Monday, June 27, 2005

Vomita la Nina

Vomita la nina translate roughly from Spanish into English as "blech (the sound one makes when vomiting) the girl). The name was first given to a gringa who went to Chile on the same semester abroad program that I did oh so many years ago. One night I sat in the Plaza Nunoa with a group of friends. There was the Chilean and his sister, the beautiful Argentino trip assistant, the sexy smart dyke, the queer chicano, and the petite blonde freshman gringa. We were drinking schops,draft beer and ponche, wine with fruit. We were all involved in deep drunken conversations about politics, all except for the gringa that is, since her spanish was non-existent. In an instant the gringa's head disappeared under the outdoor table and she vomited all over the shoes of the hot Argentino trip assistant. My Chileno friend and his sister could never remember the name of the gringa so they always just called her, " Vomita la Nina".

Now there was beer and there was wine at the annual flag day bbq aka la Fea's birthday bbq. But none of those things are what turned la fea into the new Vomita la Nina. Blame it on pisco, the Chilean pissy yellow liquor. I warned la Fea to stay away from the pisco. My first few dates with the fermented grape drink weren't too hot. I barely remember vomiting in the bathroom of a strange man in la Serena. I do remember one night in Temuco where the two pension mates and I watched a futbol game with a bottle of pisco and I woke with vomit that wasn't my own in my hair.

But la Fea drank pisco anyway, mixed with Sunny Delight of all things. And sooner rather than later she ended up getting drunk , no doubt sped up by the fact that she had earlier been drinking white wine and rum. Eventually la Fea was led upstairs to her room by her man. That signaled the end of the bbq.

Upstairs she threw up whatever she had eaten.

Vomito la nina

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Wanna be one with me?

Take the MIT Weblog Survey

Tag! I'm It!

Fabulosa Mujer tagged me 10 days ago and let me tell you it really took me that long, well between life, to count my books.

-# of books that you own?
I counted up to 343 then I got tired. So I figure somewhere around the 400-425 mark. This is why I am scared of moving. How do move so many books? I need books.

-Last book you bought?
Well I get books as gifts because I'm so poor. The last book I really bought was one of the Magic Treehouse books.

-Five books that mean a lot to you?
Wow this is a really hard question. It's like picking your favorite kid.
Aloud: Voices for the Nuyorican Poets CafeI bought this book right when I was finding my own spoken word style/voice and it helped push me to go to the Nuyorican's and perform at an open mic when I was barely 18.

Memoirs of Bernardo Vega. Besides it being a great narrative of a Puerto Rican pionero in NYC , it has a special place in my heart because it was given to me as a gift from my political mentor and teacher, Richie Perez, inscribed with the words, " We are a continuation of this struggle".

De Amor y Sombras by Isabel Allende I read this book when I returned from my time living in Chile. The thinly veiled representation of the Pinochet dictatorship and the murders and disappearances made me cry as well as the love story.

Ana Castillo- Peel my Love Like an Onion. Whenever I am writing about my own crazy relationships or when I am creating new ones in my writing I always return to this book. It never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

This Bridge Called my Back I heard about this book when I was in college long before I actually sat down and read it, which was after I had la MapucheRican. I wish I had read it earlier but am grateful that it exists.

-Last book(s) you’ve read?
Reading Lolita in Tehran. I resisted reading this because well it was so hyped and I hate hype but my mom bought it and when she was done, I read it and really enjoyed it. Made me think about exile and resistance, two things I think alot about anyway.

Translation Nation. I really wanted to enjoy this more than I did. It wasn't really any wow new information for me except for mentioning a few places I want to visit when I go to Los Angeles.

-Tag… You’re it: Pick 5 Bloggers.
Damn ok.
1. Chica Cherry because she writes about what she is wearing but not what she is reading

2. la Fea well because she is my best girl and needs to get into this whole blog loop more.

3. Nehanda- because she is hiding

4 and 5 can be any of my blog readers from whom I hardly hear from. For example a certain ex of mine who loves to post events as comments on my blog (you know who you be kid). If you don't have a blog but wanna play, play in my comments.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Super Secret Sangria

I'm coming out of a slight depressive funk, thanks to the fact that I will be seeing my Cubanito really soon. I have much to post on including ex-boyfriend deceptions, a rant on the state of students and quality of writing, and mucho mucho mas.

In the meantime think about yummy summer drinks like sangria.

