout renegade with the words, “the kid” placed after their name, stand in the middle of a dusty town at high noon. But instead of a tumbleweed rolling between us, a black male lab walked on by, sniffing Lucy out, swooning over the adorable little lady. She wasn’t interested so she just yawned and looked away. At that moment, another dog walked by. It was a border collie who was also interested in Lucy, but like before, Lucy wasn’t interested, so she turned away and looked longingly down the aisle at the toys and treats. The first dog, the black lab, took notice of the border collie and growled at it, before lunging at it’s throat! Two grown dogs, shrieking and snarling at each other, over little ol’ Lucy! As their owners struggled to pull back on their leashes with such force, I couldn’t help but look over at Lucy who was now sitting on the floor watching everything play out as if she knew the attention was all for her.

AMY: Can't believe all that fuss over a dog who isn’t even that skinny.
ME: Can't believe you’re trying to outdo Coach with cheap jewelry.

Ok, I didn’t say that, but I was thinking it, which is just the same thing, except it’s in a more refined and dignified manner. But it made me realize, it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, full-bred or mixed. All that really matters in life is that you own some designer goods. No, I’m totally kidding! But it sure comes handy when you meet narrow-minded people and their full-bred, half-dead dogs!

the good, the bad, and the straightenin' out to do

There comes a point in time, when you start to wonder about the good things and the bad things in your life. But mostly, it’s the bad things that get the most attention. And you wonder, if it’s a bad thing and you know it‘s a bad thing, then why is it a part of your life? It’s like frozen cookie dough. You plan on using it to make dozens of cookies to be shared with friends and loved ones, but instead, you end up eating it in large chunks, knowing in the back of your mind that it’s probably not a good idea to be eating raw dough with all those cases of samonella being reported, but you do it anyways because it’s oh-so good. And then you discover, by the end of the night, you only have enough dough to make two decent-sized cookies. It makes you a little sad, but you just shrug your shoulders and put the rest of the chocolate-y goodness in your mouth, thinking in the back of your mind, to hell with it. It’s exactly what I was thinking when I thought of my is she-isn’t she friend, Collete.

Ok so maybe things with Colette weren’t as resolved as I thought they were. Maybe I just didn’t get it, like I thought I did. But it’s hard when you’re a guy. Girl’s just have this weird power/control over guys. Just look at Samson and Delilah. Edmond Dantes and Mercedès. Paul McCartney and Heather Mills. Poor guys. Never saw it coming. But I was smarter than that. I knew better. And that’s when Colette called me.

Apparently, when we were in Phoenix the previous week, she had entered a contest at the mall to go see pop singer Fergie and won two tickets. And who did she invite? Yeah. Me. Colette told me that as soon as she found out she won, she could think of no other person to invite but me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t honored, but I didn’t know if...oh to hell with it, it was Fergie! And anyone who can piss their pants in public and still hold their head up high is A-OK in my book. I mean, we’ve all been there after a couple of drinks and dancing in a party bus with a stripper pole, right? And besides, this was just a friend only outing…as Colette pointed out many times. God. You take somebody to a Gwen Stefani concert and your pegged as “Concert Buddy” for life. Ugh.

Two days and a two hour car ride later, we were at the Dodge theater rockin’ and a-rollin’ to a really awesome performance. I was wearing my Ed Hardy jeans, the ones with the skull bone and heart patch in the back pockets, which I had been saving for a rainy day, but since it never came, I figured now was as good a time as any. Fergie was awesome. Who knew that a thirty-something could still do cartwheels? Sure, her back would probably be killing her the following morning, but hey, it wasn’t my back, so…rock on! And it was during this rockin’ performance that Fergie sang a song that really spoke to me. Even though it was entitled, "Big Girls Don’t Cry", I felt the lyrics could go either way. Minus, of course, the exception of the word, “girl.”

Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay.
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life…

Amen sister. Story of my life. But little did I know that while I thought I was dealing with a major problem, somebody else was dealing with an even bigger problems.

After the concert, we headed to a local gas station to stock up on energy drinks and peach candy rings, since spending the night at a hotel was out of the question. I wanna say that it’s because temptation was just not a road I wanted to travel on, but the truth is, I forgot my credit card and Colette was overdrawn on her debit account. Ironically, the road we were traveling on ended up being closed due to forceful winds and a monsoon-like rainfall. Guess it was a perfect time to be wearing those Ed Hardy's, after all. We had no option but to turn back. We ended up at a Denny’s, where we ordered banana fosters, chocolate chip pancakes and a side order of chicken strips and french fries. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to eat such a random mix of food so late at night/early in the morning, but when you’re killing time and trying to stay awake at a 24-hour diner, you do what you gotta do.

We left the restaurant at the crack of dawn, and after being in town for not more than one hour, I got that fateful call. It was from my boss Alice, giving me a rundown of the tasks that had to be performed and completed that day. After assuring and reassuring Alice that everything was under control, she told me that Freddie, her brother-in-law was like Nicky. Nicky was a close, personal friend of Alice and her husband Azten, until he was shot and killed in an alley this past March. To this day, no one really knows what happened, but it’s assumed that Nicky got caught up in a drug deal gone bad.

ALICE: David…Freddie is like Nicky. I don’t know what to do.
ME: You mean he’s weird? Yeah, I could’ve told you that Alice. Why? What he do?
ALICE: No, I mean, Freddie is like Nicky.
ME: Cuz he sells drugs? Well, there’s nothing you can really do…
ALICE: No. David. Listen. Freddie. Is like. Nicky.
ME: Alice. I get it. He’s weird. But why?
ALICE: David. Freddie is where Nicky is.
ME: Well where is Nicky?
ALICE: David, I have my daughters in the car. So please understand when I tell you that Freddie is exactly like Nicky.

It was then that I finally got it. I later learned that Freddie was shot and killed in an apartment complex over a pair of designer jeans. I know! I mean, that could've been me! I could've been THE guy shot in Phoenix over the pair of jeans I was wearing! It was so surreal. After all, I had just seen Freddie the week before when he came in to see Alice. He was his usual self, wearing a button down shirt that was fully open, exposing his chest tattoo of an Aztec god holding a half naked Aztec woman with enormous breasts and telling me of his weekend and how some girl at some party just couldn’t get enough of him. Which is weird, because every girl I know that has met him have told me specifically that they would never, in a million years, go out with him.

Still it was sad. I mean, here was a guy, who was my age, wore designer jeans…was unlucky in love…and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if maybe I had the same fate in store for me. Ok, I’ll admit it’s selfish of me to even think of my own well-being during a time when someone had just passed away, and I may as well have booked my ticket for that hand basket people are always talking about, but the similarities was just way too much to not be considered a coincidence. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be killed in a tragic shooting, but who’s to say I wont? I always felt that the way I would go would be falling to my death, that way I could get that flying thing out of the way before I go. The point is, you just never know when your time is up. That’s why everyone’s always saying to make each and every moment count. So is it bad that my each and every moments are still associating with Colette?

got it? get it? good?

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And you know what? It’s true. I’ve really missed my blog! Not that I took a break or anything, but when your busying living life in the moment, some things will lose their significance. I’ve really missed turning on my laptop and just writing away like a famous Southern author. Of course, I cant think of any right now at the moment, but you know what I mean. There’s nothing like the warmth of your computer on your legs, with the scent of cinnamon hot chocolate lingering in the air and an empty webpage, waiting to be filled with all kinds of thoughts and ideas that you cant keep caged any longer.

And speaking of cages, my friend Hadassah was in the middle of trying to escape from one. Not a physical one, but an emotional one. She was still trying to decide between the two guys she was seeing and it was even more difficult, when they both told her they loved her and wanted to be exclusive. Two guys after her heart? Some could (some even did!) wish she would just drop dead. But since I didn’t want a dead friend, I suggested she make a pros and cons list. Which really wasn’t helpful, since both lists seemed to balance out about the same. So she did what any twenty-something, who’s dealing with matters of the heart- she flew away to Europe, promising she would return with a final answer.

I personally, thought it was a little crazy, but like they say, to each his own. If I was a betting man, and there was a line on this in Vegas, I'd lay down ten-to-one that it all comes down to the fact that Hadassah would come back, no closer to a decision then when she left. Hadassah was a wild spirit, one that couldn’t be tamed or controlled. She needed to be free like the wind. Or like one of those majestic deer’s you see in the woods, before it’s shot down.

