Tuesday, August 31, 2004

A little bit louder

To hear breaking news from the street RNC protests tune into http ANoise

They are covering what the mainstream media will not

We are the People

The picture below is from the Still We Rise:Poor People's March yesterday. Up in front is the wife of my political mentor Richie Perez (presente!).

Not surprisingly at yesterday's march , plainclothes police run their scooters through the crowd creating violence. This is the sort of this that has happened often at many a POC march/event. When the media picks up such images, what gets perpetuated is not the continuous profiling and harassment on the part of police but rather how those crazy radical people of color are dangerous and terrorist like.

All of this happened of course as former NYC Mayor Giuliani spoke inside Madison Square Garden. Ah the irony.

Today is a day of direct action and from the early morning non-violent activist have been getting arrested.

I recommend NYC IndyMedia for all the latest.


Still We Rise March Aug 30 Posted by Hello

Monday, August 30, 2004

Y la Anti Fiesta Continues

I have no money to get on a subway to attend any of the other wonderful , exciting and powerful protests that are happening around the city in protest of the Republican National Convention which officially started today with Koch welcoming the elephants.

Our city's former mayor, Adolph....I mean Rudolph Giuliani also spoke today . I really wanted to be out in front of the garden with the Still We Rise because of the history of struggle I have with that particular man and the policies and tone he set up in this city, especially for (or shall I say against ) people of color communities. While this gives just a few reasons why Rudy sucks I have my own to add: Anthony Baez, Anibal Carasquillo, Frankie Arzuaga, Anthony Rosario and Hilton Vega, Jose Santos, Jose Librado Sanchez not to mention Dorismond, Aswan Watson, Kevin Cedeno, Louima and Diallo.

The coverage by the mainstream of yesterday's massive march was not surprisingly weak and biased. But big ups to Alternet for posting some of my favorite chants from the POC peeps I marched with "a head-bobbing group of teenage activists co-opted the hit Ludacris hip-hop song "Move Bitch" and began rapping "Move Bush! Get Out The Way!"

Sunday, August 29, 2004

My Kid Rules. Republicans Drool

Despite having been out till 5 am last night, I got up at 10 and was on the subway before 11 with the MapucheRican to participate in the United for Peace and Justice March.

The MapucheRican was decked out in a shirt she stenciled which said on the front, " I love NY and hate Republicans" . The back of her shirt read, " NY Kids Rule! Bush Drools!" She was a hit and peeps were taking pictures of her.

Lucky for me I ended up marching with Still We Rise which include beautiful radical and disciplined people of color with whom I have worked and organized with for years. They had the best chants, using hip hop beats.
They had put together a "baby bloc" , a specially secured area for babes in arms, strollers, or walking. They had water, juice and snacks for the children and spray bottles to keep them cool. It was funny. One of the fathers, who I know for years commented on how big the mapucherican was. We laughed remembering when she was a tiny baby in a sling at rallies, as he held his tiny beautiful wide eyed baby girl. We laughed more remembering me and my big ass pregnant belly and me working security and leading rallies up through my ninth month. We didn't have baby blocs at rallies then. People would volunteer to take her out while we had meetings or political education classes once she got too big to be entertained easily. At rallies, she would often be carried and cared for by others in my group when I had to run the stage or work a march. It's nice to see the evolution of integrating children.

It was freaking hot...the poor mapucherican melted fast under the sun and I actually had to carry my nearly 7 year old for a while (made me thankful for my big ass hips).

The baby bloc folded early as it got super hot and the kids were getting super tired... but at least we made it to Madison Square Garden. The MapucheRican thought it very cool that we were protesting where Bush and Co. were going to be shortly.

We visited my mom's air conditioned store and sat down for some juice before heading home.

I want to try and go to the Still We Rise rally and march tommorow but I have to work and I really need the money so we shall see.

I'm just exhausted.

Saturday, August 28, 2004

She'd Rather Play Video Games

The MapucheRican, that is, instead of going to the women's march across the Brooklyn Bridge. I think she fully expects to see W himself at one of these marches. Last night we stenciled tee-shirts and made a poster for her to carry.

