Holy Paper Mache, Batman!

Ah, the piñata. What a wondrous tool of festiveness! Little is known about the origin of this formed paper of joy, so I will share what I have pieced together from meticulously studying the annals of time:

• Vikings invented the piñata
• They used it when they conquered China
• The Chinese overcame the Vikings, but also start using the piñata
• China invaded Greece, but were thwarted by Alexander the Great
• The Macedonian Ass Kicker collects a Chinese stash of piñatas
• Alexander takes the piñata to India on his failed campaign
• India uses the piñata while invading Spain
• Spain holds them off, but loves the piñata
• Conquistadors use the piñata while riding horses and capturing Aztecs

And that brings us to present day. Because of all that history, we can understand why every White, Asian, Black, Indian, and Mexican kid grows up with piñatas at their birthday parties. It is the game that transcends all races.

For anyone that has never seen a piñata, it is a paper mache goody-bag that comes in shapes of drums, stars, superheroes, cartoon characters, animals, just about anything you can think of. This giant goody-bag is filled with candy then a rope is attached. The piñata is hung from anything that can be found - tree, ladder, banister, basketball hoop, etc. The fun begins when a bat and blindfold are added! Children are blind-folded like hostages then spun around until wobbly and vomiting is induced. They are then handed a bat while onlookers scream instructions: LEFT! RIGHT! LOWER! HIGHER! SWING! SWING! BEHIND YOU! SWING!

It is awesome fun.

My earliest birthday party memories are filled with piñatas. Like a gladiator that was forced to fight for his life, I was sent to be shamefully made fun of while drunken uncles and aunts yelled instructions at me in spanish. Great times. This is the Mexican right of passage where we show the world our battle instincts. The candy is used as bait. Back in my day, when the piñata broke and candy crashed to the floor, a mad rush of children dove onto the heap to collect their prize. Diving on to blacktop is dangerous enough, but when you have others diving at you head first and a kid swinging a bat wildly....well, that's where you separate the men from the boys.

Things have changed since then. I think kids are too soft nowadays. I remember drinking water from the hose when I was outside playing. Now we have little Johnny carrying around his bottle of EVIAN. A few weeks back, I took the kids to a party where a piñata was on display. I was ready for a rowdy bunch of kids to see who was king of the mountain! That did not happen. Instead, I saw these little kids get 1 swing each. When the piñata finally broke, the kids had to wait while the candy was collected and handed out. What Kind of Crap was this!?!?

During this fiasco, I was talking to one of the moms that also brought children to this so-called party. She then says "I'm surprised they don't have a sting piñata." I have no idea what she is talking about so I press her, "I have no idea what you are talking about." She goes on to explain that there are new piñatas where you don't swing a bat violently and the kids aren't blindfolded. Apparently in this sick and twisted take on America's past time, kids are given a single chance to go and pull a string from the bottom of the piñata. If it is the right one, it opens and candy falls. I assume that this has to be a White-People invention.

I call my foremost authority on all things Caucasian: Na'shell Oliveria. I ask Na'shell if she has heard of this ridiculousness that is parading around and pretending to be a piñata. I also asked if this was something that White People dreamed up to keep their kids soft...er...I mean "safe." In my mind, I am thinking that they have changed this and are now selling it to make themselves rich. Just how they changed tortillas to "wraps" and charge a premium.

I am flabbergasted as she explains that this was actually not a WP thing. Turns out all parents (White, Mexican, Asian, Indian, and Black) all want their kids to be safe. You can go the swapmeet/fleamarket and pick these up right next to the battle ready piñatas.

As I look back on my awesomeness, I am saddened to see that our days are winding down. Kids can't drink from the hose. Kids can't play outside till the lights come one. Kids can't be blindfolded then made dizzy and forced to swing like Hank Aaron while others laugh at them. Times are changing. In an effort to keep my past alive, we got the Champ a piñata for his birthday. I real piñata. It is over 4 feet tall and will take a Louisville slugger to crack. On that day, only the strong will survive.

The Completely True Made-Up Story of How I Broke My Back

Ok readers, we need to clear a few things up. As many of you are aware,  I am on the road to recovery after suffering a broken back. When news hit that I was down, rumors abounded; mostly because my sexiness was in danger. Others were just haters and glad that I was out of the running for People's "Sexiest Man Alive". As if....

Today I am setting the record straight! Not only will I put these rumors to rest, I will finally reveal how I was left broken and shattered. Of all the possibilities that can break a man's back, only a few were spread about my greatness:

1. I broke myself during a dance battle
2. Nelly broke me during a vigorous sexual encounter
3. During a gymnastic display, I zigged when I should of zagged

I will address these in order.

STEP UP: I completely understand how dancing was top of the list. I would rank the believability of this rumor at 98%. Why so high? Because everyone that knows me knows that I rarely turn down a battle. With a personal soundtrack playing in my head, I AM ALWAYS READY TO GO. Here is how the story goes: I was at the club with my crew breakin fools off and talkin about their mamas'. While in a drunken stupor, I was challenged to a solo dance-off. Jack G. Gargoylewitz IX walked up to me with his crew (The Holy Rollies) and said something to the effect of  "I got sum'in real fo yo azz n deez feet!" Without a word, I slapped him, and made my way to the center of the dance floor. From there, I was a combination of David and Elgin from You Got Served - I looked more like Marques Houston, but the part were he was dancing in the rain without a shirt. Of course, Jack G. Gargoylewitz IX was a combination of Wade and Max - which is fitting because he does his hair like Wade. So there we were. All eyes on us. Two superhuman-dance-icons locked in an epic battle of epic proportions that was purely epic. The story continues, we were going move for move, lock for lock, pop for pop, tut for tat. As I was ready to put him down for the count, I went for the killer kombo: Elbow Air Flare-Munchmill-Gorillas. On my 3rd flare my elbow slipped into a spilled sour-apple-martini. I twisted and flailed around landing in a crumbled heap. In slow motion, I heard Jack announced as the winner. In a fashion that is all too much Jack G. Gargoylewitz IX, he walked up and kicked me the back (breaking it) then whispering, "You got served, biznitch."

