Looking back, I knew that night would change everything. I'd never be able to take back the words once they left my mouth. I sat there nervously going over what needed to be done. Replaying every piece - it had to be perfect. The crowd may not be pleased, but this time it wasn't for them. Tonight was all about the love of my life. Tonight, I propose to Nelly.
I hear the crowd screaming while backstage. Unruly drunkards doing all they can willing the next act to stage. The melee of urban music and cougar pheromones was thick - the kind of night that usually feeds my insatiable ego. Not tonight. For the first and only time I can remember, I'm nervous. It's not the anxiousness that comes with performing; this is deeper. Surely I know that she love me, but to bear my soul and ask her hand in marriage, this makes dragonflies stir in my stomach. The manner in which I was going to propose, and in this setting. But I've come to far and she is all that want. She is my life.
I need to clear my mind. I steel my nerves and think on the preparation, the effort, that lead to tonight. Nelly's friends, The Captain and Tennille, are avid strip club goers. Connoisseurs really. They love the human body in all of its magnificence - male and female alike. They especially love that form while it's gyrating around to music, covered in oil, all while dollars rain down. This is why I choose them for this very important task. Nelly must be at the center stage precisely at 11:33PM. This is when the feature act would hit the stage and change her life.
The Captain and Tennille decide to take Nelly strip-club hopping for her birthday. There is no shortage of male entertainment in Southern California. Their plan is to start drinking early, head to De Ja Vu, maybe a drink at The Spearmint Rhino, then hit the harder clubs: Wieners n Wine and The Meat Locker.
I had been dancing on and off at the Meat Locker for the previous 5 months. I'm not one for attention or having cougars look at me like a helpless prey but the extra money is helpful. I've already cleared tonight with the manager. He is not happy about having me proclaim my love for only 1 lady tonight - it takes away from the illusion that we provide all of our fans. Reluctantly he agrees and offers up the center stage. Rolando aka The Golden Banana was not performing tonight and I am needed to fill the spot.
All of this has to be a sign from God. None of this can be coincidence. Tonight was set in motion by Our Lord Almighty and I had my part to do. Gaining this understanding renews my confidence. If God be for me, who can stand against me?
I snap back into reality as Huggy Bear's set concludes. No time for second thoughts, no backing out, it is time. I hear the DJ announce me to the ravenous crowd, "Ladies! It is now TIME! Make some noise for your very own CARAMEL PONY!"
The club erupts. I walk out in my signature white leather cowboy gear - my skin providing the caramel. "In Da Club" by 50 Cent is blaring over the speakers trying to contain the primal screams of the ladies. The plexiglass stage has lighting mounted above and below and my body is washed in deep greens and purples. There I stand at center stage wearing a cowboy hat, leather vest, chaps, slingshot and boots. Scanning the crowd I see my Nelly. For the next 3 1/2 minutes she is all that exists. I don't feel the dollars being stuffed into my G, I don't hear the obscenities hurled towards me, I don't even remember losing my stetson. I perform for the only woman that will ever matter to me.
As Nelly's eyes move from my goods up my torso she finally finds my eyes. I pull her, The Captain and Tennille all on to stage. I have Nelly sit down while I hump the air in front of her. The Captain and Tennille undo my fringed chaps and back away. I am there only wearing my white leather slingshot. Oiled up, with my heart racing, I take a knee. While still holding my lover's gaze, I gesture to The Captain and she gives me a little box. I take no measure of the crowd. I do not know if music is playing. I am alone in Nelly's eyes now.
I put my heart and very being on the line and say, "Nelly. I promise to love you the rest of your life. Will you marry me?"
Those were not the words that I had planned. That was not the place I wanted to propose. My original plan was Mexico at sunset on the beach. Romantic words were and still are in my heart. Much like that night, our life has not always gone according to my plan. Much better though that God's plan be realized.
I love you Nelly. Happy Anniversary.
Cyberspace, love till it hurts. You're welcome.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Big Deuce: Bathroom Etiquette Revisited
Maybe you remember my first set of rules about potty time. I had done a great service by informing the masses on how to act while in the restroom. I will not say that this fell on deaf ears....only that I didn't fully understand just how jacked up men can be while in the throne room.
Did I ever tell you the story of me peeing in college? No, you say? Well then! Here it is:
I have a good buddy whom we shall call Mico Barrio. Mico and I don't see each other often, but when we do it's high-fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, maybe a hug, or a butt slap here and there. A very manly type of friendship. He lives in Hot-Lanta and I'm in The Big D. Last week Mico is in town and we're hanging out, talking ish, and generally having a good time. I have to go onesies and make my way to the restroom. About 5 minutes later, Mico walks in. We DO NOT acknowledge one another. Absolutely NO eye contact. I finish my business, wash my hands, and head out the door. A few minutes later Mico arrives and we pick up right where we left off.
THIS IS HOW IT WORKS! If a man is dropping a deuce or writing his name in pee, DO NOT BOTHER HIM. Unlessa madman Muhammed Ali has entered the building, there is no reason for a bathroom conversation between men. Ever. Mico is from the South! The Dirty Dirty. I'm from the WESSS SIIIIDE! This is a universal law; it DOES NOT change based on geo within the United States.
This brings me to FLAGGING. The only items that a man should ever have in a restroom is a newspaper or a magazine. It doesn't matter what section of the paper nor does it matter the type of magazine. Those are the ONLY items any man should have in the potty. We all have "smartphones" and are used to quick access to our world. I understand that you want to read this blog while you're dropping off kids at the pool, or maybe check your facebook timeline, maybe form a quick tweet. Do not do it! It can wait. Because if you take that phone in there, you'll take that phone out of the stall and place it on the table. Or worse, let someone else use it to make a quick call.
I don't know if this next one is a millennial thing....but amongst the millennial men...they not only flag their phones...they take calls mid-stream! They facebook while letting it loose in the urinal. Tweet and form emails while their shaft is in hand. I'd like to say something to them, maybe punch them in the face, but then I would be violating the law of not speaking to another man while in the rest room.
The phone is just one part of the puzzle. What about the iPod/iPad/Tablet? What if a dude is flagging all of his technology??? What if that iPad you were using for Angry Birds has spent some time in the deuce room? What if that Kindle was used in place of a real newspaper - what if that's its main function!?! And here it sits...on the coffee table.
I cannot speak for the women, but neither can I imagine ladies bringing items into the bathroom stall. Reading, tweeting, facebooking, talking on the phone while sitting on the throne - women don't do that! I just don't see a mom fleeing to the bathroom for a moment's peace and staying in there longer than needed just to get away from everyone - Doesn't happen. I do understand that women can, and do, talk to each other while in the restroom. They fix hair, reapply make up, adjust boobs, talk bad about their dates...it's what women do.
Gentlemen, let's take a queue from the ladies. Don't bring anything into restroom unless it's staying in there. Don't talk to me or even look at me if we happen to be in the same public restroom. Don't feel that you need to answer phone calls, read email, text, facebook, tweet, or check-in while in mid-stream or doing poopies. You can wait. And so can we.
Cyberpace, keep it sanitary.