Friday, August 27, 2004

El Cubano

El Cubano was a man I dated on and off for a year or two. We met of course , online, and had a passionate relationship filled with rough late night kisses in subway stations and months of not talking to one another. One New Year's Eve, when we were not dating, he confessed to me that the entire time we had been dating, he was in a serious relationship . Once again, without knowing, I was the other woman. No wonder his family looked at me strangely when I told them that we had dated for a year or so.
I wanted to kill him.

El Cubano (who is actually only half Cubano, the other half is Colombiano) is tall and delicious looking. He actually modeled at some point. He's a Queens boy and smart and cocky. Oh did I mention he's insane. Certified. Maybe that's why we like each other so much.

The last time I spoke to el Cubano was a year ago on my cell phone while waiting for the bus to go to work my shift at a strip club. I've called him a few times since then, left messages on his cell. One day he decided to up and relocate his life to California, becoming yet another man I adore who has up and left. I called not so much because I want him as a lover but out of concern for his mental well being. The last time we spoke he was struggling in California.

Well being an ex of mine means he will return and he has. The other night I answered a surprise phone call from him just as Six Feet Under was finishing. He seemed sadly resigned to being in Los Angeles and asked when I would be going to visit him.
He also confessed that he had been in NYC recently and hadn't called me, unsure of how I would react. He said he didn't want me to think he wanted to fuck me or make me his "New York girlfriend". Hmmm.

On an amusing note he's been following my life by googling me and reading this blog. He knew about the Prince of Bushwick and asked how that all ended.

So now I must decide if I should fly out to the West Coast. I don't have the money for such a trip but could probably hustle to get it. There is the issue of the MapucheRican although she was invited to come along as well (they always got along divinely. I have no problem bringing her but it certainly limits where I can go. And anyway wasn't I needing a mini vacation alone. My best girl offered to take her for a few days if I do decide to visit LA. Hmmmm must think. Must call el Cubano again and give him results of my preliminary airfare research.

On another note , NYC , mi gran mango, begins a fiesta of activity to welcome the GOP (Grand Ole Pigs? Grand Old Pendejos?). I plan to participate in an as many as humanly possible providing the MapucheRican is well taken care of. If anyone wants to run around the city with me cursing Republicans in Spanish let me know.

Tonight: Friday August 27, 2004
Immigrant-Worker Solidarity Day Of Action
SpeakOut! in New York City!

A day of immigrant workers and community activists gathering to speak out the Issues

St. Mark's Church
131 E. 10th St., New York
(at 2nd Avenue)
directions by car
directions by subway

4:00 PM to 10:00 PM
Information Hotline: (212) 330-8172

Thursday, August 26, 2004


Anoche rocked. I performed at D'Antigua's Tertulia. Performed 4 of my best works to a standing only crowd. I was crazy nervous.The rum, beer, and wine soothed me a little.
When I got up on stage though all the nervous energy was gone. Something about the vibe and the audience made me feel super confident and I feel it was one of my best shows.

Why did I stay away from performing for so long? Why do I have such doubts about my writing that I let my fears paralyze me? Hopefully last night will act as a reminder to me.

No se apuren....tommorow I will write about the return of another ex . Seriously. Another one.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

La Mala en Vivo

Super last minute but I will be reading some of my works tonight. Fans, ex-lovers, current lovers and people who will buy me drinks and bring me cigarettes are all welcomed.

84-16 Northern Blvd. (between 84th and 85th Street/closer to 85)
Jackson Heights , Queens
The show begins around 9 pm

I have no idea what time I go on or the quality of the other artists.
Please note that the program will be mostly in Spanish (ok my portion will be in Spanglish....the language of the people!!!)

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

I Never Proofread

Which is probably a bad thing. It is especially a bad thing when I write in the middle of the night with a cuba libre in hand. Just to clarify my previous post, I did not have sex with my date on Saturday.

I haven't sex in way too long (for me anyway).

