In Search of an Answer

Dancing Dancing Dancing
She's a dancing machine
Ah babe
Move it baby

Automatic Systematic
Full of color self contained
Tuned and gentle to your vibes


I'm going to let you in on a little secret of mine - I love dancing. It's borderline obsessive. I have seen almost all dance movies regardless of the story line - You Got Served, Step Up, The Streets, Stomp the Yard, Fame. The best dance battle ever recorded is still the original House Party when Kid n Play battle Gina from the Martin Lawrence show and the dark-skinned sista gurl. I have been trying to get 3 more people to reenact this scene with me but it has never happened. I actually have a personal play-list that repeats itself over and over in my head all day long. Numerous times I've driven passed my house because I was choreographing moves in my head to music on the radio...a pop here...a lock there...maybe a glide.


Very few people really understand me....let me rephrase...no one really understands me, but a select few really know me. Nelly, of course, completely knows me and somehow I remain married. My childhood hometown BFF, let's call him X OBESCO, knows me so well that we have complete conversations through facial gestures and muscle twitches. My BFFAE from the Bay, whom we shall call Zergio Jutierrez to keep his identity secret, is a little different story. He is as close to a clone of me that the world will ever see. We are so much alike that it's eerie and phenomeno at the same time.


Back to me. My play list is usually around 5 songs at any given time, but it never exceeds 6 - this will make sense later. Of the 5 to 6 that are running through my mind all day, 2 are always the same: Dancing Machine and Got to Give it Up. Let's explore my play-list during the time of this writing shall we? Good!

1. Got to Give it Up, Marvin Gaye. This is the story of my life put to music
2. Dancing Machine, Jackson 5.  If the words were "he" instead of "she" this would be my theme song
3. Le Freak, Chik. Do I really need to explain? Really?
4. Circus, Britney Spears. She is singing what I'm feeling....
5. Evacuate the Dance Floor, Cascada. I sincerely believe with all my soul that that this song was written for me
6. Rude Boy, Rihanna. Oooooh...This is a NAUGHTY song! I like it ;)

This play-list can be cut right down the center. Though all the music is iconic and has personal meaning to me, it is a clash of styles and beliefs. The first 3 are funkadelic-disco-shake-that-groove-thang anthems that I personally DARE you to challenge me with. The later 3 are current hits. They are sugur-pop-hip-hop songs that most club goers will use to innocently grind up on each other.

Now then, most of you have no idea where this going...but I assure you the X Obesco knows what I'm thinking and chances are that Zergio  has had this thought himself, possibly today. Would I rather be a Black man alive in the 70's or be an Asian 20-something kid in the here and now....?

The 70's had the best of all worlds. In the words of Austin Power "...as long as people are still having promiscuous sex with many anonymous partners without protection while at the same time experimenting with mind-expanding drugs in a consequence-free environment, I'll be sound as a pound!" The funky music, the tight clothes, the skating-rink battles - there was never a better complete decade of style and dance. All the brothers were living the life (and Tony Manero too)

Fast forward to present day. The last 5 years have changed the dancing world. Jabbawockeez, Kaba Modern, SoReal Cru, Ill Ovation, Poreotix...these are the hottest dance crews in the world today. I would venture that 99% of these crews are Asian dudes that will CUT YOU UP on the dance floor. Moves so smooth and precise that you may doo doo yourself from being exposed to so much awesomeness. It would be like if Nelly caught some poor girl that complimented me - serve you up before you know what hit you! And look good doing it!

True, most of the best moves of today come from the 70's and any dude that can really get down will eventually throw out the "Rerun". Don't act like you don't know the "Rerun"...I can see you all doing it while you read this. The moves back then were raw, the black dudes were just feeling it and going for it on the floor. These little Asian kids from ABDC and WOD have taken these moves and perfected them. They can tut, pop, lock, break, groove...plus they can do all the stuff from today! Turfin, Jerkin, Crumpin...and put the moves together in silky smooth transitions - ooooooh...getting goose bumps...like Nelly does when Big H sings!

I may never know the answer to 70's Black vs 2010 Asian. I'll continue to choreograph moves in mind throughout the day - that's why there is a limit to my play list. Can't keep more than 6 routines in my mind without bunching em together. Imagine if that happened on the dance floor! Would have to bust out the Carlton until I could catch the groove again.

Knowing X Obesco and Zergio like I do, I already know where they would be - polyester pants, butterfly collars, and a natural fro that would have all the ladies swooning. It's not so cut and dry for me :( While I continue to ponder what I call my greatest "hmmmm...what if" question, I will continue to love music and shake it, tut it, double-dutch bus it on the floor.

Happy Birthday Babe!

Today is my crazy wife's birthday. I love her and this is part of my present. She once said "I wish you'd write an essay about me." So this is my long lost college essay. Feel free to critique and point out bad grammar, bad sentence structure, misspellings, and anything else that an anal college professor would do to break my spirit.

Our First Date: The True Story

by

Famous Ray

A Salvadorian princess was born on June twenty-ninth in the year [omitted for personal safety]. She was then, as is she is now, a beautiful, precious thing. Over the years, this lovely baby princess grew to be a sultry woman; the most alluring of her physique being the breasteses. I first met this stunning specimen in 1998. I was newly home from my tour in the U.S. Army and then living in Montclair, CA. My girlfriend at the time suggested a double-date with her best friend and I quickly agreed. We arrived at the eatery and my life changed forever. I was awestruck when we were introduced; little did I know that I was staring into the eyes of the future Mrs. Famous Ray.  She may contend that I was staring at the breasteses – also awe inspiring.

