Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Charcoal

How...?How to tell her that everything is gona be all right; that things are gona be OK; that she doesn't have to worry; that something good will come out of this.

How to tell her that things are going to get better, that this is perhaps just one of those obstacles that we so often run into in our life; how to tell her that every difficulty offers its own opportunity and every weakness can be transformed into an strength.

How to tell her that things are bright ahead right after she didn't get accepted to school A, B or C and instead she has to go school H which she hates. How to tell her that there's a ray of light at the end of the tunnel if she wanted to study P, Q or R, but she's gona have to settle for T. How to tell her not to worry about the ton of money needed to go to a school that she doesn't want to attend, to study something that she doesn't want, in a city where she doesn't feel comfortable.

You need a piece of charcoal in your chest instead of a heart, and break fluid running through your veins to spit the sentence "don't worry about it".

Somedays we just need someone at the other end of the line who could just listen to us; who knows our plans and projects and dreams and who knows what we're going through; someone who knows how fucking dark the clouds are getting in our world; someone who truly knows us. There's days when we need someone who could see how fucking hard it is to see our dreams coming tumbling down right in front of our eyes; someone who could just listen to our sobs on the other end of the line for hours; someone who could just be there with us.

There's evenings when we need a friend who could just listen to us; a friend; a good friend.
I should change the trash bag in my kitchen more often. . . Besides waking up with the smell of a dead body in my condo, there's a cloud of little mosquitoes/insects that had been biting me to dead!

Monday, August 29, 2005

Breakfast

I Google Morphin and found this oleoMy landlord is a very cool guy. We were roommates for more than a year before he ate a piece of fish with an extremely high concentration of mercury, which made his brain malfunction and he end up proposing to his girlfriend. Now she's like eight months pregnant and tested positive in a routinary drug test at the middle school where she works at; tested positive for morphine.

He is about three times myself; not obese but he's just a big motherfucker. One of his arms is about the size of my leg, he's like 6'4 and he might weight more than double my 138 lbs at least. During the time we lived together we competed playing tennis, Project Gotham on his XBOX, PC video games and eating. On video games he always kicked my sorry ass; in XBOX I managed to keep my head above the water but just barely; in tennis we have pretty much the same level but as I'm lighter and more agile, I always end up kicking his wide ass. And when it came down to eating. . . the Indisputable Heavyweight Champion, without any type of doubt, was [drumroll please] Jean-Francois! We ate burgers, hot dogs, lasagnas, rice with chicken, mashed potatoes, southern BBQ, we went to all the all-you-can-eat-buffets around town, we went to Ruby Tuesday's, Friday's, Harper's, Apple Bees, etc., etc., etc. and I always end up having the last word. He would not have breakfast nor lunch just to see if he could beat me, but I, after having my usual cereal and an apple for breakfast, a nice size lunch and some mid afternoon snack would end up wiping out my whole plate -or plates if we were in a buffet.

I just came back from his place where we chat for a while and he told me the story of his wife testing positive for morphine. As I was on my way out, I saw that he had a lot of containers and shit with all kind of protein stuff and muscle development and vitamins and whatever you can imagine to be a big motherfucker like him. He told me that he was going to the gym and that he was planning to develop even bigger muscles. "You should try some of this" -he said to me, pointing out that "girls don't like skinny dudes like you." I asked him if that shit would make me fat, and he just rolled his eyes and said "I can't think of anything dude, anything in this fucking planet that could make you fat!" He certainly made me laugh, the bastard.

be careful you teachers out there The day his wife had to take the drug test she had an "everything bagel" in the morning, and according to one of the doctors a concentration as high as the one she had could only be the result of an overdoses or a bagel, an every-fucking-thing-bagel. I know, it sounds crazy but after a week of doctors, lawyers and quite a few threats from my landlord she's back in the classroom teaching her students to say "no to drugs". If her poor students only knew. . .

Sunday, August 28, 2005

On J-F's Family News

Lots of news from South America these days my friends. My older sister is getting married, believe it or not. And she's getting married to a "brave man" as I told my mom on the phone. My older sister is a bitch and as horrible as it sounds to refer to a sibling that way, the truth of the matter is that she's a bitch in the whole sense of the word. Is not a coincidence that it took her sooooooo many years to find a guy stupid brave enough to proposed her.

In other news my super-cool younger sister got silicon implants. That silly lil' sis of mine. She really didn't need implants, I thought that she had enough and that she looked pretty good, but girls always want a couple pounds less or a little bit more here or there so I could understand her. I really like my young sister and I love her as much as I love her two labs, Tomas and Flab, who are perhaps the greatest dogs in this planet.

My favorite sister and my favorite cousin
Right is my cute little sister; middle is my beautiful and awesome cousin who lives in NYC and left cool J-F.

My mom told me few weeks back that my lil'sis was getting her tonsil removed because she was getting like a cold a week or so. When I called her to ask about the surgery she said that it went fine and then she asked me if I didn't know about "the rest". I was like WTF? but immediately knew that she had done something to her cute figure. According to her she was A and now is B, but I think she was small B before and now she's B -if that somehow makes sense. I asked her for photos and she said that whenever the swallowing passes she'll send me one, I replied "the swallowing is not gona go away, that's what the implants are for, you silly!". She laughed but confessed that she also had the love handles removed, the so-called lipo. But once again, she was very cute before and really didn't need any of that, but well, girls are girls.

The wedding will be early next year so by that time I'll be back in South America, perhaps for good, and I'll have the honor to meet the new member of the family. I really hope, for my sister and specially for the mental health of my parents, lil'sis and the dogs that the groom doesn't get cold feet and ends up changing his mind. As a funny note I have to point out that he already has TWO marriages behind him, so maybe as the good old saying goes "la tercera es la vencida" and this one is 4-eva!

The only one thing that worries me is that now that my sister will be classified as a married person, the pressure is on me. Well, the Prrrrresure if you know what I mean. Is not that the biological clock is ticking its last seconds on my back, hell no my friends, Jean-Francois still feels as young and restless as back in the days and he still has a lot of experiences to live before dropping to his knees and committing Harakiri proposing to a nice girl to share the rest of her life with this red haired boy. But every time my parents asked me about my love life and when is it that I am finally going to settle down, my answer is always the same: I'm waiting for my older sister to tie the knot. But now that she's getting married, I guess I should come up with another answer. . . Perhaps I could deflect it to my cute little sister and her EIGHT YEAR relationship with her boyfriend -which my parents of course refer to him as their "other son", because the one who lives in the US was taken out of the family heir long time ago.

I told you, lot of shit going on down there and certainly nothing new over here in the Bible Belt.

Wasted

But not drunk-wasted, more like a wasted-Saturday.

I decided to follow my own advice and hit downtown on Saturday night; I called some friends and even though they weren't really sure about it, they said that it may end up being a fun night. So Saturday morning it all sounded good; perhaps too good to be true.

I had Chinese for lunch with some friends including my cool friend Jerry, that I like to call J, and who made me laugh like crazy. We all ate like truck drivers in the last all-you-can-eat-buffet for the next 7,000 miles, and me being of course the one still standing and refilling his plate when everybody was exhausted after conjugating the verb "to glut" for a couple hours. (I don't really know if that's a verb, but let's say it is: I glut, you glut, she gluts and so on).

From early in the morning I had a little headache that wasn't that bad until I came back home from the Chinese. It started to grow parallel to my trips to fill my plate and by the time I picked up the mail and walked into my condo, it had morphed into an awful headache. I took a couple pills of my "Tylenol from drunkards", which I believed is advertised as Ultra Strength or Arthritis something or whatever for the public and started reading my book. At around 7:30 PM the headache was anything but funny, a pain that I could feel right behind my eyebrows but that was different from that pain that I get in spring with all the sinus infection and shit that I get when all those beautiful flowers fart into the air pollen and all that stuff. A fucking pain in the ass but deep behind my eye brows.