You're welcome
Did I ever tell you the story of me peeing in college? No, you say? Well then! Here it is:
I was a freshman...young and sassy...maybe ready to experiment... I had an early morning class (classic freshman mistake). The campus was dead on this particular morning. I had the urge for a onesie and walk into the mens' restroom. It was very clean and completely empty. There must have been 20 urinals all lined up (no divider) so I step up to the 4th one. Again, it's empty so I figure that I don't have to go to the far end. I unzip, relax, and settle in. I write my name then go into some math; I had drank a lot of water that morning. It must have been a complex problem that I was working because I didn't even notice that someone else has walked in...I am unaware of his presence...until....HE PULLS UP RIGHT NEXT TO ME! 19 other urinals and 10 stalls...he pulls up right next to me! With no divider!!!
I graduated in October of 2000. That day in 1998 still haunts me.
THIS IS HOW IT WORKS! If a man is dropping a deuce or writing his name in pee, DO NOT BOTHER HIM. Unless
This brings me to FLAGGING. The only items that a man should ever have in a restroom is a newspaper or a magazine. It doesn't matter what section of the paper nor does it matter the type of magazine. Those are the ONLY items any man should have in the potty. We all have "smartphones" and are used to quick access to our world. I understand that you want to read this blog while you're dropping off kids at the pool, or maybe check your facebook timeline, maybe form a quick tweet. Do not do it! It can wait. Because if you take that phone in there, you'll take that phone out of the stall and place it on the table. Or worse, let someone else use it to make a quick call.
I don't know if this next one is a millennial thing....but amongst the millennial men...they not only flag their phones...they take calls mid-stream! They facebook while letting it loose in the urinal. Tweet and form emails while their shaft is in hand. I'd like to say something to them, maybe punch them in the face, but then I would be violating the law of not speaking to another man while in the rest room.
The phone is just one part of the puzzle. What about the iPod/iPad/Tablet? What if a dude is flagging all of his technology??? What if that iPad you were using for Angry Birds has spent some time in the deuce room? What if that Kindle was used in place of a real newspaper - what if that's its main function!?! And here it sits...on the coffee table.
I cannot speak for the women, but neither can I imagine ladies bringing items into the bathroom stall. Reading, tweeting, facebooking, talking on the phone while sitting on the throne - women don't do that! I just don't see a mom fleeing to the bathroom for a moment's peace and staying in there longer than needed just to get away from everyone - Doesn't happen. I do understand that women can, and do, talk to each other while in the restroom. They fix hair, reapply make up, adjust boobs, talk bad about their dates...it's what women do.
Gentlemen, let's take a queue from the ladies. Don't bring anything into restroom unless it's staying in there. Don't talk to me or even look at me if we happen to be in the same public restroom. Don't feel that you need to answer phone calls, read email, text, facebook, tweet, or check-in while in mid-stream or doing poopies. You can wait. And so can we.
Cyberpace, keep it sanitary.
You're welcome
Monday, October 15, 2012
Can You Believe I'm a Dad?
Some may have seen an awesome video that was put together by my wife for my birthday. It stars my children rockin out like the Jabbawockeez. You should check it out; like me, it's EPIC. After I had laughed at how crazy my wife and kids are, it started to dawn on me...what the hell am I doing to my kids!!??
You all know that you're pretty messed up from how our mom and dad, aunts and uncles, and/or grandparents raised you. Anyone that thinks they are normal, let me give you a little hint: You're all effed up.
If we look at my childhood, we can see some physiological scarring events. A couple of examples: The Cucuy and La Llorona. These two are worse than Freddy and Jason on any day. In fact if Freddy and Jason grew up as Mexicans, they would have been scared shitless and would never have done anything bad. Because any little Mexican boy or girl can tell you...that if you're bad...The Cucuy will come and take you away. And if you mess with paranormal stuff....the Llorona may show up in your room as you sleep.
Those two supernatural beings pretty much effed me up till I was 30 years old - Thanks, Mom.
So, I figured that I would NOT mess up my kids with crazy stories of boogie men and crying ladies. In stead, I spend as much time with them as possible. I know that on the surface this sounds freakin great. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend all of their waking moments with me? I now see that my influence may have gone places that I never intended. And my filter works about half the time I think it does.
I have 3 little ones: My oldest girl, Cheech (age 10); My precious baby girl, Toots (age 7) and the boy, The Boy (age 6). Here are some things that I've heard around the house this last week:
My biggest faux pas may come from what I have told the kids is our "family motto." Here in The Great State of Texas things are a little different. We live in a bubble that it not like the real world. Very low crime rate, highly educated families, well-to-do people, and families of strong faith is all around us. Some of these crazy mofo's have taught their children that they have family mission statements. I always thought that this was weird and funny. Sooooooo...I told the kids that we have one too....
You all know that you're pretty messed up from how our mom and dad, aunts and uncles, and/or grandparents raised you. Anyone that thinks they are normal, let me give you a little hint: You're all effed up.
If we look at my childhood, we can see some physiological scarring events. A couple of examples: The Cucuy and La Llorona. These two are worse than Freddy and Jason on any day. In fact if Freddy and Jason grew up as Mexicans, they would have been scared shitless and would never have done anything bad. Because any little Mexican boy or girl can tell you...that if you're bad...The Cucuy will come and take you away. And if you mess with paranormal stuff....the Llorona may show up in your room as you sleep.
Those two supernatural beings pretty much effed me up till I was 30 years old - Thanks, Mom.
So, I figured that I would NOT mess up my kids with crazy stories of boogie men and crying ladies. In stead, I spend as much time with them as possible. I know that on the surface this sounds freakin great. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend all of their waking moments with me? I now see that my influence may have gone places that I never intended. And my filter works about half the time I think it does.
I have 3 little ones: My oldest girl, Cheech (age 10); My precious baby girl, Toots (age 7) and the boy, The Boy (age 6). Here are some things that I've heard around the house this last week:
Toots: Move. You're in my seatI see that some of my language and attitude has rubbed off on my little angels. I'm not just talking about my casual come-and-go time...I mean our family building time may be taking a detour. You may find this hard to believe, but every morning we pray as a family. We also read from The Bible after dinner (we eat as a family) and have a discussions around what God is teaching us. Here is a snippet of this Thursday night's talk. As a background, we are reading verses from Proverbs:
Cheech: Well, you got up so I took it
Toots: Suck it. Move it
Me: Cheech, let me have some of your water
Cheech: It's all gone. I drank it all
The Boy: She effed you, Dad
Cheech: Dad, [my friend] didn't vote for me
Toots: That's 'cause she's a hater
The Boy: Yeah Cheech. She's just a hater
Cheech: I know....she's all jacked up
That was how I tied together Proverbs 10:4 and 3:34 - you're welcome. Nelly was not happy about the "double birds."Cheech: Oh Dad! This kind of ties into that verse we read last week..."lazy hands make for poverty"Me: That's right Cheech!Toots: Yeah Daddy, because you worked hard you are Top Cat and get to go to HawaiiMe: Very good Toots. Would it be right of me to work hard and honor God then brag about it and flip double-birds then say "haha look where I'm going"?All the kids: Noooooooo
My biggest faux pas may come from what I have told the kids is our "family motto." Here in The Great State of Texas things are a little different. We live in a bubble that it not like the real world. Very low crime rate, highly educated families, well-to-do people, and families of strong faith is all around us. Some of these crazy mofo's have taught their children that they have family mission statements. I always thought that this was weird and funny. Sooooooo...I told the kids that we have one too....