Truth be told, my friend Hadassah reminded me a lot like one of the most famous girls to ever come out of literature. Holly Golightly. She was naïve, totally eccentric, but all in all, she was a girl you rooted for, hoping that in the end, everything would work out for her. I saw the similarities one Saturday night, when my very good friend Madelaine and I went to the historic Fox Theatre in downtown Tucson to watch on the big screen, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It was a sim-u-date, which is kinda like a real date, except, like a Sims game, you have more control over everything and don’t have to worry about whether or not the date will end with a kiss or a figuratively castration. That’s the thing about having great friends. They’re always there for you when you wanna go out for a dinner and a movie, but not by yourself.

After all, the person who I most wanted to go on a date with was never available. For the past couple of weeks, Colette was MIA After telling me that she removed articles of clothing for strange people, she wouldn’t return any of my calls or any of my texts. I began to wonder if I had judged her too harshly. Maybe if I had been less shocked when she decided to share the information…or if I had been more accepting of her new job, we would still be on speaking terms. In any event, during that period of one-sided silence, I came to terms with the fact that Colette and I just were never meant to be. We just weren't meant to be. Our's was a love that was to never be, like Orpheus and Eurydice, Romeo and Juliet, Justin and Britney. And I accepted that. It took about eight or nine years, but I finally got it, you know? I just...got it.

And it was just after I got it, that Collette called me. She claimed she had been busy with work and trying to get into an aesthetics school in Phoenix, which I took with the verbal grain of salt. After all, I was the one that had gotten it, whatever "it" was. I was the one who knew that we would never be. The entire time we talked, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for poor Colette. There she was. Talking on the phone with out any clue or the slightest idea, about having “it.”

A week later, Colette called me up again, asking if I wanted to travel with her to Phoenix to help her apply to the International Academy of Beauty. I figured it be a fun trip as well as a much needed excuse to get out of town. And it was. The director of the college was fantastic and for a brief mortal minute, I even considered going to the school. But alas, I don’t believe the study of skin is my forte. I can barely pop my own zits without getting grossed out, so working on other people‘s skin? Yeah, right.

After being admitted to the college, Colette and I did some sole searching at the Chandler Fashion Square and left with some really awesome clothes including a major Gino Green Global jacket. I also left with a startling discovery. As we were leaving the mall, Colette got a phone call and though they say it’s impolite to eavesdrop on a conversation, I’m really glad I did on this one. Apparently, one of Colette’s friends wanted some advice on dating and this is what she said:

“Dude, it sounds to me like you’re not ready to be in a relationship. You sound like my friend David. Yeah. He told me it’s cuz he’s too selfish. Being with someone means you cant be thinking of yourself all the time. You have to devote some of your time to the other person and sometimes that means having to put their feelings before your own. David’s not ready for that. Hell, he’s even told me that he’s even skipped dinners with friends to go shopping for new clothes...”

Ok, I don’t remember saying any of that. And if I did, it was absolutely a long, long, very long time ago. And that’s a big IF. But if I did say that, could that be THE reason why this has been an overprocessed, overdrawn out thing? Ugh...maybe I really didnt get it, like I thought I did...

a bummer from a strummer

The John Mayer concert was beyond amazing. His music is just so inspiring and the way he plays that guitar, well…let’s just say that Jessica must be pretty happy in bed. And speaking of happy things, Hadassah and I were pretty happy to discover that margarita’s were only three dollars! Oh, it was the best of times! And even though I was buzzing more than a bee, it was right then and there that I decided to do something creative and artistic and share that creative and artistic thing with the world.

That’s when I remembered the Art Fair mural project. A couple months back, a local downtown art program asked me if I would be willing to paint a giant three-story high mural in their stairwell. They liked the little doodles I drew on the chalkboard at my work and figured it was just the thing they needed. I had put off the project for a while, since I wasn’t sure what I wanted to paint. I mean, three stories worth of art? It had to be something that would inspire anyone who walked in the building and it had to have meaning that would last longer than a minute. And it was all thanks to John Mayer.

The day after the concert I stopped at an art supply store and picked up a blank drawing pad and a box of colored pencils. When I got home, I put the pencil to the pad, and the ideas just flowed out of me. Bright, colorful things just started to appear and before I knew it, I had several pages filled with stuff. I couldn’t wait to show my ideas to the director. Unfortunately, I never got the chance.

When I went to Art Fair to talk with the director, Ann, I ran into Greg, the guy who “discovered” me. Turns out he had just been fired. Apparently, Greg, who had been a volunteer had decided to ask that he paid for his services during the summer. Just a little gratuity. After all, summer months meant longer hours, which meant more opportunities for some extra cash. So it only made sense that he ask. Who knew the answer would lead to a harsh firing? Did those selfish Art Fair people not know how to recognize a good thing when they had it? I mean, if it weren’t for Greg, I wouldn’t be there painting the mural and neither would half the teachers that were volunteering their time to help teach classes. I felt bad for the guy, but I didn’t want all my ideas to go to waste. So I stuck with my meeting, but throughout it I had this really wretched feeling in my stomach. Damn conscience.

After the meeting, Ann invited me to an all-expense paid dinner later that night. It would be a chance for everyone at Art Fair to get to know each other and to have an opportunity to give recognition to those who deserved it. It was a super nice gesture, and for a mere mortal minute, I thought that maybe the people at Art Fair weren’t all that bad.

That night, I went I went to the all-expense paid dinner. At Taco Bell. I know. But it was all they could afford, and so I just stuck with a Chalupa. After everyone was seated in the plastic cream-colored booths, I couldn’t help but think of Greg and the recognition he deserved. Sure, he didn’t create Art Fair, but he made it what it was. It just wasn’t right to be there at the all-expense paid dinner without him there. So I resigned. I went right up to Ann and told her I was leaving and I wasn’t coming back. I was so nervous the entire time, because I knew my resignation would let down a lot of people, especially those unimaginative, non-creative people who were waiting to be inspired. But it had to be done.

A girl who was sitting two turquoise, spinning chairs over, overheard me resign and stood up to announce her resignation. Apparently, volunteering at Art Fair didn’t count as an after-school club, which meant she couldn’t put it on her college application. So she left. And so did two others.

Sunday afternoon, Greg called me to tell me that Art Fair had officially been shut down. Apparently, some of the guests at the all-expense paid dinner were benefactors of the art program and a city official was there too. When a lot of people walked away from their 99-cent tacos and burritos, the benefactors and the city official were not happy and decided something was not right with the way things were being handled at Art Fair. So the city official decided to shut it down…at least for the time being. You know, just to figure things out. Who knew doing the right thing would be such a terrible thing? This was all my fault. Actually, if you think about it…John Mayer really is the one to blame. Him and his inspiring music.

irreplaceable

A couple of weeks ago, I found out that an old high school friend, Celina, was pregnant. Eight weeks to be exact. Which was weird, because when I ran into her at the Gwen Stefani concert, she was downing rum and coke like there was no tomorrow. Guess she didn’t know then, either. But once she did know, Celina’s life changed. She had just turned 21 and realized that she could no longer indulge in twenty-something activities, like going out to a club, ordering a drink and have an adventure that would most certainly qualify her as a cool grandparent. Instead, she would have to spend her first legal drinking year at home, listening to friend and family members alike, recount their wild weekends. And even after she had the baby, she couldnt go out for another two, three years! Talk about a major downer.

But as I soon discovered, I was kinda floating around in the same boat.

With Lucy, my life changed. I found myself putting her needs before mine, just like a parent would do for their own flesh and blood. I was canceling happy hours and outings with my friends just to come home and be with Lucy. I was even discussing different types of dog food and her bowel movements. I didn’t realize I was putting a major damper on my social life until my friend Madelaine pointed it out. She had invited me to a wine tasting event and I had to decline because I needed to feed Lucy. Ok, I guess that was a bad excuse for not going out. After all, when I went to work, I left Lucy in the care of my brother, Collin. So it’s not like she would starve to death or be unsupervised. I was afraid I was becoming like one of those parents who could do nothing but only talk about their new babies and so when Madelaine invited me to dinner and a play, I decided to do something about it.

I made a few phone calls, switched some things around and accepted Madelaine’s invitation. Unfortunately, I took a little too long and Madelaine made other plans, giving me a free and lonely Saturday night. I had successfully (or would it be considered un-successfully?) transferred from the Parenthood Prairie to Loser Land. And it was during my brief stay in Loser Land that I discovered a horrifying fact: Lucy liked Collin, more than me. She followed him more, listened to him more, and even played tug-o-rope with him more. I couldn’t help but feel like I was doing something wrong. I thought I was doing everything a good parent should. I gave her the best food, the best toys, even the best in puppy couture! So why was Collin being favored over me? Was I being replaced?

