Saturday, July 31, 2004

Your Sister is So Cute

Thanks. Except she's not my sister. She's my daughter.

Oh really? It's just that you're so young. I mean you look so young.

I am young. I'm 27 and my daughter is almost 7. I was 19 when I got pregnant. I was 20 when I had her. And Yes I am single.

You look younger than 27.

The two middle aged white woman let my daughter , who is doing the pee pee dance, cut in front of them at the port a potty line outside Riverflicks last night. I could see their embarrassment and see them whispering comments. I'm at the point that I just laugh at this stuff.

Friday, July 30, 2004

Role OverLoad

School and all it entails (papers, exams, reading), motherhood, single life, struggling to eat....all these things are weighing heavy on me this week. I feel like I;m on the verge of a nervous breakdown with no release/relief in sight.

The Dems say help is on the way. Ha! Too bad they're full of shit.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Calling All Single Hipster Papis

Oh wait there aren't any. I took the MapucheRican to PS 1 on Sunday for their family day event. She splashed in a dirty wading pool. Danced bad salsa (mi hija no tiene ritmo...salio al pai) on a misty platform, and ran in a bamboo rainforest. She participated in two collaborative sculptures. And damnit I looked cute with my hair braided, my maroon sparkly cat eyed sunglasses and a dress. But damn if all there were many other hot single mamis like me!!! All the cute hipster boys were with their single childless women or alone. And they were not kicking it to the likes of me yelling "No please do not throw rocks at me!!!" to my six year old. There was one, just one cute father alone with his adorable daughter, but he seemed to care less about me lifting my skirt to wade in the pool.

The one cute single papi I know wasn't there and expected me to find some hot round bootied chica for him.

"Hey you're beautiful can I get your number for a guy I used to date?"



Monday, July 26, 2004

Drunken Careening Ecuas

I love my best friend.....which is one of the reasons I turned down a last minute date offer to go chill with her at her man's place. She promised me there was at least one cute boy for me to flirt with. Now let me add that I don't like the man she is dating. Better said that I don't like the way she acts when since she has begun to date him. He has become the end all and be all of her life rather quickly. Too quickly in my opinion. He's broken up with her and gotten back together with her more times then I've had sex this month (although that's not saying much.

I get to his place in lovely Jackson Heights (I must say that there are beautiful men coming in and out of that subway station around midnight). There are four drunk men, my friend's date, my friend and I. We all were laughing, drinking, flirting and dancing. Well except for my friend's date who seemed to resent my presence. It didn't take long for my girl, who was drunk to become hysterical a la memorial day weekend. She and I eventually left the apartment and the fact that her man didn't follow made her worse. She was literally sitting on the sidewalk of Roosevelt Ave. at 5 am!!!
What really pissed me off was how after her boyfriend was rude and inappropriate instead of just coming withme, she decides to call some other loser for comfort.
But the ultimate highlight may have been when I turned my back for a second on the subway platform and my friend so her chance to run as is run away from me and right back to her man's apartment.

incidently he broke up with her. Again.

Friday, July 23, 2004

The Best Things in la Vida are Gratis

There are a shitload of free things happening in the city this weekend. Art tours, cheesy 80's movies, parties. Hell for a woman most dates are free (financially speaking of course, the emotional toll can sometimes be great). But all the is meaningless if you can't even find enough change in your sofa to get you a roundtrip metrocard.

At least there is food in the fridge.


Thursday, July 22, 2004

So I'm a DoorMat...or a Moving Target

I joined another site, used really for people to hook up with each other. I joined at first out of curiosity because someone I have been out with is on there (kind of how I got on Friendster-twice!!!). Also I am an admitted exhibitionist and part of me loves being "out there" on the net.
So I put my picture and my little profile and I watch strangers want to me my "friend" without so much as a word exchanged between us. Then the curse sets in and none other then the Prince of Bushwick finds me and wants to be my friend.
I haven't seen him since my birthday, when he took me out to dinner and I didn't fuck him because I wanted to meet up with the misfit instead. So I approve him as a friend and he writes what he thinks is a clever testimonial. And it goes a little something like this:

"Infinite patience, boundless acceptance of other people's shortcomings, accommodating, and sweet - yep, she's a doormat. But only I am allowed to take advantage of that. All you other leeches need to get in line behind me."