We stand for TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND THE AMERICAN WAY
Some of you may not understand why this is funny....others are judging me.... most are probably laughing. The above motto was borrowed from Superman. Actually, it is EXACTLY what he stands for...so I figured it was good enough for my family.
This started out as a joke. Whenever and whatever the occasion, I would throw that out there:
We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Not Bullying!We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Giving Our Very Best!We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and Helping Others!We stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way and........
Anyone can ask my kids what we stand for and all 3 will give you the Superman motto and add in what they feel is important at the time.
Don't judge, at least they know that the boogie man won't come take them away if they don't finish all of their dinner.
Cyberspace, spend time with your kids.
You're welcome
Monday, September 24, 2012
Coffee Mate
I never liked coffee. Not the smell. Not the taste. Not the jitters. Not the shakes. When Starbucks was the "in" thing, I was still at Cinnabon - I love the Cinnabon.
I may not like coffee but I love company. I have 2 buddies - Jello and Manjee. These guys are good guys. Stand up guys. They like comic books and video games; go-carts and pizza; wings and beer....but they also like coffee. Now, when I say "coffee", I don't really mean "coffee". I'm talking about drinks that I can't pronounce and could never order. These drinks have names like "Frappalingus" and "Machallatio" - very authentic french names since we all know that coffee beans only come from Paris. These drinks conjure up dreams of tasteful bliss....
One day Jello and Manjee invite me out for a Cup o' Joe. I thought, "Sure, why the hell not? They're my buddies! They wouldn't lead me astray!" How wrong I was. It was a cool Autumn afternoon in the City of Orange when the incident occurred. We were winding down from a day of slave-wage-labor when Jello offers up a so-called coffee drink. It is key to this story to know I haven't actually had coffee for more than 5 years at this point. I don't exactly remember why I didn't drink coffee, just that it's a bad idea. Because I'm a great friend and attention whore, I go with my buddies. Jello orders a double-shot, extra-hot, low-foam, goats-milk, Carmallatio with extra llatio. I had never seen a drink like it! It was like a hot ice-cream sundae in a foam cup! Next up was Manjee. He went with the quad-cream, no foam, extra whip-cream, Iced Mochalingus with double lingus for good measure. This was an ice-cream sundae...with sprinkles to boot!
I order the same thing.
About 10 minutes later I remember why I didn't drink coffee. Coffee, much like prunes, is a natural laxative. I'm talking about DEUCES WILD type of laxative. I thought that the jitters and shakes came from the effect caffeine has on my body...not true...it's trying to control the ensuing "prairie dogging" that occurs when coffee enters my body that affects me so. At this point, I'm concentrating on keeping the cheeks together while Jello and Manjee begin a debate over the best Simpson's episode ever. I'm starting to sweat and can hear my stomach rumbling while a brick begins to form. This isn't a nice little house brick. Oh no Cyberspace....this is a cinder block that can be used as someone's backyard wall. I excuse myself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of "I think I'm dying...an alien pod is in my body...if I don't make it...tell my wife and kids that I've always loved them...."
Some years passed and I somehow forget about the incident. I am now living in the Great State of Texas. I need to transport my sweet ass Toyota Matrix from SoCal (Chino Bitches!) to the Big D (Dallas BITCHES!). What better way than to drive it with my lovely bride? And because it's blazing ass hot in Cali, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas I figure we should leave around 11 PM.
I've done the drive between Dallas and Los Angeles about 12 times. Every time I do it, I man up. I drive it straight - 24 hours straight. No breaks. No hotels. No sleeping. Eat and drink in the car. Only stop for potty breaks. I'm a MAN! A Man's Man! Not a Metro/Pretty man...Oh no! I GOTS THIS!
I must have been extremely fatigued on this day. We barely make it from LA to Blythe when I'm ready for a nap. I've only driven 3 hours and I'm going rounds with the Sand Man...and he's winning. I pull into a gas station and look for anything with caffiene. I find a bottled Ice-Frapalingus and decide that this is the best drink to get me from California to Texas. I take it one gulp! I'm ready to go! I CAN'T BE BEAT! I WON'T BE BEAT!
I'm not sure if it was because the drink was cold or because I was extra-tired, but it takes a couple of hours to completely infect my body....then things get bad. Really bad.
I make through Arizona, but when we hit the New Mexico state line an out of body experience begins. My stomach starts the familiar rumbling...but now I have the sweats. It's like I'm TD Jakes on Easter Sunday. It takes all of my concentration to simultaneously keep the cheeks together and the car on the road. There will be no prairie dogging on this day my friends. If the cheeks fail, it's Groundhog's day...and there is no shadow. I drive into Las Cruces, NM sitting sideways, my clothes drenched, sweat running into my eyes, body shaking, teeth and cheeks clenched with the force of a prehistoric alligator. Hallucinations begin and I know that my time is short. I find a McDonald's off the side of the freeway. Nelly may have seen the Golden Arches; I saw a porcelain throne on which I would be seated.
All I remember is telling Nelly to order herself breakfast and I would be back. We lost 2 1/2 hours that day my friends. Every time I thought I had fully purged my temple, I was mistaken. By the time I left the stall I was only wearing a sock. You all know what I'm talking about - when you get so hot and things are going so violently wrong you just start taking clothes off. I collect myself and my clothes off the stall floor; the both of us a crumpled mass. I begin to dress and am a bit light-headed from the total-body-cleanse that just occurred. I'm not sure, but I think I saw an angel in that bathroom. He looked into my soul. He didn't say anything, yet he did. Not with words...with his eyes, "Tell the world of your story, Famous Ray. For the masses must know of your bodily functions. You may never know the impact you will have and the Glory that it will bring His Kingdom..."
Cyberspace, stay away from coffee.
You're welcome.
I may not like coffee but I love company. I have 2 buddies - Jello and Manjee. These guys are good guys. Stand up guys. They like comic books and video games; go-carts and pizza; wings and beer....but they also like coffee. Now, when I say "coffee", I don't really mean "coffee". I'm talking about drinks that I can't pronounce and could never order. These drinks have names like "Frappalingus" and "Machallatio" - very authentic french names since we all know that coffee beans only come from Paris. These drinks conjure up dreams of tasteful bliss....
One day Jello and Manjee invite me out for a Cup o' Joe. I thought, "Sure, why the hell not? They're my buddies! They wouldn't lead me astray!" How wrong I was. It was a cool Autumn afternoon in the City of Orange when the incident occurred. We were winding down from a day of slave-wage-labor when Jello offers up a so-called coffee drink. It is key to this story to know I haven't actually had coffee for more than 5 years at this point. I don't exactly remember why I didn't drink coffee, just that it's a bad idea. Because I'm a great friend and attention whore, I go with my buddies. Jello orders a double-shot, extra-hot, low-foam, goats-milk, Carmallatio with extra llatio. I had never seen a drink like it! It was like a hot ice-cream sundae in a foam cup! Next up was Manjee. He went with the quad-cream, no foam, extra whip-cream, Iced Mochalingus with double lingus for good measure. This was an ice-cream sundae...with sprinkles to boot!
I order the same thing.