Meanwhile, somewhere in San Diego, in La Jolla to be exact, three girls were having fun in a nightclub. My friend Hadassah went with her friend Sally to support their friend Ruby in a marathon to help fight lung cancer. Ruby had been practicing for over a year and now it was her time to shine, but like all shinning moments, it made Ruby nervous. So, Hadassah figured a wild and crazy night in a beach city like La Jolla would help out. And it did. For a while, until Sally got really drunk and started throwing up everywhere; the bar, the dance floor, the bathroom, the parking lot, everywhere.

The next morning, Hadassah discovered that not only was her entire party hung over from the party last night, but the alcohol seemed to put a damper on Sally’s mood for the rest of the weekend. She didn’t feel like participating in any of the activities they had planned. Instead of shopping or hanging out at the beach, all Sally wanted to do was stay in bed and sleep, bitching and moaning about everything: the sun, the people, the weather, everything.

Everyone figured that Sally’s sour mood was probably due to the drastic change in location, but when it followed her back home and stuck around during a “Welcome Back!” party, it was enough. One person in particular who had had enough, was Keely, who got into a verbal fight with Sally after hearing her bitch and moan about a “horrible, sucky weekend.” Then, out of nowhere, Keely threw a fast fist right into Sally’s face. The entire party was put on pause for a few moments, but regained its energy once the girl-on-girl fight was in full mode. It ended when Keely threw her body into Sally and broke her leg in a bizarre lower body twist, sending her not only to hysterics, but to the hospital. The fight, the sour mood, and other past problems with Sally led everyone to the same conclusion: she had to go. It was so third grade.

A couple days later, during a mid-Thursday afternoon (why is it everything happens to me, mid-Thursday afternoon?), Hadassah came by to the flower shop. She had just finished having lunch with her mother, when she decided to ask me if I wanted to go to the John Mayer concert next week. I accepted and asked how she came about an extra ticket. In a calm and rational voice, Hadassah explained that it was originally Sally’s ticket, but since she hadn’t paid for the ticket yet, and the fact that nobody was talking to her, it was up for grabs. I felt like I should take back my acceptance for the ticket. I didn’t wanna replace Sally. I didnt wanna do to her, what I thought Collin was doing to me. But then again, it is a John Mayer concert, a guy who Rolling Stone magazine recently named one this century’s rock guitar gods...

P.S. I know this is kinda old and all, but if you have any extra time or just wanna search through some blogs, check out my friend Mel's blog. She went to the Hollywood premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean and got to meet all kinds of world-famous celebrities. Totally blows my tale of Kathleen Turner right out of the water.

i love lucy

It's been said before (and not just by 1980's hip hop group, Whodini), that freaks come out of night. I guess there's something about the dark, soulless streets that attracts something inside the freaks to come alive and to be merry. But for the freaks in Tucson, it's not the night that attracts them. It's downtown. There's Kenny, the guy who wears a leather vest and a headdress made out of soda can pull-tabs and stands in the corner asking people for money for medicinal marijuana. There's Jaime, the mannish woman (or womanish man, depending how you look at it) who's always buying random gifts for married women all around downtown. There's even Ms. Kitty, the lady who owns the shoe shine stand across the flower shop, who hired a homeless man, fell in love and married him two months later. But the biggest freak of them all is the strange lady who came in last Thursday.

It was mid-afternoon and like most mid-afternoons, I was bored. Then She came in. I say She, since I have no idea who she was or if I'll ever see her again. She came in with a spring in her step and some really good, top-notch Amphetamines in her system. I mean, it made sense, since she kept raving about all the beautiful, positive energy that was coming from the flowers from our shop, floating all around downtown, creating beautiful, positive energy for everyone.

SHE: Beautiful. Just beautiful. Yes. Your flowers are beautiful.
ME: Thanks.
SHE: You are beautiful. Life is beautiful. Everything in your shop is beautiful. And I love the beautiful, positive energy coming forth from your flowers. It's making my spirit soar to outstanding heights. It's feeding creative energy to everyone downtown. I could feel it a mile away. My inner me is brimming with happiness and I feel so beautiful and bright. Thank you. Thank you.

She actually went on for several more minutes, inhaling the scent of the flowers to the point where I thought she would have an orgasm, right there in the Frontier Building lobby. God. I wish flower energy could make me feel that good. And that's when I noticed She's crocheted bag move. She saw me look at her bag with interest and pulled out a tiny, little brown ball of furry fluff. It looked like a toy, only it wasn't. It was a real live, adorably cute puppy! I had to hold this tiny little thing! The puppy was so small, it fit right in the palm of my hand, looking up at me with these big brown eyes. The moment an "Awwwww…" escaped from my lips, She came up with a "most wonderful, beautiful idea."

SHE: I have a most wonderful, beautiful idea! Look at you two! Oh! How it makes my beautiful heart cry out with beautiful joy! I am looking, with my soul, at your luminous auras and they are a beautiful, beautiful match! You two are meant for each other. It is your destiny! You belong to each other! I cannot take her away from you. She is yours.

And with that, She walked out the door and into downtown. I didn't know what to do. I was stuck with this tiny little puppy and I wondered if She really left her dog behind. Was I being Punk'd? I had to be. This was too weird not to be caught on camera for millions of people not to enjoy. But there were no secret cameras or Ashton Kutcher jumping out of the plants telling me to look into the camera. This was real.

Soon people began to notice I was holding a tiny puppy and they began to ask where it came from, who it belonged to, and if they had any more, could they buy one. I didn't know if She would come back and ask for her puppy, so I had to come up with a story. Fast.

ME: She belongs…to…my friend! Yeah! My friend. She's in, um, you know, court and so…you know. I'm dog sitting. For her. My friend. You know.

The story sold. I knew I would have to tell my boss Alice the truth, when she came in, but for the time being, my little white lie was working perfectly. That is, until our delivery driver Chamo came back to the shop to ask if there were any more deliveries. His eyes lit up when he saw the puppy and I tried hinting to him, that I would tell him the story later, since we had customers who were admiring the little puppy, but he demanded to know right away. So. I told him the same white lie. I felt bad for doing it, but I didn't want half of downtown thinking I stole a dog.

Chamo decided to stick around and even helped me close the shop, he wanted to meet "my friend" and ask, "my friend," if they had any more puppies. Of course, when "my friend" never showed, I knew She was never coming back. I had a brand new puppy! Now all I needed to do was get Chamo off his crazy idea of keeping the puppy, if "my friend" never came back from court. That and convince my parents I found the puppy on the side of the road. I could already hear my mother's voice telling me I should have ran to the person who gave me the puppy and told them a puppy was the last thing I needed in my life. Oh, wait. That was my mother, who said exactly that the moment she saw me holding the adorably, cute puppy. But since I, "found her" there was nobody to take it back to and so we welcomed a new addition to our family. A new addition, named Lucy (named after that classic Beatles song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, because that's the song that was playing on the radio when She gave her to me).

The next day, Lucy and I became better acquainted and I fell in love. Lucy totally took over my heart. As well as the house. As far as Lucy was concerned everything was hers and she let us know this by peeing in the middle of every room. She gave kisses to everyone she came in contact, but being that she is so small, her kisses only came up to everyone's ankles. My parents got the most kisses, as if Lucy knew where her next meal was coming from. She was so smart, so spoiled and so sick.

It was three in the morning when I heard Lucy cry. I had made the living room into a modern Arabian Nights palace, complete with pillows, blanket throws and a canopy made of three chairs and a thin linen sheet. I didn't know how Lucy would fare on my sleigh bed, so I figured a floor bed would be the next best thing. And it was until her crying woke me up and I saw that she was leaking diarrhea. I tried stroking her, comforting her, hoping to God it wasn't anything too serious, but as the minutes turned into hours, I knew something was up and so I rushed to the hospital.

By the time I got to the hospital, the towel I carried Lucy in was covered in shit. Her body was limp and her cries became louder and louder. I was scared. I loved Lucy so much and to see her in pain was just heartbreaking. And when she had a seizure while the nurse was looking her over, I lost it. Tears just started streaming down my face and the nurses had to escort me out. Suddenly, I understood all those Sally Field movies where she deals with the possibility of losing something precious to her, like Not Without My Daughter, Steel Magnolias, and almost any other movie she's ever done.