The true story is that Jack did beat me in a RAZOR-THIN battle that left us both bruised but not broken. He has since been practicing daily - should we meet other in battle again.

Kama Sutra. I would put the believability up around 99% - who isn't up for new and exciting moves that require stamina and the ability to be bendy like liquorish?  Let us rattle off a few possibilities:

• The Brazilian Cowboy - you have to love those Brazilians; they are true innovators. Any move that has a Cowboy and a Brazilian has to be tried at least once. 
• The English Bagel - this is a cleverly disguised "French Butler," but since no one really likes the french since dubya dubya 2, the British put their own twist on the move. They substituted bangers-n-mash for the honey and strawberries....then added tongs. This is complicated poetry.
• The Lemon Wedge - really nothing more than a modified Orange Bang that uses the left foot as a rudder.

Of course we are married and do what married people do. None of these moves/positions can break a back - the swing takes all the pressure off the spine.

Gymkata A less known rumor has to do with a mix of music and gymnastics - this is all about performance. As this story goes, I was working with RyuKen on some new chords. RyuKen just doesn't play the guitar and sing; he is living, breathing entertainment. So he has me in a power-stance rocking out. From there, I'm supposed to do a back handspring, back tuck, land in "man splits" then pop up and continue with my song. I hit the back handspring and going into my back tuck when the cord from my amp gets wrapped around my legs. I land off-kilter and go crashing into the drum set and take a Hi-Hat to the center of my spine, severing my nerves and leaving me paralyzed. Believability at 4%

The truth is that RyuKen has moved on to greater things and won't give me the time of day. He is in league with Jack G Gargoylewitz IX

Now for the real story:

I was out enjoying some cold, frosty beverages. I was taking a night off from crime-fighting. I had just finished up 72 straight hours of rounding up super criminals and felt like a brew doggie was well deserved. As I'm relaxing, in walks a masked luchador and starts hassling the bar patrons. He is a short, powerfully built man - as wide as he is tall. He is shirtless, completely waxed and oiled up - this is a sure sign of aggression from a luchador. His name is "El Lobo Fuerte", it was stitched across his tights. As a side-note,  I believe that means "The Fierce Lion" in some dead language. He comes over and starts rattling something off to me in spanish. I explain that I'm from SoCal and don't speak a word of "espanol". This sends El Lobo into a rage! A great battle ensues. We are locked in mortal combat. I am putting these soup-bones on him. He is dazed and in an act of desperation, he grabs me. El Lobo is freakishly strong for being only 5'5. He lifts me overhead and crashes my back down over his knee. He then puts me into a suplex and I fly into a table, back first. He is not done and does a flying elbow to my lower back. I'm down but not out. Feeling enraged, I hulk up and grab El Lobo. I fling him into the wall face first. As he falls, I drop a big leg across his chest and he's out!

I leave the bar and head outside for some air. There I'm confronted by a Kung-Fu master that has been hunting me for years. He is upset that I have been teaching non-Asians the secrets of martial arts. He is here to make sure that I never teach again. He jumps into a Tiger stance - this is a  powerful style...but my Kung Fu is strong. I go with Eastern Dragon style. The battle lasts less than a minute but is packed full of combinations and strikes that would blind most men. After missing a wing strike, I was kicked in the center of my weakened back with a flying side kick. The strike was blazing! I am unsure if I can move. With my superhuman strength, I summon all of my awesomeness and stand back up. In a flash I use the secret of Miagi-Do Family Karate and knock out my foe.

Bruised and weakened, I start out for a long walk home. Half way there, on a long country road, I see a cow falling from the sky and it lands in front of me. It was gross. As I look out into the horizon I see what I think is a massive bull. This bull is the size of a bus - not a full yellow bus, but a VW bus from the 70's. I see that this bull is angry - like an old man trying to send soup back to the kitchen. As he is charging towards me, I notice that something is not quite right. He seems to be running on his hind legs. Then it hits me! THIS IS NO BULL! IT IS A MINOTAUR! I know that I'm in for a gladiator-style fight. The winner will be the one left alive. He lowers his head and rushes me. I take him by the horns and stand firm. He throws a left hook to my body and I go flying into a tree. He rushes again and this time connects - I am put through the tree. My back was a battering ram and the tree the Gates of Camelot. I can barely breath and am lying against a huge tree. I know that the end is near. It must have been a rush of adrenalin that allowed me to move. As the minotaur lowers his head for the final blow, I fling myself out of the way. A single horn is stuck in the tree that was propping me up. As he struggles to break free, he shatters the stuck horn. He is reeling in pain and I have to act fast. I use all the supernatural strength that I have left and pull the the horn lose. The minotaur is up again and charging. I stand my ground and lunge at the beast, plunging his horn deep into his chest. He falls into heap and I collapse. I can no longer move. The 3 battles have taken their toll - my back is broken.

