To Pull it or to Push it?

You'd think that as times goes by, things that we build are more and more functional and specially with plenty of common sense. Toys with sharp edges or small pieces that can be swallowed were eradicated long time ago; once brick-size cell phones have been reduced to a half-handful size and packed with every possible advance out there (minus hot water); fabrics in clothing match different occasions and tennis shoes have as much research these days as the Apollo missions.

But why is it that public restrooms have not being part of this wave of smart-assism?!

There've been advances in this area of course: you don't have to flush the toilet, it is automatic these days; don't have to touch the faucet, just put your pee-stained hands under it and warm water would come out; don't even need to touch anything to get soap [where I work at it's automatic] and even in some places the paper towels would also have a proximity sensor. Even more so, a very bright person came up with the idea of having a toilet-shaped paper towel in case you really have to get rid of that burrito with extra guacamole you had few hours earlier so that you don't have to put your bare butt against that cold and pee-wet toilet, as it usually is in the men's restroom. There's even all kind of chemical sprays that could kill any odor inside those four walls and many public restrooms are equipped with automatic sprays.

So if everything is so perfect, and has had so much thinking, and is so functional, why is it that you still have to push the door to get in, and PULL it to get out, ah? It should be the other way around for crying out loud!

It doesn't matter if you have to push or pull the door to get in, anyway you're gona end up with pee in your hands after shaking it [and if you shake it too long, maybe something else] but at the end you don't have to touch anything to flush, get water, soap and a paper towel. So why is it that once you're done with it, your bladder ready to stand a two-hour movie, your hands perfectly cleaned and your wind-tossed hair in perfect place, you have to grab the handle with your hand and pull it open?! A handle that can have anything from few drops of pee from that bastard who didn't wash his hands, to only God knows what.

Have I just discovered the last link in human evolution or am I just peeing all over the toilet?

off the cliff

There was a time when my heart and brain where connected, joined by the hip and working shoulder to shoulder for one goal. Several times there was so many goals in the horizon that the sky seemed the limit, if there was such thing as a limit. There was a time when the road ahead seemed like a paved six lane highway with no speed limit at all, and when it was just a matter of stepping on the gas, all the way, and heading towards a great beyond.

Back in those days there was a little bit of everything, but more than anything there was a lot of hope and a continuous thought in my head that things where heading in the right direction and that everything was going to be better, great, awesome, fantastic, and above all that things were going to change. A much needed change ever since the dust settle and I started working for a big goal high up in the sky. The closer I got to it, the easier and more reachable it seemed, and at the same time the bar started to rise higher and higher. That first goal was reached and breached with some work, tons of hard work, and plenty of very hard work, sweat and little sleep.

Today there's more plans and more objectives, but hope ran with the milkman and it seems that she's gone for good. Don't even know if the course of action is the right one, is actually impossible to know if any course of action is the right one, but there's always a lot of clues and quite a few graffitis on the wall to guide you in your trip. I can't read those signs no more and I can't understand what those voices inside my head are trying to say, if they care to say something at all. I look at my watch and can't figure out, as I so easily use to do before, why it always stands at 11:11. It used to mean a lot of things when it happened, today I can't put the pieces together in this psychedelic puzzle.

Those once upon a time six lanes look now like an unpaved and bumpy one-and-a-half-lane country road after a month of heavy rains. I'm at the wheel of the old farm truck with the whole harvest loosely tied, and I can feel it drifting off the cliff.

On Augusten Burroughs

I asked a cute girl that I "met" not long ago to recommend me a good book to read in my free time; she came up with a couple of authors and a handful of their titles. And that's how I end up with Magical Thinking sitting on my night table.

Now that I'm done with it, I'm planning to write her a little note thanking her -you know, Good Manners 101- but I'm struggling what to say in that e-mail.

Plainly speaking I didn't like that book. It features some unconnected stories about AB's life, some of his thoughts on this and that, and nothing else. Is like if he had a blog and putted together his favorite posts, sent them to his agent and voila a new book.

Now if I put myself in my friend's shoes, I wouldn't appreciate someone coming to me and saying that my literary recommendations suck; fuck no, you can keep your literary thoughts for your shallow self. And by the same token I don't want to bullshit her praising such a shitty book. It has to be something in between. Hmmmmm I guess I'll have to do some thinking here.

I guess I'm just going to say that I still don't know what to think about AB's work, so that once I finish reading "CRY" and "Running with a Machete" I'll figure out what's all the fuzz and all the NYT bestseller shit that is printed all over his books about; and who knows, maybe he's a good author after all. Even more so, she just send me an e-mail about some other stuff, so for sure I could squeeze a line or two about AB in my reply and end of the story.

Hopefully she's very busy these days with her new job or perhaps is busy shopping for colorful underwear with (or is it without?) seams up the middle at VS and would not give much thought to my message. We'll see.

Oh by the way, my dear Jennifer, please don't read this post. cheers!