About 10 minutes later I remember why I didn't drink coffee. Coffee, much like prunes, is a natural laxative. I'm talking about DEUCES WILD type of laxative. I thought that the jitters and shakes came from the effect caffeine has on my body...not true...it's trying to control the ensuing "prairie dogging" that occurs when coffee enters my body that affects me so. At this point, I'm concentrating on keeping the cheeks together while Jello and Manjee begin a debate over the best Simpson's episode ever. I'm starting to sweat and can hear my stomach rumbling while a brick begins to form. This isn't a nice little house brick. Oh no Cyberspace....this is a cinder block that can be used as someone's backyard wall. I excuse myself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of "I think I'm dying...an alien pod is in my body...if I don't make it...tell my wife and kids that I've always loved them...."
Some years passed and I somehow forget about the incident. I am now living in the Great State of Texas. I need to transport my sweet ass Toyota Matrix from SoCal (Chino Bitches!) to the Big D (Dallas BITCHES!). What better way than to drive it with my lovely bride? And because it's blazing ass hot in Cali, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas I figure we should leave around 11 PM.
I've done the drive between Dallas and Los Angeles about 12 times. Every time I do it, I man up. I drive it straight - 24 hours straight. No breaks. No hotels. No sleeping. Eat and drink in the car. Only stop for potty breaks. I'm a MAN! A Man's Man! Not a Metro/Pretty man...Oh no! I GOTS THIS!
I must have been extremely fatigued on this day. We barely make it from LA to Blythe when I'm ready for a nap. I've only driven 3 hours and I'm going rounds with the Sand Man...and he's winning. I pull into a gas station and look for anything with caffiene. I find a bottled Ice-Frapalingus and decide that this is the best drink to get me from California to Texas. I take it one gulp! I'm ready to go! I CAN'T BE BEAT! I WON'T BE BEAT!
I'm not sure if it was because the drink was cold or because I was extra-tired, but it takes a couple of hours to completely infect my body....then things get bad. Really bad.
I make through Arizona, but when we hit the New Mexico state line an out of body experience begins. My stomach starts the familiar rumbling...but now I have the sweats. It's like I'm TD Jakes on Easter Sunday. It takes all of my concentration to simultaneously keep the cheeks together and the car on the road. There will be no prairie dogging on this day my friends. If the cheeks fail, it's Groundhog's day...and there is no shadow. I drive into Las Cruces, NM sitting sideways, my clothes drenched, sweat running into my eyes, body shaking, teeth and cheeks clenched with the force of a prehistoric alligator. Hallucinations begin and I know that my time is short. I find a McDonald's off the side of the freeway. Nelly may have seen the Golden Arches; I saw a porcelain throne on which I would be seated.
All I remember is telling Nelly to order herself breakfast and I would be back. We lost 2 1/2 hours that day my friends. Every time I thought I had fully purged my temple, I was mistaken. By the time I left the stall I was only wearing a sock. You all know what I'm talking about - when you get so hot and things are going so violently wrong you just start taking clothes off. I collect myself and my clothes off the stall floor; the both of us a crumpled mass. I begin to dress and am a bit light-headed from the total-body-cleanse that just occurred. I'm not sure, but I think I saw an angel in that bathroom. He looked into my soul. He didn't say anything, yet he did. Not with words...with his eyes, "Tell the world of your story, Famous Ray. For the masses must know of your bodily functions. You may never know the impact you will have and the Glory that it will bring His Kingdom..."
Cyberspace, stay away from coffee.
You're welcome.
Monday, September 17, 2012
I Love My Mommy
Like most Latino/Hispanic boys, I grew up very close to my mom. As an example: I cried the first day of kindergarten when mom left me to the wolves. Actually, I cried every day of kindergarten - I didn't know if mom was ever coming back to get me.
This is not to say that I'm a "mama's boy"...just that I love my mom. I have story upon story of the crazy things she's done and said over all the years of my glorious, sexy existence. Most of them I cannot disclose because she will either stab me or deny it all. This post is dedicated to my mom. I learned very early on that she would always be there to love me and put me in my place...even if it meant throwing vegetables at me while I ran away from her down the aisles of the local Albertson's. As a side note - I was a spirited little boy :)
My mom has a very loud and in-your-face personality. It's a wonder that I grew up to be so humble and introverted Ever since I could remember, she's had platinum blonde hair - think Marilyn Monroe, but really more Jane Mansfield. She would never leave the house or let anyone see her without being done up; full make-up and hair every day. She's very quick witted and sharp shooter when it comes to quips and come-backs. As another side note - you can see that I didn't want to marry any one like my mom...riiiiiiiiiiggght....let's move on.
Like any other Mexican-American mom, there are just somethings you can count on:
Now that's just the basics. That's what it takes to be a Latina mom raising kids. My mom did that and upped the ante:
Mom was sad when I joined the Army, but never let me see her cry. Mom worried about zombies eating my brain while I was deployed to Haiti, but she never sent me clipping from her tabloids. Mom never said she hates my tattoos, but when she saw the first one she sat down asked for water and prayed to the Virgin Mary for my soul.
This is not to say that I'm a "mama's boy"...just that I love my mom. I have story upon story of the crazy things she's done and said over all the years of my glorious, sexy existence. Most of them I cannot disclose because she will either stab me or deny it all. This post is dedicated to my mom. I learned very early on that she would always be there to love me and put me in my place...even if it meant throwing vegetables at me while I ran away from her down the aisles of the local Albertson's. As a side note - I was a spirited little boy :)
My mom has a very loud and in-your-face personality. It's a wonder that I grew up to be so humble and introverted Ever since I could remember, she's had platinum blonde hair - think Marilyn Monroe, but really more Jane Mansfield. She would never leave the house or let anyone see her without being done up; full make-up and hair every day. She's very quick witted and sharp shooter when it comes to quips and come-backs. As another side note - you can see that I didn't want to marry any one like my mom...riiiiiiiiiiggght....let's move on.
Like any other Mexican-American mom, there are just somethings you can count on:
- Mom will do what she wants when she wants without regard or notice - I remember one birthday when I was first married. Nelly called my mom to let her know we were going to stop by. Mom told her that she was ordering a cake. Nelly told her that we had one and would bring it with us...Mom replied, "but THIS is his favorite." We had 2 cakes that year.
- Mom will put your friends in-line if they act up - I think I was 12 years old when chased X Obesco around our house with a plant in her hand...she was going to make sure that he never mouthed off in our house ever again and a pot upside his head was just the reminder he needed.
- Mom will pack food for you to take even when you're not hungry - does anyone remember (or still do) the 2 paper plates wrapped in tin foil? I don't mean 2 separate plates with different food...I mean all the food you can put on a single hefty plate with another on top as a cover then held together with reynolds wrap. Yeah...you memer....Or the food is put into empty plastic butter containers that she keeps in the cupboard with the plates and bowls. Sometimes the lids don't match.
- Mom will make tamales every Christmas - so we have something to unwrap if we don't get presents....I love that joke and so do you. Don't judge me.
Now that's just the basics. That's what it takes to be a Latina mom raising kids. My mom did that and upped the ante:
- I dated an Asian girl in college. I told mom that my girlfriend had me some cookies...and, no lie, this was mom's response, "Oh, she made you fortune cookies?"