Sunday, August 22, 2004


My Saturday night date (#4 with this person) almost didn't happen because my babysitter's husband was around and I refuse to let the MapucheRican go there when he's there. He drinks too much. Lucky for me my date was incredibly understanding and we just moved the date later in the evening when my mother could watch the MapucheRican.

We met in the West Village and had coffee and dessert before walking up to 14th street. I like talking to this person ( I still haven't thought up of a too long nickname for him). I have very honest, real conversations with him. We talk about writing, movies, politics, and our fucked up relationship habits. He's goofy and smart. It's a sexually charged relationship with us having had sex (not for lack of trying on my part) but in a way it's kind of better this way.

So at Union Square I see him stop to talk to these people who have this sign saying "Talk to Me".
Now this man has some strange friends. He's a songwriter/musician after all. But white strange people can be a little scary to me sometimes so I hesitantly followed him to this white man and woman. I knew they weren't a cult or anything. And I figured that they were doing some sort of street theatre type thing but it turns out that this couple (are they involved? I should talk to them about that!!!) just decided to stop what they were doing and travel around the city talking to people. Now while in some ways I find it fascinating and really cool in other ways it's like damn...a Rican like me couldn't get away with that shit.

My date and I entered in the middle of a convo about whether NY was getting better or worse. I was the only native born and bred NY'er. One woman, from England, admitted that when talking about how NY was better she was only talking about Manhattan below 79th Street. Grrrr. This is why I don't want to talk to people. My patience for people who live in their own alternate realities really is close to nonexistent.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Cigarillos Peruanos en Corona

I was having a bad night last night, anxious and stressed because I wasn't paid , forcing me to cancel all my plans from then till Monday when I may get paid if my students show up. I was feeling like a failure as a mother for making promises to do things and not being able to keep them. I was feeling like a failure as a person for wanting to be an artist and not producing anything of real value.

M. read my whining frustration on another journal I keep, sent me an email and eventually an IM consoling me with the promise of free cigarettes directo del Peru.
I called him and we spoke....it was the first time we had a conversation with each other uses our voices and not our keyboards in months. It was nice and it felt safely familiar. It wasn't long before I found myself changing out of the ripped teeshirt I was wearing and into a pink tanktop. I brushed my hair but didn't put makeup on. That would be trying too hard and would give the impression that I cared. Y bueno of course I did on some level...but more than it being about me looking cute or seductive, I was nervous. I didn't know how he would react to me and how I would react to him.

Soon I was stepping into his car. We hugged and I kissed him on the cheek before he handed me the cigarettes. I was just happy to not be in my apartment. We sat in the car for awhile chit-chatting. Neither one of us though really looked at each other. It was strange in that respect but not uncomfortable. He asked if I was in a rush or if we could drive around. The MapucheRican was tucked safely in bed with my mother upstairs, I said I had time and off we went.

He wanted to see where in Corona I used to live for something he was working on. He still has that deliciously loud laugh. He can make me laugh. He still sings loudly in the car. We drove through Corona and ended up finally at a diner.

We talked about internet dating and how he doesn't think before he speaks. It wasn't until the end that we came up. I heard it again. Him saying that it wasn't me. It was him. Except this time I believed it a little more. He also talked about her. How scared he was of seeing her. I could understand that fear and I was grateful not to be there.

He paid for the food on his credit card and drove me home. Before I left him he says
" So now that you saw me and got it out of yoyr system that's it right?"
He was referring to an earlier comment I made with him about the sense of closure I got from seeing Stupid Married Boy.
"We can still hang out," I told M.
"Next time it's on you," he said as I dropped a lighter he had given me months ago.

Really be friends with someone I slept with? Who would have known?

Now if only I could get such calm after a meeting with the Prince of Bushwick.