The Rainmaker

If I was a girl I would be a lesbian of course. There's nothing more beautiful on the face of this or any other planet than a girl. Their soft skin, warm touch, trimmed eye brows and their painted finger nails and small hands. Girls always take care of themselves, drink skim milk and eat plenty of salads; they spend lots of quality time looking good for themselves and their sense of fashion is more a gene than a learnt ability.

We men are fucking chimpanzees compared to them.

If I was a girl I could never get pass a simple handshake with a man. Hell, no. And if a man tries to stab me, he better uses it a samurai sword right in my heart than his love tool.

But if one day let's say I wake up in the body of a girl, a red haired girl, and let's say that I spend three hours in front of the mirror getting ready to go out, and let's say that I get drunk as hell, all wasted and trashed and shit, I'd certainly volunteer myself to have John Grisham's baby!

... and beyond!

I've been trying to coordinate, since Tuesday, a Saturday night of salsa dancing, vodka drinking, girl flirting, tequila shoting, and street puking (and maybe some badly needed love making) with my useless amigos. Up until yesterday everybody was ready to ride the party wagon all the way to hell. . . and beyond!

Now it is starting to look, feel and smell like a fucking train wreck.

[POSTCARD]

I am a happy man today.

I received a postcard.

It was mailed few days ago from the other side of the Atlantic.

Just a little blue postcard with some nice hand written words splashed in the back.

It filled my heart with joy and made me a very happy man; very happy indeed. A bit sad, I have to confess it, as her absence has been harder to fill than I would like to admit.

But little things like this are the ones that make my world turn on this side of the Atlantic, and make my little universe as cool as it is.

Makes my [A+] Blood Boil

The nastiest shit out there is cigarettes. I still can't believe that there's people out there with more than one brain cell between their ears that will choose to put a cigarette between their lips. That is one thing that should be deleted from this planet, completely erased from nature and from our brains.

If I had the power, like the real power to do and undo shit I'd completely forbid cigarettes. Actually, and giving it a second thought, I wouldn't; I'd just penalize it with the death penalty by slow suffocation and in a public arena. Anyway that's the way all smokers end up, dying little by little, trying to steal the little oxygen that their tired and abused lungs can get out of the air. If you're lucky enough you'll be sleeping or walking around with a nice bottle of oxygen to help you extended your misery more years.


My late grandfather died of emphysema, as well as three of his five bothers. My uncle was a chain smoker and he was lucky because cancer took him before the emphysema could. [Actually was the dead of my cousin at the early age of 22 that tear him apart, but that's another story.] Both my parents smoked for many years and my two sisters smoke today. I did smoke for many years as well, and up till today I still can't believe that I did it. What a fucking idiot. I started when I was twelve and quitted around 24 or 25 after trying to quite for years and being unable to get that fucking addiction out of my system.

It was only until I was in living in China and that I got sick, I mean, sick with an awful throat infection that kept me out of my work and school for a week and set me back quite a few hundred dollars that I realized it had been enough. When I told the doctor that took care of me that I was a smoker, he just laughed at me the same way a police officer would laugh to a run away child. He prescribed me some antibiotics, to drink lots of hot water and he didn't advice me to quite that nasty habit, he prescribed it. At that time I had an awesome, beautiful and super-cool girlfriend, and I swap my nicotine addiction for sex. She could've not been happier. We were young, wild, restless, in love and she did helped me swap one addiction for other. [This, again, is another story].

In South America everybody smokes all the time and everywhere, and in Europe, well, that's almost worst. When I was in high school some of my teachers would smoke in class (eww) and when I was in college we even had cigarettes with professor in some of our oral final examinations. I thought it was so cool back then, but I just can't believe I was that stupid. The best decision I've ever made in my life was to quit smoking, and the worst of course was to start with that shit.


There's just not a single good thing out of a cigarette: you waste your money and your health, end up smelling like shit, have to wash your clothes constantly to get ride of that smell and even your house smells like crap; food doesn't taste the same, you burn baby burn tee shirts, shirts, carpets and every possible thing that can caught fire. And for what?! Fucking nothing. For me the reward was being cool. I still can't believe I was soooooo fucking stoopid my friends!

Now that I don't smoke and that I know how the dark side looks like I feel both sorry and mad with smokers. And the shit is that the smoke coming out of those cancer sticks invades everything and everywhere, even the outdoors. Today seating outside in a coffee shop reading my book and chilling, the couple three tables down from me where smoking two types of cigarettes: regular nasty ones, and other brand that smelled like a pipe. And all the smoke was coming my way, how fucked up is that, ah? Not to mention bars and clubs; North Carolina of course lags behind the nation in regulating that business and several attempts to ban smoking inside bars and clubs have fallen miserable. Here we certainly deserve the fucking people we elect.