And I'm devastated because of how true it is.

So publicly on this same site I make a blog entry because yes damnit I wanted him to see it and I don't know if he reads this blog.
I wrote:

" So I'm a doormat...

..one of my lovely ex-lovers says. Because everytime he called me I would be there in a second. It didn't matter to me that he was fucking some heroin addict. It didn't matter how when I first was with him he would leave items belonging to all his other lovers for me to see. He would call me for a drink, for sex, or do help him do something for work and I did it. He wasn't always an asshole. He mostly was, but he wasn't always and I think I returned so many times hoping this time I'd meet the nice version of him. Maybe it was just the desperate hope of a lonely chica. He was a smart, professional, semi-Latino who knew how to fuck really well and kiss very well and could make me laugh and roll my eyes with the same joke. Whenever he would reveal a little bit of his soft underbelly, his vulnerability , the next time he had to be an extra dick to push me away.

Him calling me that made me sad, mostly because it's true. Why else would I be reading another ex's script and emails from his ex? Why else would I still be friends with my best friend even after she seduced a man she knew I had been lusting over for a while? Why else would I date a married man?
Why else would I converse with a man that tried to rape me?

I'm a doormat that's why. "

I was fucking crying and it floors me that this man still has that on me.

I little sound a flash comes on my computer screen. It's none other then the monarch of a certain enclave of Brooklyn saying that he responded to my entry.
So like Pavlov's sad little puppies I log on to see what he wrote....and it was:

"Madre de Dios, M! Don't let that maricon's wily ways fool you! You are far too wonderful to allow any of that negative shit to drag you down. Remember, if he can't appreciate the glorious beauty that you bring into this sick, sad world, then HE'S the one with the problem, not YOU! Why would you waste your time on some self-absorbed comemierda? And as for your fixation on his degeneracy, don't confuse "fascination with an accident scene" with "ardor"! Maybe subconsciously you're followings his exploit so you can watch his downfall. You should recognize that since he's chosen to relegate you to the background that he's already lost. I know its tough to give up great ass - believe me, I grapple with that problem daily - but you need to be ruthless with your time and drop him in the garbage like expired milk. You're too wonderful to be wrapped up in a degenerate like him."

Don't you love how he refers to himself in the third person like it's not fucking him???

He called me this morning to apologize and I played it cool. He said he meant it in jest and that he would be happy to write a nicer testimonial if I so wished. I told him I let it go and her should too. Done. He hung up with the usual line of talking to me sooner rather then later.

Then it hit me....well someone else told me. I am not a doormat but rather a moving target. I'm sending out some sort of signal to wounded men..men with issues...to come to me. All other men bore me.

Sigh......what happens if I keep getting hit like this????



Tuesday, July 20, 2004

The Purpose of my Life

I love my Abuelita who lives in Carolina Puerto Rico because she is my abuelita. Dia de Reyes at her house was mixed bag. My entire family, myself included would go for the food. Abuelita makes alcapurias and piononos that are worth killing over. But the Three Kings always seemed to be at the bottom of their bags when they reached Rio Piedras. Under the Craftmatic adjustable bed that belonged to my grandfather 10 years earlier, before he died, where my sister, stepsister, her primito and I had left grass and water were gifts of socks and garfield underwear with captions like "Great Balls of Fire". We were all thoroughly unimpressed. Especially since the Three Kings had already left us awesome gifts and clothes at both my stepmother's sister's condo and their parent's house in Santurce. But what made it worse was the fact that at my grandmother's house The Three Kings seemed to turn into evangelicals. In between the socks and panties were always tiny inspirational books and notes about praying and giving your life to god.