I know the secret ingredient in Pio Pio's sangria that makes it super potent. The strongest sangria I ever had was in Santiago de Chile at a TGI Fridays in Providencia.
It was one of my first days in Chile and the bar was just a few steps away from the apart-hotel where I was staying. I don't even remember how many glasses I had. It may have been just a few since my alcohol tolerance wasn't what it is now. How potent was this sangria. Well let me put it this way, it was so strong that afterwards there was a threesome with me, a queer chicano boy, and a fierce dyke-chica.

Ah sangria, good memories.

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Live Formally Nude Girl

I live between two strip clubs. One of them is highlighted in this Nerve article.

I never was an all nude stripper. Just topless and a thong. For some reason keeping my choch covered made the whole experience seem um , less dirty?

This article reminded me that I really need to finish that book about my dancing days/nights.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Oh Where Oh Where Can My Vibrator Be?

Have You Seen Me?

Name: Nubby Clearly G

Date of Purchase: May 12, 2002 Age: 3

Purchased at Toys in Babeland

Variable speed

4 1/2" along the curve x 1 3/8" diameter

Uses two AA batteries

Date Missing: June 10, 2005

Last Seen: Between my Legs

Leave it to me to lose a sex toy. The other day when I went into my toy box, which is on a high shelf in my closet, it was gone. Now it wasn't my favorite toy. It's a little too small for my taste and I could never get it to give me the g-spot orgasm it promised. But one day I discovered that with my favorite 9 inch toy inside me and this guy on my clit, I was one happy mami.

I have cleaned my closet. Moved my bed. Searched high and low and it is nowhere to be found. Now sex toys just don't up and walk away. Maybe he ran away because he knew he wasn't my favorite. Maybe it was left out and got thrown out?

Well all I know is that now I have to buy a new toy and I don't have the cash to so .

Please come back home friend!!!!!

Thursday, June 16, 2005

The Lady Next Door

I haven't posted much lately. I blame it on PMS. Post Menstrual Syndrome. I get depressed and moodier than usual right after my period ends. Go figure. So I have been extremely lazy and suspicious of all, especially my long distance man. It didn't help that someone I knew , even if only online, killed herself. I didn't know her well. Read a few things she wrote but she was friends with many of my online mama friends. She was a young mami, like me and like many. At first I thought the fact that I didn't really know her protected me from feeling sad or hurt but later on Sunday past, it hit me. I cried and screamed and thought about all the times in the past that I did try to kill myself. I thought about how my disorder has me thinking about suicide almost daily and how daily I have to just watch those thoughts float by in my head. I think about my daughter and how far I've come in terms of being better able to manage my impulses be they be to fuck some random guy or take a handful of pain pills.

It was a struggle to get my ass to a picnic I promised la MapucheRican I would take her to on Sunday. But I did take her, after a solitary glass of wine and a good cry and scream and throwing of some things in the bathroom.

Yesterday, a 12 year old girl who lives in my building saw me throwing some garbage out. I see this girl almost daily when she picks up her younger brother from the same school la MapucheRican goes to. She commented to a 13 year old friend/boy who happens to live next door to me, " Oh you live next to a nice lady".

I was kind of offended at first. Cuz when a 12 year old calls you a lady it's because they think you're old. It's right up there with being called Senora and Ma'am. I guess I should be grateful that she didn't call me a crazy bitch.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Macrame Anyone?

According to my 75 year old great-uncle, that is what the residents inside his gated community in Puerto Rico are calling it these days. Sex that is. My tio likes to call it la Autopsia as in " Oye Mingita! Ya hicieron la autopsia?" wink wink.

In Puerto Rico you live in one of four places: in a house in el campo, in a house with gates surrounding it, in a house within a gated community, or in a caserio. When my great aunt died a few years ago from breast cancer that spread and ravaged her, my great uncle moved back to the country he was born in in a house he had planned with my great aunt when she was still alive.

The latest bochinche surrounds the fact that my great uncle has become quite the playboy, throwing parties with many many women. At once such event his sister introduced him to a woman that he has fallen madly in love with. My mother and my aunt are very unhappy about this. They think that the nearly three years that have passed since my great aunt passed are not enough. It is too soon for them. The object of my great uncle's affections also happens to be younger than him, about 20 years younger, younger than both my aunt and my mother.

My mother is quick to write my great uncle off. "He is nothing to me " she says disgusted by his behavior. He was just married to her aunt which is how my mother met his nephew, my father. My great uncle is the only member of my father's family she still speaks to, since it was he and my great aunt who raised my mother when she arrived in NY from Puerto Rico.