In the waiting room, time had slowed down. The minutes felt like hours and it seemed like a lifetime before the doctor called me back in. Dr. Shauna Stevens sounded like that secretary Roz, from Monsters Inc., but with a Cindy Brady-like lisp. I couldn't understand the words she was trying to form with her oversized, thick-as-fuck tongue, and I began to cry even more, hoping somebody with articulate speech could tell me what was going on with my puppy! Her blood sugar was really low and her white cell count was really high, which resulted as a seizure. And though low blood sugar was a major factor in Lucy’s seizure, there was also the possibility of parvovirus and distemper, which, according to the doctor, could lead to an early, untimely death.

That’s when they gave me the bill. $800. Well, $765.45, to be exact, but when a bill that’s high, you may as well round up and start imagining life without your morning white mocha macchiato from Starbucks. Of course, being a college student, I did not have that kind of money just laying around and so I turned to my financial aid. My parents. They of course, choked, the moment when the nurse explained the bill and I wondered if the animal hospital was capable of diagnosing two full grown human adults. They asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep this puppy. After all I had only spent a day with the puppy. How attached could I be? Would it really be so bad if I put it to sleep?

I couldn’t believe what they were saying. It was like the first chapter of Charlotte's Web. How could I kill an innocent little puppy? How could I kill my baby? It wasn’t her fault she got sick. She looked so helpless in her incubator with an IV attached in her left leg and it just made me cry even more. Guess this is what it feels like to be a parent. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. Oh, who am I kidding. I’m Mexican. When we stress, we eat. The food just comes to us in large quantities. And its all covered it in gooey, delicious cheese.

For the next three days, I couldn’t get out of bed. I kept calling the hospital every two hours, checking Lucy’s status and even though they kept telling me her health was improving, it wasn’t enough to comfort me. I was in shambles and I would be until that memorable Memorial Day, when I got the call that Lucy was ready to come home. There she was, all smiles and all ready to go home. Since then, I havent slept for days, I’ve completely lost my figure, but in the end, when it’s for somebody you love, it’s all worth it.

the highs and lows of dining

It all started, two weeks ago, when my best friend Madelaine was looking for a restaurant to celebrate her upcoming Twenty-First birthday. Something "fabulous" and "light". The winner was a Mediterranean restaurant called Casablanca, located in downtown Tucson. It sounded so classy and adventurous, that I could already picture myself walking into a candle-lit room, like in those old-time black and white movies, where the people drank martini's, smoked cigarettes, and winked at the guy playing the grand piano in the corner, saying in a raspy, sexy voice, "Play it again, Sam."

We were all set. We would dine in good old-fashioned glamour and dance the night away at Level, Tucson's most exclusive club where patrons were not allowed to wear sneakers or torn jeans (finally, somebody was able to perfect the natural selection and thin out the herd of the unwanted...it was bound to happen in our little city, sometime). Then something tragic happened. The day before the party, I found out, through Alice's friend Jaz, that Casablanca was not a sanitary place to eat. Up until a few days before, Jaz was the bartender at Casablanca, but quit her job after she realized she was the only one who used soap when washing the dishes. It was just not a sanitary place to be.

I didn't know what to do. If I told Madelaine, then she'd have to find a new place to hold her party and as everyone knows, trying to find a new restaurant during graduation weekend is like trying to find humor in a Jamie Kennedy movie. On the other hand, if I didn't say anything, well…isn't there's something, anything, to say for stomach-pumping stories?

With less than 24 hours to the party, Madelaine was in panic mode and I being the good friend that I am had to help find a last minute restaurant. We went through restaurant guides and newspaper reviews, reading all about the fascinating and delicious foods that Tucson had to offer, other than the Mexican food were so well known for. Who knew there was such a vast selection? We eventually settled on an Asian fusion restaurant but then, through a series of unfortunate events, that could only happen to a couple of twenty-something’s like us, everything changed and we ended up celebrating Madelaine's birthday nuptials at Applebee’s. Eh. At least they had a half-off happy hour.

At a little past eight, I was dressed to the nines and ready to hang ten and have some fun. Everyone had called me and text me earlier that day to remind me to wear dressy shoes and not sneakers, because being turned away from Level would be just too humiliating. As if. Like I didn't know how to dress. Granted at the last formal affair I went to, I wore a skeleton pirate T-shirt with dirty denim jeans, but still. I learned from that experience, and went to the party wearing a grey Banana Republic goodie underneath a dress jacket, a look inspired by Justin Timberlake and Adam Brody, but perfected by me. Then it turns out, Level's natural selection process was on high alert and potential party-goers were being turned away, left and right, making the club an exclusive place where half of Tucson went to see if they could and or would be selected to join the worthy few. We already knew where we stood on the list (accepted, of course) and ended up spending the night in a little, crowded Mexican nightclub, El Charro, dancing and getting drunk until we could no longer say the word, "Margarita."

All in all, the birthday night wasn't a total disaster, because what came out of it, was an interest to go out and try new restaurants and new food. Maybe it was because I read so many different entrée's from so many different menus. Or maybe it was the fact that my dear blog friend Carrie had recently just written a post about her top five restaurants in Ottawa, Canada. Or maybe it was because, being a fan of the Rachel Ray show, $40 A Day, I've always wanted to go to new, far away places and enjoy three meals a day with only $40, but I figured since there were a lot of restaurants in my own city that I've yet to try. Whatever the reason was, the person who couldn't agree with me more, was none other than Colette. She had recently discovered a restaurant called NoRTH and couldn't get over the amazing cuisine that they served. And so, on five different days, during the past week, Colette invited me to five different restaurants, each pricier and more delicious than the last. Thus began the ritual known from here on out as, The Five Dinners.

1)NoRTH - Taking its cue from an Italian trattoria, NoRTH offers a contemporary approach to Modern Italian Cuisine. The carefully thought out menu highlights unique antipasti which reflects the best of the season, wood fired pizzas, inventive pasta dishes and secondi that feature many wood roasted and grilled dishes. My selections? The Prosciutto and goat cheese pizza and the salmon entrée with roasted squash and sweet onions.

2) Elle - Set in the historic Broadway Village building, designed by famed Tucson architect, Josias Joesler, Elle is a beautiful restaurant with a beautiful menu to match. The restaurant is a simple, yet tasteful place to be. Just like the food. By itself, the ingredients are simple, but together they create something spectacular. Organically-produced, locally-grown items are featured year 'round, including over forty different types of wine that give the delectable dishes an added je nais se quois. Colette and I shared the fried brie with spiced green apple chutney and roasted garlic cloves and for the main course I had pan-seared ahi tuna with a terrific pineapple-cilantro sauce.

3) Café Terra Cotta - Somewhere in the marvelous Catalina Mountains, is a marvelous restaurant that considers itself as Arizona’s first introduction to Southwestern cuisine. It combines fundamental ingredients native to the American Southwest and northern Mexico (chiles, corn, tomatoes, squash, and beans, etc.) with dishes that are normally found deep in Mexico, especially to the Yucatan, central Mexico, and Oaxaca, where the sauces are more robust, complex, and balanced, and presented in a classical French contemporary cooking techniques and presentation style. It’s really unique and really different than the Mexican food I'm used to. I had the Chef's special, which was herb-roasted quail with a pesto glaze and a garden vegetable medley, and it would have been one of the most perfect meals of my life, had I not seen a quail family run across the parking lot as we were leaving.

4. Café Poca Cosa - Hidden underneath a parking garage is a fantastic restaurant called Café Poca Cosa. In its place is a sweeping, stylish dining room with objects of Mexican art, on display, as if in a museum. I’ve raved about this restaurant in posts before, because it is simply one of the best and most satisfying Mexican restaurants in town. The menu, which seems to be inspired by Laura Esquivel’s novel, Like Water for Chocolate (side note, it’s one of the few, really great books that I think would make a terrific movie…), doesn’t feature traditional Mexican food, like tacos, burritos or enchiladas, but has a fresh selection of chilies, spices, vegetables, that Chef Susana Davila changes, several times a day. Because of the constant change, it is hard to recommend a dish. However, there is one thing that does stay the same and that is The Café Poca Cosa plate, which is a selection of three, mouth-watering entrée’s, selected by the chef, who decides what gets to go on each plate. Like a snowflake, no two plates are the same. My plate came with a breast of chicken, covered in a cream sauce made of red chile, chocolate, and wine, a grilled, shredded beef with a jalapeño chile and tomatillo sauce and a corn tamale pie, topped with a mango and cinnamon puree.

