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 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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.

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 my mortality 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):

1. I rock designer underwear that resemble man panties. They are a soft cotton lyrca, though the mesh ones are a spandex/nylon blend.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. 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.
6. 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.
7. 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.
8. 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.
9. Body spray. Not cologne. And this is why my lotions can't be odorific...
10. 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!

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.