- While still in college, my lady friend Lama Chops stopped by the house after a group presentation. As Lama was telling mom about it, mom cuts her off and says, "Were you nervous? Probably not huh. You were probably just looking at Raymond all in love [then she starts making googly eyes off into space and tilts her head]."
- Nelly and I showed mom some pics from our honeymoon. We had snorkeled off of the Baja California coast. As mom is looking at pictures of us in the ocean she sees Nelly in a swim suit, "Oh! Who is this in a bikini!? Nelly, is that you? Oh look...you have hips...you're going to be ok."
I have to admit that my mom is one of the funniest people I know. She may also be a bit crazy. In either case, I grew up very loved. There was never a doubt in my mind that mom would always care for me and want the best for me. When I was 17 it had occurred to me - mom may not always agree with my decisions, but she will always love me.
Mom was sad when I joined the Army, but never let me see her cry. Mom worried about zombies eating my brain while I was deployed to Haiti, but she never sent me clipping from her tabloids. Mom never said she hates my tattoos, but when she saw the first one she sat down asked for water and prayed to the Virgin Mary for my soul.
It's a miracle that I turned out as normal as I am.
I love you mom!
Cyberspace, you're welcome.
Cyberspace, you're welcome.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Metroman and the World of Tomorrow
Maybe I've changed since my humble beginnings in the Inland Empire (shout out: Montclair, BITCHES!). Granted, I've become a bit "soft"...I traded in DJ Quick for Taylor Swift...sold the Camaro for a Lexus...no more fried weenies in tortillas, it's all about dry-aged filet....I don't think that this makes me a metrosexual...just a lil soft.
Maybe the underwear story changed your perception and it got me to thinking about who I am and my awesomeness.
As I reflected on my man-panties, I pondered over mymortality metrosexuality. I've reviewed the evidence of my sexy-awesomeness and I'm not really sure that I'm a Metro...not that there is anything wrong with Metros...I believe they should have all the rights afforded to all Americans. I'm just not convinced that I'm metro. Maybe I've caught a metrosexually transmitted disease - you know when you spend so much time with them that you some habits stick.
Let us look at my greatness and you can judge me (it will be like we're married):
I haven't always been like this..Do you remember The Day the Sexy Died? Well Sexy Is Alive Today BITCHES! Like Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Lee before him, I have fought my way through a broken back and am healed! Skinny jeans and extra small white T's are back! And the kittens have come back around....that's the real measure of sexy isn't it? I don't think that I've become Metro...I am just celebrating my good looks. And you should too.
I wasn't happy being the pretty, husky guy. Now that I am again that Hot, Delicious, Sexy, Smelling-all-Good guy I possibly took it over board. I know, I know....I would never push the limits of anything. I may have done it this one time. I don't think so. My haters think that I have taken it too far - and that's perfect for me.
I would write more, but it's time for my mani/pedi, then a latte with my bestie - he can be such a bitch when I'm late.
Cyberspace, feel free to judge and comment. I love the drama!
Maybe the underwear story changed your perception and it got me to thinking about who I am and my awesomeness.
As I reflected on my man-panties, I pondered over my
Let us look at my greatness and you can judge me (it will be like we're married):
- I rock designer underwear that resemble man panties. They are a soft cotton lyrca, though the mesh ones are a spandex/nylon blend.
- My hair is cut every 2 weeks at precisely the same time. It's a salon - I have a standing appointment for my hair like an old lady.
- Eyebrows - I have 2 of them. I don't wax; could you imagine Nelly allowing a women to pour hot wax on me!? I don't thread, that looks awful painful. I don't pluck - that's what you do to chickens. I tweeze.
- There may have been a time or two when I shaved my armpits. That time may have been this week. It's a bother when I'm getting all swole at the gym..and it's way to make my guns look bigger.
- During the summer months, I tan. I don't mean that I go swimming or play soccer outdoors. I mean that I deliberately get mostly nekkid and lie down in the hot, hot sun so that I can be my delicious brown self that I was born to be. Nelly loves it...and so do you.
- The Goods have been shaved to resemble a baby seal. In my defense, when you rock designer thongs you can't be all scraggly. I've looked into the "Full Brazilian", but Nelly vetoed that one right out of the gate.
- I lotion up my arms and legs..but it's a specific lotion This lotion is not overpowering in smell or greasy to the touch. It gives my skin a nice satin look and feel.
- I use a different lotion for my face. Because all of this lotion use, I have soft hands. So soft that when I need to open a beer bottle, I have to wrap my shirt around the cap first. And that beer isn't for me...I drink apple martinis with pixie sticks.
- Body spray. Not cologne. And this is why my lotions can't be odorific...
- All of my t-shirts are v-necked and sized for a medium dude even though I'm a large sized man.
I haven't always been like this..Do you remember The Day the Sexy Died? Well Sexy Is Alive Today BITCHES! Like Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Lee before him, I have fought my way through a broken back and am healed! Skinny jeans and extra small white T's are back! And the kittens have come back around....that's the real measure of sexy isn't it? I don't think that I've become Metro...I am just celebrating my good looks. And you should too.
I wasn't happy being the pretty, husky guy. Now that I am again that Hot, Delicious, Sexy, Smelling-all-Good guy I possibly took it over board. I know, I know....I would never push the limits of anything. I may have done it this one time. I don't think so. My haters think that I have taken it too far - and that's perfect for me.
I would write more, but it's time for my mani/pedi, then a latte with my bestie - he can be such a bitch when I'm late.
Cyberspace, feel free to judge and comment. I love the drama!
Monday, September 3, 2012
Thong You Very Much
My New Year's Resolution may have gone awry. As many of you know, I go commando 98% of the time. What is "Going Commando" you ask? Well, it has been called many things: free ballin', all out there, easy access, ready for action, etc... It all refers to not wearing underwear. On January 1st of what may be our last year on the planet, I declared to no longer go commando.
I know what you're thinking - awesome people don't need underwear! And I have to admit that I agree. Wearing chones everyday makes me feel too normal. I started out strong but I began feeling restricted - not only my twig-n-berries...but my whole being was under wraps. This would not do. Famous Ray sits quiet for no man! As I thought about my normality it occurred to me - this is just the man trying to keep me down...make me conform to what "society" says is right...what so-called "classy" people would call proper. I'll tell you this: I have no class - this would not do.
So I took to the Internet seeking a change to my apparel. As an FYI, when you google "sexy ass man underwear that let you be free and on display" you better not have the kids around. As my search returned some interesting results I began to see that fashion had changed....particularly in men's briefs.
I quickly realized that Hanes or Fruit of the Loom would not do for my jewels. I needed special gear to keep the boys homed. As I dug into my research I found that designer male underwear don't have a trap door...the pilot doesn't have an escape hatch...there's no fire escape for the fireman...there is no little pocket sewn into the front of men's underwear to hold change or gum. They are "man panties."
And you are absolutely right - I am down with rocking man panties. So much so that I began to research only man panties. Now, this may not be the correct term, but make no mistake...I wear man panties.
I had searched and searched for close to 90 days looking for panties that would make me feel like a man again. I settled on what was marketed at "Boxer Briefs". Now, these are not really boxer briefs...they are really boy shorts. These boy shorts have extra material sewn in so that the gonads are displayed. I wore these for about a week when I just couldn't take it any more. They were small and tight in the right places and had the team out of the dugout, but DAMN - they were hot!