Thursday, August 19, 2004

Super Raton

No I am not talking about the proliferation of rats in this divine city of New York. I am talking about what the MapucheRican and I got to see last night in a garden in Loisaida. 8 Millimeter Mania , curated by Tessa Hughes-Freeland, was part of the Howl! festival.
We watched Super Raton (Mighty Mouse in Spanish. This made me and a Spanish woman sitting behind me squeal with delight as did hearing the song los pollitos). There was an old silent Spider Man film (one kid could be heard saying "Where's the real Spiderman?"). There was an Alice in Wonderland film, a little bit of Mary Poppins, Some Keystone Cops (with some gratuitous wife beating that made my daughter and I cringe), Charlie Chaplin. We left right before Laural and Hardy since we had a long subway trip home.

The MapucheRican was fascinated with the East Village. She's especially loved the tattoo shops (she's wanted one since she was three) and the cafes with music wafting out of them.
"You hang out here don't you mom?" she asked me just as we passed a little place I used to drink wine in with a filmmaker lover. I nodded and she responded,
"It figures"

Latino Nation Mighty Mouse Posted by Hello

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Are People Buying This?

So the mayor of my lovely city is now offering discount buttons to RNC protesters. . This man will try to make a buck off anything
The mayor couldn't guarantee that scary anarchist would not gain access to the prized buttons (I won't even get into the bullshit definition him and the media are using when discussing anarchists).

Bloomberg is trying to put a pretty face and appear accomodating, problem his he still won't budge on accomodating the thousands of New Yorkers who don't need hotel discounts but need the right to protest where they want to (Central Park or Bust!!!).

I have applied for protest permits. I've done rallies without permits. I will probably be attending some of the permitted rallies. But I'll be damned if in my city I'm going to be told where I am allowed to express my outrage at Bush and his policies.

The mayor can take the free felt tip pens and shove em tu sabes donde.

Mala Was a Better Stripper Name

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first name
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Tuesday, August 17, 2004

This is not a U. S. Bashing Post

Nor is it a post filled with righteous anger. It's just me, happy that I finished the summer term in school and aced my class thank you very much. El gringito and I made our peace with each other last night and now maybe just maybe I can enjoy the rest of the summer and have something that resembles a life!!!

Monday, August 16, 2004

Viva Puerto Rico

Everyone is so shocked that the Puerto Rican team beat the United States so called "dream team". Hell many people didn't even realize that Puerto Rico had it's own team (because while Puerto Ricans do not the right to represent themseleves politically they can represent themselves in the international sports world....sigh).

I say right fucking on y que viva Puerto Rico. Just goes to show you that the United States dream be it a team or bunch of bullshit imperialist lies is bound to fall apart.

Ha ha. Now if only we Ricans would get our asses together to really beat the Yanquis.
(note to Homeland Security: I am of course speaking metaphorically....:P)

Sunday, August 15, 2004

Mala's Right to Choose

I received from the MapucheRican's father some pictures if his graduation from the university in Santiago. He had a nice suit on and was clean shaven, proudly posing for pictures with his credentials that will entitle him to a nice job. Maybe he'll pay me some money for the 7 years I've been raising our daughter.

I was reading this interview in Bookslut (because contrary to popular belief I read such things) and was quickly resentful of my position. I chose to have my daughter. When I told the MapucheRican's father that I was pregnant , he told me to return to the United States where abortion was legal. I did return to the United States but obviously I didn't have an abortion. I would have an abortion later in my life.

He, the Mapuche, el Chileno, his life would go on regardless of what I did. Because Chile has backwards marital and child support laws, the fact that we were never married makes the MapucheRican a "natural" child of his, unable to claim any benefits until she becomes of a certain age. By benefits I speak only in financial terms, because well the other stuff, she's tasted, in two visits her father has made to the United States. He got to complete his university studies uninterrupted. He got to date and fuck without worrying about childcare. He never was vomited on, cried on or woken up at 3 am by a little hand just to be told that he was loved.

No it's not all bad. MY daughter is a brilliant, well-adjusted, funny, soon to be seven year old. Hell the other night she wanted to discuss the Cuban Revolution. Damnit she is my child. She's sweet and yes it was my choice to have a child just like it has been my choice since then not to have others via birth control, abortions, and or no sex.