So that's my story. This is completely how I remember it. I mean, really...who would believe that I was walking around Nashville and feeling achy? Then, after arriving home, while lying in bed I sneezed and my body was set on fire - herniating two disks and causing nerve compression...

Now, like Bruce Wayne and Bruce Lee before him, I am on the road to recovery. They both emerged better versions of themselves. As hard as it is to believe, I will be even better than I was - I know...crazy huh.

Lucky Lady or How Nelly Caught Me

I was thinking the other day, "How did Nelly get so lucky, and not only catch me, but keep me?" Was it just pure hotness? Did she have some kind of voodoo spell over me? Was it the hotness and the spell working together? As I pondered this, I began thinking back on childhood crushes. Now, these aren't crushes on real people, but crushes I had when I was a little tyke (much like my champ is today). I could only think of 3:

• Elvira
• Wonder Woman
• Mary Ann

Some of you that know me may be thinking that I omitted Thelma from Goodtimes - she wasn't a childhood crush; that crush started in the 90's and ended the day I met Nelly.

Going back to my childhood, we see some simple, but drastic similarities among the 3 ladies fore-mentioned. If we were to stand them all next to each other, in a line, very very close to each other, we see that they have 2 really BIG features in common. The more we stare at them, the more apparent they become. That's right! They are all brunette with brown eyes!

Nelly also has brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen. As a side note, baby-girl's eyes are a very close second. Was it all really that simple? Of course I like brown hair and brown eyes, but was my animalistic attraction only based on those features? When I looked closer, I saw the resemblance to my childhood crushes was much deeper.

Mary Ann - She is sweet, old-fashioned, friendly, the-girl-next-door; and despite all these differences, she still reminds me of Nelly. It may be because she's short. I'm just playing :)  My Nelly is all of those things and so much more. Nelly is very compassionate and is a friend to everyone. Remember how Mary Ann was always there for Gilligan? That's how Nelly's friendships are - she is there for everyone. And she's short.

Wonder Woman - She is an Amazon Warrior! If you were to challenge her to a duel, she would win and possibly talk about your mama as she did so. This is the Nelly that I love! The fiery beast that will cut someone given the chance. This isn't a contrast to Mary Ann - this is a defense mechanism. Wonder Woman protected the innocent, Nelly protects her herd. They also have a great sense of style - Nelly has an assortment of clothes that cause mere mortals to stop and stare. Some of you may be saying, "HEY! Wonder Woman doesn't have brown eyes!" To that I say, "She can stop bullets...and did you see her costume?"

Elvira - She may be the one that reminds me of Nelly the most. When I was younger, I didn't know why Elvira captured my attention so much - I know now. It's her big, bubbly, bodacious personality and her awesome sense of humor. Nelly is ridiculously funny and has great comedic timing (almost as good as me). One of my buddies put it best, "You and Nelly are perfectly crazy for each other." He didn't mean that we were crazy in love for one another; he meant that our varying degrees of craziness where in perfect sync for us to be the ultimate compliment to each other - think of yin and yang or peanut-butter and jelly. Perfect balance. Elvira is easily one of the funniest people on the planet. Very quick-witted and she owns an awesome couch. I can hear some more complaints, "HEY! Elvira doesn't have brown eyes!"  To you haters, I say, "Elvira has eyes???"

Nelly is the combination of all my childhood crushes rolled into one sexy person. She is short, wears small, tight clothes, and has Double-D's (Mary Ann, Wonder Woman, and Elvira respectively). And she is a brunette with beautiful honey-golden eyes. I didn't stand a chance. It's like she's all sparkly like Edward and I'm Bella - everything about her draws me in. But I'm really Jacob, not really, but yes I am. It's no wonder that she caught me and made herself the luckiest woman in this world.

To my beautiful wife, I salute you! I salute your perfect you-ness that I can't get enough of!

Kittens and Cougars, Oh My!

Ah....Thanksgiving is here! This is one of my favorite holidays of the year. This is when Cowboys and Aliens can set aside petty differences and break bread mano a mano (I believe that is Swedish for "cheek to cheek"). I have so many things that I am grateful for, that I decided to write a list. Let's see how many of my thoughts make your list.

I am thankful for:

1. Serving a forgiving and a loving God
2. My smokin hot wife
3. Cheech, Baby-girl, and The Boy
4. My ridiculously good looks
5. My dance battle skills
6. My writing skills
7. My extremely good taste in clothes
8. The internets/interwebs and The Google
9. Sugarpop Music
10. Pirates
11. My friends
12. Having a G.O.B. (That's how we say J.O.B. in the ghetto)
13. Being recognized as Cougar-Bait Kitten Dreams
14. Being of sound mind

I'm sure that some of you will argue with #14; but hey, you're reading this aren't you.....

Point number 13....it kinda hurts...but I have crossed over from Cougar-Bait to Kitten Dreams. This is the year that everything changed. I'm now 35, and of course older women are attracted to me, but I can longer be labeled as "cougar bait."  That esteemed title now belongs to much younger men (teenagers) like Isak Adamson and The Fresh Prinze.

Before going any further - Cougars are older ladies that like young dudes; kittens are 20-somethings that like older dudes.