Contrary to popular belief, the stars did not align nor did the heavens open up on that night. Instead, she thought I was a big turd. This feeling of me being a turd lasted years.  Six years in fact. During those years, we both left our significant others and moved on; through it all we kept in touch. I never stopped my pursuit of her Latin Hotness and in a moment of weakness she agreed to a date. This was my one chance to finally win her heart.

I still remember the day of our first date: April 18, 2003. I was completely nervous. The entire day found me in shambles. Work seemed to last that much longer. The freeway seemed that much more congested [405N to 55N to 5N to 57N to 60E]. The alcohol seemed that much more expensive. Taking it all in, I went to my sister’s house to prepare for the big night.

I washed my Dodge Ram Super Sport in freezing conditions. I stopped by the florist to pick up fresh flowers. I went to CVS for a witty, yet endearing card. I went to Yum-Yum Donuts for a quick treat. I ironed my clothes. I was prepared. I showered, dressed, and loaded the truck.

Nervous as I was, I got lost on my way to Latin Hotness. This illustrates my state-of-mind since it was a straight line from my sister’s house to hers. I remember seeing her as I drove up to the house. She was absolutely stunning. I parked and walked around to open the door for my date. As she climbed in she was welcomed with a card, a dozen tulips, and a Bavarian cream-filled donut – complete with chocolate icing.

I babble incessantly as we drive off. Still nervous, I am rambling until we come to our destination. For our special night, I had chosen an exclusive night club: Camacho’s Bar n Grill. As I park and dismount the truck, I feel a hornets’ nest in my stomach. I open the door for my date and we begin our walk. No longer able to deal with the stress, I pulled her into me – our first kiss. Just as Rocky described Adriane holding his hand; it was electric.

The rest of the night was perfect. We enjoyed each others company unaware that we would one day be married and have a family of our own. That night, the stars did align and the heavens did open up. God had bestowed his greatest blessing upon me. I was with the woman with whom I would spend the rest of my natural life.

###############################################################

OK, that was 1 1/2 pages with 1 1/2 line spacing - the standard college paper. I will take a few points off for referencing the DD's as "breasteses", but it's worth the loss to say "breasteses". I'm thinking that my use of "turd" may have been in the wrong context, so a few more points off for that too. I'm going to give this paper a 92 for structure and a 100 for concept and originality.

Word Play

Certain words just mess with my mind. These words are not particularly funny or openly obscene or thought provoking. Just words. Normally this isn't a big deal, but they mess with me at all times to include the professional work day. Now then, when I say "professional", I don't mean that I act any more mature during my hours at work. Only that I get paid. Below I complied some of the words that I hear during the work week. I'm sure after you see how I have described them, you'll understand how I can get myself into trouble.

• The names Phil, Pat, or Randy. 
• It can't be Felipe, or Phillip, or Patrick, or Patricia. It has to be "Pat" or "Phil." When I hear Phil or Pat, I quickly think "Phil M'Crotch" or "Pat M'Groin."
• Randy is worse. Every time I read, hear, or say "Randy", my mind does a horrible impersonation of Austin Powers: Do I make you RANDY, BABY!? DO I!?! YEAH!!! Never fails. Every time. If someone is introduced, as I reach out to shake their hand, I am saying this LOUDLY in my head. This was especailly hard to deal with when I had a manager named Randy. And yes, I have been doing that over and over while I typed this out.

• Unit - To me, this is synonymous with a man's junk. Unfortunately, I work with hospitals. A lot. I am always being told what units are crucial and what units I can work with or what units I can't disturb. Sometimes nurses ask if I can send someone over to look at their unit. Just this week I had a conversation with CIO that was explaining that he wanted me to survey his units. As you can imagine, this was a difficult call for me.

• Duties - Another word for poo. I have to stifle laughter when this one comes up. "Ray, can you tell me about your duties?" hehehe I can, but you may not like it!
• Muffy - This was actually new for me, but no less funny. I heard that and just looked right at the guy that said it. In the office, a "muffy" is the little foam piece that goes over the mic on a headset. I'm sure I speak for ever 12 year old male...that is NOT a muffy!

• Abreast - do I really need to say anything? I just heard it on Monday - I'll keep you abreast as we move forward. I hear that and all I think is "Jumblies....hehehhehe"
• Dongle - see units
• Agentless Probe - I literally had to stop a person from saying anything more after I heard this. He had said it twice and was going for a third when I had to stop him in his tracks. All I can think of is an index finger floating around with no hand attached and is probing the air looking for an available anus. Hehehehe "anus".
  
• Spectacle - makes me think of testicle. Not only that, I have to say the sentence again and replace the words: You don't want to make a testicle of yourself. Well, I should hope not!
• Repository - makes me think of suppository. If you don't know what that is, you can look it up here.
• Cocktail - I've been known to walk away when this word is used. I don't know the origin of this word, but I do feel it's appropriate seeing that alcohol is involved.
• Let's start from the top - this is said in almost every meeting that is ever had. I always think "Wow! You're KINKY! But sure, I'm game."
  
• Backdoor - as in, "Can we bring this deal in through the backdoor?" In my mind, I am replying, "I find that rude and offensive, madam! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
• Champion -  an overly-used word in my industry. This doesn't cause too much trouble, but when it's said I think of The Rock. Then I see highlights and I hear his theme music.