5) Montana Avenue - The menu is a delicious blend of updated comfort foods, taking its cue from the rich culinary traditions of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and California. A well chosen wine list will reflect a boutique selection from some of the finest American wineries and a unique specialty cocktail menu will feature one of a kind creations. The Rainbow trout and macaroni and cheese with the andouille sausage is simply to die for. At least that’s what I hear. I don’t remember.

Now, you’re probably wondering how two twenty-something’s without high-paying executive jobs could afford such places. And actually, I wondered about that too, since I didn’t pay for anything. Colette, wouldn’t let me. This was her idea, therefore, according to her, it was her tab to worry about. But still. It made me wonder how she could afford such an extravagance. That’s when she finally told me. We were at Montana Avenue, when Colette confesses that she was a stripper.

Colette had only been working as a topless performer for two weeks. It started after she quit her job at Vitamin World. Her boss, who used to be a local radio DJ, invited her to go see Spiderman 3, after closing the store one night, and Colette went obligingly. It wasn’t until the next day, that Colette regretted her decision. Her boss told her he had a great time and Colette knew he was hitting on her. So, before he could hit on her and sexually harass her, she quit. With no job and more than several bills to pay, Colette needed money. And fast.

The classifieds were chockfull of audition ad’s for strip clubs and topless bars. Sure it wasn’t as glamorous as Hollywood made it out to be, but it did help keep bread on the table and off the streets. That’s when Colette remembered that our mutual acquaintance, Devona Monet, who worked at TD’s West Club. She went in and immediately Devona got Colette a job as a waitress. Sure it wasn’t as much as Devona made, but it was a living. And the best thing was that Colette liked it. That’s when her boss took notice of her and asked Colette if she would like to try her hand at performing on stage. She was guaranteed at least $600 for one night, and the rest, as they say, is history.

So was the possibility that there could be anything romantic between us. At least I think so. After Colette confessed how she came into so much money, I didn’t know what to say. My silence reeked of confusion, disapproval, and judgment. I felt bad. And besides, it's not like The Amy Vanderbilt Complete Book of Etiquette didn’t have any pointers when a person confessed that they removed articles of clothing for strange people.

After dinner, my friend Maria called me up and suggested we go for a midnight snack at In N Out. After I told her everything about Colette and the fancy dining we had done, I realized, you can rave all you want about rich, fancy food, but when it comes to plain, good eating, there’s just nothing in the world like a simple restaurant like Applebee's or a simple meal, like a cheeseburger, French fries, and a strawberry shake.

when david met kathleen turner

Ok, so last week, when I was writing my latest post about my latest adventures around town, I realized I had way too many things to talk about. Things like the Centurion Casino Royale Party, my friend Madelaine’s birthday dinner, and of course, Colette. And if I had this many things to talk about, it probably meant that the work part of my life, you know, the boring part, was suffering. Ugh. Which explains my absence. That and the fact that something, awesomely cool has happened.

It all started two years ago when Mr. Scott Wolley, my English teacher showed the entire class the classic movie, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? It was so dark and intense…I loved it. And so did Madelaine, who sat right next to me in class. So it only made sense that we both would go see the play when it came to town. And lo and behold, when the day finally came, I knew exactly who to call, once I got my free tickets from Broadway In Tucson.

The morning of the play, it seemed as if the entire city was in a frenzy over the arrival of Mrs. Kathleen Turner. The Broadway in Tucson staff was running around, like little children in the schoolyard, playing tag while we, at the flower shop, were preparing extravagant arrangements for Mrs. Kathleen Turner and entourage. It was so exciting to create something that would be appreciated and housed in the dressing room of a Hollywood legend. While, I was making Mrs. Kathleen Turner’s arrangement, I kept picturing how I would present the flowers to her and what I would say.

“Hello, Kathleen.” Too friendly.

“Hello, Mrs. Turner.” Too formal.

“Hello, Mrs. Kathleen Turner.” Too used.

“Hello, Mrs. Kathleen Magnificently-Opulent-Tremendously-Talented-Stupendously-Spectacularp-Gargantuan-Goddess of Film, Television and Stage Turner.” Perfect.

And what was even more perfect, was my plan to have her sign my DVD copy of Romancing the Stone and record my voicemail at the cast and crew party, which I made certain the staff of Broadway In Tucson invited me to. I had to meet her and get her autograph and voice on my phone. Imagine. Whenever somebody would call, I would have the one and only voice of Mrs. Jessica Rabbit telling all my friends and family to leave me a voicemail. Wow.

Later that night, me, Madelaine, and a couple of our friends sat in Row D, and watched a couple of couples play verbally, savage games against one another. It was terribly dramatic and oh so intense. Like an episode of Jerry Springer that you know you should turn away from, but cant help watch with amazement (God, I hope Edward Albee never hears me compare his work of art to low-class, trashy entertainment…) It was so surreal to see Mrs. Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin (who played Mr. Lou Lou Who in How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Mr. Noodle in all those Elmo’s World videos…don’t ask how I know…just trust me) on stage instead of on the big screen, performing for us mere mortals.

After the play, Madelaine and I attended the cast party, at the historic Congress Hotel. It was the perfect setting for an intimate dinner with a celebrity. Walking across the marbled foyer into a room of rich, dark wood with , I felt like one of those old-time black and white movie stars. It’s the same feeling I get whenever I go to Disneyland and ride The Hollywood Tower of Terror. Soft lighting, smooth jazz, and delicious baby lamb chops. This was one big budget, for one big star. And speaking of big stars, I wondered where Mrs. Kathleen Turner was. It wasn’t until I was seated, that I realized I had just walked right by Mrs. Kathleen Turner’s table. For a big Hollywood legend, you’d think she’d walk around with her own lighting. You know, to shine and stand out in the crowd. I mean, I would. But there she was. Sitting across from me, at the next table over, looking all legendary and Hollywood, just like I imagined she would be. Here was my chance to meet some greatness.

But when I got up to meet Mrs. Kathleen Turner, so did Madelaine, my boss Alice, and her friend Julia, editor-in-chief of the local Arizona Jewish Post. Guess my meeting with Mrs. Kathleen Turner would have to be in groupie form. Ugh. There we were, not two feet away from Mrs. Kathleen Turner in stunned silence. That is until Julia broke the silence and asked Mrs. Kathleen Turner if she could bother her for an autograph. As Mrs. Kathleen Turner obliged, Julia then introduced her to Alice, as the lady who provided the snapdragons that were used on stage and the flowers that were placed in her dressing room. That’s when Madelaine got the bright idea to market Alice’s Downtown Flower Market using the simple slogan, “Flowers, as seen on stage with Mrs. Kathleen Turner,” which made Mary excited, which made Julia talk about possible advertising ideas, which made Mrs. Kathleen Turner annoyed. You could tell by her forced smile, she was not amused to hear everyone talk about a flower shop when she was standing right there, waiting to be worshipped. She even refused Madelaine’s request for a photo-op, saying she was tired. It was so humiliating. Was I the only one that knew how to act around a celebrity? Was I the only one who knew that when in the presence of a celebrity, you’re supposed to bow and speak only when spoken to?

And for a brief few moments, I lost all hope that I would ever get to shake hands with Mrs. Kathleen Turner or even get her to sign my DVD. It seemed as if it just wasn’t gonna happen. But then, thanks to the great support of my friends, I got my confidence back. Everyone at the cast party knew I was on a mission to get Mrs. Kathleen Turner to sign my DVD and when they saw that my first try had failed, they encouraged me to try again. After all, nobody gets to meet celebrities by sitting on their ass. Unless, of course, you have the TV set to Access Hollywood or the E! Network.

I had two choices. I could continue to sit and eat my skewered lamb chops, which were served on the same plate, by the same caterer, in the same intimate setting as Mrs. Kathleen Turner or, I could get up, walk right up to her, and have her sign my DVD and record my voicemail. And that’s exactly what I did.

ME: Mrs. Kathleen Turner, my name is David Tellez and I am a HUGE fan I loved you in The Man with Two Brains and Serial Mom, The Virgin Suicides, Chandler's Dad you are so amazingly terrific and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to honor me by signing my copy of Romancing the Stone I loved you in this movie because you are so incandescent and if you hold on real quick, let me just pull this cover out and oh my God, this is so embarrassing because my friend wanted me to ask you to do my voicemail, but never mind about that, thank you so much for doing this for me, you have no idea how much this means to me thank you, thank you, thank you...