As some of you know, I was running a social experiment that I fiendishly dubbed "Project Fauxhawk."  I won't go into the details of said experiment, but I did get some surprising results. Only 2 people ever commented on my hairstyle but so many more were staring. Looking as good as I do, this is a normal day occurrence. The difference was that the kittens were not only staring at me like I was fine ham sandwich, they were no longer pretending not to look when I noticed. They were blatant in their oogling of my goods. I was ready to credit "project fauxhawk" for this change when something surprising happened. As part of corporate restructuring (I got a new G.O.B.) I had to end the experiment and go back to a more "professional" look. I naturally assumed that things would go back as they were - with men cursing me and women undressing me while I was unaware. Things did change...more kittens are making it a point to let me know that I'm hotness.

This usually happens during lunch. If I order a burrito, I get some extra guacamole free of charge. If I get a side of tots, they are magically upgraded and topped with chili and cheese. This last week I ordered a 2-scoop sundae and the girl behind the counter stuffed about a gallon of Mint n' Chip into my little cup.

Being a Kitten Dream is actually better than being Cougar Bait. The older ladies still gawk and make off-hand remarks as I stroll by, and that's awesome, but they are set in their ways and have no need to try to make me happy. The Kittens, by contrast, are still getting themselves established. This means I get free food a lot. The Kittens are also aware that when I'm with my wife or kids that they should not look my way. The cougars take a more "museum" approach and look but don't touch. This, of course, gets Nelly ready to cut someone - meaning me. Is it my fault that the older ladies make it obvious that I'm hot?!

Ultimately, I am thankful that I still look as good as ever and am generally the most attractive man in the room. Sexy isn't easy - but I wouldn't want it any other way.


To all my friends in Cyberspace, I wish you well this Thanksgiving. Eat. Drink.Read. Be Merry!

Ooooooh....Reeeaaally?

I know the most finicky man on the planet. He is a Persnickety Little Texan (PLT). Very high-brow kind of guy and is fond of peacocking. He hasn't had an idea or opinion that he hasn't loved. I ran into PLT last week during lunch; he was wearing a hand-tailored, very fitted, cream colored suit with a pumpkin orange Forzieri, a crocodile belt (brown) and stingray boots (black). Every time I talk to PLT he is quoting the Harvard Business Journal or Yogi Berra. To my surprise, and enjoyment, he referenced my blog. You can only imagine my amazement upon hearing this news. PLT has known me for the last 5 years and has seen me accomplish technical and business miracles - the only compliment he ever gave me was on my choice of clothes (I was wearing windowpane pants). To hear that he read my blog was like hearing the Pope say was hooked on 16 and Pregnant. That's when I realized that my blog was his Guilty Pleasure.

A Guilty Pleasure is something that you shouldn't like, but you do anyways.

I'm fairly certain that PLT wants to institute the caste system here in the states, but he thinks my blog is absolute genius. He can NEVER admit that he believes I'm the voice of my generation; but he will read every post (mindful not to comment). In my quest to become famous, I'll take any fans I can get.

That little run-in made me think about the whole "guilty pleasures" thing. I'm sure that everyone out in the world loves doing something that they dont want to admit to. It could be a that a very handsome, ridiculously talented blogger enjoys a nice hot bath at the end of a long ass day. With bubbles. And Candles. That smell like vanilla. Maybe some bath salts. With a chilled Zima. With a pixie stick. I don't know who this guy is, but I'm sure he wouldn't admit to this, even though it's like a little piece of heaven.

My guilty pleasure?  90210. I have seen every episode since it debuted. Every Monday at 8/7 Central. I actually DVR it so that we can watch after the kids are asleep. Every Monday at 9, I have a 2-scoop sundae and am enthralled in the high school drama. I've been waiting for the return of Ethan since the 1st season. I don't think he's coming back, but he was my favorite character. I think that Navid deserves better. I think that making Teddy gay was the wrong move. I think that Adriana will always be her own worse enemy. I think that Dixon and Anny aren't selling me on being brother and sister. I think that I know way too much about this show. I shouldn't like this show, but I do.

Some of my buddies have guilty pleasures of their own.

Dallas Jabbawockee is addicted to Jersey Shore. This may not sound bad since most people like this show. But most people are ghetto and dig raunchy stuff - like Jack Ass. Dallas is an Artsy-Fartsy cat. His entire life is centered around the arts. Very abstract and profound - like a modern day Socrates that looks like Joe Jonas. Because of his stature in the art world, he can't come out and say that he loves watching the train wreck that is Jersey Shore. This would be like Edgar Allen Poe thinking that Stephenie Meyer is pure awesomeness.

Big Ass Guy has a simple, but delicious guilty pleasure: Heath Bars. He is roughly the size of a real-life Shrek and is addicted to this chocolate-covered treat. He sneaks them from his wife and has a drawer full of them next to his bed. He is like a 6'6, 280lb 6 year-old sneaking candy. Awesomeness.

Zergio Jutierrez has some guilty pleasures that puts everyone else to shame. I've said before, Zergio is as close to a clone of me that this world will see. Because of this, I find his general ridiculous logical. Here we go! Zerg is hooked on the Rachel Zoe show. I never heard of this show, but after a quick google, I can see why this made the list. He hates it but can't stop watching it. Like the good husband he is, he watches other chick shows with Zara, but he secretly loves them. Another good one, and probably the best guilty pleasure that I have heard of, Zerg watches the "hot topics" portion of The View.