Oh man tobacco just pushes the right buttons in me and I've avoided writing a post about it because that shit just makes my blood boil. I could go on, and actually I should go on, trashing all tobacco related stuff but really, do I need to say anything else? I avoid girls that smoke, hell I do. You just don't know how horrible it is to kiss someone that smokes, you either kiss the cigarette or kiss me, not both. It feels and states like sticking your tongue in an ashtray and no, a cigarette after making love doesn't taste better, that still smells, feels and tastes like shit. Arrrrggh!

Of Love and Late Fees

At the beginning I thought that people at the local branch of the library were kind of mean, cold and distant. Having to deal with stupid customers all day asking for non existent books and authors that no one has ever heard of, must be frustrating; to have to look for a book for weeks after some red haired guy filed it in the wrong cabinet just for the sake of it, would certainly send the most balanced librarian into an overdose of happy pills. And on top of it all to have to answer questions and hold books and conduct little researches in their computers and at the same time try to understand the crazy accent of those damn foreigners that come to America to still jobs is more than any God fearing librarian could've taken back in those early spring days.

I understand them and I can feel their cynicism and lack of motivation. That's why I was so puzzle when suddenly they started smiling at me and greeting me like if I was a respectable member of the society. I was confused when they asked me how my last book had been and if I'd enjoyed. My brain couldn't digest the fact that these people that see hundreds of souls every day would remember me, a cool foreigner that shows up at the front desk once every few weeks and who barely can express himself in English.

As I felt loved by these group of strangers I started visiting the library more often and checking out more books than I could read. And even more so I started actually reading those books 'cause maybe one day one of them could ask me about the book and the character in there and I better come up with a clever answer before they find out that I don't really read all the shit that I check out. I thought that finally someone was starting to see past my not very handsome self and deep into my sweet and tender soul. Shit! my friends, for few weeks I thought that I'd finally found the American Dream and the so called Southern charm that had been so shy to me. I remembered for a moment those girls who had made mashed potato out of my poor heart as compared to these new people that were smiling and actually liking me: You love me!, you really love me! I felt awesome in those days my dear readers.

Felt awesome until it all started to fade away. As I began stopping at the library more often than before my late fees started to drop like flies after being sprayed with RAID for cockroaches. Those big bucks that I used to pay in late fees for every single book that I checked out suddenly disappear and with it a big chunk of the revenues that the library was so accustomed to receive and spend to right and left. Their discretionary income came tumbling down and with it their smiles and greetings. "I liked him better when he pay those late fees" -people would mumble on my back. If before I never had to stand in line because once they'd see me ready to check out a stack of books they'll open a register just for me, now the computers wouldn't even recognize my library card.

They don't take debit nor credit cards at the library, only cash, and as I never carry cash with me they were able to charge interests on my late fees, and late fees on my late fees. During those days I saw new computers in every corner, people wearing clothes that smelled like new and some of them would have problem walking or standing for long periods of time because their new shoes were still untame. Jewelry hung from every single piece of their bodies and even one of the girls told me with a wink about her new tattoo that it was going to be huge and would cover 57% of her body.

Today that tattoo is just a shadow of what it was suppose to be and she's forced to wear long sleeves in order to cover the basic lines of a once dreamed masterpiece. All those new clothes I bet you were returned to the store and all the jewelry purchased new and at at full price rests on a safe box in the nearest pawn shop, never to be redeemed again.

But yesterday I checked out my last set of books that will send my reading through the roof, and would make my stupid reading goal for this year look as miserable as the little disclaimer at the bottom of this very same pages.

And as for the people in the library I'd say: hold on to your shit. . . more fees may be coming your way!

Parking Lot

I am a thief and a delinquent; a bad member of the society and definitely have a criminal mind. I cheat people and I pretend that I do shit that I actually don't do. I'm a red haired crook and a cheap bastard.

But if the people at the parking lot where I leave my red 2.4L every morning haven't realized that I've paying less that I was suppose to, they deserve their faith. If they cannot get their shit together and run that parking lot successfully, I ain't going to turn the lights on for them.

In the office building where I work at, it costs one hundred and eighty greens to park your car for a whole month. The parking lot where I park is three bucks a day ($60-$66 a month). Actually it was three dollars a day but they raised it to four bucks not long ago; and when there's shit going on in downtown they charge $5.

But I always pay my very own special fee of $2 a day; not a penny more, not a penny less.

Once you park you have to put your money is some sort of box with little tiny holes besides parking numbers; you have to fold your bills, squeeze them in there, and push them with your car key or a little piece of metal hanging from one side of the box.

One day I saw the way they run their business and how they know who've pay or who haven't and my life changed. They just open the box and check that there's something in the little compartment and that's enough for them; they collect their loot in a Walmart plastic bag and leave little red and tootles tickets on the cars that didn't pay.

Bobby Brown is the guy in charge of collecting the money and whom I always greet like a good old friend. I see him maybe once every three months.