Not once did I breathe or leave any room for punctuation or for Mrs. Kathleen Turner to get a word in edgewise. I didn’t even get a chance to ask Mrs. Kathleen Turner to record my voicemail. I was shaking the entire time, and I’m sure, Mrs. Kathleen Turner thought I was from the Make-A-Wish foundation. I even walked away, still bowing to her. Ugh. I was like one of those losers when they meet William Shatner at a Trekkie convention. But nonetheless, I got my DVD signed and I got to meet a big-name, classic celebrity. It doesnt get much twenty-something than that.

4 in the morning

The concert was…okay, wait, I don't want to oversell this. It was the greatest concert ever!

It all started with everyone asking me why I was going without them and when I reminded them that I was invited, they asked if I could somehow bump Colette, so that they could go instead. If I had known that a Gwen Stefani ticket had this much power, I would've bought several tickets, when they first went on sale, and made all my friends and family my personal slaves. With the entire greater Tucson area in the know that I was going to go see Gwen Stefani, I actually got a little excited. Even if it was with Confusing Colette.

Saturday morning, the day of the concert, I awoke to discover we had no ride to Phoenix. Colette had told me, instead of using her car, which was in desperate need of a tune-up, she was going to drive her dad's Firebird Convertible, for that nostalgic, riding-down-the-freeway-with-the-wind-in-our-hair-rock-n-roll kinda feeling. But as but at the last minute, her dad got into an argument with Colette's mother about, of all things, cheese and refused to let Colette or her mother drive the car.

So, with only hours before we had to be on our way, we had to find a way to get to the concert. I would have offered to drive, but everyone in my family was already using a car. My dad was using one for work, both my brothers used one the previous night, when they went out to prom and stayed the night at a hotel party, and my mom was using one to drive all the way to the Pima County Fair, where she would preach the word of God to all the fair-going heathens. It was like a sign that I shouldn't go. Like Karma was at full-time work or something.

Eventually though, after numerous phone calls and one breakdown (Colette's, not mine, which was actually a turn-on because who knew she wanted to go to Phoenix, with me, that badly?), we got a rental car. Why we didn't think of it earlier, I'm not sure, but whatever. And it was free, courtesy of this guy Colette knew, who she claimed, she could make him do anything. Anything. I'll admit it was a little weird when Colette told me how she flirted to get the car, but then again, this is the same girl that has made me forget what it feels like to be shocked.

By the time we got on the road, we only had a couple hours 'til showtime, which meant no stopping at any rest stops along the way, which meant I had to drive because Colette had to put on "her face." Ugh. Normally, I don't like to drive other people's cars on the off-chance I might crash it, but since I was a little upset about how Colette told me how she got the car and the fact that we were running late, I didn't even care.

Somewhere down the freeway, in a town time forgot, called Eloy, I think Colette sensed I was a little mad and she began to massage my right earlobe. Which kinda felt good, I guess. Truth be told, it was actually amazing. It was like she discovered a hidden weak-spot, I never knew I had. Her fingers were all over my ear and she told me she liked my lobes since they were soft and felt like putty, which was ironic since I felt like putty in her hands. By the time we got to Phoenix, I was gone. Who knew that it was a massage, and not music, that soothed the savage beast?

Traffic was brutal, as we tried to get on the off ramp to the concert. It was backed up for about a mile, with all the cars being bumper to bumper. Car radios were blasting music and excited concert-goers were just so pumped that they actually started getting out of their cars to dance and get the party started, right there on the freeway. So, of course, not wanting to look like law-abiding losers, Colette and I joined in the fun, practicing our moves before getting to the arena.

We missed the Lady Sovereign opening act, which wasn’t really a big deal, since neither Colette or I, had never really heard of her, but we were damned if we were gonna miss Akon and Gwen. And that’s when traffic cleared and we were on our way.

The entire crowd was pumped. Everyone was dancing and singing and just having a really good time. Plus, it gave me and Colette a chance to dance, which was a good thing. And gave me the idea that maybe Colette and I should go to more concerts or things where there’s lot’s of hip-shakin’ music. Hmmm. The highlight of the show was when Gwen Stefani ran off the stage and down the aisle, right past my seat, giving me the opportunity to touch her…boob. Life doesn’t get any better than when you’re given the chance to feel up a celebrity.

The Konvict Akon...I know you cant see him, but trust me that's him. Next time I wont take pictures with my Blackberry.

Gwen kicks it off (and takes it off...) with The Sweet Escape

Gwen cooks it up in her song, Yummy...and believe me...Gwen was yummy!

This is Gwen singing to me, Luxurious. Which could be a sign that Gavin might be on his way out...

And here she sings her new song, 4 in the Morning, which, if you havent gotten it yet, is what I based my title after. That and the fact at what happened at 4 in the morning.

After the concert, we headed back home since it was too late at night to go out and too early in the morning to find a suitable hotel. By the time we got back to Colette’s house, we were ready to settle down, just as the sun started to creep up over the mountains.

Colette asked where I wanted to sleep, her bed or the couch, and I opted for the couch. After all, I am a gentleman. Well, hardly, but we were too exhausted to do anything, anyways. Colette left me all alone in her room, saying she would be right back with a blanket and a pillow, but in girl talk, that meant she first had to remove her makeup, take a quick shower, and change into her pajama’s. Maybe she was lying about her energy. Hmmm.

Seconds passed and I couldn’t wait for my bedgear any longer, so, I fell fast asleep in Colette’s bed. I’m not exactly sure how long I was asleep for, but when I woke up, I found myself holding Colette, like the way I used to hold all my stuffed toys when I was four. It was just like my dream. It was a perfect moment. Me, in a black T-shirt and dirty denim jeans and her in a pink baby-T and matching boy shorts, cuddled close with the smell of blackberries on her neck. We could have easily been on the cover of a best-selling romantic novel. Maybe one, entitled, “When You Wish Upon a Star…”

We woke up together, a couple of hours later, but were still too tired to get out of bed. So I just laid my head in Colette’s lap, while she played with my earlobes…

dirty rotten scoundrels

The other day I went to go see the Broadway play of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I had never heard of it, but according to Hadassah, it was based on a really funny movie with Sir Michael Caine and Steve Martin and since I was already on a Broadway musical kick, I figured, why not? The play was really funny and it had an unexpected twist at the end that made me wish there was a second part to it. Needless to say I loved it. Especially the fact that dirty, rotten scoundrels who swindled people out of money, could be so loveable and charming. It reminded me of that one time when I borrowed a thousand dollars in cash from a not-so-secret admirer and went on a road trip with a friend, only to have them turn all psycho and more obsessed with me. Which actually happened in the play to Lawrence Jamieson, except his crazy admirer eventually left him to be with his manservant. Too bad I don’t have one of those.

Unlike Lawrence, I was all for paying my not-so-secret admirer back, fully. But when they got too demanding and too Glenn Close, á la Fatal Attraction, well, I had to, needed to, ignore them, which wasn’t too hard, considering the fact the only way they could get a hold of me was through my cell phone, which I promptly disconnected the moment I returned from my trip. Of course, from an unbiased viewer, I know it looks like I took advantage of my secret admirer, swindling them for their money. But from a friends point of view, it was just another, roll-your-eyes-shake-your-head-and-put-your-hand-on-your-hip, “Oh, that David,” kinda thing, causing me to wonder if I got off scotch-free as a dirty, rotten scoundrel because I retold the story only among friends.

Were all dirty rotten scoundrels at one time or another, some less dirty, others more rotten, but scoundrels nonetheless. We all have moments in our life, where our actions haunt us, and we wonder out loud to our friends, why we did it in the first place. And I wondered if Colette, ever had a moment like that, about me. I mean, considering all the mixed signals she gave me, she should have had several moments, but that didn’t necessarily mean she did. Her newest mixed signal was an invitation to the upcoming Gwen Stefani concert in Phoenix…and one night in a ritzy hotel.

COLETTE: We should get a room with a Jacuzzi.
ME: Um. Yeah…that sounds good. I wonder if they have Jacuzzi rooms with double beds...
COLETTE: Double beds? Ok, Rockefeller. Don’t you know it’s cheaper if we get just the one bed?