Sadly because my grandmother is my father's mother and I am now estranged from my father, I don't speak to abuelita as much as I should. She tries to make me feel guilty about the fact that I decided to cut my father out of my life and well I don't feel the least bit guilty (sad sometimes but that's a different issue). But my grandmother and I still correspond. And she sends me little inspirational books with bible quotes and postcards talking about why god loves all mothers even slutty unmarried mothers like me.

Her latest gift to me was the book The Purpose Driven Life which is a New York Times best seller and from which I am supposed to read a chapter a day for 40 days. Shit Billy Graham wrote a blurb on the back cover!! But because my abuelita gave it to me and filled the inside cover with wishes and prayers for me to change my heathen ways I read the first chapter today which tells me it all starts with god. That what I want for my life doesn't matter , what god wants for my life is what matters.

Well god why the hell did you have to give me such bad fucking cramps today???


Monday, July 19, 2004

And I Saw Her Face

I had a good online conversation with the misfit yesterday , really laying it out on how I was feeling. Then of course, his ex came up and I decided that to really test myself (or torture myself depending on how you view it) I should let him email me pictures of her.

I saw the pictures. I didn't have a heart attack or get sad. She's a beautiful chica and he looked happy as could be beside her. She wasn't what I expected and I think that's why I wasn't bothered. Maybe I can be friends with him.




Sunday, July 18, 2004

Scenes from the G Train

 
Yesterday I found myself on the G train(this is becoming a pattern. I am having an affair with Brooklyn). I was reading Ana Castillo's Peel my Love Like an Onion for the millionth time seking inspiration (when I am working on a love/lust/obsession story I turn to that book).
 
Suddenly from the seat behind me I hear what sounds like skin being hit by a bare hand and cursing in a tiny voice.
"Fuck"
"Shit"
"Fucking shit"
 
As a seasoned NYC subway rider I should have ignored it but instead I turned around to see a tiny brown nene hitting himself on the face as he cursed. He looked like he was maybe five years old. The four teenagers that he was with laughed about other things and discussed video games. They didn't even make sure that the little boy was following them when they got off the train.
 
And I didn't do a thing.
 
 
 
 

Thursday, July 15, 2004

I was a Beautiful Gordita Bebe

My sister was a beautiful gordita bebe. I gave birth to a flaca. The MapucheRican when she was born had little chicken legs. She was long and dark and skinny. She was never an ugly baby but everyone lamented that she didn't have a round belly and rollitos on her legs that you just wanted to eat.

The MapucheRican in all her skinniness was a healthy baby. I never doubted that contrary to what this article says

It took a few months but her big belly came and so did the rollitos. I never overfed her. In fact when she started eating solids she was a vegetarian. Then she got flaca again. Now she's filling out again.

There is nothing wrong with wanting a fat baby. Having a fat baby doesn't mean that baby will have an illness when he/she grows up. Being fat doesn't mean you have an illness. I'm all for stopping the proliferation of fast food restaurants in our hoods not just because they are bad for our health as a community but because they are evil wanting only to suck the money out of our people. Pero the fact that a huge number of Latinos are uninsured isn't an additional problem. It is at the base of the problem.

Bigger may not always be better, but bigger doesn't always mean an early grave or an unhappy life.

I for one am in no rush to have no ass, no hips, no piernotas. See how the medical establishment tried to use these front Latino/brown faced doctors to push their sick standards.

Big up to Big Fat Blog for bringing this to my attention.