When there's special events in downtown, he sends a redneck with cheap sunglasses, a gallon of gel in his mullet and an uneven mustache to collect the money. This bastard always tries to extract from me the whole $5 but at the mention of Bobby he kind of struggles what to say. Sometimes he says that he knows no Bobby, and that I either "pay or find other lot". I then ask him to call Bobby Brown, Robert Brown, Mr. Robert Brown, the dude who runs this place. "Giving a call, ask him about Jean-Fran" and as this poor redneck knows that he's the smallest fish in the pond he lets me in after I assure him a couple times that I'm going to put the money in the box.

I'm not a bad person my friends; I greet everybody with respect, say please and thanks, have good manners on the table and when I say that "it's nice to see you" I really mean it. And one more dollar a day is not going to send me into Chapter 7 [personal bankruptcy] but just as I find joy in the small things that life has to offer, I guess the evil me finds thrill is such a small act of perversion every morning as well.

THIS AMERICAN LIFE

The best thing between heaven and earth is called THIS AMERICAN LIFE.

Don't search any further, don't look under any other rock; the utmost masterpiece of human creation, second only to a fully armed ICBM on the atmosphere, is called THIS AMERICAN LIFE.

If one day I'm given the power to save one thing from this planet, only one thing in order to be shown or used or played or reproduced or admired or abused or studied or worshiped or copied in the next design of this planet. . . I would save myself of course. But I'd save myself with the whole collection of This American Life under my arm!

[tpi] [tphi] [tbi]

So there's three issues that are revolving in my mind these days; actually four, but the fourth one is not an issue, is more on the side of a plan, or an objective, or maybe just something that is just hanging in the air and that may or may not come to life. Anyway, the fourth is not an issue, so let's just say that there's three issues today.

The first one, is the first one. It just can't be the second one or the third one because the other two depend on the first one, therefore, it is listed as first. It is very important shit and it was my rational decision to make it an issue. It was my actions, some might say that it was my lack of action, but it was a decision taken under moderate levels of stress and that at that time, and even today looks like the best course of action. Someone without insight would say that I'm just a crackhead for doing it, but once again, insight is the key for the understanding of this first issue.

So the first issue is a reality, a fact in my life and I keep thinking about every single fucking day, from dawn to dusk, while brushing my teeth and when drinking my morning coffee; when the vodka and redbull makes it to my head I don't think about it, but is there, always there, like my red hair, there. I could become a dark haired dude or white haired or blue haired, but however it looks on the outside, I know how it really looks like. Up to this point there's only one thing that can be done about this very first issue, that's crystal clear, perhaps is the clearest thought that crosses my mind these days, but still is not as easy as it sounds. There's only one solution, eventually there might be two or three, actually just two, the original one and another one, which would be nice to have the opportunity to choose; but the fact of the matter, and with both feet on the ground I'd say that there's only one solution to that issue. Not a little issue, but an issue. Actually is a very big issue, fuck, bigger than life some would say, but let's be honest, is a big issue but is not larger than life, not larger than my little life at least.

I'm going to call this The Password Issue. Such a clever name my friends.

Then comes the second issue on the list. This is an issue that is not larger than life but that reflects my life at this point. Is an issue that I've been trying to delay and to postpone any action on it, because is a very hot issue, and I'm afraid I might not have the correct answers for it. Is an issue that I've been able to postpone for quite a long time, but the longer I wait, the more painful it becomes. The good thing is that I've succeed putting it aside for quite a long time; but the bad thing about it is that I've succeeded putting aside for quite a long time. This issue runs deeper than the first issue and it has, again, more connotations, faces, implications, sides and shit that the first issue. Actually if I take care of this second issue, the first one may become irrelevant, but actually that's a long story, and is not a pretty one. Actually is very interesting and one day it might give me a ton of raw material to write about, but until then let just keep it under the surface. Even though this is a very important issue, perhaps more important than the first issue, I've decided to listed second because it depends on the outcome of the first issue for the time being.

The only little thing that I'm going to say is that the lack of, actually I'm not going to say anything else because then the gates of the dam may open and it'd flow everything. It really won't flow shit, but the first step in any successful recovery is always to be aware of the issue at stake. This second issue sits at the heart of the question matter. And this issue is just a mirror of who I am today, a mirror of myself. OK, enough with this second issue, I guess I've made my point.

I'm struggling how to name this second issue, the name that I choose for the first one was very clever indeed, but I can't find one like that for the numero dos issue. Hmmmmmmmm Well, is a very broad issue, but for the tone of this reflection I'm going to narrow it down. Let me talk about the third issue for a while before I can come up with a name for the second and the third issue.

The third issue is an issue for me. Most people, actually all the people I've talked about his issue just laugh at me and say that I'm just fucking out of my mind, that I'm completely wrong, that I just have to look at the light of the day to realize that I'm just talking non sense. I know they're right, that is not an issue and the truth of the matter is that I know, based on my very own experience that it is not an issue for me, but it is an issue for me, what can I say?! Some people would love to be able to have the qualities it takes to approach that issue the way I do it -if is possible to keep this part in code-, but the truth of the matter, again, is that it is an issue.