The blue color stands for Non-Alcoholic... bitch!
At that time I decided to put my book away and lie on the coach with my eyes closed. Perhaps to take a little nap. Well, the phone woke me up at quarter after ten and it was one of my friends saying that they were going to see a movie at I don't know who's house, so that the dancing plan was in other words "postpone". The headache was still there but not as bad as before, maybe because by that time I was hungry again and my refrigerator was as empty as a robed safe box.

I headed for the supermarket to get something to eat and in my way to the cash register picked up a six-pack of Becks. I hate beer in a can, it takes like shit to me. Beer in an ice cold bottle, ahhhhh that's a whole different story my friends. When I scanned the beer in the self check out, it didn't ask me to show my driver's license as a proof of age, so I thought that the cashier had bypassed me in advance, knowing that I definitely don't look like a 16-year old dude. A little detail that was going to cost me dear half an hour later.

Got back to my condo, put the beers in the freezer and threw a piece of chicken breast in my own mix of butter and basil flavored olive oil. Meanwhile I ironed my shirt, shaved and checked my gmail account where I get the VIP e-mails. After that I ate real quick and proceed to move from the freezer to the refrigerator my ice cold Becks. Saw that the bottles were a bit frosty and said to myself "Yeaaaaahh, time to warm up engines tiger!".
Half a second after I've opened the bottle I saw an unusual blue ribbon on the etiquette as oppose to the traditional red that I didn't quite understood. . . but that if I've payed more attention when the self check out in the super market didn't ask for my ID, it would've rang a hundred bells inside my head.

The blue ribbon meant: Non-Alcoholic.

Fuck! Non-alcoholic means sans alcohol; means no warming up of engines; means a beer that tastes like a juice, like a beer with three bags of fucking Splenda in it. And what's the whole point in drinking a beer that has no alcohol, I mean seriously, what's the whole fucking point?! You don't want alcohol? then go and get a fucking apple juice bitch!

At that time the headache hit me again and it was already twenty after eleven, so if I'd taken a quick shower and drove immediately to the club, after parking and shit I would've been asking for my first RedBull Vodka right at midnight. A good time to be around the dance floor but not in the shitty mood I was at that point and not without a single drop of alcohol in my system. I don't have any good looks or this tremendous personality so it always takes a lot of talking and smiling and dancing and drinking to break the ice and shit, so if I'm not feeling like a champion, what's the whole point? Besides going alone to a club is just fucking pathetic to put it in pretty decent damn words.

So no alcohol, no e-mails in my gmail account, no dancing, no love, not even a movie with my friends, no nothing. Oh, actually just one thing: a fucking headache in a wasted Saturday night.

Sad shit, I know.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

I wish I had a British Awccent.

The Last One

Seriously Dude, let this be the last post on cute Stephanie, ok? I know that you've just received a brand new e-mail from her telling you a lot of stuff and making you laugh and a happy man; but seriously, I mean, the time to put a lit on this thing has arrived. Have you noticed, for instance, that she left twenty five days ago? That is almost a month, a whole month! Seems like yesterday- I bet you'll say, but Dude, almost a month in this ping-pong game of e-mails and Trasn-Atlantic phone calls is a bit more than enough.

Like in the good-old days!What you need is to go out, go and see the light, the lights of the city at night, Bright Lights Big City! Go out, call your friends, hit downtown with plenty of cash in your pockets and the credit card ready in your wallet if needed. Go and drink, start with an ice cold beer just to warm up engines and then move to your all-time favorite RedBull Vodka, and stick with it for Christ's sake! You should not mix and match when it comes to alcohol because you know too well the consequences. And while at it, do not think about calling or blogging about Steffi, the time to move on has arrived.

Go to your territory, the places that you know like the palm of your hand, the environment where you can shine the most: Go salsa dancing! Go! Go! Go! Yeah, there you turn into a hurricane of steps, turns, flirts, cheers and so on. Go ahead and approach the blonde hair girls first and invite them to go and dance. If it doesn't work move to the red hairs and if there's no luck there you can always move on to the brunettes. If still no luck in that department go ahead and approach those ladies with gray hair, I'm sure they'll be happy to see such a not really young gentleman trying to hit on them and in response they'll treat you right. If perhaps they are into something else you know you can always approach the big momas. Go to the corner where they usually hang out and talk to them, invite them a drink, go and buy a RedBull Vodka for them without asking. If they say that they don't like it, well, you do like it so go ahead and drink it and still they'll think that you were such a gentleman. And please go and get laid for crying out loud! Get crazy! You know that the sun will always come up from the east the next morning and besides you've been jogging a lot lately, so if you have to run from someone the next morning, at least she'll have a hard time getting her hands on you.

Now, if even the big momas somehow don't want such a good boy like you but a sleazy mother fucker, well, what can you do? Go home and sleep like an angel. I'd say leave all the porn that you have stored in your two laptops as a last resort, just remember what happen that last time when you were feeling the same way you're today. You remember? Yeah, you got too close to the laptop screen and well, shit man, all that thing on the screen and the keyboard wasn't really a good picture, was it? You were lucky back then that it somehow didn't hit a wire, because that would've been fucking embarrassing. Picture this: You with your laptop at the front desk of BestBuy or CompUSA or whatever saying that you spilled something on the keyboard. Was it water, or perhaps coffee Sr? -they'll ask. And I'd love to see your red haired face trying to come up with an answer of what the hell was it that you "spilled", you pervert. (But as a matter of fact I'll be the one there, so let's just try not to get in those kind of troubles at least in the near future).

So go out and pArTy! ! ! like in the good old days. Jogging helps calming you down and perhaps those glasses of Merlot let you fall sleep quicker, but the truth of the matter is that you just need a gurl by your not very handsome side.

Wrapping up I'd say that the first step in this recovery is to stop blogging about Stephanie. No more posts about her or her e-mails or the Trans-Atlantic phone calls or her stories or all that crap that you come up with in this blog. Let me just make it crystal clear for you: No more posts about Steffi. Period.

Failure to comply with this simple rule could result in punishment according to local and federal regulations on the subject matter. If the offender (in this case you, cool Jean-Fran) is caught red handed and in material breach of this very simple rule, I can assure you that the punishment could go as far as taking this blog away from you. . . 4-evaaa!

The arrow is in the bowstring, and there's no turning back. Good luck dude and remember: no more posts on cute Stephanie.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

I am a Middle Child

The middle or second born child or children often have the sense of not belonging. They fight to receive attention from parents and others because they feel many times they are being ignored or dubbed off as being the same as another sibling. Being in the middle a child can feel insecure. The middle child often lacks drive and looks for direction from the first born child. Sometimes a middle child feels out of place because they are not over achievers and like to go with the flow of things.

Being a middle child would mean they are loners. They really don’t like to latch on to a person in a relationship, therefore they have trouble keeping one due to lack of interest. Not liking to take the limelight for anything, they are not over achievers and just simply work enough work to get by, and typically that goes with school as well as a career. They are however very artistic and creative. If forced to use abilities they will work well, but do not work well under pressure. They often start several projects but rarely keep focused long enough to finish a project. The best career move for a middle child would be along the lines of using their creative. Going into a writing or journalism career, and into a career that they could freely express themselves would be good. Anything that would have hours that are flexible, and projects that frequently changed would be good for a middle born child. Since relationships are not of high importance to a middle child, often times they are alone. However, the best possible match for a middle child would be a last born.