It just sucks how the burden usually falls on us , as women, yes we were given the power in our pussies...But none of these decisions we make are made in a vacuum. There are laws, and lovers, and loud ass religious protesters and so many things and people ready to point a finger, lay blame when we make these decisions.

I want to have another child eventually. I say I don't want to be a single mother again because of how hard it is, but then again you never know what I may decide. I chose single motherhood once already.

Friday, August 13, 2004

Ink from the Gene Pool

The other night , because I was forced to bed at 10 pm by my dearest daughter, I found myself awake at 2 am, restless. I began to read the latest issue of Tin House, specifically a story by Dan Deweese. It was about a woman who realized she could write just like her father. Not his style but his handwriting.

I write just like my father. A father I haven't spoken to in years by my own choice.

At first it was considered a good sign. It meant that maybe I would be a lawyer like my father or better yet a doctor because everyone knows how bad a doctor's handwriting can be.
But then when my father left my mother my handwriting was a reminder.
I was told to write neater. My handwriting became a problem in school. My mother would sit beside me in her bed and shake her head as I practiced writing my name in script.

I never became a lawyer or a womanizer like my father.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Latina Nation Vibe

Posted by a oh so brave anon commentor: "why is this kid's ethnicity of any relevence? are you sure you're not just profiling him as a rich white boy from the 'burbs (albeit a cute one) when he might just be a lazy-ass college student. perhaps your latina nation vibe might be slightly off-putting to him? just asking."

Hmmm oh mi oh my where to begin with this one?

I label everyone by their ethnicity, race because that's how everyone labels me. I can't escape it. White privilage has allowed white people to not have to be labeled , to be the norm to everyone else being the other. So while not relevant really except maybe in the fact that this white boy is perhaps riding on the hard work of his two people of color group members. Gosh people hate when you reverse racial profile don't they?

I never said he was a rich white boy. He has by his own admission a good paying job but he grew up in a working class single parent home, much like I did.

Is he lazy? Probably.

Now if I had any video production skills I would insert a video spoof of Janet's Jackson's Rhythm Nation with all my friends and family where we would all be singing " We are a part of the Latina nation".

I don't feel bad or bothered if people find my Latina nation attitude off-putting. Since day one I've found something about this country a little off putting......do I dare call it racism?

I wonder if a disgruntled white man I dated posted the anon comment.

Sing it with me...." We are a part of the Latina nation!!!"

I feel like exposing some nipple now too.

Academic Headache

At my age, school should be easier and in many ways it is. I'm smart enough that I don't have too study too hard. I'm responsible enough to do my readings and papers. Too bad the class that I'm in this summer requires a group project. Since it is a Sociology class the whole point is to show how people can work together on solving a social problem.

My group originally was me and a male Latino. We were both excited about analyzing prison recidivism because for both of us it is personal on many levels. Then we get a new team member. A good looking , young fresh faced gringito whom I think is adorable. He's just getting political and didn't have a happy suburban upbringing. He seemed progressive enough.

Then he started coming late to meetings. Then he wouldn't show up to meetings. The paper is due tonight in class and the two original team members, the other latino and I, have yet to see an ounce of this man's writing.

I was freaking out over the weekend but now am calm. My ass will be covered. I worked. My partner worked.

I hate group projects....I hate working with young gringos who make too much money for their own good and like to do everything by the seat of their pants.

Monday, August 09, 2004

The Identity Behind the Mystery Comment

I figured out who left me the mystery anon comment here a few posts ago and I want to extend my deepest apologies for not picking up on the obvious clues to your identity.

Now don't you all want to know who it is? It's a long complicated story but it's a good friend whom I've never met but who knows me really well and yes he's male (surprise surprise).

Sunday, August 08, 2004


She was the first of las hermanas de Mayaguez to come to the United States. It was about 1947 when my great titi left Puerto Rico and like many other Boricua women worked in the garment industry. She worked to bring her sisters and their children to the United States and out of the poverty that Operation Bootstrap was plunging the Puerto Rican people further into.