This puts me in a strange position. As it is, my great uncle, is also the only member of my father's family that I am speaking to. Last night my great uncle went on and on about the woman he is in love with. How she is smart and likes to do things and doesn't drink because she is a religious woman, oh and she has great tits. That is what my great uncle told me.

He made me promise not to tell my mother or my aunt the details he told me about his "girlfriend". I promised not to.

I didn't ask if they were into macrame.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Fear of Street Walking

I take my safety for granted. I go drinking and come home late on the subway, by myself. I never have enough money for cab fare . Not that taking a taxi is necessarily a safer option. Last November, a rapist attacked two women two separate times one block away from the apartment where I live. This kept me indoors after 9 pm until the spring came and my boredom and depression forced me back out.

I have been lucky so far living in New York City. Only in New York City is being lucky getting mugged by a group of 7 when I was 12 and having numerous men whip their cocks out in the subway and jerk off in front of me on my way to and from high school on the subway. My closest call of being attacked by a stranger happened on the night I had my first date with el Cubano. It was Valentine's Day, 2001 and I was giddy from delicious kisses and just a little drunk from wine and conversation. It was also very late. The combo made me not very aware and a man slipped into my apartment building behind me. I took the elevator and suddenly on the 2nd floor the elevator stopped and a man opened the door just enough for his body to fit. His penis was in his hand and he was jerking himself off. I tried to push the door so I could get out of the elevator where I was now trapped. I tried to push him out. I screamed for help. Now mind you my neighbor complains that I walk too hard but she and everyone else in the building ignored my cries for help. Finally he stepped back and I was alone in the elevator. Then I began to worry about if he would follow me up to the fourth floor where I live and follow me into my apartment. So I got off on the third floor and suddenly had the urge to find this man who ruined my perfect date night and chase him and then if I caught him, well I didn't think that far ahead. I ran down the stairwell of my building screaming, " I'm gonna get you mothafuker and then I'm gonna cut your dick off asshole!" I remember holding my keys tight in my hand. Maybe I thought of stabbing the man with my keys. I never caught him. He ran out of the building and into the streets.

One of my biggest regrets is that I never called the police that night just like years later I didn't report when I was nearly raped by an ex of mine.

Tonight I was supposed to go out with la Fea to the Tertulia. I really didn't have anything to perform. I considered translating portions of the short story I am working on. I could have pushed myself to finish a poem that is floating in my head. Than I saw this. The attack didn't happen near where I live but the G train passes by me. I have been on the G train many times, at 3 in the morning, just like the woman who was attacked. Maybe she was coming home from a date all giddy. Maybe she had been drinking with her girlfriends from high school. Maybe she had just given a kick ass performance.

I am not going out tonight.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Summer Sweat , Sex and Sigh

Two weeks ago it was 10 degrees below average and I was so sick. Now it is 10 degrees above average. The 90's threaten to come and nothing makes me happier. Hot, humid days give me chance to prance around the city in cute clothes, drinking iced coffee. Summer heat makes me feel sexy. Exposed skin, drops of sweat forming between my breasts.

Summer reminds me of the good things about stripping because yes there were good things, like standing out in the alleyway behind the club in your lucite heels, drinking , smoking, laughing with the other dancers.

Summer makes me want to have sex. No. Summer makes me want to fuck.

Some of my best sex was had in the summer heat. Some of my deepest passions opened up and spilled out from me in the summer.El Dominicano, Prince of Bushwick, Francisco de Coronado. Flirtation and foreplay happened in lounges, bars and parks. Then hours of loud animalistic dirty fucking and languid mornings and days afterwards. Open windows let in breezes against our bodies and the smell of freshly cut grass. We also played out our dramas in those hot days. Unwanted pregnancies, abortions, miscarriages, other women, protests and deaths even.

The man I am with now, El Cubano, the only man I want to fuck and flirt with in this summer heat, I met in the middle of a cold winter and we have done most of our fucking and flirting and played out our dramas in the cold , in the rain. It is now, in this, out third try together , our most hopeful and most stable despite thousands of miles and bi-polar episodes, that I have warm memories with him. Nearly seven months ago when I flew to Los Angeles I wore my cute outfits, I exposed skin, I felt sand and sea against me and I had him. We are building now in different seasons and different time zones.

