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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Day the Sexy Died
Not sure if my sexy is dead; but it's in a coma at the very least. A fat/food induced coma. Today I am tipping the scales at 204 lbs.
I would love to blame this all on my broken back. I'd like to suggest that the 3 rounds of epidurals and the final surgery that severed my back muscles was all to blame. Truth is I love food. My steady diet of stuff-crust pizza and chili-cheese dogs has finally done me in. And I can't discount the tots - they are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.
Now I sit as a blob. Not just any blob; but a blob that acts as a monument to a once great and sexy man. I know what some of you are thinking...that a few extra pounds won't make a difference. I am here to assure you that they do. I can't get into my skinny jeans. Not even when I do the trick. The closest I'll get to showing off a six pack at the pool is if the HOA will allow brew-doggies passed the gate. I have to go commando so that my shorts will fit...well, I would go commando in any case. But still, this layer of fat and apathy has softened my once rugged features. I'm no longer ruggedly handsome; not even classically handsome. I am now "that cute husky guy."
You men know what I'm talking about. Ladies, let me help you out with this. All men (starts around the 10th grade) will look at a heavier-set girl and make comments like these:
I would love to blame this all on my broken back. I'd like to suggest that the 3 rounds of epidurals and the final surgery that severed my back muscles was all to blame. Truth is I love food. My steady diet of stuff-crust pizza and chili-cheese dogs has finally done me in. And I can't discount the tots - they are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.
Now I sit as a blob. Not just any blob; but a blob that acts as a monument to a once great and sexy man. I know what some of you are thinking...that a few extra pounds won't make a difference. I am here to assure you that they do. I can't get into my skinny jeans. Not even when I do the trick. The closest I'll get to showing off a six pack at the pool is if the HOA will allow brew-doggies passed the gate. I have to go commando so that my shorts will fit...well, I would go commando in any case. But still, this layer of fat and apathy has softened my once rugged features. I'm no longer ruggedly handsome; not even classically handsome. I am now "that cute husky guy."
You men know what I'm talking about. Ladies, let me help you out with this. All men (starts around the 10th grade) will look at a heavier-set girl and make comments like these:
- She's cute, but she'd be HOT if she dropped 15 lbs
- Ya know, the cute husky girl?
- She has a really pretty face
- She's really cool
Now I'm that girl...er...guy. I'm the cute husky cool guy with a pretty face that would be HOT if I dropped 30 lbs.
I'm so used to be the sexiest man in the room that I'm a little distraught. I don't know if I should just accept this and take advantage of any Papa John's latest deals. Should I just have a brownie sundae with extra brownie...and extra sundae?
I thought of doing a video series of me struggling to lose weight. I called MTV and was told that I was not enough of an ass-clown to get a series...they also muttered something along the lines of "we want someone that can't spell contract negotiation"...
I then thought of doing a self-produced, self-starring, self-recorded, self-edited video diary - but we all know I'm too humble for something like that.
So, this is what I plan to do. I will share my sexy greatness with you all! This is cyberspace! I can be anyone! I'm still 3 times as great as anyone else you know in real life! So of course you will keep reading and sharing this blog. What am I crazy!?! To think some baby weight could keep me from being awesome!? That's crazy talk!
I know that I need to get my food under control. I know that I need to exercise. Well, all I can do is walk...doc says I can't do ANYTHING until the muscle is completely healed. This is bad news - I have a ShakeWeight just sitting here...it's the big gray one, cuz I'm a man. Now it just lies in the corner; unshaken. What am I supposed to do for dynamic-inertia?!?? Not being able to exercise was an excuse for my chocolate dipped strawberry waffle ball breakfasts for a few weeks. But, NO MORE!
Veggies, lean meats, complex carbs, and me shirtless in biker shorts doing laps around the neighborhood. I may get arrested for indecent exposure. I'm hoping that my fans will bail me out.
To the haters: Suck It!
To my millions of fans: I love you like I love chocolate cake!
To cyberspace: You're Welcome!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
If I Could be Anyone for a Day
This was not a college paper and I'm not sure why. You'd think that our Institutions of Higher Learning would stress not only the sciences but the art of being awesome.