I found this little article here.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Nights in Rodanthe

I felt in love with AdrienneNot bad at all my friends, and if you allow me to, I'll say that it was quite good. Even more so I'd recommend it to those lost soul that show up here every full moon. Read it.

When I picked up this book I was completely new to the Romance section of my local library; and to be honest I choose it because it was the thinnest of them all. I never went down that aisle before, and in my way to other topics I always thought that my sneezing was due to the proximity with all those pink books than the actual dust that slowly accumulates around everything.

But a very cute girl I once used to go out with (what's her name again?) recommended the author to me, and in those crazy days I gave her my word that I was going to read it -didn't promise shit to her, as promises are way easier to break, but giving my word, well, is my word what else could I add to it?

And I'm glad I did. From a very slow start when I found asking myself "WTF J-F?", I turned the page to Rodanthe 1988 and from then on I couldn't put it down. A hundred pages yesterday, another hundred pages today plus the rest of my Merlot and it was a good idea to give her my word after all.

I may even go back in a few weeks to check on Monsieur Sparks again and some more idylle for my poor soul.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Sparkling Earrings

Early this morning I exchanged some real time e-mails with cute Stephanie (aka Ms. Computer Expert) that had me laughing at random intervals throughout the day. And not only that but made me realize how lucky I was to run into someone like her, with such kind and good heart.

Last night I downloaded Peaceful Easy Feeling from The Eagles and played it like ten times, plus some more this morning. That song is stuck in my head now and I can't stop singing/mumbling it. But not the whole song, just:

I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
against your skin it's so brown
And I found out a long time ago,
what a woman can do to your sooooooooooul
So today at work I've been all day laughing by myself and mumbling/singing those lines.
I'm sure my co-workers must be thinking that I lost it; that the South finally took a toll on me and that it's time to call for the straight jacket, heavy medication and solitary confinement; some of them must be frothing at their mouths with the thought of looting my cubicle once and for all.
If they only knew what lies beneath it all. . .
That's awesome! You know i've never met a Colombian I didn't like.
Such a cool line, ms. E

Monday, August 22, 2005

*E*N*E*R*G*I*Z*E*D*

J-F keeps going and going and...I always come up with pretty good ideas, but some of them once implemented turn out to be not that good.

It was good idea to charge my batteries last weekend as I've been feeling like dragging my feet for the last few weeks. Reasons are well known, no need to go into further detail here. But even though it was a really good idea, right now it's starting to feel like a good idea that went just too fucking good.

After a nice day at the office I got home feeling like a champion so I went for a jog followed by some pull ups, dips and push ups. Later on greeted people at Starbucks with a nice smile and did some small talking to other souls in line right before devouring more than a hundred pages of my new book. Came back home, ate, organized some of my shit and went through half The Economist. I've just came back from my second jog of the day and I'm sipping the last drops of the first half of a nice bottle of Merlot, which had done nothing to slow me down.

My batteries were kind of overcharged last Saturday and I know that is going to take a lot of effort to fall asleep tonight, again. And to get rid of all this brand new energy without someone to hug and kiss other than my pillow, is going to take even more energy if that makes sense.

Guess I'm going to have to get drrrrrunk again this coming weekend, but this time to slow down a little bit.

A New Neighbohr

A blonde hair girl with big green eyes just moved into the apartments on the other side of the dumpster swimming pool. She drives a fairly new Saturn and likes to wear blue jean shorts.

She'd been moving stuff from her car to the condo for the last week or so; and it wasn't only until yesterday, when I ran into her in the parking lot, that we said "hi". I don't plan to have any further interactions with her.

The most accurate word to describe her hair style is mullet.
Lots of day dreaming these days and I can't help it. Just can't.

I wish the rational me could take over the whole thinking department and send that Tasmanian Devil that my other half is on a nice vacation.

Perhaps then I could accomplish more shit at all levels.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Mr. Gatekeeper

It's funny and kind of odd, but to charge my batteries there's nothing like a night out with friends drinking, dancing, cheering, laughing and just getting drrrrrrrunk. It takes a lot of energy to recover the next day (today), and even more to remember what the hell really happen after we started gulping down those tequila shots, but I feel like new.

When I'm like half way drunk I always like to make everybody drink and I even go and fix and mix drinks myself; and last night wasn't the exception. As the variety of drinks were reduced only to a) beer b) sangria and c) Tequila, I didn't have the chance to show my skills as a bartender, but it didn't stop me to walk around with a bottle of Sauza in one hand and a long narrow glass for the shots in the other.

I swear this is the last shot!
I still can't believe that after all these years people still fall for the same lines "I'm going to pour you a very-very little one, but you have to drink it all", "You don't have to drink it all, but you have to drink" and so on. At the end we were all so drunk that nobody asked for salt and a piece of lime and all that crap. BTW, tequila is going to leave you feeling like crap the next day, so why further poison your body with salt and lime?!

Even poor M-J called this afternoon to blame me for her hangover. As they were planning to go home all fucked up and shit, I stood by the door with the tequila in one hand and the glass in the other saying that whoever wanted to cross the door had to drink. They could very well jump out of the window from the second floor and into the parking lot if they didn't want to drink, I pointed out, but I was the gatekeeper and the shot was the key. The only poor soul that drank was M-J and according to her that last shot "killed her". The only thing I could say in my defense was that I was only a "messenger".

And I deserve a pat on my back, because I didn't end up making trans-Atlantic phone calls last night. I'm definitely on my way to recovery. . . well, let's just say that I'm doing a bit better.

Summary

Becks
+ Corona
+ New Castle
+ Loud music
+ Budweiser (ew!)
+ Coors Light
+ Salsa dancing
+ more Corona
+ Corona
+ Lights went off
+ Merengue dancing!
+ Corona
+ Pump up music all the way to max
+ Coors Light
+ Corona
+ Budweiser(ew!)
+ Fuck the neighbors
+ More dancing
+ Half a glass of Sangria
+ Budweiser(ew!)
+ A very small Tequila Shot
+ Much more dancing
+ small Tequila shot
+ Tequila shot
+ Dance!Dance!Dance!Dance!
+ Tequila shot
+ Tequila shot
+ Drinking Tequila Straight from the bottle
+ Drinking Tequila Straight from the bottle

= Head splitting headache; thirst; hunger; lack of memories at some point; etc., etc., etc.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Nine Songs

This is a British film; a love story. It's about Lisa and Matt, and their one year relationship.

The special thing about it, is that it is a mainstream film where the actors have real sex, like in a porn movie, but without being a porn movie.

Blockbuster doesn't carry it
Nine Songs tells the story of Lisa and Matt in London. They meet at a concert, hook up, make out and eventually she has to leave. Fucking sad shit for all of us who've had to go through it.

From that first concert on, the film focus on their interactions, which turned out to be like any other relationship. They make love in his condo, wake up and have coffee; chat for a while; make love in the kitchen. They talk about this and that, are cute with each other, play silly games, take a weekend trip and make some more love. They take a bath where time seems infinite and just stare at each other, enjoying just being there, with each other. They go to another concert, sing, jump, drink, come back home and make love.

They take a weekend trip
One day they're in bed and she stars to cry, for no apparent reason. What's wrong? -Matt asks. Nothing- she replies. Girls are complex creatures, and they sometimes just cry. And they do it for no apparent reason to us, stupid men; but the truth of the matter is that sometimes they just cry for no reason at all.