Yeah. And it’s also cheaper if we didn’t get the Jacuzzi. Didn’t she know that? Such a scandalous scoundrel.

As luck would have it, Colette’s call waiting kicked in, leaving me a few moments to gather and collect my thoughts. Which lasted for about 15 seconds, because Colette was soon back on the line with me…talking about her “cute boss,” who apparently invited her to the movies. Ugh. Here we go again. Or is it…“went again?” Whatever. The point is, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to deal with Colette and her never-ending mixed signs. I needed to get away from reality and really think about whether or not I really wanted to travel 200 miles in a car with Colette, to go a concert. Ok, I guess it wasn’t just any ol’ concert, but still, it would be with Mrs. Mix ‘N’ Mashed Signs.

So, Hadassah invited me to two parties to get my mind off of things: a kegger at her house and Club Crawl. Club Crawl is this all night party, held Downtown, where all the bars and clubs open their doors for a small charge and you get to see, or rather, hear, over 100, different local bands. I’ve wanted to go, ever since I was a freshman in high school and saw the advertisements posted all over 4th Avenue and Downtown, but since it was a 21 and over event, I’ve had to wait with longing despair. But not anymore. It was the perfect escape. Or, if I was Gwen Stefani, the sweet escape.

It was all so wildly entertaining and fun. Club Crawl reminded me of Vegas, and how one could walk the streets with a drink in one hand and a “Rock On!” symbol in the other. Except this was Tucson, which meant I actually saved money and didn’t have to deal with drunken, foreign tourists. Just my drunken friends. Who kinda got a little too drunk. So we headed back to Hadassah’s Keg Party, which doesn’t really make sense, now that I think about it soberly, but at the time it was the absolute best solution. And speaking of Absolut, it was the preferred choice of drink at the party, rather than the beer, which meant this was one high-class college affair.

Unfortunately, the high-class affair was crashed by these dirty, rotten scoundrels, and that’s when somebody suggested a change of scenery. Like a strip club. I thought it was a most brilliant idea ever, and so I followed the voice and ended up leaving with my friend Nikki. As it turns out, we were the only ones who thought a nice strip club would be good for us, so together, we headed off to TD’s West Club. When we got there, we found out one of Nikki’s friends was having his birthday party there, in the VIP room, so not only were we granted free access, we were given unlimited drinks. And it was during my second drink, that I heard somebody calling my name.

It was Devona Monet, one of the smartest and most creative people I knew, back in high school. We had yearbook class together and I really thought she would be going places. But here she was. Smiling and waving to me. Topless. In a red, string bikini stuffed with dollar bills. It’s kinda awkward when a stripper friend gives you a hug, instead of a lap dance, because you wonder if the “Don’t Touch” rule still applies. After a brief, “Hi! How are you?” and another turn at the pole, Devona came back and talked to me catching up on old times, with everyone wondering the same thing: How did David get such a hot, topless girl to talk to him?

Meanwhile, back at the party house, someone, in a hazy state of mind, thought it wouldn’t be a true party without somebody getting married. And since Hadassah‘s friend Ruby was just ordained online through a Celestial priest, everyone figured, why not? The bride wore a cotton fleece blanket throw as a veil and carried a half-empty bottle of Bud Light while the groom carried a martini glass ring in his pocket. According to every drunken witness, it was a beautiful ceremony that ended with a lot of cheering, a lot of toasting, and a lot of noise. Which woke the neighbors, who called the police, who came to the house that Hadassah built, er, lived in.

Nikki and I got back to Hadassah’s house, the moment the police were walking up towards the front door, with all the surrounding neighbors standing outside, wondering what all the commotion was. We drove around the block once and parked far away from the house, for fear of being included with the scoundrels in the house. Walking up the driveway, the neighbor asked if we were the ones making noise, but we assured her it wasn’t us as we were just walking towards the house. Duh. All of a sudden, somebody threw a glass bottle in our direction, causing the neighbor to scream and yell out, “They’re after me!”

Turns out it wasn’t a beer bottle. It was somebody punching through Hadassah’s bedroom window to dispose a bag of weed, but then realized, the cops would probably find it outside. Nikki and I snuck in through the side and when we got in, we could see the house was in total disarray. Everyone was hiding in the bedrooms to give the illusion that the house wasn’t in full party mode as the neighbors led the police to believe. Which would’ve worked, if only the keg wasn’t right in the middle of the kitchen and the fact that Hadassah and her roommate covered the entire house with plastic, for easy cleaning, later on.

After the police left and tagged the house and everyone left, I fell asleep on the couch and had a really, really weird dream. . I dreamt that Ruby and I got married, only none of our friends were there, just her entire family and my mom and dad. Although there were a lot of people, I felt all alone and wondered what exactly was I doing. I wasnt ready to make such a big commitment, especially with someone I hardly knew. If I was going to make a commitment, it would have to be with someone I knew and it would have to start of real slow. So I went home. As I layed in my bed, Colette just sorta appeared. We got closer…and started to spoon…our bodies pressed close together…our legs entwining…then BOOM! I woke up, before I could get to the best part. If there was a best. And it was exactly that “if” part that made me take a chance, and accept Colette’s invitation. After all, as John Greenleaf Whittier once said, For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

the heartless homeless

A couple weeks ago, I went to see the Broadway play Rent with my good friend Hadassah. We had gotten tickets, courtesy of Broadway In Tucson, through a business trade. We provice flowers for the actors, backstage and they provide us with free opening night tickets and an invite to the cast party.

And then a funny thing happened on the way to the show. We ran into a homeless man, who wanted some money, but we ignored him thinking the same thing: he's just gonna spend it on booze. But then I thought, living life on the streets cant be easy so who am I to tell him he shouldn't have booze? And maybe he didn’t even want booze. Maybe he wanted a nice warm sandwich, layered high with turkey and ham, Swiss and provolone cheese and maybe an exotic mustard or two, to kick it up a notch. So I thought maybe a nice turkey sandwich and a bottle of malt liquor would be nice. But by that time, the homeless man got tired of us just standing there and barked at us to stop staring at him. So unbelievably rude and so not the way to get money. So we left the starving and sober homeless man and made our way to the play.

For the next two and a half hours we were enthralled with a fascinating story of eight twenty-something friends living in New York, dealing with AIDS, love, and most importantly the homeless. Although real life homeless don’t sing as much as they do in Rent, they cried for our compassion and support, pretty much the same way. And it made me feel bad that I ignored one while learning about them. From then on, I vowed to do better. After all, I did have some experience with them, so really how hard could it be to become friends with one? I would soon find out.

Directly across from Alice’s Flower Shop, in the lobby of the Frontier Building, was Kitty’s Shoe Shine Stand. Ms. Kitty was an odd lady with long fingernails that looked more like claws and an outrageous bouffant hairstyle that covered the sides of her face and made her look more like a lion than a human. Combined with her prance-like walk and the fact that she extended her eye line with black mascara, like she was Cleopatra, made Ms. Kitty even more cat-like. And weird. Her entire personality gave us enough reason to mock her and laugh behind her back. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at a fifty-something that wears low cut tops and shakes her old, leathered breasts, to show she “still got’s it,” as she shines shoes? But it wasn’t just her sun/age-spotted breasts or the fact that she bought shoes at thrift stores and tried turning a profit for them by displaying them on plastic milk carton crates, that made us wonder about her. It was that she would hire homeless men to work for her. And then she would take them into her home, giving them room and board. And then she would sleep with them,.

Of course, no one knew the men that worked for her were homeless. We just thought they were gross when they picked food out of the trash and ate it. Jimmy was such a case in point. He had long grey hair and liked to stare off into space, wondering about...actually, I’m not sure what homeless people wonder about. Maybe a nice, fancy Thanksgiving Day dinner in front of a roaring fire place? Or it could have been the simple fact that Jimmy was stoned, since he liked to have a joint twice a day. Some might say, Jimmy had a good life. He had a nice warm bed and a bed partner that would perform unspeakably filthy acts of love on him(that’s one conversation I could have done without, during my lifetime on earth!). He learned a trade, had a job, and was now able to buy cigarettes from the store, rather than pick them out of the ashtrays. But earlier last week, Jimmy’s dreams fell apart.