Now she is a widow. She sold her house when her husband passed away (RIP Tio S.) and handed over the money to her only daughter so that she could pay off university and other debts. My great titi moved in with her sister down the street and her husband (who happens to be my great tio and not just by marriage). There she cared for her sister as she died from breast cancer (RIP Titi L.)

My widowed great tio just sold his home, a home as a child seemed like a mansion to me. He is moving to la patria, Puerto Rico, to a brand new home on the beach he and his wife had planned to build before she became so ill.

My great aunt, the one who was the first of the sisters to come, the one who ensured everyone's passage to the United States, now essentially finds herself homeless. She could go to Puerto Rico with her brother in law but she hasn't been there since she left over 50 years ago. To her that is no longer home. Her sight is failing (working in sweatshops will do that to you) and without the ability to drive, she would be reliant on a non-relative in Puerto Rico. She now struggles, with the help of my mother, my aunt who lives down the street, and me, to find an apartment she can afford with her social security.

Remember I mentioned she has one daughter? For reasons unbeknownst to me, that daughter, who is struggling herself to survive (as we all are) hasn't stepped up to take her 84 year old mother in, or to help find affordable housing for her.

She who ensured everyone else had a place to be now has nowhere to be.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

If we profile in airports, why not banks, boardrooms and the halls of Congress?

Friday, August 06, 2004

Love Letters

Yesterday I recieved my first fan letter/email from a blog reader that I don't know.
It's strange and surreal to think that people read what I write and put out there into the universe. So if I don't know you and you read my blog, let me know!!! Send me hate mail/love notes.

I have a letter from my abueltia in Puerto Rico staring at me. She wants to know if I've been reading The Purpose Driven Life. Honestly I have been skimming through it but excuse me if I have a hard time believing in eternal damnation for not accepting Jesus. What kind of a god is that????

I got a nasty email/note from the Price of Bushwick telling me essentially he was treating me like all his other ex's meaning like shit.

And some anon blog reader posted in Spanish yesterday...I assumed it was the misfit. It wasn't. Who are you?????

Thursday, August 05, 2004

East Village Love/Hate Song #2

Last night I pased by a storefront. Behind the doors I used to sit with people I called (and still call) my hermanos and hermans and plan protests and other means of struggle. My daughter played on the floor during political education meetings until the crew figured out the need for babysitting. Now those peeps have moved to the Bronx.

Last night I sat across the street from a bar where I became "the other woman' over cuba libres. In the same bar I sat with a boy I dated who was legal to fuck but not legal to drink with me. He used a fake id to get drinks.

I've danced in many of these lounges. I have read poetry in a few of them too. Many a dark corner , inside and out, bore witness to many kisses.

There were police cars in Tompkins Square Park , enough to make me uncomfortable as I smoked a cigarette remembering protest rallies where I worked security inside that green space filled with such a history of subversion and fuck you politics.

Last night another corner, another dark club, another man, wrote its history into my mind. Continuing the love song, the lament that this part of the city sings with me.

East Village Love/Hate Song #1

Last night I should have been in class but I was a bad girl and cut so I could see my friend (yes he is a male) perform.

Getting off on the Second Ave. stop on the F/V line transported me into multiple time zones in my biography.

I first got off on that stop when I was 17 and was dating a boy from LaSalle High School. I ended up enaged to that boy and he was the first boy(man?) to get me pregnant. We thought we were so cool and alternative drinking coffee in cafes until we would get kicked out for making out and groping each other like wild animals.

Across the street from the subway station there is a Thai/ French fusions restuarant that the Prince of Bushwick took me for my birthday two years ago. He sang to me a horrible birthday song and I was the happiest woman just sitting in his shadow.

A few months ago I walked the East Village Streets with the misfit. He was engrossed in telling me about a movie idea. He was too self involved to notice that my silence wasn't intent listening but extreme sadness at having to walk next to a man I was falling in love with who had just dumped me on-line hours earlier.