Porn movies are filled with explicit sex from beginning to end. In these, porn stars seems to fake an orgasm with every thrust from their male co-stars and scream so loud that sometimes you don't know if it's pleasure or plain pain. Porn movies are as explicit as an anatomy class in college; all sex scenes start with kissing followed by oral sex, then the intercourse in different positions and angles and finally the money shot. In porn movies everybody fucks everybody and at the end you know that, well, everybody is going to end up fucking everybody. The bigger the silicone implants and the louder the porn star, the better the movie.

You look like an angel
Nine Songs is not a porn movie. Is a mainstream movie featuring real sex. The actors look like any person walking down the street and they don't have this great sex where Lisa would scream orgasm after orgasm. They have pretty normal sex, nothing out of this world. The film doesn't explore their erotism, sensuality or sexuality; is just a pretty normal movie about a pretty normal couple.

Even though the actors have no experience in porn movies, the truth of the matter is that they're actors, so I don't really know how much is acting and how much is real. For me it gets pretty real, in the sense of regular sex with your girlfriend/boyfriend. These scenes are shot with natural light and maybe two cameras at the most, I'd think is to give them more privacy and make it as real/normal as possible. There's no close ups and zooms and stuff like that, and I'd add that if you cut about seven minutes out of the film, it could easily be shown in a theater near you.

Nine Songs is a short film, it last only 69 minutes, I'm sure the director choose that number for its sexual connotations. There's no time to develop the characters nor to fall in love with their love lines. Perhaps what the director wanted to show was a simple relationship and that it's not a big deal to show regular actors making real love in a mainstream movie.

Matt, the main character starts to narrate his romance with Lisa from the vastness and immensity of Antartica. Perhaps it reflects his feelings after her departure: coldness, loneliness and an emptiness that is everywhere. A void so vast that is hard to believe it could be filled again one day. Perhaps the movie just reflects my feelings at this point in my life, after Stephanie's departure. That may be the reason why I enjoyed the movie so much, and why I felt identified with Matt, the main character and his relationship with Lisa. What a coincidence that both Lisa and Stephanie were both 21 years old.

I recommend the movie to every body out there. However, if you want to jerk off, I'd advise you to go elsewhere as Nine Songs is far from being the raunchy type of porn movies. Is just a regular movie about two regular people in a regular relationship, that happen to be making real love in front of the camera.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Summer 2005

Rumor has it that Jean-Francois made an unauthorized Trans-Atlantic phone call from his corner office (cubicle) at around 3:27PM Eastern Standard Time. The motifs and the outcome of that phone call are still surrounded by a mystery, as well as his whereabouts ever since he left the building that rainy Thursday afternoon.

Since early morning that very same day his co-workers noticed him acting a bit strange, looking at his watch like if it was already Friday afternoon and mumbling something about the time difference between Europe and the North American East Coast. His co-workers have no idea what he meant by "Europe", maybe is a new client, or a new restaurant, or perhaps one of his new love interests, but no one is one hundred percent sure about it.

We saw a red haired latino jogging down the street...

Some people gathering around the water cooler who overheard Jean-Francois talking to himself, mentioned something about no one picking up the damn phone over at "Europe", even though there had been a previous agreement on the date, day and time that such phone call was gona be placed. Records in the IT department also show that he tried several times, but with no luck.

The last person to see him on his floor and with his tie still in place was one of his co-workers. Under the most strict secrecy he let us know that Jean-Francois was looking out of the window, like staring at the infinite on the eastern side of the office building, mumbling something about "Europe". It was kind of strange, because even though he likes to watch the sunset, it always happens on the opposite side of the building and never as early as four thirty in the afternoon.

Through his reflection on the window, this very same co-worker saw that his eyes were kind of red, like if he'd been smoking weed for weeks -maybe those rumors are true after all. As this gentleman approached strange Jean-Francois, he recalls greeting him with a very casual "Wass up your ass today, man?". Next thing, Jean-Francois turns slowly around looking at him like a hungry lion on methamphetamines and fires back a very polite yet very clear "FUCK OFF!".

The receptionist and the security guard assure us that he left the building at some point between five o'clock and quarter after six, they couldn't really agree on an exact time. Footage from the security cameras would show, few weeks later, that they were making out in the utility room at the exact time Jean-Francois stormed outside the building breathing fire and looking for a brawl.

Experts from CSI-Charlotte concluded that those tire marks on the parking lot belong to a small yet powerful "rear traction car" whose owner floor it while exiting towards the main road. As only a handful of executives have reserved parking spaces, the experts concluded that it may belong to any person working at the building. Human Resources records showed, though, that Jean-Francois had been late for work for the last couple weeks, and that those marks on the pavement match those lazy-ass bastards that arrive late and have to park at the end of the parking area. Is not conclusive, but it ties a lot of loose ends.

A SWAT team was dispatched to south Charlotte were the suspect lives, and upon arriving to the target location they gave a positive identification of that little red car with a 2.4 L engine. Armed with shotguns, M-16s and several rocket launchers they knocked on the door with no luck. The mat at the entrance of his condo said "Come Back with a Warrant!", so they knew they were dealing with an expert and stopped short of storming his one room condo marked with the letter D.

Sunsets happen on the west side, but Europe is straight ahead on the east side
A very sweet lady that lives downstairs from the runaway criminal saw all the confusion and offered to help. She recalled that so-called Jean-Francois came to North Carolina early this century after escaping a mental institution in South America, where he'd been with a straight jacket and in solitary confinement for the last ten years. She then recalled over and over again some stories of her when she was young and even brought her cat and started making different voices as if the cat was talking with everybody around. The commander of the SWAT team tried to tell her in a very gentle way that she was repeating the same story over and over again and that they had things to do, but she nodded and started again. Up to this day the SWAT team is still sitting in her living room listening to her stories and their fingers are getting nervously closer to the triggers. But this information hasn't been confirmed.

Later that rainy Thursday some astray labs saw someone who matches Monsieur Jean-Francois' description jogging down Colony road towards the Arboretum shopping mall. He was wearing a tight black tee shirt and his Oakley sunglasses. At some point he almost ran into a light post, making investigators believe that even though he wears prescription glasses, those are just regular Oakleys.

Further examination of his file has revealed that the Barnes&Noble bookstore at the Arboretum Shopping Mall brings back a lot of memories of some old flame he once had and that maybe he was heading there. But that part of his file, summer of 2005, has been thorn apart and remains missing up to this day.

Successive investigators have agreed that maybe was then, in the glitter of that remote summer of 2005 that the rift in his life began, or was perhaps his excessive desire for that girl only the first evidence of an inherent singularity. . .

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

I am, therefore I download

Honorable people out there in charge of selecting and distributing the films that I am suppose to watch: Fuck you!

This is why people go to the internet to get whatever the hell they want. You flood this city with all those awesome summer blockbusters that are gone in a week, followed by the next big hit and before I can fully grasp why the hell I'm wasting my money in your so-called "entertainment" the next must watch film hits every single commercial space on TV, every billboard in town and every movie theater in the known world. Well guess what: I'm a brat and I'm spoiled and I want whatever the fuck I want. I don't want what you want me to want. If your strategy is denying me access to what I want and restricting it to what you have to offer, well, sorry to turn the lights on when you're having the most fun, but the internet is here to stay and if I demand whipped cream on top of my fucking whipped cream, get the can, smile, and apply it one more time. Otherwise my money is going to keep piling up in a bank.

Lovely people from Blockbuster, you guys are very nice and very helpful, and it's fine not to know something. It's ok. But don't fucking bullshit me if you don't know what the hell you're talking about. I know very well that you don't carry porn movies, but if you don't know what "Nine Songs" is, or what rating it has, or what is so special about that movie, just say that you don't carry it and end of the story. Save your judgments, your raised eye brows and your puzzle faces for those God-fearing people that find love making so sinful, immoral and disgusting. As for me, sooner or later, with or without your help, I get whatever movie I want.