• Touch Point - office talk for "meeting", an example: I need another touch point. I hear this one and think "Men only have 1 touch point. Well 2 really, but they will only admit to 1. Women have somewhere between 7 and 25 touch points. Do we really need another touch pont???"
• Excuse Me - My response is always "Why? Did you fart?"
• The letter "D" - This one gets me almost every day. If the letter "D" is used, I revert to that 12 year old boy and want to shout out "DEEEEZ NUTZ!" ...so conference room D, or building D, or CD or DVD...these tend to get me in trouble.
• The Number "2" - see duties
  
• Mount or Mounting - believe it or not, I am a "WLAN Consultant". Those are fancy words and I don't know that they really mean...BUT...I do have a lot of calls where "mount" or "mounting" is a serious topic. Something along the lines of "Who's going to be doing the mounting?" will come up. This is when I'm glad that I have the customer on mute. And to be clear, I have NEVER offered to mount anything!
• The Brazilian Cowboy - ummmmm....I'm not sure I want to get into this one too much...suffice it to say that "missionary" is not the visual that comes to mind. It's actually a name of a restaurant here in Texas. I know. Texas RULES.
• Breasteses - I never hear this at work, but that word is awesome. I had to add it to the list because I know that Amy hates it :)

This is not a comprehensive list. I just wanted to paint a picture of how my mind works. I'm guessing that this post has cleared up a few things for you, namely (1) I am pretty much ridiculous while I'm conscience, (2)  I'm probably worse at work than I am at home and (3) Nelly is damn lucky to have married me. Actually, point number 3 is represented in all of my writings and is also physically noticeable if your in my general vicinity - but it's always good to point out.

Captain Obvious

I'm going to tell you something...something others have only guessed at... It's true. I am the World's Greatest Husband.

-FamousRay 2010

As many ladies read my blog and continue to follow my antics on FaceBook, they have pondered "could he be the greatest husband ever?" Yes I am. A few gentlemen (using that term loosely here) have trembled in fear of the question "is he a better husband than I?" Of course I am. The list of my greatness is something that would take volumes of books to explain. I would not want to waste the effort nor gamble with women's lives as they rush to me after reading said books (Nelly keeps her blade close at all times). To illustrate how I am the ultimate prize, a single story will be told. It will echo the awesomeness of me. It will set a new standard for all men. It will put women in awe of Nelly and will serve to grow her own legend (because I'm her trophy). This is the story of me taking Nelly to a concert. Not just any concert....a New Kids On The Block reunion concert.

Nelly has always proclaimed her love for NKOTB and made a declaration to the world that if they ever had a reunion tour she would show up with pride and throw her bra on stage. Everyone knows my stance on NKOTB - I am much more a fan of Backstreet Boys. So being the ever loving husband, I support Nelly in all of her craziness. Like an expert fan (read here "stalker") she found out when her beloved boy-band would be in Dallas. She even figured out how to get tickets before the general public. Awesome as I am, I offer to purchase 2 tickets: 1 for her and 1 for a friend. I'm not sure what happened next, but she decides that she doesn't want to go to the concert. I ask again, and she tells me "no." I figure that life is good and forget all about the New Kids.

Little did I know that life was not good, and I will not be able to forget the New Kids. For the next year Nelly is obsessing about them (Joey was the focus)  and somehow in her mind it is my fault that she didn't see her beloved band live and in living color. Didn't I tell her I would get the tickets? Didn't I offer to get them before general release? Didn't I say she can go with anyone she wanted to take? I believe that my words were "Oh hell no I'm not going to see New Kids....but you can take whoever you want...I'll get the tickets right now, but I aint going." I'm baffled that this is somehow my fault. If she offered to buy me Brittney tickets and to take a friend I would jump at the opportunity (I would bring Zergio with me).

For an entire year, when NKOTB is seen on TV or mentioned in the news or...I would say heard on the radio, but come on....for the next year when they are mentioned Nelly gets agitated and the focus of rage is yours truly. I'm still trying piece together how it's my fault and can't connect the dots. I figure she needs a break so I schedule vacation. Time to chillax!

I decide to spend our vacation in El Salvador also known as Chino, CA. For reasons that I am still unable to explain, I took the family to Chino for 3 weeks. 3 long weeks. Maybe I thought being around family would bring Nelly out of her rage. After being there for 1 day I had realized that I had seriously miscalculated. Time with family seems to warp reality - that single day had aged me at least 1 year. Now Nelly is plotting to cut me in my sleep.

I'm seeing that my plan to make her love me again and forget NKOTB isn't going as planned. This is mainly because the news stations are carrying NKOTB stories. In fact, one of them played a piece of the concert - Nelly was throwing her bra at the TV.

She's agitated. I'm agitated. She's frustrated. I'm frustrated. She's hot. I'm hot. We are stuck in El Salvador. I decide to cruise the Internet and try to escape reality for awhile. I may have been watching dance crew clips - that always calms me down. Whatever it was that I was watching or searching on, God decided to intervene and save my marriage. I somehow find myself at a NKOTB tour date website. Not only that, they are coming to the Great State of Texas. Not only are they coming to the Lone Star State, they are coming to Dallas.

Without hesitation I jump into action! I tell Nelly that her dream is going to come true. She is going to see New Kids...20 rows back from center stage! I'll spare you the details of how she thanked me - if you know what I mean....

Vacation ends and we are finally home; Nelly is counting down the days. 3. 2. 1! IT'S CONCERT DAY!

We show up and I cannot believe my eyes. It is a sea of women. Not girls. Women. The youngest lady there had to be 38 (I mean besides Nelly). The high-pitched cackling is deafening. I have never seen so many middle-aged women all in one place, all at the same time, all dressed like hookers. It was like being at a TWILIGHT Premiere. In the vast estrogen ocean, I can see 3 other men - 2 of which are flaming gay. It was an easy tell with their skinny pants and halter tops.