If it were a writing assignment, I think my paper would go something like this....
If it were a writing assignment, I think my paper would go something like this....
For Just a Day
by
Famous Ray
The annals of time remember only the greatest of men and women. Studying their history can give us a glimpse of former glory and inspire us to be better people. While analyzing this project, a few characters came to mind:
- Abraham Lincoln
- Albert Einstein
- Winston Churchill
For this assignment, I filtered out many candidates and came to three very strong possibilities:
- Bruce Lee
- Michael Jackson
- Stan Lee
Bruce Lee – He single handedly (or footedly) revolutionized the world! Before him, there was no Black Belt Theater. There was no understanding of the Eastern world. The Last Dragon would never have been filmed. Every boy wanted to grow up to be him. He had a cool accent and even cooler hair. What man wouldn’t want to be him for a single day?
Michael Jackson – are you kidding me!? Without Michael, the Kinect wouldn't have the best game ever! He is the greatest showman of all time; a musical genius. He could hit moves with such precision and control that people today are still copying his choreography. Why wouldn’t I want to play to sold-out arenas and inspire generations?
Stan Lee - who doesn't know this man? Really...you don't?!? He is only the creator of some of the world's greatest heroes: Spider-Man, The Avengers, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, Hulk. He created a complete UNIVERSE. In his mind! Talk about creative writing.
If I could be anyone for a day it would be Stan Lee. I'm sure people are wondering why I wouldn't want to be a great fighter or a dancer. I already am. But Stan Lee has taught us all about being a hero. That we sometimes don't get to pick our battles. Sometimes the odds are stacked against us. There will be times when we get knocked down. He also taught us how to rock spandex and look good - I think the first male skinny jeans were modeled after the Fantastic Four uniform.
To give you the gravity of what Stan Lee has created, let us look at some of our recent history:
The list of why Stan Lee rocks goes on and on. The biggest reason that I'd want to be Stan Lee is his creative genius. Comic books are a lost art. No one is making new heroes because all the cool ones are already out there. Stan Lee wasn't confined to what was real in this world. He created a universe where a 17 year-old kid raised by his elderly aunt could overcome impossible odds. In Stan Lee's world, might wasn't used for power - it was used for justice. In the Marvel Universe all women are scantily clad and unreasonably nice.
Stan Lee has saved a lot of childhoods. He also instilled a great truth in little boys: we should protect everyone around us.
#########################
Grade for this paper: C-
Notes: Mr. FamousRay, your prose were weak and grammar was absent. You did not end with a complete thought. There is literally no conclusion to this paper. You have a flawed view of history and pop-culture. I suggest you take some time and actually research before writing anything else. Don't think that I didn't notice your juvenille attempt at crude humor by using "annals" and "anal-yze" in your first paragraph. You switched from 1st to 3rd person views without cause. You asked questions that were never answered. If not for the saving grace of letting me know that Halle Berry has nude scenes, you would have failed this assignment...and yes, I know you are saying "ass-ignment" in your mind. You are receiving a passing grade so that I will no longer be made to read your ridiculousness.
To give you the gravity of what Stan Lee has created, let us look at some of our recent history:
- Hugh Jackman is the sexiest man alive - because he's Wolverine
- Robert Downey, Jr is once again recognized as a great actor - because he's Iron Man
- Toby Macguire will never again be mistaken for Frodo Baggins - because he's Spiderman
- Scarlett Johansson rocked a leather cat suit - because she's Black Widow
- Halle Berry went topless in multiple movies - because she didn't get enough lines as Storm in the X-Men movies
The list of why Stan Lee rocks goes on and on. The biggest reason that I'd want to be Stan Lee is his creative genius. Comic books are a lost art. No one is making new heroes because all the cool ones are already out there. Stan Lee wasn't confined to what was real in this world. He created a universe where a 17 year-old kid raised by his elderly aunt could overcome impossible odds. In Stan Lee's world, might wasn't used for power - it was used for justice. In the Marvel Universe all women are scantily clad and unreasonably nice.