My good friend the internet: thanks dude, I owe you one.
I drank two Coca-Colas today, and the only thing I got was this stupid headache.

Monday, August 15, 2005

To Can, and to Can't

I can get in bed and close my eyes.
I can put my head on the pillow.
I can roll myself in my clean and cool bed sheets.
I can play some slow music.
I can wear those very old t-shirts that I love so much as pajamas.
I can turn the lights off.
I can turn the AC down.
I can turn the heat up.
I can take a cold shower
I can drink some hot milk.
I can read The Economist.
I can count sheeps.
I can move from one side of my bed to the other looking for the cooler spots.
I can go out and run.
I can do a lot of push ups and pull ups.
I can hold my breath for few seconds.
I can speak a couple languages.
I can take pictures with a digital camera.
I can drive automatic or manual.
I can lay on my sofa.
I can see the moon from my livingroom.
I can brush my teeth.
I can point in a map the fifty states of the US.
I can could call her.
I can use any of the two laptops that I own.
I can watch TV.
I can blog.
I can love.
I can kiss and tell.
I can miss.
I can forgive and eventually forget.
I can zip my pants every morning.
I can tie my Doctor Marteens.
I can chew gum.
But why the hell is it that I can't fall sleep tonight?!
We loved each other with premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh.
I leaf again and again through these miserable memories, and keep asking myself, was it then, in the glitter of that remote summer, that the rift in my life began; or was my excessive desire for that girl only the first evidence of an inherent singularity?
. . . but the poison was in the wound you see, and the wound remained ever open. . .

Sunday, August 14, 2005

AAAAAAArrrrrrrrrrgghhhhhh! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I don't care who did it, but someone's gona pay for it!I should've known that it was just a matter of time. . .

I have four active e-mail accounts that get spam pretty much every day; my mail box in the real world also gets tons of awesome junk that I always deliver to the dumpster; even on my cell phone I get like one call every now and then of some pre-recorded spam/junk that of course I always send to hell.

But spam in the "comments" section of my beloved blog?! Hard to believe my friends, I know, but you can check it out with your own eyes.

I get like one comment every ten posts or so, and when it happens I always jump out of my chair and read it and reply and say "thanks" and I even link people just for stopping by sometimes. Could you picture my (not very) handsome self clicking on "comments" just to find out such a truck load of bullshit?!

On Adiction and Being Back

I'm seriously addicted to blogging, there's no other explanation for this. A couple months ago when I decided to end this little blog I was planning to finally put on paper some writing that had been in my head for a while. It all started fine, but from then on things just started to go south.

One of the best professors I had in college once told me that "It's easier to start something than to finishing it"; he was talking about all those papers that we had to research and turn in while at the same time going out and drinking and hooking up and making out and putting out and breaking up and well, just being in college. But that phrase has stuck with me and when in the middle of something, or when I'm about to start something, or when I want to get out of whatever, it always comes to my mind.

Today I'll say that it is hard both to start and to eventually finish something.

When I remember that phrase the first thought that comes to my mind is relationships. When I spoke to my professor back in those days, I had a girlfriend and I was ready to dump her. I didn't know how to do it or when but I knew that it was going to happen. Theoretically she was the kind of girl that I liked: blonde, pretty face and big boobs. But in the real world, where we had to interact and talk on the phone and see her at school every day and go to her place and so on, I didn't feel any connection. She was a very nice girl and was always looking after me, which is always nice, but there just wasn't any fucking connection.

One day talking to her I brought that phrase that my professor had told me, and in the back of my mind I was thinking about using it to tell her that well, things were just not going on the right direction and blah, blah, blah. (Jean-Francois isn't very good with words, we all know that by now). But that night she turned it around, pointing out that both are difficult and well, to make a long story short, it took me few more weeks to tell her how I felt and after that, a couple more months to finally stop seeing each other. Whatever.

What I wanted to say is that starting this blog was very easy, both to sign up and to start writing those little silly stories that happen to me on regular bases. But to stop doing it is harder than I thought. Very hard; very really fucking hard my friends.

When I wrote the post on Stephanie, I thought it was going to be just one of those "monthly" updates in order to prevent Google from deleting this blog, but the truth of the matter is that now I see every single situation that happens around me as a post. Even when I honk to those people that don't know how to drive here in Charlotte, I think about writing a post about them.

And looking back I would have liked to document all the things that happen with cute Steffi during the last couple of months, not that I'm still thinking about her every fucking single day as oppose to every second, but more than that to try to get to know myself better and to draw teachings and conclusions about my relationships, the type of guy that I am, and I'd say just life in general through my daily posts.

In other words what I really wanted to say today is that Jean-Francois is back! Period.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Last Night

Don't go into the red
Can't you go faster?

What an irresponsible dude I am

Friday, August 12, 2005

To be Killed by a Mockingbird

Scared the living crap out of me today!When I was seven years old I was attacked and bitten my a dog, ending up with eleven steeches in my lower back, six on my left leg and four in my arm. I'd been chased by other dogs and cats throughout my life and even by a crazy horse once. One new year's day a beggar in South America chased me and my friends down with a machete because we refused to give him money for his drugs. My mom chased me countless times with a flip flop, belt, ruler or just her open palm trying to spank my milky-white ass. My dad chased me down with a Victorinox knife one time after I did something I should've not done I guess. A pick pocket chased me down one time with a knife and even stabbed a friend of mine in the arm. On my senior year I was part of a fundraiser that involved a bullfight and a (small) bull chased me down few times that afternoon hitting me in my ass, side and shoulder. Even a crazy-o-girlfriend I once had chased me down with a brick in her hand yelling that she was going to kill me. I've been chased down by teachers, police officers, friends, foes, enemies, night club guards, drunkards, etc., etc., etc.

But never by a mockingbird. Until today.

I went to a friend's to drop off some stuff and as I was jumping out of my car this crazy bird came down on me only to go back up to a tree. I thought that it was maybe a bug or something beside me and started to walk towards the front door. The damn Mockingbird came down on me twice and even when I made it to the door that fucking bird tried to attack me once more. When my friend's wife opened the door she was like "Did the Mockingbird attack you?" She told me that throughout the week those birds have been like crazy attacking whoever comes into the house. Even the plumber who went earlier today was attacked and actually bitten on his bald head.

I felt like in Hitchcok's "The Birds"

I remember watching that movie when I was a kid and it was kind of scary, but I have to confess it, that Mockingbird freaked me out today! Could you imagine having like a hundred of those coming down on you like in the movie? I'd faint right away. They can eat me right there or take me to their nest and have me for dessert (such a sweet guy like Jean-Francois) or whatever the hell they want; I'd be lying cold dead on the floor before I can realize what the fuck happened. I swear!
I can't believe that I'm gona be late for work again today. . .

Thursday, August 11, 2005

What am I good at?

That's a very interesting question, and one that I should be addressing in this space rather than talking about phone calls, gurls, coffee, stupid co-workers and stuff like that.

And even more so, what am I not good at? What makes me happy/sad? What turns me on?(that's an easy one: blondes!) What happens in my dreams? What do I like and what is it that I really fucking like?! What is the first frigging thing that I remember from my life? The first and last time that I cheated; what's my biggest secret; what do I regret; what was a good decision and what was a very good decision in my life? Why I hate my older sister but love my younger sister? Why I can't stand my parents at all? What the fuck am I still doing in the Bible Belt, ah?! Now, that's a very good question my friends. . . What the fuck am I still doing in the Bible Belt?! Maybe I won't be here much longer. Maybe.