Wednesday, July 14, 2004

My My Metrocard (and counting pennies)

Yesterday I spent my last $4 on buying a Metrocard so I could get to school and come home after class. I get on the bus to school and put my shiny new round trip card in the slot when the bus driver tells me the machine isn't working. I should be like, "Woo hoo free bus ride!!" but I wasn't. I was pissed. I lamented the fact that I didn't have psychic skills or that Walter Mercado didn't tell me that in my horoscope instead of something about being in the moment. Had I known I would have bought a single ride Metrocard leaving me with $2 to buy an iced hazelnut coffee after class.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Ok I take it back

Thanks to the intervention of my super and a KeySpan supervisor I can now cook again.
Damn If I knew these people were going to be looking at every nook and crany of the stove I would have cleaned. I feel like my worth as a domestic woman was being questioned. Stupid supervisor however asked me is I had a Phillips head screwdriver and then explained what it was, just in case as a woman I didn't know. Fucking ass.
But I can cook!!!!

Fuck you KeySpan

Ok besides the fact that you are this huge evil energy conglomerate responsible for so many evils in the world (don't make me make a list because I can damnit if I didn't have so much work/reading for school) but damnit today you turned the gas off so you guys could do some work. You come back up to check the gas and I swear never in my 20 years of living in this apartment have the freaking stove knobs started smoking the way they did today. Hell I was cooking on that stove yesterday. I would have noticed smoke. So now because of whatever the fuck your genius workers did , your worker (who was kind of cute I must say) is turning off my gas and telling me to tell my landlord to replace or fix the stove. Hey idiots!!!! We own this fucking apartment so guess what? If I want to replace the fucking stove I have to buy a new fucking stove. I can barely buy food sometimes to cook on that stove and now out of the blue I'm supposed to buy a new one??? And how in the meantime am I supposed to feed my kid? I mean really how many fucking meals can I grill on my fucking George Foreman grill.

I am so mad??? Can you tell?

Monday, July 12, 2004

Que Viva Neruda



Today is the centennial of Chilean Nobel Prize winning poet, writer and activist Pablo Neruda.

Reading Neruda is like being in Chile again, all beauty and violence wrapped into one.



Poema 20 de Pablo Neruda



Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.


Escribir, por ejemplo: “La noche esta estrellada,

y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos”.


El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.



Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.

Yo la quise, y a veces ella tambien me quiso.



En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.

La bese tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.



Ella me quiso, a veces yo tambien la queri­a.

Como no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.



Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.

Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.



Oi­r la noche inmensasmas inmensa sin ella.

Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el roci­o.



Que importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.

La noche este¡ estrellada y ella no esta conmigo.



Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.

Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.



Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.

Mi corazon la busca, y ella no esta conmigo.



La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos Ãrboles.

Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.



Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuanto la quise.

Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oi­do.



De otro. Sera¡ de otro. Como antes de mis besos.

Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.



Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.

Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.



Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,

mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.



Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,

y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.




Why Being Friends With An Ex-lover/Boyfriend is Hard

First the Misfit wanted my opinion on how to deal with a woman he's been seeing. He wanted to know if it was a good idea to cut her off before she could develop feelings for him. I told him to tell her from the get that he didn't want anything. He only touched upon his feelings for his ex. It was painful to see him write (because of course all of this was done over IMs) about the kind of woman he wanted mostly because it was made gut wrenchingly clear that in his mind I was never any of those things. Damn. I don't think he realizes how fucking charming he is and the power that has. But I was a good friend. I gave him advice.

Then today he asks if I'm busy cuz he wants me to read something. Cool. I love seeing what he writes. He's a talented and funny writer. Too bad he wanted me to read an email he had recently received form his ex, the ex, the one he's not over. Oh. Ok so being nice I agree and I read all about her upcoming marriage and pregnancy. It gets into little details about the misfit's relationship with her. It was painful for me to read. It must have been very painful for him. So I gave him my take, which was that she was seeking closure and that she was a poor writer. He thanked me and appreciated my female perspective.

Sigh....Sometimes being a friend sucks, especially when you're being a friend to someone like him.



A Nice Neighborhood

My neighborhood by all accounts is a fairly quiet and safe one. I generally feel safe, even late at night when I stand in front of my building to smoke a cigarette.