Stan Lee has saved a lot of childhoods. He also instilled a great truth in little boys: we should protect everyone around us.
#########################
Grade for this paper: C-
Notes: Mr. FamousRay, your prose were weak and grammar was absent. You did not end with a complete thought. There is literally no conclusion to this paper. You have a flawed view of history and pop-culture. I suggest you take some time and actually research before writing anything else. Don't think that I didn't notice your juvenille attempt at crude humor by using "annals" and "anal-yze" in your first paragraph. You switched from 1st to 3rd person views without cause. You asked questions that were never answered. If not for the saving grace of letting me know that Halle Berry has nude scenes, you would have failed this assignment...and yes, I know you are saying "ass-ignment" in your mind. You are receiving a passing grade so that I will no longer be made to read your ridiculousness.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Trade Secrets
I'm disclosing sensitive information today. This may label me as a "Benedict Arnold" or a "miscreant" or a plain "fink." Today we are discussing the Top 10. I've heard of this mythical list during my travels around the world - whispers in seedy bars; knowing looks traded across dark rooms; drunk ramblings while visiting the jiggly room. We are talking about the list of Top 10 Women that men keep in their heads.
I don't have such list so I can't write about this from a first-hand account. I'll have to do my best to report my findings. The first of which is that EVERY MAN (besides me) HAS A TOP 10 LIST.
What is this list exactly, you ask? From what I gather, it's an eclectic collection of celebrity females. This is finding number 2 (hehehe "number 2"), THE LIST CANNOT CONSIST OF ANY ONE YOU KNOW PERSONALLY. This is extended to friends of friends, minor/local celebrities, cousins - none of them can make the TOP 10.
Here is an example of a TOP 10. Keep in mind that this is not my list. This is a make-believe list being used for instructional purposes only. This list is NOT in any order:
The last, and most important, finding is NEVER DISCLOSE YOUR LIST TO YOUR MATE. Under NO circumstance should you feel compelled to tell your mate the degree of hotness of another person. Women will bait you, "She's hot huh?" or "Do you think she's pretty? I think she's pretty." Women are masters of manipulation and should never be trusted. Everything is a test. Everything.Is.A.Test.
This Public Service Announcement has been made possible by my adoring fans and multitude of haters.
YOU ARE WELCOME CYBERSPACE!
I don't have such list so I can't write about this from a first-hand account. I'll have to do my best to report my findings. The first of which is that EVERY MAN (besides me) HAS A TOP 10 LIST.
What is this list exactly, you ask? From what I gather, it's an eclectic collection of celebrity females. This is finding number 2 (hehehe "number 2"), THE LIST CANNOT CONSIST OF ANY ONE YOU KNOW PERSONALLY. This is extended to friends of friends, minor/local celebrities, cousins - none of them can make the TOP 10.
Here is an example of a TOP 10. Keep in mind that this is not my list. This is a make-believe list being used for instructional purposes only. This list is NOT in any order:
- Cheryl Burke
- Tyra Banks
- Ema Watson
- Kim Kardashian
- Constance Marie
- Taylor Swift
- Ashley Greene
- Meagan Good
- Natalie Portman
- Salma Hayek
Since this is not my list and I only have eyes for Nelly, I cannot tell you why anyone would find those ladies attractive. But with my keen eye I can see the differences. This is finding number 3: THE TOP 10 SHOULD BE A MIX WITH NO SEEN PATTERN. In the above list we see a lot of different features - tall, short, curvy, slender, dark, light, brown, blonde, brunette. Besides that they are all women, nothing is the same. From what I have heard, this is the beauty of the list.
Now, let's take this list for example:
- Nelly
- Eva Longoria
- Shakira
- Rosario Dawson
- Vida Guerra
- Jennifer Lopez
All latina. Can't be a true Top 10 - this is more of a Hot Latin Ladies list. How can I tell? Because my hot wife is number 1!