We make our way to our seats, our awesome seats. We are dead center of the stage and close enough to see it all - to include the 2 flamers that had better seats than us. The women are getting drunk and are antsy for the show to begin. I feel like I am in the Andes Mountains and these cougars are about to pounce! They are drunk, fierce creatures and should not try to be tamed. The production crew must have seen it too, so they jump into action. Before the New Kids take the stage, we get to check out an opening act. I am hoping that this will put the cougars back into a non-threatening state. By pure dumb luck, it turns out that the ABDC Champions, Jabbawockeez, are the opening act.

By the time this  dance crew is done with their performance, the cougars are primed for the show and the flamers have their shirts off. In a flash of light, the world trembles, and NKOTB take the stage. Like an estrogen volcano, the arena erupts. For the next 4 hours, they sing and perform every song they have ever written. At this point of the story, I would LOVE to say how much they suck or how un-entertaining they were or that they sang horribly. The honest truth is that they are very talented. After listening to sugar pop and hip hop these last few years, I forgot that back in the day bands actually had talent. New Kids on the Block can SING! I was not expecting this. Not only could they sing, they had put together a really good show. I am not going to say that I'm a NKOTB fan, but they were awesome to see live.

The highlight of the show was when Joey sang PLEASE DON'T GO GIRL. Nelly LOVES Joey and has the shirt to prove it. For her to be here live and have Joey sing his song to her was amazing. She has no words for how awesome I am to do this. I went to a concert with a million women, 2 guy guys, and I think a few T-Girls. I never complained. I even admitted that it was a good show.

Does this make the World's Greatest Husband? YOU BET YOUR ASS IT DOES!

Shameless Plug

Good people, I have to apologize right up front on this one. Unlike my other selfless work, this post is going to be all about me. I know! This was a shock to me too! Before you decide to run to YouTube and watch "Super Mario Beatbox", please let me explain my dilemma.


Any of you that are my Facebook friends know that I am campaigning to be famous. Shamelessly campaigning. Now then, I have recently became aware that my reader base is larger than the 17 people currently listed as "followers." Further, my greatest fans are trying to spread the word of my greatness! My initial thought was, "How hard can that be?!! They've read the stories! Big Lesbian Party, Sexy is as Sexy does, High School Senior Picture...these are works of ART!" This must be harder than I thought...but now I have the people on my side! Here's the catch: though avid readers, my greatest fans are not IT/PC/Internet savvy. I have been asked to help them spread the word. So now I find myself in a peculiar situation. I have been asked to write step-by-step instructions on how to become a follower of the blog and how to share it with others. This really isn't the issue...the issue is...how do I entertain you all and still help my fans share my  awesomeness?

Here is my attempt:

I've been asked "how did you decide to write?" and "how do you come up with your titles?" The truth about what made me write has to do with Tenille from "Big Lesbian Party." We were chatting on FB (man, I spend a lot of time on there), not really sure what the topic was, but I'm sure I was being awesome. After an extremely witty exchange, she says (well types), "It must be fun to have your brain." This got me to thinking. I had assumed that the world and I were always in synch. Not the case. People are entertained by my thoughts. I also thought, "I would read something that I wrote." Right then I decided to share my greatness with the world. I did the research to start my own blog. Actually, I reached out to a friend that we shall call LRox and she pretty much gave me everything I needed. I was off and running! The masses were hearing my message!Oh, and the titles come to me before I even start to blog.

In the early days, I just wanted to get my ideas out of my head and out to the world. Little did I know that I would become a phenomenon. Actually, I thought I'd have 500 followers by now. As you can see, the layout of the blog has changed since day 1. I was finally able to show the full title. I also changed the "followers" to read "Residents of 1st of 1st", I know...sweet, right? Lastly, I added an advertisement. This is my favorite part of the changes. This ever-changing advertisement is what we call "content aware." From what I understand, an extremely complex and sophisticated algorithm developed by NASA (or possibly Disney) goes through everything that I have ever posted. It looks for what they call "key words." That means, they look for stuff that they can sell based on what I write. These key words run through a second powerful, even more complex algorithm, developed by aliens, and spits out what should be sold on my site. Now then, if you take a look over there today you should see the following mix:

• Dance school advertisement
• Male Nylon Underwear advertisement
• Mail-order Bride advertisement
• Meet hot chicks (usually latina or asian) advertisement

Dance lessons for me?!  Like NKOTB, I can show you STEP BY STEP! The Male Nylon panties is pretty funny. I figure this has to do with the banana-sling comment in Daughter's Eyes. Looking back that should have read "banana-hammock"; I believe over seas it is a "Plantain Sling". I must of mix-n-matched. Here in Texas, I call it a "Longhorn Saddle"....as in slip into the saddle...or saddle up. Not really sure what a I wrote about to get the "Meet Hot Ladies Now!" ads. Maybe it was the Lesbian Party. There was also mention of cougars sprinkled throughout my writings. Though I am no longer young enough to be cougar-bate, I still support them in their natural habitat (the work-place and TGIF bars on Saturday night). No matter, seeing these ads are entertainment enough for me.

For some ground rules of blog:

1. I always publish on Wednesday at 10 CST. Am I always on schedule? Let's just say that I heard rumors that the Atomic Clock uses my publishing time to set itself. 
2. I NEVER comment on my own post. I have opened up the comments to "anonymous" so feel free to say what you like without fear of censorship.
3. I always publish the link of the latest post on FB. Feel free to send in the friend requests ;)
4. I tend to write at odd times and write multiple stories before they are published. For some reason, my posts are not listed in order of publishing. They are listed in order of when I started to write them.
5. Like this post, that is off schedule, I will still have a Wednesday story.
6. I will continue to write until I run out of stories or my sexiness dries up and dies - which ever comes first.