I'm sure that all of you out there have things that you're embarrassed to admit to - I'm thinking that the comments field will be light today ;)

Holy Frijoles!

I am an American-born Mexican from California. This means I have a kick-ass surname, attractive olive-colored skin, and speak absolutely no spanish. It also means, while growing up, all the holidays were spent at Grandma's house. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easters, Labor Day, Boxing Day, Yom Kippur, Teacher-in-Service Day, Saturday, Sunday; all of them spent with cousins, aunts, uncles, and people that were some how related to us via marriage. My parent's cousins and their cousins' cousins were all "family" and introduced as aunts and uncles. The best part of all was 99% of the "family"only spoke spanish. So we would generally have 156 people in a house drinking and eating like only Mexicans can do, talking at each other, and trying to communicate with me as I clung to my mommy. Like a stranger in a strange land, I navigated my youth with all the gumption and care of Magellan mapping out the Straits. As I grew up, beginning my journey to become the FamousRay that you have all come to know and lust after, I put that world behind me.

For those of you that don't know, my wife is a Central American import. From the land of San Salvador she flew on angels wings to be delivered to me. Not really - she rode on the back of a coyote and landed in Los Angeles. Most of her family is in the States and spread across from LA to the Inland Empire. Her childhood was much like mine, but she can actually speak spanish. So every holiday (Sundays included), her entire extended-family would show up at her parent's house and party like it's 1999. Two hundred Salvadorians packed into a house and doing pinatas in the front yard. Nelly absolutely LOVED it and figured that the whole world was this way.

Being Latino, there are just somethings that we must do as a people. The "family-get-together" is just one example. Here are a few more so that you get a better understanding:

1. We must stay with a family member when we visit...even though I have a million Marriott points
2. Because someone will end up Butt Hurt if we're at a hotel
3. We have to eat meals with the family
4. Grandma, grandpa, tio, tia, and cousins all having dinner together
5. Every night
6. If we leave the house, the entire herd is coming along
7. All in the same car
8. Even if we don't have enough seats for everyone
9. Only 1 car is used to transport up to 15 people at a time
10. Leaving the house without everyone will result in Butt Hurtness and we just can't have that

Since I have lived in the Great State of Texas, we go back to Cali every summer; that's how the above truths were revealed to me. Every summer I find myself in the whirlwind that is Chino aka El Salvador. I can remember a particular 4th of July when I drove from Irvine to Chino to Rancho Santa Margarita to Chino to Montclair to Chino to LA to Chino. For those of you not familiar with SoCal, let's just say that I was on the road for 26 hours that day. I'm sure that looking at the list of places we drove to you can see one place pops up more than the rest. The best part was that the family was Butt Hurt because we weren't making time to be with them. All the holidays are this way. We are split driving between families trying to keep emotions at bay while enjoying my relaxing vacation.

As an added bonus, there are subtle difference between my extended family and Nelly's. My family plans get-togethers - complete with menu and start time. If they say 3 o'clock they mean 2:55. If we are not there by 2:57 the phone calls start. They will not start eating until we are all there. Together. Nelly's family doesn't plan anything. Ever. People start showing up at her parent's house throughout the day. And they never go home. If we are not at the house when they randomly show up, they get their feelings hurt. Then the phone calls start.

This last trip out I had a revelation. While I took 20 people with me to Sam's Club to buy toilet paper and cereal it hit me. I was surrounded by at least 1 million people from morning to night, all eating and drinking and talking at each other, all in spanish, and I still don't speak a word, people are trying to communicate with me and I'm there clinging to my wife. I was reliving my youth and remembering all the reasons I joined the military when I turned 18. Nelly was reliving her youth and still loving it. She was wondering why we just didn't sell the house and move back in with her family.

The only reference I have of El Salvador comes from watching HGTV's House Hunter International and FX Network's The Shield. I know for damn sure that I'm not at Playa El Suzal but I'm not being chopped up into little pieces either - though Nelly has threatened me a few times. I'm somewhere in the middle of those extremes. I love going home and visiting family. It makes me feel like a kid again. It makes me realize why I love Texas so much. In a twist to this whole thing, I'm contemplating retirement in San Salvador just to get away from them all.

In all seriousness, everyone's family is jacked up. I just get to write about mine. I'm sure my kids and their spouses will say the same about us. For all their dysfunction, I love and miss them all very muchos. I'm sure they will be Butt Hurt when they read this and the phone calls will start. That's why I have Caller ID.

Cultural Awareness

I’ve been racially profiled! I know that I should not be surprised. Being raised in the Greater-Los Angeles area I have had my fair share of racially motivated “random” car stops and general harassment from LAPD and the Sheriff’s Department. That was in my youth when I was a young, vigorous, handsome, young Latino-man. Now I am a grown ass Latino with a respectable career; driving a car with current tags AND insurance!

So I’m sure that you can all understand my befuddlement when I received a mailer from my church. IN SPANISH. WHAT THE CRAP!?! I’ve been at that church for 4 years! Everyone that knows me knows that I don’t speak a word of Spanish. I’m from SoCal! Why the crap would I speak Spanish?!?! I gather that they must have seen my last name and ASSUMED that with a Hispanic surname that I spoke a language other than English. This strikes me as odd on a few levels.

1.    I doubt that Justin Beiber gets junk mail in German
2.    I don’t think that Christina Ricci ever got a mailer in Italian
3.    Ikea doesn’t send me flyers in Swedish
4.    Why is it called “Latin America”? They don’t speak latin; they speak Spanish.
5.    Shouldn’t it be Spanish America?
6.    And the people could be called Spanish
7.    And people from Spain could be Spaniards

I guess that list really is only 2 points, but still valid.