Monday, June 06, 2005


Saturday, June 04, 2005

Garganta Profunda

So the big story was how the man known only as Deep Throat revealed himself. W. Mark Felt, the number 2 man at the FBI during the Watergate scandal. This now viejito is being praised left, right and sideways for the role he played in bringing down Nixon and is the center of discussions among journalists and those who love them since he was one of the granddaddies of the anonymous source world. What hasn't been discussed so much was how Mr. Felt helped organize a Federal campaign of spying and spreading of misinformation among the left wing and POC activist movements that make the Patriot Act look like a walk in the park. I'm talking COINTELPRO

COINTELPRO was one of the first things I learned about when I became an activist, since many of my mentors and teachers, former members of the Young Lords, Black Panthers, and Black Liberation Army, were all too familiar with the program.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

My Newest Love

It's portable and pink and gives me hours of pleasure. If I was Desperate Housewife Eva
Longoria, I may be talking about one of the vibrators a fan sent me (by the way if I do have fans like that, feel free to send me sex toys!!), but I am talking about my iPod mini. I got it as a birthday gift. I am torn between feeling like a complete sell-out by outfitting myself with the oh so obvious white headphones and well just loving it. It has allowed me to play out my dirtiest musical fantasies like listening to Menudo and Alejandro Fernandez back to back. I am going insane making play lists including an English language gym mix and a Spanish language one.

I have always liked listening to music, when on the subway, when walking to the store. It accentuates a mood and makes me feel sexy and puts a little extra shake in my ass when I am strolling through the supermarket.

But then there is the bad side. I have become a snob, wondering how do people still deal with bulky portable cd players and the extra cd's you need to bring, not to mention the extra batteries. I mean those who know me, did I really need another reason for me to be a pretentious bitch?

Sometimes I worry about the rash of iPod swipings that have been reported. Maybe I should change the headphones? Maybe I just shouldn't bring it if I think I'm going to fall asleep on the subway?

What happens when the battery just won't recharge like I heard happens after two years or so?

A poet recently wrote how the iPod is just another device that separates human beings from each other and the world around them. I know specifically I use the iPod just for that purpose, to create and artificial mood or to sustain a mood artificially. I especially do this when I am writing, when I want to tune the real world out and sort of create a soundtrack for myself.

But today as I have been rereading some of my Zen Buddhism book collection , Edwin Torres' words make more sense and sound better than whatever playlists I have downloaded. Just for a little while "Leave your iPod home, become a youPod. Revel in the sound of your breath, bump into people, talk to them, let your ears free."

Apparently Christian Didn't Get the Memo

I know this is ole news already, but I couldn't help posting about it well because I had the only crush on Mr. Slater back in the day and because if Christian had just patted and not grabbed there may not have been any charges.

Later versions of the incident indicated that the ass grab happened in a bodega after a fight between Christian and his girlfriend. This led my mother to comment, " Well if it happened in a bodega maybe Christian just wanted to see what Latina ass felt like."

Wednesday, June 01, 2005


It had been six months since I stood up on a stage and performed my poetry. My absence from the spotlight that I love can be blamed on a number of factors. Please note that the last time I performed was right before I went to Los Angeles to visit el Cubano. Please note that 6 months ago was more or less the same time that certain rockeros began spreading rumors at the place I primarily perform and hang out about spreading legs. My money situation has been sucky the last six months and anyone who knows anything about me knows I need a good glass of red wine or two and a camel light to be at my best.

A week ago I made an unexpected comeback. It was unexpected even for me. I had just come from a fruitless evening search for a good sports bra when la Fea called asking if I wanted to go to D'Antigua for the tertulia. After securing a ride to and from as well as a glass of wine I agreed and quickly changed into my "money" jeans and a new shirt I had bought a week before. I didn't bother to put on a bra and I threw some makeup on my face.

I wasn't booked to perform and I didn't expect that after such a long absence I would just be invited to get up on stage but my gut told me to bring something just in case. So I printed Natural Disasters, in English and in Spanish and stuffed it into my pocketbook.

Once I arrived I was greeted warmly and asked to perform. Of course I said yes and then became incredibly nervous. I drink two glasses of red wine so quickly and smoked cigarettes in the rain as I practiced my difficult translation. Maybe it was also the subject matter. It is the first poem I have ever written about el Cubano. I was too nervous even to worry about el Ecuarockero not saying hi to la fea.I was concerned about the Spanish getting tangled around my tongue and the audience seeing nipples through my shirt.

When I was called in from the rain , despite my absence, some audience members remembered me. I went up on stage and excused my poor Spanish before I began. The audience was good to me, quiet and respectful, much more so than they were with the performers that preceded me. All was going well until I choked on a word, "susceptible". It just wouldn't come out and that fact ruined my head for the rest of the evening.

The worse part is that the next day I was going all over Queens with the word "susceptible" rolling off my tongue and bouncing off my lips.