On Saturday evening there was a shooting in my hood though. A block away from where I live. Across the street from my aunt's building.

Originally witnesses, including people I know, thought the police shot the young man in the alley. You know I was ready to start something.
Regardless it's still sad and just goes to show that these sorts of things can happen anytime, any place, even in nice neighborhoods.



Sunday, July 11, 2004

It's Not You, It's Me

Whenever I go out to meet people, I like others have to expose myself, my flaws and defects and damnit if I don't have enough. When my shortcomings start to show I am required, demanded, told to explain myself, sometimes to people I barely know. They will say it is out of concern for me, in an effort to understand me bettr but in the end it usually comes down to them. They felt manipulated. They felt disrespected. They felt used. They ,They , They.
They want an assurance that it was you not them.

It is me. I am insane. I have a bad habit of disapearing when I can't deal. Sometimes I will disapear into someone's bed, sometimes into a barm sometimes I will just roam around this beautiful city that is my foster home. I don't think about anyone when I do this, not my daughter, not my family, not whatever boyfriend I may have at the moment.

I've gotten better. I used to do it more often. I used to hurt myself more often. I used to be more self destructive. Yes I am certfied.

So yes it's not you. It really is me.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

Pop/Basura Culture Moment

I admit that I don't watch enough television to engage in any sort of meaningful conversation about it and it's impact on life. Um but why didn't anyone tell me that the new Road Rules on MTV takes place in Chile?????

I was flipping channels and spotted what looked to me like Pucon only to find out holy shit it is Pucon.

It got me all nostalgic and in fact reminded me of my own time in Chile when I spent half the time running around with a bunch of ignorant whiney college gringos.
Ah but Pucon. I went to Pucon on the same day I broke the news to the MapucheRican's sperm donor that I was pregnant.

Since I can barely afford a single ride metrocard much less a trip to Chile, Road Rules is as close as I can get.

I heart Nueva York en el Verano

Besides being able to wear all my cute dresses the big manzana in the summer has tons of free things to do. There's a reason why el Gran Combo made a song about Un Verano en Nueva York.

Tonite the MapucheRican and I went to see Raiders of the Lost Ark at Pier 25 thanks to River Flicks

We spread our blanket on the concrete of the pier and ate sandwiches and drank ice tea while waiting for the sun to set. Oh did I mention there was free popcorn?

The place was packed, the MapucheRican loved the film and there were other families there as well as couple, friends and I even saw two dogs.

Get there early if you want a good spot (the film doesn't actually start till close to 9 pm) which means before 7 pm. And don't bring wine/beer/ or any other alcohol. This is not posted anywhere on River Flicks official site so there were plenty of people drinking that is until the parks police came and started confiscating bottles, pulling people out of the crowd and threatening tickets. The police were heard yelling , " This is a family event" to people who argues with the no booze policy. As a head of a little family with a small child there, it struck me as bullshit. But be forewarned.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Public Vs. Private Universities (or Mala goes back to School)

Yesterday evening I started my Sociology class at Queens College. I'm thinking and it looks like I may do some sort of education track. It looks like if I want to eat , I may have to. Besides I've realized I'm pretty good at teaching.

Besides thinking about the Misfit (Queens College and Flushing in general are now associated in my mind with him , among other things)I was comparing the vibe of this city university with the vibe of say NYU for example. Now I like academia. I like talking in theories and then knocking them down or applying them to real life. I am conflicted by the bourgeois attitude that surrounds higher education and the need that all people have for education. NYU is full of bullshit and attitude. I am as smart (if not smarter)than most students there but there is this elitist attitude because it is NYU. I won't even touch the race politics. Let's just leave it that NYU is not the bastion of liberal thinking it claims to be. And you know what, most private universities aren't. It's a nice little front they use to get cash and attention using us (smiling shiny happy people of color)as their poster children.