I was talking to Mr. Tiny and Big H about profiling a few weeks back. If you remember, they are extremely large black men. We were talking about how the quiet black man is much scarier than the loud angry black man.
With the loud angry black man, you get what you see. No real surprises. They yell and scare the hell out of all non-minorities in the general area. It’s good for a story to tell over drinks or while doing your nails…”and there was this large afro-american man…very very upset…he kept saying he ‘wished’ someone would say something…”
The quiet, calm black man is much more frightening. Let me frame this for you. Mr. Tiny is 6’2 and 260 lbs of bad ass black man. I think he bench presses Ford Explorers and curls VW Bugs for a workout. Let us imagine this large man is upset, yet quiet. This is much more frightening. You imagine that he is plotting your demise…AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. I would much rather deal with a loud person putting on a show than a large, powerful man that I think is calculating how much force it would take to rip my arms off.

I have another friend – Big Ass Guy (BAG). BAG is actually bigger than Mr. Tiny and Big H. He is like a fusion of the two. Except he’s a white guy. See…you are totally not worried about him! See how the brain does that? BAG’s fingers are the size of bananas, but if he pisses me off, I’m gonna take him down. Large white guys aren’t scary. It’s the lil quiet bastards that are just a lil off that we need to keep an eye on.
What is this post all about??? I was racially profiled so I wanted to make myself feel better. It’s like being a bully. I want to put other people down to make me feel good. Did I succeed? No. Did I give you all something to talk about? Mission Accomplished!

Clear as Mud

You may think that I don't know a butt-load about communication, but I do.

Nelly and I attended a "communications seminar" last week to help keep our marriage in check. It was hosted at our local church and was a smaller class - so that we could keep things intimate. Easy readers! It's not that kind of church!

We were looking forward to this for a few weeks. Nelly always enjoys hearing how much I suck as a husband and always finds new ways to point out flaws. Seminars are grand. I enjoy the free food. I enjoy it so much that we arrived early for the spread. Little did I know that it would be fruit and yogurt. I was OK with my whipped strawberry-banana, low-fat, junior size cup. Nelly was not. She was expecting breakfast pastries. So we got off to a fantastic start with our host, Julius. As my wife notices the lack of morning-baked-goodness, she eyeballs poor young Julius. She decided that it was in her best interest to gracefully communicate her displeasure to our gracious host, "Hey. Where are the donuts? I'm tellin' you straight up, man, if don't get me one...oooooh! Man you're gonna put on a little Evil Knievel suit and sell some dimes and nicks on a Big Wheel. You're gonna get my donut some kinda way!"

Now that everyone knows who we are, we decide to take our seats up front. He had already taken a "Communications Inventory" a few days prior. Some of you may be familiar with Myers-Briggs or the MBTI assessment. The seminar was going to use this as a basis of our communication styles and relate it our marriage and other important relationships. Here are my actual, unaltered results:

 The Extroversion is PEGGED! If you didn't know me, you'd think that I am an Attention Whore! Being "extroverts" was the ONLY thing that Nelly and I had in common. She was, of course, an extrovert to a much lesser degree than me.

For every pairing of letters we had little exercises to complete. I think this was supposed to give us an idea of how the other spouse views the world. What actually happened was that this gave Nelly ammunition to fire at me throughout the day.

We were on the same side of the fence for the E's vs I's....so we just had fun making fun of everyone not in the "cool" group. It didn't last long as we were separated for the the S vs N topic. At this point, an abstract painting is shown to us. I am in a very small group of "N's" and clearly I talk too much so I offered up what I saw. Since I cannot find that pic, I will show you something very similar:

Here is what I see when I look at this painting: I see 2 shaolin monks running up the stairs carved into Wudon Mountain. The sun is setting and they are heading towards a temple that is in the upper left corner. In the middle there is a flying dragon and in the bottom left is death. It seems that they are running to their master for help with some evil or dark thing that is coming to the land. The other mountains in the back are already in the shadows, so they must hurry!

Most people will only see the bright orange seahorse at the bottom....

I gave a similar answer when asked in the class of what I had seen. As the debate goes back and forth, Nelly very calmly raises her hand. This was very conniving on her part. The facilitator makes sure everyone is quiet before Nelly speaks. She says, "All I see is a man too old to be playing kung-fu making up a story about messy painting."

We then move on to the T's vs F's. We are again put into our proper groups. A simple question was posed to both groups: You are heading to a party with a good friend; when the friend shows up at your house he/she is dressed ridiculously - do you tell them?  To me this was a no-brainer. F yes you say something - Are you serious!?! You are NOT wearing that! You need to change...NOW.  Satisfied with my answer, I turn to the person sitting next to me. I confidently say, "Nelly and I always ask that before we leave. She wouldn't let me leave the house looking like a fool..."  I wish I hadn't said that. No sooner do I finish my sentence when Nelly's hand shoots back up. Again the room is hushed. Nelly then looks right at me and says, "I can't say that to Ray. He's too sensitive."

So then....here are things that I learned at our seminar:

1. Nelly is the devil
2. With Nelly, always assume Prison Rules
3. Always bring donuts so Nelly's not in a bad mood

Communication is key people! We are all different and we should take strides to celebrate that fact. Learn balance with your spouse - don't cause friction.