According to Chamo, the cook who worked next door at the The Jungle Square Restaurant, Jimmy stole $500 from Ms. Kitty and her car and went on a wild road trip to God only knows where. When he came back, he told Ms. Kitty that his brother was in the hospital and he needed the money to help pay for his bills. Classic drug-addict excuse. Still, she forgave him…until Jimmy’s brother, Timmy, came to town. That’s when Ms. Kitty found out Timmy was never in the hospital and that Jimmy had lied to her. Duh. Before you could say “Out on the street!” Ms. Kitty kicked Jimmy out of her house and threw him, well, out on the street. He begged and pleaded for his job back. He loved her and proclaimed it in the lobby of the Frontier Building, for all the world to hear. He even threw a leather bag in her face, hoping to knock some sense into her. But nothing worked. She was done with him. She was done with all his lies and his sex. And when she demanded back the boots he was wearing, because she could still turn a profit for them, we all knew it was over.

Two days later, Ms. Kitty picked up another stray. He was filthy, disgusting and oh, so vile. Had a stench that went on for miles. He wore a thick bandana across his head and cuffed his boots. His teeth were grey and yellow and his hair was dark and oily. He looked like he had just come back from a Pirates of the Caribbean screen test, as Pirate Number Five, and we thought of calling him “Bummy Depp.” But according to my Boss Alice, that was blaspheme against the hottest man in the world, Johnny Depp. Whatev. The point was, it wasn’t until Injun Joe (his real name) started working for Ms. Kitty that we found out all her past employees were homeless men. The moment I found out, I wondered if this was maybe God’s way of giving me a challenge. I had wanted to be friendly with the homeless and now I had my chance.

On his second day of work, Injun came up to me and asked if he could borrow the flower shop phone. I was beyond thrilled to give him the phone, with my blessing. I didn’t know why he needed it for, but it made me feel good for lending out a helping hand. That is, until I heard who he was speaking to. For the next ten minutes, Injun Joe spoke to a buddy of his and talked about how good life was. He had food, a bed, and “a nice piece of ass.” Ew. Calling Ms. Kitty and her dimpled thighs, “a nice piece of ass” made me want to puncture my eardrums and gouge out my eyes. Struggling to hold down my throw up, I waited for the phone to return. When it did, Injun Joe asked me if I would make a crank call to Ms. Kitty, telling her our sink overflowed and that the water had made its way to the shoe stand, ruining all her shoes. Not only was it the stupidest thing I ever heard, it was the most immature thought a grown man could ever come up with. But he was a homeless man, so maybe he didn’t know better. I would just have to teach him. Some people were called to save whales. Some were called to help children learn how to read. I was called to befriend the homeless.

At lunchtime, I asked Injun Joe if he wanted anything to eat, since our shop had credit at Mike’s Coffee Shop and he gladly accepted a Chicken Bacon Avocado sandwich. Then, while I was working, he went back to the coffee shop and ordered a Mocha Latte, a strawberry smoothie, and a chocolate fudge brownie. On our credit. Feed a man a sandwich and he will eat for a day. Teach him that you have credit at a local coffee shop and he will feed his lady friend and himself desert. After promising to pay us back later, I wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong. I mean, I was trying to be kind. I was trying to be friendly. Why then did I feel like I was being taken advantage of?

The final nail that broke the camels back (or is it the final straw in the coffin?) happened when I was trying to help a customer and Injun Joe came back behind the counter, making sad puppy eyes with a whimpering sound as he held out his hand and began to “dial” a number. I looked at him for a few brief moments in disbelief that a grown man would try and pull off such a stunt. And while I was trying to help a customer. It was beyond rude and I ignored him while I finished with my customer, who gave me a “glad I don’t work with that mess” look. He stood there, sniveling, hoping I would I knew exactly what Injun Joe wanted. But I was too mad to give it to him. He wanted to use the phone? There was one down the street, next to the public library for all I cared.

I wasn’t mad. And I’ll tell you why I was mad. Because I wasn’t mad. How did I let someone like Injun Joe get to me? I mean, I’ve dealt with homeless people before, but are there just some that are hopeless?

love, twenty-something style

How can you tell when someone is interested in you? Since no one likes to be rejected or even give the slightest hint of interest to a person without their ego being completely destroyed, it seems as though it would be a good idea to understand the signs of attraction, before putting your heart on the line, right? But, just what are the telltale signs?

The reason I ask is because lately there is the girl I've been, well, I guess you can call it "seeing." Yeah. I mean, we’re not exactly dating, but we have gone out a couple of times or so. So, I think that qualifies as “seeing." Yeah. It's just complicated. Definitely. Some of you may know her as "Prom Date Gone Wrong." Others may know her as "The Girl That's Never Seen The Movie Breakfast at Tiffany's." But most everyone knows her as Colette.

Lately, Colette and I have been talking. A lot. Nothing in particular, just, you know, good ol' fashioned talking. But the thing is, though, I cant figure her out. Her signs are all over the place, making it hard to decipher if whether or not she sees me as potential boyfriend material or as nothing more than just a friend.
I asked my friend Celina what she thought and she thought she had the answer. It went all the way back to Valentine's Day, when Colette had me a delicious dinner. According to Celina, who was an active card carrying member of the dating club, making someone a meal is a sign that you care for the person and you want to show them your love in a creative and culinary way.

See, Celina had been seeing this guy Josh for a couple of months. It started off as a movie here, a dinner there, but then soon, things got serious, and she wondered if their relationship would progress further than "dating." The fateful day came when Celina wondered what she was gonna do for dinner one night and Josh came over and made her a wonderful dinner of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets. Sure, it wasn't anything fancy, but the thought of Josh actually preparing dinner for her, was a sign that sent Celina soaring to Cloud 9 and beyond.

So maybe Colette's cooking was a sign. I mean, if it worked in Celina’s favor, it was bound to work in mine, right? But then what about the other signs?

When Colette told me she wanted to hang out and spend more time with me, that was a friend sign.

When Colette said it was because there was something about me that was really good, that was a girlfriend sign.

At least that's what my friend Hadassah said. She was the girl, famously involved with two guys at the same time; the lawyer, Bry, who worked upstairs in the Frontier Building and Guy, the cousin of a friend who was an all around nice guy. With the lawyer, the relationship was hot and heavy, but with Guy, it was sweet and innocent, making it that much harder for Hadassah to choose. She told me, she was waiting for one of them to tell her, what Colette had told me, that being with her was unbelievable and without her, life was unimaginable. Until then, she would stick to her infamous pros and cons list.

But then it happened. Guy found out about Bry, through a late-night drunken phone call placed by Hadassah's roommate. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, but still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for Hadassah. She thought she had it all figured out. Turns out she didn't. When she finally heard what she wanted to hear, it was followed with something she never wanted to hear: "It's over."

Meanwhile, across town, I was hearing something I didn’t want to hear. Colette had called me and asked if I wanted to take a trip with her to Phoenix. It seemed innocent enough, until I realized she wanted to spend TWO whole days there, which meant, we would have to stay the night.

COLETTE: Oh! And remember that one time we went to Phoenix to shop for my Prom Dress? And we were both in the dressing room, and I was modeling for y--…hold on, someone’s on the other line.

As Colette clicked over, I thought to myself, “Remember? How could I forget that day?” So far, it was one of the top highlights of my life, because, well...let’s just say, it was a really good day. But why did she bring it up? What the hell did that mean? When Colette clicked back, she told me it was her ex that had called. Great. As she told me what he wanted, I realized I would have to remove the boyfriend cap, and start playing the friend role.

COLETTE: He’s just no good for me. I have to keep reminding myself that when he calls. It’s just…the sex was amazing, you know? It felt so good when he came inside me.

Friend? I don’t even know. Slut? Oh hell yeah. I mean, I knew she had a past and that there were guys before me, but come on!

The next day, Easter Sunday, I went to church. Instead of the same ol’ message that most everybody heard year after year, our church put on a musical rendition of Romeo and Juliet, set during Biblical times. A Roman guard named Marcus and a Jewish girl named Hannah were two, star-crossed lovers who were madly in love, but knew they could never be, since they came from two completely different worlds. Our church went all out for this play and actually had sheep and horses roaming down the aisles. Talk about losing yourself in the story. However, unlike the classic tale of Romeo and Juliet, nobody died…well, except for Jesus, but then he came back to life in the end. And throughout the play, everybody asked the same question. Hannah asked, “Could Marcus be the one?” and Marcus asked, “Could Hannah be the one?” The Jews and the Romans asked, “Could Jesus be the Messiah?” while I asked, “Who’s gonna clean all this horse shit?” No, I’m kidding. But seriously, how do you know if a person could be the one?