And that's why I consider the butcher situation such a great thing. That's a situation I ran into and that allowed me to open my eyes to this issue, maybe I didn't quite open both eyes to this issue but I opened one a little bit and it was enough to see what I had to see. That situation wasn't the best situation ever and things didn't go as planned and the objectives weren't met, even though those objectives were very fucking easy to meet my friends, but weren't met. Not all of them, but some of them were met and my friends if I keep taping I may not be able to keep this post under the radar. Let me just add to this whole butcher situation that from the very beginning I kind of knew that whether the objectives were met or not, it was the kind of deal that can be interpreted as "now or never".

Furthermore, this third issue sits at the heart of the matter and can go hand in hand with the motivations of issue number two. In other words, issues two and three are different, completely different and are not linked, maybe the third issue is not even linked with The Password Issue [issue number one] but if issue number two is taken in its broad sense, and not in the narrow approach that I'm using for this post, then I could argue that both issues are joined by the hip. But for practical matters, issues two and three are separate and have no relationship whatsoever.

I could even venture and say that if issue number three is taking good care of, the first issue would disappear and perhaps, maybe, eventually, issue number two would fall in place. Am I fucking smart or what?!

So issue number one is going to be referred as The Password Issue; issue number three is going to be referred as The Butcher Issue, even though it contains "the butcher situation" the truth of the matter is that butcher is such a clever fucking code name for the third issue. But I'm still struggling on how to name issue number two. . .

I got it! Issue number two is going to be referred to as The PH Issue. That's all I can say about it, one more word and you'll have to join the Witness Protection Program. . .

A List

1. I like to take pictures
2. but im not a good photographer
3. i take pictures when i feel like taking them
4. and when i have my camera w/me
5. i have three cameras
6. two film cameras
7. one digital
8. the digital is the one i use the most
9. the other two i hardly use them
10. actually i dont use them
11. at all
12. one is a Minolta
13. point and shot Minolta
14. i bought it in china
15. for a hell of a lot of money
16. i love it
17. it had captured the best momentos in my life
18. so far
19. i also have a Minolta SLR
20. it has interchangeable lenses
21. but i only have one lens
22. the one that came w/the camera
23. it was an impulsive purchase
24. i couldn't contain myself
25. i sat on my hands
26. but ordered it online
27. tipping w/my nose
28. i was the happiest man when i got it
29. the next weekend i went talking pictures
30. and then the next one again
31. when i developed the pictures
32. i was disappointed
33. i realized that im not a good photographer
34. im a lover
35. and a great kisser
36. a great French kisser
37. not a photographer
38. one day i saw a digital camera
39. and i knew that i was going to buy me one
40. i did a research
41. different prices and models
42. locations and pixels
43. brands and support
44. warranties
45. lenses
46. reviews
47. and five minutes into my research
48. i got me a cannon s410
49. i was very exited when i got it
50. and i went on a shooting spree
51. up til today
52. my other two cameras
53. are collecting dust
54. untouched
55. since many months ago
56. actually thats not true
57. i use the slr
58. the Minolta slr w/interchangeable lenses
59. slr stands for Single Lens Reflex
60. i didnt know if you know what an slr was
61. now you know
62. so i also use the slr
63. i hang it from my neck
64. and walk around
65. with my digital camera in one hand
66. taking digital pictures
67. the slr camera
68. is only to pretend that im a good photographer
69. some people care about it
70. some others dont give a shit
71. some dont know what im talking about
72. i told a friend about the slr hanging from my neck
73. and the digital camera in my hand
74. she said that i was a snob
75. havent seen her ever since
76. told other friend about my digital camera
77. she said that digital cameras is cheating
78. taking pictures w/digital cameras is cheating
79. she works in a picture place
80. she takes pictures of babies
81. spoiled babies
82. and little brats that dont like to smile
83. she says that she's a photographer
84. because she takes pictures of babies
85. and because she owns like 20 cameras
86. all film cameras
87. some old cameras
88. some more new than others
89. some of them dont work
90. when i showed her my digital photos
91. she said that it was cheating
92. that my photos were nice but that it was cheating
93. me cheating?
94. yes you cheating -she said
95. she doesn't know what the hell shes talking about
96. put your hands on a digital camera
97. and youll never look back
98. once you go digital
99. you go digital
100. unless you go back to film
101. 101 is the title of a Depeche mode album
102. back to cameras
103. film and digital cameras
104. and the girl that said that digital equals cheating
105. i havent seen her in a while
106. actually in a long time
107. she wasnt actually my friend
108. just someone i knew
109. but i like to refer to people i meet as friends
110. if i know their names and have talked to them i refer to them as friends
111. even if theyr not my friends
112. is just easy to say friends than to say something else
113. but she wasn't my friend
114. just someone i knew
115. i didn't ask her if she likes lists
116. lists like this
117. a list where you list stuff
118. i dont like lists
119. only the grocery list
120. and i only like the grocery list when it includes beer
121. or condoms
122. or both
123. thats why i have so many of both
124. more condoms than beers
125. not because i get drunk before fucking
126. but because there has been more drinking than fucking lately
127. actually there has been drinking
128. because there hasn't been much fucking
129. im a bit fucked up
130. i guess it's obvious by now
131. not drunk-fucked up
132. at least not yet
133. but today is Saturday
134. and i may get drunk
135. but thats a whole different story
136. the thing is that i dont like lists
137. because i dont know what to list
138. girls are very good at lists
139. they list a lot of shit
140. maybe thats why they shop so much
141. or maybe i dont know what im talking about
142. but i know quite a few things
143. about girls
144. and life in general
145. not many i have to confess it my friends
146. but i know some tricks
147. i know for example
148. that when i reach 150
149. this list is going to stop
150. right at 150