 Ok, now for my true fans - the future Residents of 1st and 1st; the Sexibots. Here is info that you have waited for...HOW TO SHARE MY GREATNESS!

To share by email:
At the bottom of the post, you will see a picture of little envelope. You can click on this and it will open a new page. Here you enter your email address and your friend's email address. Click send and that's it! You have shared the joy.

By URL:
You can simply tell friends where it is located: www.famousrays.blogspot.com or you can type that into your address bar or search engine. You can also "copy and paste" this line into tweets, chat windows, or social networking sites (Facebook/Myspace). To do this, you go up top and highlight the complete web address - it starts with http:  When it is highlighted, right click and select "copy". Go to where you want to enter the info, right click again and select paste.

On Facebook/Twitter
Once you are reading the blog, you can select "Share" at the top of the page - located above "Famous" in the title.

To become a follower - if you want to add to my legend, PLEASE DO THIS!
Simply click the "FOLLOW" button listed to the right of this blog. It is in the section listed "Residents of 1st and 1st".  You must have a Google, Twitter, or Yahoo account. I'm sure that most of you do as you are all on the web reading this.

Comments - Just start typing and hit submit.

That about does it. I'd like to close with this:

Jesus saves.......passes to Moses.....shoots.....GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!

What can I say, it's World Cup time. If that offended you, read it again and say the names in spanish ;)

Broken Money Maker

This just in: Famous Ray has been severely injured. In a freak training accident, he inadvertently broke his Money Maker. More as it becomes available....

Good people of cyberspace, it is with a heavy heart and solemn soul that I address you tonight. This morning I broke my ish. Well, it's not broken, but it F'n HURTS! I was working it this morning and smashed it into a pad and tweaked it. Like any man, I winced in pain but kept on banging away. I wrapped it up a little tighter and went for another 30 minutes - didn't think much of it, figured the pain would go away. I took a shower to cool down (ladies, you're welcome for the visual) and it was ok in there. Got dressed (sorry ladies), went to work and things were going well......then, 2 o' clock hit. It felt like my Money Maker had was speared with a javelin! I've never seen a javelin so I'm not sure how big it is or if it can even spear anything...It felt like my Money Maker was smashed by the Hammer of Thor! I don't know if it will ever be the same. This was the first time that I had to think about alternative ways to make money. How would I make a living?

I could probably continue to send in photos to Playgirl - but this is my vacation money. What would I do if this was my sole income? More importantly, what would I do for vacation money!? To pull this off, I would have to stay brown all year long - not easy in Texas. I would have to stay in peak physical condition - not easy in Texas. I would have stay oiled up for a moment's notice photo opp. This isn't so bad, but I have a leather interior...may slide right off. I would have to keep a deep repertoire of nekkid poses. Maybe do some side work at the local college as a nude model. Don't think that would be enough to fund a nice vacation though. Would make parent-teacher conferences a little difficult. Our school system frowns upon nude adults walking on campus. Going to have to keep this as a part-time extra money thing.

I could be a reality TV star. I'm sure that I could trash it up enough to make it interesting for weekly episodes. I may have to purchase more banana slings. Definitely get a full body wax. Maybe start having an affair or two so that the ratings stay up (Nelly would come at me with her knife - great for ratings). From there I could launch my own clothing line. Release a never-before-seen sex tape. Move to California and open a clothing boutique. Design my own shoes. Some how not having any talent will get you on TV. After that, you can continue to not have talent and make more money with anything you do - people will purchase ANYTHING because they identify with you based on your non-talent-ass being on TV. Maybe this won't work for me since everyone knows I'm uber-talented - I would never qualify for a TV series.

I could start my own alcohol line. I would call it "MEXICAN STANDOFF." The slogan: Finally a Mexican Standoff where everyone wins! With a name like that, it would have to be tequila. And no one does tequila like Tequila, MX. I could spend some time living in Guadalajara. They have excellent food. Would eat torta ahogadas every night with garrafa ice cream for dessert. The weather is nice. As an added bonus, I could be brown all year long. People are beautiful. I could blend in with the masses [because I'm beautiful]. It's my kind of place. This sounds like the perfect solution to my Money Maker problem.....except for 1 very crucial detail. I don't speak spanish. Damn you Darwin!

That's it...I've exhausted every viable option. I never realized until today just how important my Money Maker really is. Without it, I wouldn't be able to make the bacon. I wouldn't be able to bring joy to the masses. Without my right hand, I wouldn't be able to do this blog any more. I'm going to keep it short tonight - my hand hurts like crazy. Need to ice it; need to rest it. The very joy of the world is depending on it.

One last note: To all of you that thought I was talking about my junk...I write this blog for you ;)

Through my daughter's eyes

Any one that has spent time around kids can tell you that they do and say craziness that is beyond comprehension. They jump into conversations where they have no say, they blurt out things that are supposed to be secret, and they seem to have the need to drop a deuce at the most inconvenient of times. God saw it fit that for my punishment I have 3 of my own. Most of you have read about my Lil Champ aka The Boy. Today, I want to introduce to you my oldest - Cheech.

It's funny how kids see the world. It's even funnier when you start to make sense of what's going on in their little minds. Let's take Cheech for example. When she was a few years younger, there were only 2 types people in her world: brown and peach.