Some other interesting finds reveal that women also have a list. They crafty at hiding the existence of their list. A common man will say things like "she's hot" or "jinkies! she's hot" or "did you see her? She's hot." Women, on the other hand, will disguise their attraction with a mix of words. Here are somethings that you may hear a woman say: Classically Handsome, Ruggedly Handsome, Exotic, Good-looking, Distinguished, Athletic, Strong, Boy-Next-Door, Virile, Vigorous...
Women are very protective of their lists - just look at Team Edward vs Team Jacob. A woman's list is even more varied than most mens. Let's take this example:
- Famous Ray
- Zac Efron
- The Rock
- Robert Pattinson
- Joey Mcintyre
I don't know how all these men could all be on a list. I only know that it's a SEXY MAN list because I'm on it.
The last, and most important, finding is NEVER DISCLOSE YOUR LIST TO YOUR MATE. Under NO circumstance should you feel compelled to tell your mate the degree of hotness of another person. Women will bait you, "She's hot huh?" or "Do you think she's pretty? I think she's pretty." Women are masters of manipulation and should never be trusted. Everything is a test. Everything.Is.A.Test.
This Public Service Announcement has been made possible by my adoring fans and multitude of haters.
YOU ARE WELCOME CYBERSPACE!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Whatchu Call Me!!?!!?
Ah, the sun is back! Flowers are blooming....Ladies clothes are getting smaller....I'm turning brown...It's SPRING BLING! What an awesome time to be in the Great State of Texas! So how the crap did I end up back in the Pelican State???
I recently returned from Lafayette, LA. As you know from reading posts past, LA is a little different and I always come back with a story. While I was driving around this thriving metropolis built on craw-fish tails and bread pudding, I made an odd observation...I was going to post on FB for the world to enjoy...it was going to read: Only in Louisiana would you see a Ruth's Chris and Sonic share a parking lot.
As I pondered my unparalleled wit it hit me. Man, I'm boojee! Besides PLT, no one is even gonna know what I'm talking about!
You won't find the word "boojee" in the Oxford Dictionary, but who the crap are they? They think they know a butt-load about words, but they don't. So here is the Urban Dictionary definition:
As you can imagine, this surprised me. I did what I always do when I have an epiphany - I called Nelly. Still in awe, I hit her with this new found truth. She replied with the beat-box: psshh, I could have told you that!
Nelly is the devil.
I'm not sure when I changed. I don't think it was a light-switch thing. It had to be a process. I'm pretty sure it started when we moved to Texas. When I was an Average Joe, I could go to Micky Deez or Jack in the Crack for lunch and be happy. I enjoyed Western Bacon Burgers and Double-Doubles when the desire arose. All that changed on my first day at work here in the Lone Star state. Man, these dudes can eat!
The guys from work went out to lunch EVERY DAY. I'm not talking about burger and fries, I'm taking about sit-down, water-up-front, salad, main dish, maybe-dessert type of meals. I can remember going to lunch with Nelly when she recommended Subway. I thought she had lost her mind. I looked her up-n-down then sideways and then said, "I want to be served!"
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....that IS boojee! But that was the start of my downward spiral. Now I rock a mini-fauxhawk, wear extra-tight skinny jeans, throw on Baby GAP t-shirts and minimize manual labor every chance I get. Check this out, I have white guys mowing my lawn. INSANE! I know! It's a good thing my dad doesn't read this blog. He would have a crap-attack if he knew I was not in-charge of my own lawn care.
To add to that nonsense, we have a crazy, old white lady cleaning our house. We have a maid service! My Salvadorian wife and I pay someone to come clean.
I've never painted a wall in this house. Five rooms here have been painted, one of them twice, and I never shook a can, popped a lid, or grabbed a roller.
I'm a Mexican that doesn't mow lawns or paint.
I drive a Lexus. Of course I look gorgeous in it. But, I looked just as delicious when I rocked my sweet-ass Toyota Matrix XR. To date, that Matrix was the best car I have ever owned. It just wasn't boojee enough for me. It didn't have "nalgas." So I sold-out and upgraded.
My favorite artist is Avril Lavigne. Scratch that...it doesn't really count 'cause no matter where I live or what I do, she so EFFEN rocks!