Bittersweet

Two of my co-workers were discussing the Bible today and talking about humility and blah blah blah and I was, together with David, listening to them on the sidelines not really willing to say anything. Then they started talking about "The Passion of the Christ" and one of them confessed that he had the movie but exchanged it in some video place for another. The other guy said that it just wasn't possible that he had done such thing and asked him what movie he got in return; the other guy struggled to answer for one two many seconds and I stepped in and said "Jenna Jameson uncensored!". David and I together with both the Xtian guys burst in laughs; because as I told them making with my hands some sort of list on the air "seriously dude, this shit is like first God, then Jesus and then breathing right on his neck is Jenna Jameson when it comes to popularity in this country". More laughs and David told me that from today on I was his favorite person in the building.

That was a sweet moment today with plenty of laughs.

After that I was walking down the hall with David on my way to my cubicle and I asked him about his mum. Don't ask me why but I met his mom few months back when she came to the office building; a very nice lady. One day later on I asked him to say "hi" to her and then she sent me some cookies some other day; a nice lady indeed. David is a nice dude, a very calm guy who speaks very softly and who's quite young, maybe 20 or 21 at most and still going to school. While we were walking down the hall this afternoon after the situation with the Xtian co-workers, I asked him how his mom was doing and his answer almost makes my heart stops: My mom -he said, is dying.

He explained to me that she has lupus, the systemic type and that she's not doing any good. She can't leave her house now and her body is not responding as expected to her medications. He told me that she'd had lupus for quite a few years now and that there had been good times and bad times; there had been hospitalizations as well as days at the beach; medicines that worked well, some that didn't and some that did and then didn't. I know a bit about lupus because the mom of one of my younger sister's friend passed away due to that and my boss' wife also has it.

I didn't know what to tell him today, so I listened to him. He seemed pretty calm and well aware of the situation, perhaps more than he showed to me, but faced with a situation like that the best thing to do is to listen. I would've liked to say more things to him or to his mom but seriously, what can I say to make things better or sweeter, ah?

But perhaps I could do a little something: On my way back home this evening I bought some chocolate chip cookies for his mom.

Thoughts on Hurricane Katrina

This is not going to be a post about the federal and local government's response to the hurricane, nor an analysis on what went wrong down there. There has been a hurricane of ink all over the internet about what these topics and I don't want to go there.

This post is on how Katrina can show us some very interesting insight on us human beings.

The first thing that struck me is how, once NOLA was evacuated and people was let loose among the destruction, the city turned into a scene out of a Max Mad movie. Putting aside thirst, hunger and alike for several days, people went crazy looting not just food but whatever looked like worth a dime. It reminded me of The Lord of the Flies. Maybe us human beings really need to have a present authority with a clear set of rules to prevent us from our own peers. I couldn't help it but refer straight to Thomas Hobbes and his concept of man is a wolf to other men. I really don't know what happened there during those days, I'm just basing my analysis on pictures and quite a few videos that I found of people either looting or roaming the streets in pick up trucks killing dogs. But don't you just froth at the mouth thinking of a deserted city all for yourself? A city where everything is up for grasps and by the same token everything goes? [I do].

The second thing that came to my mind was the concept of God. After the Asian Tsunami, the local host of NPR here in Charlotte had several discussions about that being an act of God and why it happened in that region of the world in particular. I also read some stories about that idea on some publications and the whole concept that every single little thing that happens in this life is an act of God. I listen to that show only when there's commercials in the two 80's music stations that I listen to, but these days I've been paying attention to it to see if they invite those very same experts to talk about God and NOLA, but so far there has been none of the above. I guess is just easier to talk about stuff going on over there than over here.

And the third thing that came to my mind is poverty and privileged in America. This is the land of opportunities and the home of the American Dream and the most powerful country blah blah blah blah which happens to have a ton of poverty. Thousands of people that could not afford to pack up and leave the city for a couple weeks as a category five hurricane was breathing on their necks and their own lives were on jeopardy it's not stupidity, is the result of a live in poverty my friends.