Queens College (besides having a real campus like grass!!!! Ah I remember grass) has a different vibe. Everyone is a working person. There is real diversity in race, in class. I'm still as smart if not smarter than most students (yeah I know I have a big head...sue me)but hell these people are living real lives, not lives pulled out of Sex in the City or Friends or whatever other bullshit sitcom that is set in a whitewashed, classless (but not really) world.

This doesn't mean I'm not going back to NYU. It's just an observation.
I struggle with my identity as an academic. It goes back to a friend of mine from la lucha being questioned when she chose school over some social justice campaign that was being worked on. The person who called her out was a Young Lord. A man who got his ass beat by police and feds and was (maybe still is) labeled a terrorist. Now carajo if that's not education then what is?

When I was tucked away in a New England institution (that would be a college not a mental hospital...very close though). My isolation from the community was a huge gaping wound. I even held debates about whether Latinos seeking higher education outside their communities was moving up or selling out!

I have to drop $70 on a text book today and damnit if class isn't cutting into my dating time. But the prof is kind of hot and well I like school.


Tuesday, July 06, 2004

It's Ex-Boyfriend Update Day!!!

Did you know this?? If you are an ex-boyfriend or lover of someone (and aren't we all?) call an ex of yours, especially one who was madly in love with you and that you dumped and let him/her know something that they really don't need to know.

Like IM one and tell her that the other ex, the one that came before her, the one you weren't quite over when you began dating her, the one you're writing novels about, is pregnant and that all you are doing is being melancholy and thinking about is her.

Or IM another and tell her that you have a new girlfriend who is younger than she is ( she after all was only 12 years younger than you, the new one is 13 years younger!)Make sure you throw in that she is a pre-med student and only half Puerto Rican. The other half should ideally be white. But point out that the new girl is still darker skinned than your ex. This works especially well if you are white and think that white privilege is bullshit.

When is it gonna be ex-girlfriend day? I have a few things to say!!!

Monday, July 05, 2004

My Father is Selfish

This isn't news really but while I was at the ballet with the MapucheRican on Saturday, my younger sister was supposed to see my father. Neither one of us, the children from his first marriage, have seen him in 4 years. I haven't even spoken to him in that time. I basically wrote him off and out of my life when it became clear that the most important person in life was and always will be himself. But sister, brave, and maybe more hopeful called him. She had her selfish reasons too. She's going on vacation in August to la patria, Puerto Rico, and wanted to get my abuelita's number so she could stay a night there and visit her. It never occurred to my hermanita to ask me first ( I just spoke to my abuela a few nights ago.

My daddy, our daddy invited her over. He said our half siblings were big. I regret losing them most if all. I left my sister with specific instructions on what to tell my father if he asked about me.
"Don't tell him I'm a struggling writer. Tell him I'm publishing and that the NY Daily News even bought a piece that I wrote. And make sure you tell him that I took my daughter to the ballet today."
My father is the who taught me about ballet, and opera and classical music. It was one of the few gifts he gave me beyond life. He wanted so much for me be this happy bourgeois light skinned rican who passed easily between worlds. He wasn't happy that I became an activist. He wasn't happy when at 19 and single I became pregnant in South America. He just wasn't happy with me period.

When I returned from the ballet, an outdoor dinner, and tromping around parque central in orange strappy heels (so sex in the city no? Except I'm poor and not white!)I asked my sister how the meeting with our father had gone. My sister stayed silent for a moment before telling me that she didn't go. Turns out my father called her at the last minute to tell her not to visit his lovely home in the nice part of Queens because they (meaning his new improved family made with the woman he abandoned two small girls and first wife for) had just had all the closets in the house redone in preparation of some French foreign exchange students who were visiting and that the house was too messy and he was too busy to see my sister, too busy to see his daughter that he hasn't seen in four years. He told her that if she wanted to some another week that she should call because with the exchange students coming there would be lots of people in the house and it would just be too crowded to have her there too. Too crowded for a daughter he hasn't seen in four years. His lovely wife made sure however to tell my sister how her daughter, one year my senior was going to Columbia Univeristy for her masters. My father helped pay for my stepsister's college education. I have no doubt he's helping now. My sister and I never got such a benefit. Hell on the day of our first communion, which happened shortly after my father left, my mother had to borrow money to buy us new socks.