So, my secret is out. I'm soft. No, we're not talking about my goods. We're talking about my distaste for perspiration due to work.
Truth be told, I'm looking for someone that can type this blog while I sit back can spew greatness. And awesomeness.
There you have it, cyberspace. You're welcome.
I recently returned from Lafayette, LA. As you know from reading posts past, LA is a little different and I always come back with a story. While I was driving around this thriving metropolis built on craw-fish tails and bread pudding, I made an odd observation...I was going to post on FB for the world to enjoy...it was going to read: Only in Louisiana would you see a Ruth's Chris and Sonic share a parking lot.
As I pondered my unparalleled wit it hit me. Man, I'm boojee! Besides PLT, no one is even gonna know what I'm talking about!
You won't find the word "boojee" in the Oxford Dictionary, but who the crap are they? They think they know a butt-load about words, but they don't. So here is the Urban Dictionary definition:
Boojee | ||||
| ||||
Nelly is the devil.
I'm not sure when I changed. I don't think it was a light-switch thing. It had to be a process. I'm pretty sure it started when we moved to Texas. When I was an Average Joe, I could go to Micky Deez or Jack in the Crack for lunch and be happy. I enjoyed Western Bacon Burgers and Double-Doubles when the desire arose. All that changed on my first day at work here in the Lone Star state. Man, these dudes can eat!
The guys from work went out to lunch EVERY DAY. I'm not talking about burger and fries, I'm taking about sit-down, water-up-front, salad, main dish, maybe-dessert type of meals. I can remember going to lunch with Nelly when she recommended Subway. I thought she had lost her mind. I looked her up-n-down then sideways and then said, "I want to be served!"
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....that IS boojee! But that was the start of my downward spiral. Now I rock a mini-fauxhawk, wear extra-tight skinny jeans, throw on Baby GAP t-shirts and minimize manual labor every chance I get. Check this out, I have white guys mowing my lawn. INSANE! I know! It's a good thing my dad doesn't read this blog. He would have a crap-attack if he knew I was not in-charge of my own lawn care.
To add to that nonsense, we have a crazy, old white lady cleaning our house. We have a maid service! My Salvadorian wife and I pay someone to come clean.
I've never painted a wall in this house. Five rooms here have been painted, one of them twice, and I never shook a can, popped a lid, or grabbed a roller.
I'm a Mexican that doesn't mow lawns or paint.
I drive a Lexus. Of course I look gorgeous in it. But, I looked just as delicious when I rocked my sweet-ass Toyota Matrix XR. To date, that Matrix was the best car I have ever owned. It just wasn't boojee enough for me. It didn't have "nalgas." So I sold-out and upgraded.
My favorite artist is Avril Lavigne. Scratch that...it doesn't really count 'cause no matter where I live or what I do, she so EFFEN rocks!
So, my secret is out. I'm soft. No, we're not talking about my goods. We're talking about my distaste for perspiration due to work.
Truth be told, I'm looking for someone that can type this blog while I sit back can spew greatness. And awesomeness.
There you have it, cyberspace. You're welcome.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Why I Left Facebook
I am a stat-whore. There...I said it. Every time I post awesomeness for all of cyberspace to digest, I run to www.statcounter.com and begin the painstaking process of watching how many of my devoted readers actually read my greatness. I've noticed that my numbers go up when the Greatest-Facebook-Fan-Page-Ever-Made is updated showing my blog link.
But the numbers really don't shoot up like they should. Then I wonder what kind of people are NOT reading my literary hotness (not to be confused with my literal hotness). I blame my true-fans for not getting word out. I can only be so awesome alone. Let's face it - even Muhammad Ali had a team.
I left social networking as part of an experiment. This post will be done without the aid of Facebook - being the stat-whore that I am, I will be watching the numbers.
I am hoping my real fans will spread the word that the Shogun is back on the scene! And the Shogun is the master!