When she was around 5 years old she used love to draw pictures of the family. She would draw all of us at the beach. She would draw us all at the park. She would draw us all at a 4th of July picnic.We used to have pictures upon pictures of the family around our house. I used to worry that the EPA would come knocking on the door because Cheech must have gone through at least a forest worth of paper. One day Nelly asks me to look at a collection of pictures that Cheech has put together for school. She had pictures of her with Baby Girl and The Boy, one of her and Mommy, one of her and me, and one last one with the entire family together. Since Nelly is watching me as I look over them, I get nervous. Obviously I am supposed to notice something and not only that, but comment on it in an approving manner. I am starting to sweat like a hooker in church. With my quick wits, I say "nice." Nelly gives me that disapproving look that I have come to know all to well. She then says "do you notice anything about you and Baby Girl...?" As I look back over the pics, it hits me. Emily always colors Baby Girl and me brown and the rest of the family is peach. This is actually funny because that what our family really looks like. I start to look at the recycling center that used be Cheech's room and pick up some random drawings. I am brown in every single picture that she had drawn. The only way that I could distinguish between pics of me and our black friends was the hair style - mine is always spikey like a picket fence ;)

A few months after the time of the drawings I had a new position that required me to travel. I was traveling heavily for months from The Great State of Texas to the hippie filled land of Northern California. I am only seeing my family during the weekends and it was taking a toll on all of us. Rest assured, we were all thinking of each other every day. About 2 months into this gig, Nelly calls me and says "I can't wait for you to get home, Cheech saw someone on TV that looks just like you." I naturally assume it's The Rock. When I get home, Nelly pulls up the DVR menu and I'm flabbergasted. The Maury Povich show starts to play (yes, Nelly is addicted to trashy TV). This particular episode is dealing with people that changed from Geeks to Gods. As I'm waiting to see the TV version of me, the story starts to unfold...a huge, out-of-shape black teenager is being profiled. I find this intriguing since I'm not a teen nor black. Maury (or Murrry like everyone calls him) starts to show some footage of people thinking back on this young man - how he was shy, didn't talk much, didn't date. Then...BOOM! From backstage walks out a STOUT, OILED, Black man in a blue banana sling. At this point (as it was explained to me) Cheech jumps up and tells Nelly "THAT GUY LOOKS JUST LIKE DADDY!" The man on the TV was bigger than Clubber Lang (shout out to Mr.T). He was at least 6'3 and 250 lbs of solid bad ass. He was actually bigger than The Rock. The only resemblance was the banana sling that he was wearing. I could see how Cheech would equate that with me as I wear one around the house - in fact that what I am wearing as I type this. This is when I start to understand that in my little girls' mind, I am a giant black man.

Time is going on and race relations are starting to come into some conversations Cheech has around school. I start to explain to her that I am not an Afro but a Mexican-American. I am feeling good about teaching my oldest about our heritage. She is clearly not getting it as the next story will show.

I come home one day and find Nelly and Cheech in the kitchen. Nelly starts to tell me that Cheech is crazy and I concur with the assessment. That day, one of Cheech's friends told her that she was French. Cheech quickly disagrees with her friend. The little girl again proclaims her Frechness. Cheech replies with "then where is your little hat? French people wear that little black hat!" I start laughing because she thinks that all French wear a beret - thinking back on that, I agree that it's a good idea. I look at Cheech and say "You're Mexican and Salvadorian - you don't wear a sombrero and eat tacos every day". At this point she shoots a look at Nelly like she was trying hit her with Superman's heat vision. Nelly looks back at her and says "I told you that you were Mexican/Salvadorian!". Emily was under the impression that she was white.

Cheech's school is all about diversity and celebration of civil rights. When she was in 1st grade, she was learning about MLK. I find this AWESOME. I am proud of my nation, proud of the school system, and proud of Cheech. I ask her "What did you learn about Martin Luther King, Jr?" I figure this is an innocent enough question. This was the response: I learned that he was a great man. He gave speeches and changed things here in America. If it wasn't for Martin Luther King, Mrs. Smith couldn't be my teacher [fake name, but she is a black woman]. And....if it wasn't for Martin Luther King, Olivia couldn't be my friend [little black girl that she plays with]. Then she looks right at me and says "and you couldn't be my daddy...."

Cheech is now 8 and will be moving into the 3rd grade after this summer. I understand how she may get confused  - my dance skills, my ability to wear pink dress shirts, and I like to you yell out "HEY WOMAN" every chance I get. I still don't know if she realizes that I'm not black and she's not white. I do know that I'm still a larger than life figure in her life and that is more than enough for me.

The Chronicles of Creamer

From 1994 to 1998 I had the honor and privilege to serve my country in the U.S. Army. I was stationed in Fort Drum, NY at the home of 10TH Mountain Division. I have many great memories which include learning completely new ways to curse (many of which include a goat), gaining the ability to sleep any where, and understanding how to ask "have you seen my privates?" without getting into trouble. I also met some interesting folks along the way - SGT. Glemensky, SGT. Moniqueka, SGT. Frosty....and PVT Bobbert Creamer.

I can still remember the day I met Bobbert. I was just getting back to post after being out on leave for a few weeks in SoCal. The first formation of the day and I was called out - FLORES! FALLOUT! You're going to Bosnia and you're taking Creamer with you. Make sure you're both ready. I looked over and saw only what can only be described as a real-life Baby Huey. Creamer stood 6'2, weighed in at 230 lbs and looked like he was 12.