Going back to that very first question, What am I good at?, I'd say that I'm good at procrastinating.

And that's a fucking good answer! -at least for now.
This is what I drank while talking to my beloved, er, what's her name again?

One hour and thirty eight minutes on the phone with, er, what's her name. . . ?

We had to count till three and hang up otherwise that Trans-Atlantic call was going to make a hole in my bank account.*

I'm starting to wonder if I would ever get over her or would I just end up my days rehearsing these last months that we spent together over and over again, confined deep inside a a mental institution, under heavy medication, with a straight jacket, bars in windows and talking to myself and making imaginary conversations. . .

I just wonder you know. . .



*Not really, but I like how it sounds.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

I Spoke with GOD this morning

Jean-Francois: Hi God

God: Nice to see you, how's it going?

J-F: Good it seems to be like ages since the last time I saw you

God: Ages. . . what you talking about? It seems like yesterday to me.

J-F: Haha, you silly. You look very nice God, you got a hair cut didn't you? I like it.

God: Yeah, but just a little bit. I kind of like like it this way.

J-F: I've always wondered why you've never told all people in earth that you're a beautiful young and cool girl and not an old-ass dude up in the clouds?

God: Oh , you and your compliments Jean-Fran. . .

J-F: Seriously. Over there everybody refers to you as "he" and sometimes as "the Lord" and even as the "King of Kings" and all that bullshit

God: I know. . . But a lot of very special people there know that I'm a woman. . .

J-F: A beautiful girl I should say.

God: Com'on, I'm not that young anymore you silly.

J-F: You're like wine; you get. . .

God: Get better with the years?

J-F: Yes.

God: Ha, ha, ha. I guess it was a good thing your parents end up raising you in South America after all, you little flirtious Latino.

J-F: Ha, Ha, Ha. I'm not flirting, you know how I am when I'm in love. Compliments just pour out of me in all directions and I just can't help it. And you know how much I love you, you sexy thing.

God: I thought you were in love with Stephanie. . .

J-F: Ah, Steffi. I was and I guess I'm still in love.

God: You lover boy!

J-F: Hey wait a minute! What do you know about Steffi?!

God: A couple of things. . .

J-F: God! What do you know?!

God: . . .

J-F: I should've known that it was you pulling strings behind the scenes! You know you fucked me up, you made me go out of my way and reach for the stars only to end up with my poor little heart in hundreds of pieces. And lonely.

God: I didn't pull the stri. . . ok, I did but just a little bit.

J-F: You dirty rat!

God: No listen to me. She was doing her life and you were doing yours and as far as I knew your lives were not going meet, but I knew she was the type of girl that once you get to know, you'll like.

J-F: You mean I'll fall head over feet for her.

God: She was planning in taking that continuing education class as well as you were, but her host mom, that crazy bitch was not going to let her go because she just likes saying no to Steffi and giving her a hard time. Even Steffi was kind of not knowing whether to ask her or not, but at the end she did ask her and I whispered in her host mom's ear "yes!" and it was a done deal.

J-F: . . .

God: Don't look at me like that Jean-Francois. You know that I can do quite a lot of things to influence events on earth, to make shit happen, to move mountains and cause winds, to create new species and to make the sun rise every morning, I could even snap my fingers and get rid of all the crap that is going on on earth and go back to the drawing board if I wanted to, but the one and only thing that just can't do is to make someone love someone else. I just fucking can't! Love was a little virus that got inside all species on earth and it even got into my system, can you believe it?!. I can't predict it and is just fucking impossible for me to control it.

J-F: Are you serious?

God: Hell yeah! But I'm glad it turn out to be this way. The purest and craziest feeling of them all, and as a matter of fact, love contains in itself all the possible feelings you guys have developed over the years. Like an "all in one" type of deal.

J-F: I hear you.

God: To be honest with you Jean-Francois I sent Steffi into your life. I did a little arm twisting, fucked up some traffic lights, gave a couple people an urgent necessity to go and take a pee and sat her right beside you in your first class.

J-F: I kind of knew it, to be honest with you. . .

God: Steffi is such a nice girl. She's perhaps one of the most truthful and authentic girls to walk on the face of the planet these days. She's not only the type of girl that you like physically -tall, thin, blonde, bright smile, long legs, big boobs and so on- but I knew her personality was gona drive you nuts. Her sweetness, all the stories that she has, and just how cool, funny, goofy and truly herself she is. If I could put people together, you and Steffi will be in my top five for sure.

J-F: Ha, ha.

God: But I didn't send Steffi into your life so that you guys could hook up and be boyfriend and girlfriend and love each other and make love like if it was the fucking end of the world. Jean-Francois, Steffi was going back to Europe and it was a fucking fact, I could've given you a snow storm right in the middle of summer in order to delay her flight back home and to keep her by your side, but sooner or later she was going back to her life. If you're broken hearted now, could you imagine how would you be if you guys had fallen in love for each other? Knowing you I bet you'll be right now in the middle of the Atlantic swimming to see her, you hot blooded and passionate Latin lover. . .

J-F: Amen, sister. . .

God: Steffi gave you much more than those sweet kisses; she allowed you to understand yourself better. Through Steffi you got to know how driven and authentic you become when you fall in love; now you know that when it comes to expressing your feelings you just can't make a fool of yourself; she taught you a big fucking lesson on how it is to be on the other side of a crush and not to walk away from the person that opens her heart to you -unlike a certain Latino with French name that I know did it quite a few times before. She showed you that you have to be truthful to your feelings and to be honest to those around you; she allowed you to realize the difference between a truly cool girl and those sleazy girls you'd been hooking up with lately. This is one of those moments when you have to apply that mojo of yours that you "have to make the best out of every situation", my sweet Jean-Fran.

J-F: I love when you call me like that.

God: Sweet Jean-Fran?

J-F: My. . .

God: My sweet Jean-Fran?

J-F: Love it.

God: Awww my very sweet Jean-Fran. Did I ever told you how crazy in love I am with you?

J-F: I'm madly in love with you too. God, I don't want to go back over there, why can't I just stay here with you for ever and we can wake up every morning together and. . .

God: Stop it.

J-F: I know my sweet little devil. . .

God: You sweet pervert!

J-F: You made me that way and besides showing up with that little white bikini top, your long blonde hair, those tight shorts, your flip flops and. . .

God: Hey, I was chilling by the swimming pool!

J-F: Still you're beautiful my very cute goddess.

God: Ooops!

J-F: What's up?

God: You weren't planning to go to the office to day, were you?

J-F: Hell no! My boss is out of town as well as his boss and his boss's boss, so I'm planning to sleep until around noon and then maybe I'll show up for some gossip around the water cooler later today.

God: I'm sorry to tell you that your downstairs neighbor is on her way up to ask for a cup of sugar.

J-F: You are fucking kidding me! Is not even fucking 7 AM, what the hell is wrong with her?!

God: I think she wants you. . .

J-F: She's fucking 90 years old!

God: She's reaching for the door bell. . .

J-F: I'll be damn! Well, I guess is time to go back there, uh?

God: Mon petite Jean-Fran, tu me manque. I always enjoy seeing you and talking to you mon petite obsede.

J-F: I promis I'll stop by more often.

God: Quality instead of quantity, mon petite chaton.

J-F: Love you God. Was a very nice chat.

God: Give me a hug!

DING!-DONG!

My downstairs neighbor: Good morning Jean-Francois I'm sorry to bother you, hope I didn't wake you up but could you please help me out with a cup of sugar I'm baking a little cake for James my cat, that you know he just found a new friend the other day is a little bird that he brought home and I think he ate it because I haven't seen it lately but that bird was in a tree next to that car that you remember a brach felt last winter after the snow storm and landed right beside this guy's car who had this girlfriend and that lives in the other building and said hi to me the other day and I thought that. . .