And privileged. GWB's mum went to pay a visit to the people who flew to Houston and said that they were "unprivileged anyway so that they're better off now". And is that the very same elite of people, who were born with a spoon of gold in their mouths that are running the country and making decisions to what is better for all of us based on their own privileged lives. People that have no clue what the fuck it means to be born and raised in poverty and to lead a live of needs. Extremely rich people with an amazing political power who know nothing about being in need. I would've loved to see Barbara Bush's face once she read the criticism of her words on the media, perhaps she'd go like "but what did I say. . .?" And maybe GWB would've consoled her saying "don't worry mother, you know, is the liberal media after all."

Privileged, unprivileged, authority, God. . . maybe this ideas on the hurricane reflect more my own background and where and when I come from and stand today than what actually happened in NOLA. Perhaps I'm just splitting hairs, but don't you think there's more than just the strong winds and heavy rain that we all watched on TV?

Doctor's Appointment

I had to go to the doctor today, an activity that ranks almost at the top of my list of stuff that I clearly dislike. A visit to the doctor ranks second only to a root canal procedure and perhaps just inches ahead of helping someone move all his shit to a new address.

While growing up I was always a very healthy child: I ate all my veggies, fruit, and every single food related product that was on my plate (except liver, ew); I also took Flinstone's vitamins which I loved and at times when my parents weren't watching I overdosed my self with them; I had a very caring grandma with a super cool maid that feed me truckloads of everything and were very happy to see such a healthy boy eat a month's worth of groceries in one afternoon; and I always washed my hands before sitting at the table, so getting sick and visiting the doctor and skipping school due to some illness was as foreign to me as I am to the Bible Belt.

But time is passing by, I'm not twenty years old anymore and things are starting to malfunction. My grandma passed away not long ago, I moved to the US and now I am the one who has to cook in order to keep my ever growing appetite at bay, a fucking difficult task my friends. And I also replaced those Flinstones vitamins for Redbull vodka so little aches here and there are starting to pop up every once in a while.

This visit to the doctor was due to my right eye, which was kind of red.

As you can see it wasn't red like in a red haired guy type of red, nor like a strawberry red. It was more like my little red car type of red, or maybe red as in bloody fucking red, kind of red. Red as in WTF happen to your right eye J-F or maybe red as in thirsty vampire looking for something to drink, some sort of red colored flavored soda coming out of someone's neck type of red. In other words, my eye was bloody red and had been like that for quite a few days, and even more so my eyes had been red for months now, on and off, but not as red as the day before yesterday and specially yesterday. I know I should've pay a visit to the doctor before, but if you skipped the first paragraph read it again: I DON'T like to go to the doctor unless there's a discomfort that an overdoses of Tylenol can't cure. Just don't fucking like.

I made an appointment with a practice near my place and once I was done with it, I was surprised with how many people are involved in a single and simple red eye condition. First I called to make an appointment and the lady that picked up the phone in the first ring, I swear, sounded like an automated message. I was waiting for the long list of options "press one for appointment, two for re-schedule, three" but she was like "hello?"; I told her that I wanted to make an appointment with the eye doctor and she transferred the call to another lady with the same "automated message" type of voice. I made an appointment for 8 AM and concluded that those ladies are in charge of solely answering the phone, re-directing calls and taking appointments.

This morning when I crossed the front door of the three-story building few minutes before 8 AM I was greeted by a lady who gave me some indications of where the doctor's office was located at. (I have to make clear here that even though I grew up in South America where everybody is always late for everything, that's one of the things that I didn't incorporate in my charming Latino personality and I'm always on fucking time). Down the hall I was greeted by another lady that made me fill some paper work, sign a huge disclaimer that I did without reading it and pointed me to the waiting area. While sitting there I updated my knowledge of Paris Hilton's whereabouts and did some sick people watching, which I have to confess they looked pretty normal to me.

Then another lady called my name, took me in the doctor's office and did some preliminary testing and asked me like a hundred questions about my eyes. I noticed that she'd had one too many cups of coffee in the morning because she didn't stop smiling and saying "great" and "awesome", and even said that in all those little tests that she conducted on me (eye pressure, follow the ball pen, etc.) I was doing "wonderful".


The doctor finally walked in, read all the information in the computer screen and asked me some more questions. He then proceed to check out what the fuck was wrong with my brown eyes and came up with a diagnosis and a prescription. He was cool enough to give me the free samples that he gets saving me quite a few bucks.

Then when my favorite moment of the morning came, the time to pay, another lady behind a little desk that had had a very bad night took care of it. It really surprised me that it was only ninety three bucks, not a penny more, not a penny less. I tried to create a mental pie chart in order to know where the money was going to and it seemed to me that is was awfully cheap. I'm talking about seven people took care of me from my first phone call to the lady with the bad hair day, and it was less than a hundred greens. Certainly most of it will be splitted between the owners of the practice and the owners of the prime real estate where it sits, then the doctor and all the way down to the ladies answering the phone over at Bangalore.