Soon after this introduction I found myself with Bobbert everyday for the next year. I learned more about this kid than any other person I was stationed with during those years. I learned that he was accident waiting to happen and more importantly that if he didn't make me laugh every day, I would have choked him. No one on this planet could make me so mad or make me laugh so hard. His ridiculousness saved him on many occasions.

On that first day that I met Creamer, we had to head to what we called "Old Post." This was the section of Fort Drum that was built during WWII and somehow managed to stay standing. The U.S. Army loved this and turned Old Post into a massive Admin area. Somehow, Creamer and I both had orders cut to Korea and we had to go to Old Post for a briefing. We would never make it to Korea due to the Bosnia conflict, but this was my first one-on-one time with Bobbert. After a mind-numbing briefing in a second-story closed, cramped, frozen room we headed out. On our way down the stairs (out doors) I can see that a pallet was placed into the mud and is now completely a brick of ice. I call back to Bobbert and say "watch your step, Creamer. It's frozen down here." I step off and continue to walk....then I heard it. It sounded like some one had dropped a trash bag full of chili-beans on to the cement.  This was followed by a short, high-piched "DAMMIT!"  Little did I know then that I would be hearing this for years to come.


In order to be deployed, there are a series of tasks that need to be completed. One of the easier tasks is making sure your shots are up to date. Every country has a "shot list" and no matter where you go, you get the GG shot aka the peanut-butter shot. Anyone that has had this can tell you that it hurts like crazy. It is a cold, shrewd, unforgiving shot. Like an ugly Filipino hooker, it does not discriminate. Creamer and I show up and are ready to get this done. The guy that is administering the shot sees that we are about to be deployed so he shows some mercy. He looks at me and says "we can split this shot into two doses. One for each cheek and it wont be so bad." I'm all for that at put my butt in the air. Stick. Stick. A couple of deep knee bends and I'm feeling good. It is now Bobbert's turn. He pulls out one massive cheek - think of a couch cushion. All of our eyes grow at least as big as Bobbert's half-moon. The guys shakes his head and says "we have to go all in with this one." He pulls out a huge needle. It looks like something that would be used to hunt rhinos in the Savannah. He steps back and launches it at the huge buttock like it's a giant, fleshy dart board. He injects the GG into Creamer's butt.....he pulls the large-gauge needle out....and some of the GG starts leaking out.  Without missing a beat the nurse reaches out and pinches Bobbert's cheek and shakes it around - think of how you pinch a cute husky kid's cheeks. This goes on for a few seconds. I didn't know to laugh, be amazed, or to tip for the show.

Somehow we make it out of Ft. Drum, through Ft. Benning, and arrive in Germany. All of this was not without follies, but there is just too much to tell. So let's move forward a bit. This was the first time for either of us in Europe. We are standing in the middle of Rhein-Main airport in Frankfort. Of course, Bobbert is hungry. With his keen eye he sees all the European delicacies at the airport and decides that he wants McDonalds. Since I was in charge, and would be found liable if I lost Creamer, I take him to get his extra-value meal. We take an escalator up to the second floor and I'm taking in the culture around me. Bobbert's focus was on the Golden Arches. We walk up and there behind the counter is a nice middle-eastern teenage girl. From her accent, she has learned the Queen's English and may have been a citizen of the U.K. She begins to take the order....Creamer looks at me and I ask him what he wants to eat. Of course, he can't pass up the hamburger royale. She hits some keys then asks Bobbert if he want's cheese. Bobbert looks at me and I ask him if he wants cheese - easy call; of course he does. Some more keys are punched then she asks what Bobbert would like to drink. Bobbert looks at me and I ask him what he would like to drink. He opts for the Coke and she completes the order. In sheer and complete amazement Bobbert looks at me and says "Dude! I didn't know you spoke German!" You see, I wanted to choke Creamer for making me walk him over to get Mickey Deez in this strange land....but he made me laugh when he made that statement.

We finally get to our temporary duty station in Wiesbaden, Germany.  Here again are just too many stories to tell. We get through our "lanes" (more pre-deployment training) and we get our orders. We are set to go to Taszar Main in Hungary. We get there and meet up with SGT. Glemensky. Because Bobbert is a walking accident, SGT. Glemensky and he don't hit it off and this makes for awesome times. I am yet to meet a person that can curse like SGT. Glemensky. After a couple months of laughing and worrying if Bobbert would make it out alive, SGT. Glemensky heads back home and SGT. Frosty flies in to take his place.

SGT. Frosty and Bobbert get along ok, but just as I want to choke Bobbert everyday, so does SGT. Frosty. I remember one time we were all in our barracks. It was pretty late and we were playing cards and talking about nothing. Bobbert and SGT. Frosty start to get into it about nothing but it quickly escalates into something. Bobbert is heading out of the room when SGT. Frosty asks him where he is going. Bobbert says "I'm going to take a piss! You wanna come and hold my balls!?!" SGT. Frosty looks at him....turns his head a bit and asks "you hold your balls when you piss?" They were both calm now...Bobbert looks at him and with all seriousness says "Ya....how else are you supposed to get it all out?"