So back to searching. I then decided on "briefs". These are not real briefs - these are bikinis...you know...where 3/4's of the cheeks are covered and all the thigh is showing. I really like these. Big Jim and The Twins are out front and my cheeks are out enough to make me feel like I'm sticking it to the man - damning his society and their rules. To kick it up a notch, I ordered a few pair in mesh! Well, it was hot and the mesh keeps me cool....
BUT THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR FAMOUS RAY!
Oh no, Cyberspace. I was not ready to lie down. I am at war with all things keeping us down. The story that tells us that we need to go to school, get a job, buy a car, get married, and buy a house....that lie that says "You want all this, you NEED all this." I do not need that lie! I do not want to be a 401k-wage-slave while the man is living like a king! I will not stand for it!
That's right! I wear thongs now! Not because they are super-sexy and have my soldier standing up straight and at attention but because it's how I thumb my nose at the royal family and all elitist. This is how I say that I am not going to conform. This is how I say that I look good as hell in Cheetah print...and also in mesh.
IT DIDN'T STOP THERE!
Um...this is where I may have gone a bit too far. I may have veered from my original intention of wearing underwear everyday in 2012. You see...I liked the thong better than the bikinis and the boy-shorts. I got to thinking...the only way to make a pair of cheeks look better is to cut them in half. If this wasn't true, the Brazilians would not have gone through the engineering feats required to not only design but develop the G-String. YES. I rock G-strings. Don't judge me! I had great intentions of staging a 1-man protest to the societal norm, but I fell victim to metro-sexuality. When you look this good it's just a matter of time before it happens.
Cyberspace, I have kept my vow. I go commando no more.
I know what you're thinking - awesome people don't need underwear! And I have to admit that I agree. Wearing chones everyday makes me feel too normal. I started out strong but I began feeling restricted - not only my twig-n-berries...but my whole being was under wraps. This would not do. Famous Ray sits quiet for no man! As I thought about my normality it occurred to me - this is just the man trying to keep me down...make me conform to what "society" says is right...what so-called "classy" people would call proper. I'll tell you this: I have no class - this would not do.
So I took to the Internet seeking a change to my apparel. As an FYI, when you google "sexy ass man underwear that let you be free and on display" you better not have the kids around. As my search returned some interesting results I began to see that fashion had changed....particularly in men's briefs.
I quickly realized that Hanes or Fruit of the Loom would not do for my jewels. I needed special gear to keep the boys homed. As I dug into my research I found that designer male underwear don't have a trap door...the pilot doesn't have an escape hatch...there's no fire escape for the fireman...there is no little pocket sewn into the front of men's underwear to hold change or gum. They are "man panties."
And you are absolutely right - I am down with rocking man panties. So much so that I began to research only man panties. Now, this may not be the correct term, but make no mistake...I wear man panties.
I had searched and searched for close to 90 days looking for panties that would make me feel like a man again. I settled on what was marketed at "Boxer Briefs". Now, these are not really boxer briefs...they are really boy shorts. These boy shorts have extra material sewn in so that the gonads are displayed. I wore these for about a week when I just couldn't take it any more. They were small and tight in the right places and had the team out of the dugout, but DAMN - they were hot!
So back to searching. I then decided on "briefs". These are not real briefs - these are bikinis...you know...where 3/4's of the cheeks are covered and all the thigh is showing. I really like these. Big Jim and The Twins are out front and my cheeks are out enough to make me feel like I'm sticking it to the man - damning his society and their rules. To kick it up a notch, I ordered a few pair in mesh! Well, it was hot and the mesh keeps me cool....
BUT THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR FAMOUS RAY!
Oh no, Cyberspace. I was not ready to lie down. I am at war with all things keeping us down. The story that tells us that we need to go to school, get a job, buy a car, get married, and buy a house....that lie that says "You want all this, you NEED all this." I do not need that lie! I do not want to be a 401k-wage-slave while the man is living like a king! I will not stand for it!
That's right! I wear thongs now! Not because they are super-sexy and have my soldier standing up straight and at attention but because it's how I thumb my nose at the royal family and all elitist. This is how I say that I am not going to conform. This is how I say that I look good as hell in Cheetah print...and also in mesh.
IT DIDN'T STOP THERE!
Um...this is where I may have gone a bit too far. I may have veered from my original intention of wearing underwear everyday in 2012. You see...I liked the thong better than the bikinis and the boy-shorts. I got to thinking...the only way to make a pair of cheeks look better is to cut them in half. If this wasn't true, the Brazilians would not have gone through the engineering feats required to not only design but develop the G-String. YES. I rock G-strings. Don't judge me! I had great intentions of staging a 1-man protest to the societal norm, but I fell victim to metro-sexuality. When you look this good it's just a matter of time before it happens.
Cyberspace, I have kept my vow. I go commando no more.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Something for the Ladies
Adele is a liar. I have taken offense to some key lyrics in her hit, "Someone Like You." Telling all those ladies that have dedicated that song to me that they will find someone like me is absurd and misleading. I am the original - often imitated but never duplicated. I think a more fitting song is "The One That Got Away."
I know that I am dealing a blow to many of my female readers that are waiting for there opportunity to pounce. 2 things: don't stop trying and I have something that may help.
I can't just say that I'm greatness and I'm sorry that you can't get up on this. Imagine how many readers I would lose. No, ladies, that will not happen. I am here to let you admire me and still give you a chance at a great guy - not the greatest since I'm off the market - but still...a great guy.
Below is my resume. I recommend you have your suitors or anyone stuck in the "friend zone" submit their resume for review. Then....we see how he stacks up against me - a "stare-and-compare".....
I know that I am dealing a blow to many of my female readers that are waiting for there opportunity to pounce. 2 things: don't stop trying and I have something that may help.
I can't just say that I'm greatness and I'm sorry that you can't get up on this. Imagine how many readers I would lose. No, ladies, that will not happen. I am here to let you admire me and still give you a chance at a great guy - not the greatest since I'm off the market - but still...a great guy.
Below is my resume. I recommend you have your suitors or anyone stuck in the "friend zone" submit their resume for review. Then....we see how he stacks up against me - a "stare-and-compare".....
Famous S. Ray
World’s Greatest Mate
Accomplished boyfriend of the luckiest of ladies; experienced in watching chick-flicks, snuggling, cuddling, and showering women with gifts. Expert navigator that never gets lost while driving. Can cook intimate meals for two or a buffet for dozens. Can and will wait patiently while my date gets ready for the evening. Insist on opening all doors and always pay for everything. Caregiver extraordinaire – home-made chicken soup with an excellent bedside manner.
Summary of Qualifications
- Ridiculously good looking with a great sense of humor
- Nicely put together to include pre-matched seasonable outfits
- Winningest in-house champion of Dance Central and Just Dance
- Regularly watch LMN, OWN, We-TV and occasionally cry
- Have read and watched all things Twilight and can recite lines
Professional Experience
Best Boyfriend Ever: Post-Graduate/Professional Work
4/2003 – Present
- Began dating my girlfriend’s best friend; married her in 2004
Best Boyfriend Ever: High School/Military/College
1990 – 2003
- Subject of the greatest senior high school picture ever taken
- [all other experience omitted for the safety of this applicant]
Skills
Never lie Text/sext to correct phone number Never drunk call/text
Know when to listen Know when to give advice Amateur mind reader
Keeps secrets Massage therapist Master choreographer
A few things....Yes, my middle initial is "S". Yes, that stands for "Sexy." Yes, I omitted high-lights from my dating history in an effort to save my own life. BUT, this is a great starting point for women to determine what they should be looking for in a mate; it is also a basis for what all men should aspire to be.