J-F: Say. . . you need some sugar, don't you? What a coincidence, I happen to have an unopen 1-lib bag of sugar under my arm, why don't you keep it and I'll talk to you later today, c-u bye.

SLAM!
This is the sound of my front door being fucking shut.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Steak'n Church

My co-workers are still trying to convert me into a fine young Christian guy, one who's a responsible member of the community and who'll end up going to church, praising the Lord and accepting Christ as his savior. If they only knew how rotten my mind and soul are they would not only stop inviting me to their churches' services but they'd denounce me as the devil himself -sort of speak of course.

This past Monday was Tom's turn.

Let's have some steak at my churchHe asked me last week at work if I liked "Steaks". "Hell Tom, I love steaks!" -I replied. "Good!" -he said, and invited me to go to his church to have a nice piece of steak and to listen to this pastor who is going to be in town and who grew up with Billy Graham -you know who Billy Graham is Jean-Francois, don't you- and who's a great preacher and who has a lot of very interesting things to say and it will be really nice to have you there Jean-Francois and don't worry I'll pay for your ticket and it's Monday night so don't make any plans and I'll introduce you to my wife and it'll be very nice and how nice that you're coming and well, don't forget to write it on your calendar and see you there.

Er. . . Tom. . . I. . . er. . . ahem!. . . er. . .

Good Jean-Francois I'll see you there!

Oh my friends, I just didn't have the heart to tell Tom, one of our nicest co-workers and who've been with the company for so long, that I didn't really wanted to go. So I marked Monday night as a night of steak and church.

I arrived a bit early and there was plenty of smiley faces and people shaking my hand and introducing themselves. While standing there I managed to take a look at the ticket that Tom had given me and I noticed that it was a "men's night" only, so all my hopes of meeting a nice and fine young Christian lady went down the drain. In the dinning room besides the ladies that did the cooking, there was only screwdrivers (men). But to my surprise I have to point out that the steak was really good; I was expecting a little tiny piece of meat but it turned out to be a big-o-thick piece with a baked potato, butter, salad, ranch dressing, sweet ice tea (of course), delicious rolls and for dessert, an all southern banana bread pudin topped with whipped cream. Fucking delicious my friends!

While eating the pastor gave us few words, told a couple of jokes, few stories, blessed the food and introduced a group of four guys who perform few songs. Not bad at all.

After that we went to the church upstairs for the main course of the night: the guest speaker/pastor/preacher. Once upstairs I noticed some fine young ladies running around and I certainly began to feel the presence of God: Go ahead tiger -I said to myself and started to look for possible victims, er I mean, fine young ladies that could turn my putrid soul around. Most of those girls were just too young for cool Jean-Francois, and according to the laws of the United States, I could go to jail if things go beyond a simple hand shake. In other words, they were all way underage. Though it didn't stop me for being a perfect gentleman and introducing myself to the people around me, giving a firm hand shake and looking straight in the eyes.

Up to that point everything was fine until the speaker started to talk about God. He started of course telling us a couple of funny and shallow stories and little by little started going deeper and deeper and what started as a nice preach turned into a sermon that convinced me that there's just no salvation for me at all.

He started saying that he was not going to talk about other religions and how wrong they are only to go head on to trash Hinduism, Buddhism, Scientology and of course Islam. He then proceeded to point out how rotten our society is putting as example the internet, television, video games, music and every possible channel of communication invented by human beings. He mentioned drugs, sex, rock'n roll and alcohol and all those nice things as the beginning of the end for us all. He went on and on and on talking about hell and heaven as places that actually exist, being one with flames and suffering and pain for eternity and the other with "streets of gold and walls of ivory"; he mentioned how important it was the resurrection of Jesus and how it happened only in Christianity, even making fun that Muslims worship the three places where the prophet Mohammed is buried up to this day. He read the Bible mentioning several times the importance of the resurrection of the flesh and blood of Jesus, and how he came back from the dead to hang out with his buddies for few days before taking off as the shuttle Discovery back to heaven.

Keep reading
Close to the end he made us stand up, close our eyes and bow our head for some final preaching. It took him like twenty more minutes to wrap it all and my neck was starting to hurt me and I was wondering how much frigging longer he was going to keep us like that. Finally he finished, whipped the sweat from his forehead and lead a group of newly converted souls to a room in the back to give them a book or something like that.

While he was giving us the sermon I did pay close attention to all the things that he said as that is not an experience that I have very often. But as the sermon progressed I found myself looking around at all those (legal) girls and ladies sitting around and having a lot of crazy thoughts and ideas and images and I have to confess it my friends, it was turning me on and at the same time I realized that I was in the frigging middle of the church and I had to bite my tonge not to laugh about myself. Some will call me a pervert, others the devil himself; but I'm just a guy trying to get over a girl and in need of some good sex these days.

At the end I said good-bye to all the people around me, including that 16ish year old girl that seated right behind me and who was looking at me straight in the eyes, and they all asked me when was I coming back. "Soon" -was my standard reply followed by a big smile. Tom walked me to my car and asked me my thoughts on the whole thing and that if I had any questions about anything he would help me answer them or could find someone to answer them for me. I wanted to tell him that my questions go way beyond that sermon and perhaps only I can answer them over time, but I just thank him for a nice time and that I'll see him around.

I find it very easy to love the concept of God that exists in the US; very easy and nice to go to a clean church with nice clothes where people will greet you with plenty of smiles and "y'all" this and "y'all" that, making you feel loved; to be in a nice church, in the shade with air conditioning and pretty girls around you listening to how great God is and how much he loves you and that in few years when your time arrives you'll be up in heaven living happily ever after if you accept Christ in your heart, makes it really hard not to say "Hell yes!" and jump in the wagon of salvation once and for all.

But I grew up in a developing country in South America where there's war and plenty of poverty; had the chance to live in China and to travel the world, and you need more than hot blood running through your veins to see a child that is digging a trash can for food straight in the eyes and tell her about the love of God.

Experiences throughout our lives shape us in ways that we can't understand, and to expect me to think that there's walls of ivory waiting for me around the corner is more than I can take these days.

Enough for today on this very interesting topic my friends, more to come "soon".

Friday, August 05, 2005

STEPHANIE

On Friday night I told her all my feelings, all the things that have been through my heart and mind for these last weeks. I told her how much I liked her, how cool, funny, awesome and nice she was. I told her how great, relax and confident I feel when we're together. I told her that I miss talking to her, seeing her, knowing about her. I told her both with words and with my body language that I've developed a crush on her. After a Sunday trip that we took few weeks ago, I just couldn't see her with the eyes I use to see her. My feelings for her have changed, have grown, have evolved and I am was head over feet for her. I couldn't keep for myself those feelings any longer, it was eating me alive and I told her.


Beautiful Stephanie
Words don't come easy to me, not in a club by the bar and with sweaty drunkards all around looking at her ass. Even if we were in a quiet room with candles, a bottle of wine and a nice plate of pasta, words would have not came easier either. Not even with two of my all-time favorite Redbull Vodkas in my head.

After I told her she looked at me straight in the eyes, her pupils expanded by the low dim light of the club. She put her soft hand on my cheek and smiled. For a split of a second I saw a ray of light in her eyes: she loves me too! -I thought.