We were deployed for 11 months straight. I spent every day with Creamer. Ate every meal with Creamer. Did PT with Creamer. Played cards, watched movies, played ping pong....and the following fact, I did not learn until we were on our way back to Fort Drum. The entire 11 months, Bobbert only would drop off the kids in two locations. We had taken over the Hungarian Army barracks and had full use of their facilities - to include the toilets. Bobbert always took his can of Lysol so I assumed that he would just park it where ever he could find a space. Not the case. About a month before heading back I found Bobbert in the barracks room sitting sideways, rocking back and forth and sweating. I ask him what's going on and he tells me that he needs to drop a deuce. So I tell him to walk over and let it fly - there are over 15 stalls in there, surely 1 is open. Creamer looked at me like I had lost my mind. He then explains that "his" toilet is in use. I didn't know that he had a toilet. So I ask how he got a toilet. Bobbert tells me that for the last year he has only been using 1 toilet. In very rare occasions he had to go to his back-up. On this day, both is primary and secondary stations were down.  He sweated it out that night - like Pooky in New Jack City.

I would love to tell you all about the time I broke Bobbert's toe. Or about that time he got stitches on our way to Germany. Or about the time SGT. Glemensky yelled at him for farting in an enclosed area...all the while Bobbert was on the phone with his mom. Or how when we got to Ft. Benning, he didn't think that he could breathe. Or the time he tackled a little German woman. I could write a complete book on the topic of Bobbert Creamer. All of the stories are actually true - nothing added or embellished. This was our life.

I still talk to Bobbert Creamer today. He is all grown up and has a beautiful family. I have always cared for him like he was a kid brother and I still do. For all of his ridiculousness I knew that I could count on Bobbert. If it came down to it, that he would be there for me and would do what ever it took to make sure we both made it back. For all of you at 10TH MTN - Climb to Glory! For all of you at Taszar Main - Stay out of stall 3...Creamer has marked his territory.

Senior Class Picture

As I sit here rocking out to Brittney Spears [Give Me More], I am completely amazed and find myself in utter disbelief. Somehow my Montclair High School Senior Class picture has become the punch line of some type of unheard joke. Some see it and feel compelled to let me that they will vote for Pedro. Others have asked that I not travel in Arizona. I know greatness means to incur the haters, but this has become borderline offensive. As I have declared numerous times, this is one of the best pictures of my teen years and is certainly the greatest of all high school photos.

I can see why some don’t like that picture. Though you can see the perfect hair and Mexican mustache, I am still wearing the shirt and tie. You think that I sold out to the "man". You have to imagine that same picture, but with me wearing a Parker Lewis style shirt. With overalls. With just one strap over my shoulder. And the pants rolled up. Wide rolls. Think of David Silver’s clothes on my body. Don’t act like you don’t know who Silver is – we are the 90’s

I am now in an all-but-too-familiar position. I have to explain to the masses how great the picture is and what it represents. I can hear the haters now saying, “It’s a picture of you.” Yes and no. Of course it’s a picture of me, and that is what makes it great. Yet, it is more than an image of a youthful, vigorous me. It is a representation of all that was great about the 90’s and serves as a reminder of my humble beginnings.

To illustrate the greatness of this picture, let me take you all on a little journey to the 10 year MHS reunion, Class of 93. As I type this, I can actually see all of you leaning into your monitors/screen displays. I will not delay, but jump into the story.

The reunion was to be held at a hotel that we can call the Single-Fern (don’t want to advertise for free). Being ever the romantic, I booked a room – this was also to avoid any possible drunk driving charges. Of course my smokin' hot wife was my smokin' hot date (we were only dating and not yet engaged). We arrived a few hours early to check-in and scope out the room.

As you can imagine, alcohol had been purchased to assist the festivities that were to take place. We both begin drinking as we get ready for the evening. I had chosen my wardrobe carefully. I sported a fitted, blue dress shirt, black slacks, and a tie that was all the fashion of 2003. Nelly being the trophy-date wore a tight, short dress that had the DD’s on display as well as the tennis legs. Drunk and looking unbelievably handsome, I escorted my Latin hotness (Nelly, not me) down to the party.

As I arrive, I am seeing many familiar faces and love it. I continue to drink heavily and parade my date around the social event of the year. I am reconnecting with all the people that I had missed, and they were more than happy to see me and the greatness I had become. To think that I was even better looking than they had last remembered seemed preposterous! But here I was! Breathing. Living. Drinking. Dancing. Sexiness incarnate in their very presence!

Most of this night is a blur of greatness that hits my mind in short spurts of awesomeness. This is what I completely remember and will never forget: The Senior Class President, whom we shall call Solidad, had called us all to attention. A slide show was about to begin. Nelly was on my right and we had 8 others at the table with us. Solidad is speaking and announces that she is about to begin our walk down memory lane. At this point, I let go of Nelly’s hand. I close my eyes, bow my head and speak to God: Lord, sweet little Baby Jesus, please let my picture be the first picture shown…please cute infant Jesus, let us all be blessed with a 20 foot picture of me to lead off the greatest memories that most of us will ever have..I thank you baby Jesus, I honor you baby Jesus. Amen.

I was Catholic back then so I figured praying to the infant Jesus was my best bet.

My Lord, Our God, heard me that night. As I opened my eyes I looked to the wall and saw the greatest of all Senior Class pictures ever taken – Me. A glorious, hi-res, massive, wall-sized me. The crowd erupts! I jump to my feet! Hands held in a V! High-fives are being thrown! Millions [and MILLIONS] are chanting my name.

The masses got it that night. They all understood what that picture represents. As great as we all were in High School, we all have gone on to greater things. As ridiculously good looking as I was in High School, God saw it fit that I turn heads where ever I tread.

To date, this is one of my favorite pictures. I’m sure that there are some of you that used to look at the picture and think “what if”…Please don’t come forward now. My wife will cut me for knowing you and hunt you down. I am simply stating that someone in the world enjoys this picture as much as I do. To you, I say “you’re welcome.” To the rest I say "suck on it; it's still the great pic ever taken!"