The class was awesome. Many thanks to Byron Ricks for the session and thanks to The Grind for hosting.

It's a Guy Thing

The Fresh Prinze, has been on a roll - he must be butta baby! For being 19 years old, he is very insightful. A few weeks back he began a study on "Marriages of the Bible." The first class was dealing with a passive husband and a controlling wife. The class was great; but I don't want to talk about any of that. I do, however, need to explore something that was said. During the class, the Fresh Prinze caught my attention with this thought:

Every guy has that 1 "chick thing." It can be his hair, or he takes longer to get dressed than his wife...maybe he gets a Brazilian wax...

As I was about to raise my hand on that last point, I looked around and noticed that no one else was in agreement so I sat quietly for the duration. But, this one concept did have me baffled. Do we men really have that "1 chick thing" that the Prinze was so sure about?

I started to really take a look at myself; do an assessment of all that is me. As I looked over all that I am, I was surprised to not be consumed with sheer awesmoness, and I was also struggling to find my "chick thing." I was fairly certain that the young Prinze, with his frosty tips, was onto something...so why was I struggling to find it!? I was driving with Nelly, when I had an epiphany! I knew my "chick thing." In my excitement, I turn to my crazy wife and declare that I have uncovered the 1 chick thing that I have. She looks right at me, eye to eye, and says, "Really Taylor Swift? Tell me about it."

Nelly is the devil.

But she was right. When I looked at my music choice, I noticed my playlist is DOMINATED by Avril Lavigne. When I write, cook, clean, chillax, drive, study, get a brazilian, I am listening to Avril. When I hit the gym, it's all about Brittney. I do dig Taylor Swift - she is more of a cool-down or reflection-of-the-family type music choice. So there it is! I love sugar-pop music! That's my chick thing!

I thought to myself, "Well this ain't so bad. I'm sure other guys have far worse chick things. I bet Julius rocks out to Miranda Cosgrove during his mani pedi sessions."  Pleased with my discovery, I set out to write a great post about the topic. Then the devil stepped in...She says, "Oh PLEASE! You have like 10 chick things!" Before I could tell my loving wife to "get thee behind me," She rattled off a list that she must have composed since hearing the Prinze speak. In no particular order, this is what my adoring wife of somewhere between 7 to 10 years says are my chick things:

1. You loooove Taylor Swift
2. You iron all your clothes
3. You have to make sure that your clothes lay right
4. You change your outfits 10 times before leaving the house
5. You won't mix fragrances 
6. You have underwear for different days of the week
7. You are crazy about your hair

I think that we can all agree that she is crazy and has a skewed view of the world and of my greatness. Here are my thoughts on her list:

1. I don't looooove any one but Nelly. Avril is by far my favorite artist and there is no secret about that
2. I have to keep all this looking good
3. I have to keep all this looking good
4. I DO NOT have outfits. An outfit is a pre-arragned pairing of clothing that cannot be mixed and/or matched with other articles. I have clothes...that may or may not need to be changed before leaving the house...because I have to keep all this looking good.
5. I don't have "fragrances." During the summer I use a "body spritz" and during the winter it's normal cologne or a body spray. I HATE having a foofy lotion smells mixed with either of those...
6. Ok..here we go. I don't generally wear underwear. So she's dead wrong here too. But, I do have specific types of underwear for different activities. Hanes Classic boxer-briefs for athletics; T-back, banana slings for dress pants....yeah....that's about it. Going commando all other times.
7. I don't even have enough hair TO style! I have small tuft up top because she won't allow me to shave my head!

 Now that we have dismissed her false claims, I think we need to look at some other men that we all know. With my keen eye (and a lot of input from Nelly), I have found some others have "chick things" that we may want to take a look at. Here we go!

Zergio: Nelly claims that he has all the same things as me (go figure). He did kick it up a notch in the clothing department: He has his own walk-in closet so that his wife's clothes won't get mixed up with his. He is also the biggest gossip that you will ever meet. Wants all the details and surrounding information so that he can draw his own conclusions. Absolutely loves Chick Flicks.

Isak Adamson: Has a thing about clothes...particularly the way the collar lies. Has a lot to say about home decor. Does the basic chick thing..."It doesn't matter" then gets upset because it, did indeed, matter.

Dusty Gardener: Is a chatty-catty. Drives a minivan. Rents a minivan when he doesn't take his own minivan on trips. Packs enough clothes to last 10 days when we go on a 3-day trip (good thing we have a minivan to get all his luggage in). Deathly afraid of bugs of all sizes. Drinks Arbor Mist (Melon White Zin) to chillax. To kick it up a notch while watching the Cowboys, the drink of choice is Zima (complete with sour apple jolly rancher).

Dallas Jabbawockee: If you look up metrosexual in the wikipedia, his picture should surely be emblazoned throughout  the reading. Shirts are tight and usually a mid-drift. The skinny-jeans are tight enough that you'll know the religious preference of his parents. Hair is perfectly coiffed. An attention whore, but with the added twist of being a tease. He doesn't try clothes on, he models them to make sure the fit just tight enough. He once showed me how to wear a jacket 3 different ways depending on the season. Is an amateur hair stylist as the situation call.  I'm fairly certain that he is on Team Edward.