I saw us kissing right there by the bar; hugging, whispering lots of sweet and nasty things to each other, caressing. For a split of a second I saw myself waking up beside her, sharing stories, memories, plans and projects. I saw us taking weekend trips to the beach, flying to exotic destinations together; saw ourselves sipping coffee on chill fall afternoons. For a split of a second I could see both of us moving together, cooking pasta, baking cookies and making love in every single corner and on every piece of furniture of our house. I'll get up earlier than her every morning and will wake her up with a big French kiss and an even bigger cup of coffee with lots of sugar and cream. For a split of a second I saw myself dropping to my knees one day and popping up the question with a ring on my hand. She was in tears, delighted, in love; we were both crazy for each other. One day she'd call me to my office asking me to come home early, she had something to say to me. Our first baby girl would arrive nine months later and more children will follow. We will grow wrinkles and grey hair together. That Friday, by the bar, I saw the next sixty years of my life in a split of a second.

She rolled her soft hand down my cheek, put both hands on my shoulders, and with all the possible strength that a fit girl could muster she knee me right in the nuts. OUCH! She has thin legs but I have to confess it, she got'em both. Actually she didn't knee me, but she got close to me and whispered sweetly in my right ear: "I also like you very much Jean-Francois. . . you are a great guy. . . but I like you as a friend". I would've prefer that knee in my nuts a hundred times over that line.

Stephanie and I have became friends the old way: we met in one of those continuing education courses that are offered in the local universities; we sat together a couple of times and talked in the corridor after class. One day I asked her to go out and have a cup of coffee, few weeks later we went to watch a movie; we talked on the phone like once every two weeks or so; we saw each other once in a while. Just distant friends that barely knew each other.

But one faithful day we had the great idea of taking a Sunday trip. It was both a miscalculation and a great thing. It was one of the best Sundays in so many weeks, perhaps months in my little universe, and she was right there with me. When I opened my car's door to let her in right before noon that sunny Sunday, she was just another friend-girl here in Charlotte; but as we left behind miles and hours, I started to see her more closely, to hear her stories, to laugh with her, to get to know her better. I thought earlier that day that a whole day with her was going to be like too much, I even thought that I was going to drop her off like around 7 PM and it sounded like a looooong fucking day. But at midnight,when I dropped her off at her place I was having so many feelings and so many thoughts revolving around my heart and head that the only clear one was that I didn't want her to go.

That little trip was also a miscalculation for ever-pragmatic Jean-Francois, because by the time I drop her off, I was head over feet for her.

I was falling in love when this picture was taken... can't you tell?
After that Friday night at the bar when I told her how much I liked her -to put it in very mild words for this post- our relationship changed. For the next weeks she'll play with me the same way a lion plays with a caught baby zebra. She'll grab me by the neck, taking me deep into her territory and being careful enough not to chock me. I happily let her carry me, my smiley head hanging on one side and my body on the other. She would put me down, would play with me and perhaps would slap me in the face with her open paw, her nails hidden just inches from the surface not to hurt me. I'll jump around her, following her while she played with me before eating me for dinner.

The only thing that mattered to me was to be with her.

During those weeks we would get 20oz cups of coffee and the local B&N store, getting overcaffeinated and making goofy faces and taking silly pictures. I'd sprint down the fiction lane and she'd chase me down jumping on my back. I'd find her checking the romance section and I'd spank her ass. While standing in line waiting to get a refill she'd pinch my ass; HARD!; making me yell right in the middle of the bookstore. We'd poison our coffee refills with several bags of sugar in the raw and cream, topping it off with plenty of whipped cream. We would read all the gossip magazines and would comment, judge and suggest splits and new hook ups. We'd go to the lake behind the shopping mall walking around it holding hands and getting eaten by a ever present cloud of mosquitoes; we picked up trash, threw rocks in the lake and flirt with each other.

Stephanie. . . I was crazy for her; and her. . . I'd say she loved all the attention and the fun that this red haired brought to her life in those weeks before her departure. She played with me, but as long as we were together the rest of the world didn't care to me.

My closest friends here in the Bible Belt are girls. I've grown to know that the advice of a girl when it comes to relationships is worth that of a 1,000 man. In talking about Stephanie my male friends would have hit me in the shoulder, brushing away my feelings and saying "we'll get drunk this weekend and you'll feel better dude." My girlfriends were happy for me when I first told them about Stephanie, then a little worried, then they got upset with her and with me. They laughed like crazy while I recounted one day at their condo what had happened that Friday night at the club. When I said that Stephanie had smashed me against the wall like a mosquito on a humid summer evening, Paula laughed so hard that she had to run to the restroom as she almost pee on her pajamas, and I've never seen Cil laughed so hard and for so long in my life. They then proceed to trash Stephanie and every single girl from my past as well as all men and women on the face of earth. They wrote a list for me of about ten "beautiful" girls with phone numbers or connections in order to introduce me to them. "I only want Stephanie! -I told them trying to catch my breath and with a tone of exasperation when they handed me that stupid napkin with the list. Those two rats burst in laughs again even spilling some beer on the table. I couldn't help it and followed suit, laughing. . . it was a laughter of sadness, happiness, frustration but above all rationality.

Monday August 1st finally arrived, and with it her departure. She was going back to Europe, back to her mom and sister, back to her friends and her life. I stayed behind with my little heart in a thousand pieces. We said good-bye on Sunday, both "face to face, kiss to kiss" and later that day on the phone. I decided not to go on Monday to the airport to wish her all the best and to pay for her excess luggage. That Monday morning though, I almost had to handcuff myself to a water pipe and swallow the key in order not to jump in my car, put the pedal on the metal and go see her hug her kiss her love her and tell her so many things that I've already told her or haven't -hell, we spoke so much and I told her so many sweet things in so many ways, forms and languages that I really don't know what I really told her.

Now she's gone.

You people out there must be thinking after reading this post that Jean-Francois is a looser. A fucked up foreigner that has lost many battles in the game of love; a red haired who claims to be Latino but that is so sensitive that he could easily be taken by a girl, perhaps a girly man; y'all must be thinking that he's pathetic.

I'll say that all that is true, but at the same it isn't. I am was am in love and love makes me do things that are not coherent, rational, predictable. When in love I go way out of my usual self and my comfort zone; I'm driven, forthcoming, talkative, and more open and confident than ever. I look straight in the eye and am fearless. I've found out that when in love I put "all the meat on the grill" and become nothing else than myself; just like a small rock of crack cocaine: 100% pure.

Years ago and faced with this very same situation I would've asked myself many times what did I do wrong? Why she didn't love me/like me as much as I loved/liked her? Is there anything I could have done different to win her? Should have said something else? Should've wear my light blue shirt instead of my dark blue one?

Today I know very well the answer to those silly questions.

Mirror mirror... why she didn't love me?!
As my memories of her begin to fade away, the dust slowly setting in, my rational self starts to make its way to the surface. I am -and I was- aware that she was leaving and that nothing could've stop that very little fact. I was and I am aware that there's a girl right around the corner waiting for me. Perhaps I already know her, maybe I've seen her at the grocery store. Maybe she works in my same office building -certainly not in my floor my friends, hell no. Maybe I've seen her jogging near my complex. Perhaps she'll be taking a flight tomorrow, bound for Charlotte, not knowing that there lives a super-cool guy named Jean-Francois who's gona sweep her off her feet and that she eventually will have to break her current engagement 'cause Jean-Francois is her soul mate.

And I'm also aware that Stephanie will be only a wave in this ocean of relationships that my life has turned out to be, perhaps just a shadow in my past by the time winter hits the Southern United States. Through my rational self I know that things will be alright. . . but how can things be alright without Stephanie?!

I believe that one of the greatest abilities of human beings is not just to fall in love and to go crazy for someone; but is the ability to love, let go, heal, learn and move on. And that's where I'm at right now: she's gone and I'm healing, but not quite prepared yet to move on.