So, I learned a few things while I've been unplugged. The WHOLE world just kept going on. I was starved for pop culture news. I had to get all my information from CNN, FOX News, Good Morning America, NPR, and other network controlled media. Even worse than that, it took a whole 2 days for any one to notice that I was gone. The first person to reach out to me was Corki Shitz; she was trying to post something mean on my wall. The only other two people to notice were Xena Boobage and Nikki Night. Xena and Nikki are roommates and 2 of the best people that I know. Xena Boobage actually played a big role in my recovery. She's my personal nursemaid. They were both very distraught without having instant access to me - I'm sure everyone feels this way, but they were able to express it. It makes me sad that the world is being denied my awesomeness and attractiveness.
Disconnecting from cyberspace had a few unforeseen side effects. I lost touch with the world as things went along without me. Here are some events that occurred during my absence:
But the numbers really don't shoot up like they should. Then I wonder what kind of people are NOT reading my literary hotness (not to be confused with my literal hotness). I blame my true-fans for not getting word out. I can only be so awesome alone. Let's face it - even Muhammad Ali had a team.
I left social networking as part of an experiment. This post will be done without the aid of Facebook - being the stat-whore that I am, I will be watching the numbers.
I am hoping my real fans will spread the word that the Shogun is back on the scene! And the Shogun is the master!
So, I learned a few things while I've been unplugged. The WHOLE world just kept going on. I was starved for pop culture news. I had to get all my information from CNN, FOX News, Good Morning America, NPR, and other network controlled media. Even worse than that, it took a whole 2 days for any one to notice that I was gone. The first person to reach out to me was Corki Shitz; she was trying to post something mean on my wall. The only other two people to notice were Xena Boobage and Nikki Night. Xena and Nikki are roommates and 2 of the best people that I know. Xena Boobage actually played a big role in my recovery. She's my personal nursemaid. They were both very distraught without having instant access to me - I'm sure everyone feels this way, but they were able to express it. It makes me sad that the world is being denied my awesomeness and attractiveness.
Disconnecting from cyberspace had a few unforeseen side effects. I lost touch with the world as things went along without me. Here are some events that occurred during my absence:
- The Rock has returned to the WWE. How the crap did the most ELECTRIFYING man in entertainment come back to the ring and I was unaware?!?!
- Apple released the iPad2. Really? Didn't the original debut less than a year ago?
- Apparently a war broke out because gas is $19.99 a gallon
As all this real news was happening (and I was missing), I was stuck watching GMA and gaining non-vital information such as:
- Japan was rocked with the largest earthquake ever registered
- Japan is then hit by a tsunami that further caused structural damage to their nuclear reactors and a meltdown is threatening the region
- Gadhafi is refusing to step down and casualties are growing daily. The world is waiting to see how the U.S. reacts.
Without Facebook, I have no idea what Wonder Woman's new costume looks like. I don't know anything about Will and Kate's wedding. I haven't read about anyone's baby-mama-drama. I haven't seen any thought-provoking personal opinions. No updates on workouts and/or diets. No prayer requests. No pictures of kids birthday parties or team events. Nothing on Brittney, Taylor, or Avril.
Some good has come of this. I have spoken/texted with friends more than ever. I speak with Xena Boobage, Nikki Night, Zergio, and Bobbert Fernandez on a daily basis. In a day when Social Networking is king, it's nice to know that I can reach out and talk to my buddies.
Cyberspace, you have been missed. And I know you missed me. I'm back. You're welcome.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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:
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.
- 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
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.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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:
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:
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.
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:
- I broke myself during a dance battle
- Nelly broke me during a vigorous sexual encounter
- During a gymnastic display, I zigged when I should of zagged
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.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
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:
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
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:
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!
I am thankful for:
- Serving a forgiving and a loving God
- My smokin hot wife
- Cheech, Baby-girl, and The Boy
- My ridiculously good looks
- My dance battle skills
- My writing skills
- My extremely good taste in clothes
- The internets/interwebs and The Google
- Sugarpop Music
- Pirates
- My friends
- Having a G.O.B. (That's how we say J.O.B. in the ghetto)
- Being recognized as
Cougar-BaitKitten Dreams - Being of sound mind
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!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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 ;)
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 ;)
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