The Fresh Prinze: What can I say? He has a wiki site devoted to the Cullen Coven. Hair is frosted at the tips and is messy just enough to make it look like no time or attention was put into it, meaning it must be at least 30 minutes to achieve the look - has to be hair paste. He wrote, directed, choreographed, and starred in a rock opera based on The Notebook - he was the young Noah. Asked Julius to be his under study so that the show "could go on."


I really don't believe that any guy has a "chick thing." We all have little quirks and differences and preferences that make us who we are. Sure Dallas has to lie on the bed to get his jeans on; but he can rock that ish. Maybe I have to save Dusty when we see lady bugs, but that's ok with me. Yes I have had debates with the Fresh Prinze about Alice Cullen developing a conscience on her own and how that doesn't really fit - but Twilight is a jacked up book that I will never understand. Yes Zergio refers to me as his BFFAE...that's because I am. Isak has wigged-out when British Indian and Country Cottage styles are mixed in a house; but who doesn't?

This is who we are ladies. And you wouldn't want us any other way.

Life Lessons

My birthday was yesterday and I find myself reflecting on the magnitude that is me. All the accomplishments, the high-fives, the smacked bottoms...ahhhh, my life is BRILLIANT! I was looking through some old trappings from my MHS days (Cavaliers Bitches!) and I came across a very old list tucked away in my peechee folder:

I'm sure that we can all see 1 glaring feature of this list. No, I am not talking about the authenticity that has been verified by (1) the date of "6/93" in the corner or (2) the lines in the paper showing that it has been tucked away, folded, for years. I speak of the the last item on the list. I am still trying to find 1,000 True Fans. I don't blame myself, I am far too talented to not be noticed and admired. I charge you, readers, for this lapse in my legacy! You are not getting the word out and now we all suffer for it. Thanks fans.

But I digress. Today I want to talk to you about some of the things I learned while on this earth. From my humble beginnings in Monctlair, CA (IE REPRESENT!) to my heyday here in the Big D (The Lone Star State) I have had many lessons. Some were very hard learned, while others came just at the right time. Life is that way - ups and downs will be had; it is important that we holdfast to our values and learn the important lessons.

My dad is great man. Many of the lessons that I still hold to today were taught by my Pop. I am almost a whole generation younger than my brother and sister - 9 and 11 years younger than them. I am thankful today that I grew up with old school parents. This means that I grew up with old school values, ethics, morals, and traditions.

I remember when I was about 11 years old sitting at home when my dad came home from a long day of work. He was a land surveyor; back then it meant he was awesome at math and had to carry a lot of equipment in the field. He walked in mentally and physically fatigue. I was a little punk and didn't know any better, so I started to complain that I was hungry. My mom was not home, just me and Pop. He said to give him a minute and he would make me dinner. After about 10 minutes, I kicked up the complaining again. I will never forget what happened next. Pop walks out of his room and walks to the kitchen. As he walks passed me he said "I'm making this for you because I said I would, not because I want to" - that may seem harsh to some of you, but from that day forward I understood what it meant to be a man. If you say you're going to do something, you do it. What ever it takes. You make sure that you keep your word. In those days, sometimes all you had was your word, and if it wasn't good, what did it say about who you are?

As far back as I can remember, my dad always told me that I needed to where "North" was. It was easy for me to determine back then. We lived at the base of the San Bernardino Mountain range. If I was outside, I just needed to find the mountains and I knew that I was facing north. I loved spending time with my dad. We would go all over the Inland Empire, San Gabriel Mountains, San Bernadino Mountains, Los Angeles county and every time he would ask me, "which way is north?" I would look for the mountains and point. He would let me go to job sites with him and he'd unfurl a huge map across the hood of his truck. These maps were massive, even by today's standards. I would look at contour lines, buildings, roads, land marks, etc., and my dad would show me where "north" was on the map. As a kid, I so took this for granted. I didn't even realize what I was being taught at the time. My dad was making sure that no matter where I was in life, that I would always be able to find my way. He gave me something that can never be taken away. Land Navigation in the U.S. Army was easy money. Even today when I look at blueprints and AutoCAD for hours on end, the drawings just make sense. I can be any where on this planet and never feel lost. All because my pop took the time to teach me something so simple. It is very empowering. I'm sure that with the GPS enabled phones, people don't understand the magnitude of this. You will when you're driving in a major city on a cloudy day :)

Every summer and every weekend, my dad would walk in to my room at 7AM and ask me if I was going to sleep in all day. That simply meant that there was a job to do and I was meant to do it. It would be worse if he left before I woke up. My dad is all about manual labor building character (I used this with Bobert Creamer a few times). Once he left me a letter when I was maybe 14 years old:

FIX THE FENCE. BUCKET OF NAILS AND HAMMER ARE OUTSIDE.
-DAD

I had my Lucky Charms and went out back. There was an old coffee can of old rusted nails, an old hammer from when my dad was 14, and a huge pile of wood slats that I needed to get up. That was my dad. We would buy him new tools, electric tools, fancy tools... but he just used what he had and I did the same. He always made sure that I had what I needed to accomplish my job. He would show me how to do it first, then would watch me for a minute, then I was off to take on the world. Even then, he was teaching me about life. I may make a mistake here and there, but he had taught me right and trusted me. He also taught me that as long as I was going to be at his house that there was plenty of work to go around.

I thank you, Pop, for molding me into who I am today. The world thanks you, without you my greatness would never have been. What kind of sad place would this be? No worries, Pop. I'll handle this one for you! You're Welcome Cyberspace - Happy Birthday to me!