Though we all know that many will fall short, we must always keep hope. Hope that a diamond in the rough will present himself. This is your year ladies - make sure your man is up to the task!
Cyberspace (mostly ladies), you're welcome.
A few things....Yes, my middle initial is "S". Yes, that stands for "Sexy." Yes, I omitted high-lights from my dating history in an effort to save my own life. BUT, this is a great starting point for women to determine what they should be looking for in a mate; it is also a basis for what all men should aspire to be.
Though we all know that many will fall short, we must always keep hope. Hope that a diamond in the rough will present himself. This is your year ladies - make sure your man is up to the task!
Cyberspace (mostly ladies), you're welcome.
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Bean Story
As it turns out, the majority of my devoted fans (casual readers) are women. I have a few theories on this...1) I'm an amazingly good looking man, 2) my sexiness abounds, 3) they can't believe that I'm married, or 4) they are waiting for Nelly to grow tired of my antics so they can pounce!
Whatever the reason, I do have a strong reader-base of smart women. Why is this important? Because today I reveal a story of my very early days of marriage. A time of innocence in a the land of milk and honey. I will be asking for some feedback at the end of this story...I need to know if my fans can see my side and agree that I did nothing wrong. This is "The Bean Story."
A long time ago, in a land far far away, Nelly and I lived in harmony: we were Newlyweds. We lived in the area known as "The Triangle" in North Carolina. Life was grand living in the South. All the children called us "ma'am" and "sir," the ladies wore sundresses and big hats, the men were weekend warriors. A hot Salvadorian and Sexy-Mexi (yes, that is me) fit in just fine...though most people thought I was black or in the Marines...and everyone assumed Nelly was a nanny.
Being a newly-wed meant that things were a bit different. Before all of today's running about with tournaments, practices, play-dates, science fairs, dance recitals...we actually had time to sit down for dinner together. I remember my Latin Hotness (Nelly, not me) would call me at work and ask, "Sugar-bear, what would you like for dinner tonight?" Like clockwork she would call me every day. Almost every day I had the same response, "Kitten-whiskers, I think I'm in the mood for chilidogs and tatertots." We must have went through 350 cans of Hormel that year. And who doesn't like tatertots!?! They are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.
Ahhh, life was grand....then one day...I veer off course...and things have never been the same. One particular afternoon while I was slaving away for the firm, my Honey Muffin calls me to inquire about our dinner plans. I still opted for the franks n' tots, but I asked for something different next week. I believe I said something along the lines of, "Apple-dumpling, do you think we can have beans? We haven't had them for so very long. What do you think?" Being the awesome, hot, newly married wife, Nelly says, "of course!"
Next week's dinner was set! I'd have a big pot of beans and I'd eat like a king! Well like a peasant, but you know what I mean.
I had never cooked beans and neither had Nelly. We had some thoughts around this, but figured we should ask the experts. This was before "google" existed so we had to revert to caveman style of searching. We had to talk to people. So I call my mom and sister and Nelly calls her mom. We have a game plan. We know what to do. We are set.
It's at this point that I need to pause - I need to explain something before we go any further. We all know that Nelly is from El Salvador. We know that I'm of Mexican descent. It stands to reason that we know beans. I grew up having beans with every meal:
Back to the story
After an exhausting day at work, I come home to my lovely wife and beautiful daughter. The aroma of freshly stewed beans fills my wondrous home. I walk into the kitchen and passiontely kiss my wife hello. I bend down and kiss my lil girl. I walk over to the pot of beans, take a look, pause quizzically and say, "those don't look like the beans my mom makes."
It turns out that Salvadorians eat Red Beans ..... and I grew up on Pinto Beans (frijoles). There was no compare/contrast of cooking styles...there was no mention of my mom's beans being superior (as they are not)....there was no criticizing of the cooking methodology....there was no "tone"....there was only sheer and utter amazement that more than one type of bean existed.
This happened many years ago before my many travels. This was before my time in New Orleans, eating Red Beans n Rice. I hadn't yet been to Guadalajara to understand the many varieties of beans. I had not yet had Chilean style barbecue with an assortment of beans. In short, I had never seen a Red Bean in my life.
I now implore the court to render their verdict. To once and for all clear me of all charges. To understand that my question came from absolute befuddlement when coming upon a pot of Red Beans. For the record, my wife makes the best beans and rice, not my mom, not my tia. My wife adds that extra ingredient: Love.
Welcome me back, Cyberspace. I know you missed me. You're welcome!
Whatever the reason, I do have a strong reader-base of smart women. Why is this important? Because today I reveal a story of my very early days of marriage. A time of innocence in a the land of milk and honey. I will be asking for some feedback at the end of this story...I need to know if my fans can see my side and agree that I did nothing wrong. This is "The Bean Story."
A long time ago, in a land far far away, Nelly and I lived in harmony: we were Newlyweds. We lived in the area known as "The Triangle" in North Carolina. Life was grand living in the South. All the children called us "ma'am" and "sir," the ladies wore sundresses and big hats, the men were weekend warriors. A hot Salvadorian and Sexy-Mexi (yes, that is me) fit in just fine...though most people thought I was black or in the Marines...and everyone assumed Nelly was a nanny.
Being a newly-wed meant that things were a bit different. Before all of today's running about with tournaments, practices, play-dates, science fairs, dance recitals...we actually had time to sit down for dinner together. I remember my Latin Hotness (Nelly, not me) would call me at work and ask, "Sugar-bear, what would you like for dinner tonight?" Like clockwork she would call me every day. Almost every day I had the same response, "Kitten-whiskers, I think I'm in the mood for chilidogs and tatertots." We must have went through 350 cans of Hormel that year. And who doesn't like tatertots!?! They are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.
Ahhh, life was grand....then one day...I veer off course...and things have never been the same. One particular afternoon while I was slaving away for the firm, my Honey Muffin calls me to inquire about our dinner plans. I still opted for the franks n' tots, but I asked for something different next week. I believe I said something along the lines of, "Apple-dumpling, do you think we can have beans? We haven't had them for so very long. What do you think?" Being the awesome, hot, newly married wife, Nelly says, "of course!"
Next week's dinner was set! I'd have a big pot of beans and I'd eat like a king! Well like a peasant, but you know what I mean.
I had never cooked beans and neither had Nelly. We had some thoughts around this, but figured we should ask the experts. This was before "google" existed so we had to revert to caveman style of searching. We had to talk to people. So I call my mom and sister and Nelly calls her mom. We have a game plan. We know what to do. We are set.