The fetish shop where I dropped down major cash on my first latex dress is no longer on St. Marks.

St. Marks was where the Afghani filmmaker I slept with for awhile used to have a studio. We would eat and drink in little cafes until we were in a drunken blur that would lead us to his basement apartment in Long Island City.

So much history in a few square blocks

I know you all want personal details

And I guess I could write about my romp in the East Village last night but right now I'm too busy drooling over John Buffalo Mailer and how hot he looks in this week's New York Magazine, cuz yes I read that snooty magazine to see how the other half lives.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004


Living in New York City right now apparently I'm supposed to be afraid of terrorist attacks based on information from years ago.

But all I'm afraid of is the veiled threat made by the last boy who dumped me. It wasn't really a threat and he was being sweet. I got an email late last night from him saying he had sent me a text message earlier because he was by my school and was going to see if I needed a ride home.

Hell yeah I could have used a ride home. A ride home gives me two extra dollars for coffee or towards a pack of cigarettes. Two dollars is a one way subway fare to go out with my daughter or on a hot date. Two dollars is round trip bus fare to Rockaway Beach. And it's not like the cute 23 year old in my class with whom I love flirting has the balls enough to offer me a ride home. Yesterday when he saw that it was getting cloudy he gave me an umbrella as he stepped into his car.

Timing is everything and the boy who dumped me texted me at about 10 pm, two hours after left campus . At that time I was home in my pj's. He also texted me at a time when I have cut my cell phone service off because I just can't afford the thirty dollars a month right now. So even if I was at school, the message would have been lost in the atmosphere.

What he doesn't know (but will after I post this) is that I've been looking for his car since I started the summer session. He's always driving around and I scan the boulevard daily for a car with a bumper hanging on for dear life. Of course I never really think about what I would do if I actually saw him. I never considered that he could have a ::gasp:: date in the car with him. It's been about two months since we've last seen each other. Would I still have the urge to kiss that mouth of his?

Now he knows what time I get out of class. He knows where I wait for the bus. And tonight I looked a little bit harder then ever for his car, wondering what he has hanging from his rearview mirror. My stomach was full of butterflies I never had when we dated , butterflies he's still looking for some girl to give him.

I didn't see him and part of me was disappointed. I want to hear that loud laugh and sit on my hands nervously. Part of me was relieved because I am scared of seeing him again. I say I'm ok with being single but something about seeing someone you used to date can change that, even if just momentarily.

Monday, August 02, 2004

The Type of Men I Can Now Attract

I was looking all cute on Friday night with my favorite skirt and a tank top (no bra).
But again there just aren't enough single father's out there who are worth it (read they are all too old for me!!! Or just not fine enough..yes I am just a little bit superficial). And single men in my age group well they just don't consider a 6 year old a fashionable accesory (if they only knew!!!! Kids totally go with almost everything!)

It's enough to make me say I give up on dating.

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Training Wheels

I felt like the Colombian husband and wife that run the local cycle shop were shaking their heads at me. The MapucheRican got her first big girl bike after he birthday almost a year ago.

"It doesn't come with training wheels?" I remember asking as she picked out a Trek bike complete with streamers and a white basket in the front.

"She doesn't need no training wheels. Just start out by teaching her how to walk it and before you know it she'll be testing her balance and riding. " the man told me.

He doesn't know my daughter. The MapucheRican did not inherit my fearlessness. In fact she is like my sister, screaming at the site of bugs and trembling at the thought of a scrape.

I tried. I really did try to teach her how to ride. We went to empty lots and huge playgrounds. I took her up and down and around the block. But her fear kept winning and the damn bike was just taking up too much fucking room in my apartment to sit unused.

So Friday the bike shop put training wheels on and the MapucheRican has been peddling around like no one's business. On Sabado her and a boy raced. He was the same age as my daughter. His bike had training wheels.

I learned how to ride sans training wheels in a Corona school yard with my dad screaming at me. I cried the whole time but I learned.

I don't want my daughter to learn crying though. So for now training wheels are ok.