I'm not jealous of the life they all lead. They are all selfish Latinos with no real values except showing the world that they have made it. They love their tokenized little life. But the little girl in me and I am sure in my sister, is still mourning the loss of her father at age seven.

Fuck him.

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Feliz Que???

Excuse me if I don't set off fireworks or wave a flag today. I'm not big into celebrating the fourth of july. But for those readers who are, happy birthday to the great imperialist empired that is the United States of America.

The MapucheRican and I went to Rockaway Beach. You really can't beat paying a dollar to get to the beach. Sure I had to listen to freaking reggaeton for a few hours. Sure when I first got to the beach there was just way too much garbage floating in the water and too many budwiser bottles broken in the sand but it's Queens, NYC baby at it's best. Such a mix of people , sights and sounds. Eventually the garbage floated away so the MapucheRican and I swam and it felt so damn good.

We've had a wonderful weekend. I feel blessed

Friday, July 02, 2004

How to Lose Amigos and Alienate People

Write about them in your blog. An ex lover of mine is pissed. He feels that I broke a promise I made to him about never publishing anything I write about him. In all honesty I don't ever remember remember making such a promise and what a irresponsible promise that would be. I am a writer. I write and put stuff out there. Most of what I right yes is highly personal. He's pissed because I posted a poem that in his poem reveals too much of his real identity. It doesn't matter that I wrote the poem. It doesn't matter that it was an experience I lived (a pregnancy and an abortion-things he will never live). He says I should have showed it to him when we were going through it. The thing was that when I was going through it...After the abortion. I went home alone and he disappeared for a few weeks. Poetry was my outlet, my healing. He throws in my face that he's dated other poets (does he mean dated or fucked?) like I don't know the artists and poets he's fucked. Then he tries throws in my face that I've fucked other musicians.

I apologized for the fact that he felt betrayed but not for posting the poem. What is he afraid of? He says nothing it's just no one business. That's right it's no one's business that a self proclaimed progressive Latino man got a latina progressive woman pregnant and that she had an abortion. I dare to say being that woman that it is everyone's fucking business. It was my pussy that was fucked and my womb that was sucked clean. I feel that gives me the right to write, post, yell about it on every damn corner from Rego Park to Washington Heights.

He ended the conversation pissed at me and making me feel like I wouldn't be talking to him again for a while. He was a man I was deeply in love with and still loved but know better then to get involved with and case in point is here.

Maybe again this is why artists shouldn't date other artists.

I had to restrain myself from posting his real name and other identifying factors. I am mad and resentful.

I repeat. I write. If you are in any way significant in my life you will get written about. It will be published here or in a story and someone will hear about you and what you do. Maybe that will make people behave. Ha! It doesn't make me behave that's for sure.

Soy una pura sinverguenza......deal.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

G train means

I associate certain neighborhoods of NYC and specific subway lines and stops to different lovers of mine. I was thinking about this because last night I was on the G train into Brooklyn to meet a date. The G train into Brooklyn for the last year and a half has been the territory of the Prince of Bushwick. It didn't matter that I was getting off in Greenpoint. It felt strange, almost like a betrayal. Maybe it was just a moving on.

Once upon a time, when I was in high school. The G train into Brooklyn used to belong to nene. Nene was this skinny Puerto Rican boy I almost married. I used to get off in Williamsburg to visit him in his walkup, the one he shared with his sister, stepfather and mother, who hated me . Then Williamsburg still belonged to people of color and didn't have the hipster bars and lounges that it his now. Williamsburg was still a little scary to most people but felt like home to me.

Now the G train into Brooklyn makes me feel like a visitor. And I am. Off to meet another gringito.