It's at this point that I need to pause - I need to explain something before we go any further. We all know that Nelly is from El Salvador. We know that I'm of Mexican descent. It stands to reason that we know beans. I grew up having beans with every meal:
- Breakfast: cho-reets-o, tortillas, and beans
- Lunch: fried weenie, tortilla, and beans
- Dinner: steak, potato, salad, and beans
Back to the story
After an exhausting day at work, I come home to my lovely wife and beautiful daughter. The aroma of freshly stewed beans fills my wondrous home. I walk into the kitchen and passiontely kiss my wife hello. I bend down and kiss my lil girl. I walk over to the pot of beans, take a look, pause quizzically and say, "those don't look like the beans my mom makes."
It turns out that Salvadorians eat Red Beans ..... and I grew up on Pinto Beans (frijoles). There was no compare/contrast of cooking styles...there was no mention of my mom's beans being superior (as they are not)....there was no criticizing of the cooking methodology....there was no "tone"....there was only sheer and utter amazement that more than one type of bean existed.
This happened many years ago before my many travels. This was before my time in New Orleans, eating Red Beans n Rice. I hadn't yet been to Guadalajara to understand the many varieties of beans. I had not yet had Chilean style barbecue with an assortment of beans. In short, I had never seen a Red Bean in my life.
I now implore the court to render their verdict. To once and for all clear me of all charges. To understand that my question came from absolute befuddlement when coming upon a pot of Red Beans. For the record, my wife makes the best beans and rice, not my mom, not my tia. My wife adds that extra ingredient: Love.
Welcome me back, Cyberspace. I know you missed me. You're welcome!
Monday, August 1, 2011
Artsy Fartsy or The Green Eyed Monster
I can't believe that I'm actually going to write this...against all that is me....I have to admit it: I'm jealous.
Now this isn't your run-of-the-mill type of jealousy. I'm not jealous that my wife watches Twilight everyday, eating bon-bons in a seductive/suggestive manner while rockin a "Team Edward" extra-tight T. I'm not jealous that skinny people can rock extra-tight jeans, Baby Gap T's, and moccasins. I'm not even jealous of people that can show their tats and wear a fully formed mohawk to work.
I am, however, envious of creative people that put it all on the line....the artists that are "all in."
Most of you won't believe this....but you're only really getting somewhere between 30-45% of me. Even in writing, it would be 45% max. Some people think that this blog is an exageration of who I really am. Not true. Others think that "FamousRay" is a caricature of the real me. Also not true. This blog and FamousRay are a watered-down version of the real deal. Scary, I know...but all true.
So much more I'd like to do...but I am holding back. If only you could look into my mind - you'd be blinded by sheer awesomeness. Or at least pee yourself laughing.
Since I began making your lives awesome by allowing glimpses of my thoughts, some things have changed...I see the world differently. I completely dig the creative process. Not just writing....drawing, painting, music, movies, singing, dialog...all of it. Because I'm an awesome person and kick-ass writer, I appreciate other awesome people and their works. Hence, I have become Artsy-Fartsy.
You've all read about RyuKen in the past. I'm jealous of that dude. If you take away the leather jumpsuit, ditch the cape, remove the custom-made full body leotard...if there were no man-splits, no more jump splits, no more back hand springs, if he didn't tickle the gnarly sythe...you are left with an awesome singer. RyuKen sings with a passion that is palpable. To be honest: His soul bears witness. This guy is all in.
I went to the Katy Perry concert last week - it was greatness. We all know that she is talented and her songs are hella-coo. I want to talk about her opening act: Robyn. This chick was in-it-to-win-it. Her music wasn't really my bag. It was some sort of intergalactic, space-age rock. But, I did appreciate her music and her performance. I was in awe of this girl that was on stage in front of thousands and dancing like she was in her living room. It was easy to tell that the performance wasn't for the audience. I don't mean this in a bad way. I mean that she was so wrapped up in her music that it could have been 5 people sitting there or five thousand. She was so comfortable in her own skin. I was jealous.
The PARTY ROCK ANTHEM! The number one song and going strong. This song just makes me happy; it brings me joy. When I saw the video...I almost fell down. I think that video is absolute genius. When I see something creative and I think to myself "maaaaan...I never could have thought of that!," it really takes me back. Puts me on my heels. Makes me question my own awesomeness. I dig that video.
Sure I'd like to do more...take some risks. Some include a luchador mask, a camera, and a bull. Others include all the public restrooms in the immediate area. Another has a singlet and booty-pop on the list. I am hoping that I can break these chains of normalcy and just be me - I'd rather be Artsy-Fartsy than a Fuddy-Duddy any day of the week.
I love you too Cyberspace.
You're welcome.
Now this isn't your run-of-the-mill type of jealousy. I'm not jealous that my wife watches Twilight everyday, eating bon-bons in a seductive/suggestive manner while rockin a "Team Edward" extra-tight T. I'm not jealous that skinny people can rock extra-tight jeans, Baby Gap T's, and moccasins. I'm not even jealous of people that can show their tats and wear a fully formed mohawk to work.
I am, however, envious of creative people that put it all on the line....the artists that are "all in."
Most of you won't believe this....but you're only really getting somewhere between 30-45% of me. Even in writing, it would be 45% max. Some people think that this blog is an exageration of who I really am. Not true. Others think that "FamousRay" is a caricature of the real me. Also not true. This blog and FamousRay are a watered-down version of the real deal. Scary, I know...but all true.
So much more I'd like to do...but I am holding back. If only you could look into my mind - you'd be blinded by sheer awesomeness. Or at least pee yourself laughing.
Since I began making your lives awesome by allowing glimpses of my thoughts, some things have changed...I see the world differently. I completely dig the creative process. Not just writing....drawing, painting, music, movies, singing, dialog...all of it. Because I'm an awesome person and kick-ass writer, I appreciate other awesome people and their works. Hence, I have become Artsy-Fartsy.
You've all read about RyuKen in the past. I'm jealous of that dude. If you take away the leather jumpsuit, ditch the cape, remove the custom-made full body leotard...if there were no man-splits, no more jump splits, no more back hand springs, if he didn't tickle the gnarly sythe...you are left with an awesome singer. RyuKen sings with a passion that is palpable. To be honest: His soul bears witness. This guy is all in.
I went to the Katy Perry concert last week - it was greatness. We all know that she is talented and her songs are hella-coo. I want to talk about her opening act: Robyn. This chick was in-it-to-win-it. Her music wasn't really my bag. It was some sort of intergalactic, space-age rock. But, I did appreciate her music and her performance. I was in awe of this girl that was on stage in front of thousands and dancing like she was in her living room. It was easy to tell that the performance wasn't for the audience. I don't mean this in a bad way. I mean that she was so wrapped up in her music that it could have been 5 people sitting there or five thousand. She was so comfortable in her own skin. I was jealous.
The PARTY ROCK ANTHEM! The number one song and going strong. This song just makes me happy; it brings me joy. When I saw the video...I almost fell down. I think that video is absolute genius. When I see something creative and I think to myself "maaaaan...I never could have thought of that!," it really takes me back. Puts me on my heels. Makes me question my own awesomeness. I dig that video.
Sure I'd like to do more...take some risks. Some include a luchador mask, a camera, and a bull. Others include all the public restrooms in the immediate area. Another has a singlet and booty-pop on the list. I am hoping that I can break these chains of normalcy and just be me - I'd rather be Artsy-Fartsy than a Fuddy-Duddy any day of the week.
I love you too Cyberspace.
You're welcome.
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