My eyes turned out to be fine, but I have a skin condition that makes my eyes red. The doctor played it down saying that it was nothing to really worry about, and said that it wasn't necessary to go to the skin doctor to have that checked right now. He told me to follow his prescription (eye drops, hot compresses and a specially soap for my eye lids) and if things don't get better in 4-6 weeks he'll try something different. I did some further research on the internet and I know that I'm gona have to end up going to the skin doctor eventually as those rosacea pictures don't look pretty at all.

Time is passing by my dearest readers and I ain't getting any younger, that's for sure.

Reflections on 9/11

It's been four years since 9/11 and a lot of water had passed under the bridge ever since. Today is a good day to see what it has brought to us.

At that time there was a president that had been elected in some cloudy transaction down in Florida and who got like half a million less votes than his opponent. In some parts of the world democracy refers to 'majority', perhaps here we have a more advanced form of the same concept that brought us George W. Bush to power -well, "advanced" if you know what I mean.


The buildings came down and the Pentagon caught fire, and certainly years and years of military spending, more money than any rational person could ever dream of in all kind of fancy weapons turned out to be completely useless. Thousands of nuclear weapons mounted on missiles that can travel the world in minutes proved ineffective on three airliners and good only to destroy ourselves many times over. State of the art fighter jets, Abrahams tanks, aircraft carriers, spy satellites, cruise missiles, nuclear submarines, assault rifles, RPGs, night vision goggles and hundreds of military bases scattered around the world prevented nothing. Doesn't it gives you the feeling that people taking decisions at the top don't know what's going on in this world? I do get that feeling.

The first war after 9/11 rained down all kind of destruction to an already destroyed country and the mastermind of the attacks wasn't found. Because that was the reason to go there in the first place, it was only four years ago but I still remember GWB giving an ultimatum on TV to hand over Osama "or else". Or maybe my English wasn't that good in those autumn days and I misunderstood the whole thing? But while NYC was still looking for people among the rubble I really don't think that anybody thought that it was such a perfect timing to bring democracy to Afghanistan once and for all. Com'on, seriously, did anybody mention democracy and liberty and freedom in those days? It was more on the neighborhood of "we don't care who did it, but who's gona pay for it!".

I've always found odd to refer to killings and destruction as success, but that little war was considered as one. The initial goal wasn't attained (to capture mr. mastermind) but other people were captured and killed and I don't really know what happened there, and the news services didn't know either and before we could find out what really happened there, another nice little war was on its way again.

Up to this point the whole world was sympathetic to the US, offering all kind of help and kind words and understanding and 'whatever I kind do for you, I'll do it' type of mentality in those days. Imagine if in January 2001 a fortune teller would've told you that that very same year due to a catastrophic event the whole world was going to be sympathetic to the US, even old enemies would rally around to support America, would've you believed it? And that a year later even the most traditional allies of the US were gona be at odds with uncle Sam due to the handling of things, would've you believed it? In other words, would've you believed that one of the biggest tragedies in US history, together with the worst diplomatic fiasco of our generation was going to unfold in the hands of GWB? Now we know that that was only the tip of the iceberg of the things to come.

I have a tremendous memory for daily life situations, details and faces; phone numbers and birthdays are certainly not my strongest point but it doesn't matter for what happened in Iraq.


After 9/11 our leaders freaked out and thought that these attacks were gona keep coming like hip hop records, one after the other; so GWB decided to make his move before the other side did. Turned out to be some kind of auto check mate with his own queen, bishops, horses and one tower (the pawns were already out on the battlefield). He decided that Iraq had the most dangerous weapons ever created by human beings and that they were going to use them against America. No kidding my friends, listen up: GWB thought that Iraq, a country that throughout the 1980's fought a very messy, expensive and bloody war with one of its neighbors, then was destroyed in 1991 in the "First Gulf War"; and for the next 10 years (all of the 1990's) had so many economic sanctions around it that even people were starving to dead, was thought to have enough time and resources to develop nuclear weapons. Don't laugh now, GWB said it and a hell of a lot of people believed him.

The country was -hard to believe- destroyed one more time and no atomic weapons where ever found. America committed billions of dollars in resources, man power, blood and severe ties with its more traditional and important allies for a mirage that never existed in real life, not even on intelligence reports, a dream that existed only in the minds of those taking the decisions in that little White House up in DC. Once again they said it was a success, celebrated with a mission accomplish banner and a nice speech aboard an aircraft carrier. I really can't imagine these people running a real world company having to explain to the board of directors or investors about their so called "success". But anyway, those two wars were a success in the sense of capturing and killing evildoers and whoever the fuck looked like one or was in the middle of it all (I also like to break shit every now and then so I kind of understand them).

But those two wars are really peanuts compared to something more important to us Americans. Anyway the people killed over there were soldiers, who are suppose to die for their elected official's mistakes, and the rest weren't Americans like us, so maybe they were guilty after all, and the less you know about that the better. But what terrifies and sadness me is that today the president of the US has the authority to detain, throw in jail and forget about any person including American citizens -people like you and me, my very dear and very few readers. He also has the authority to take those detainees to other countries to be tortured in order to extract information from them. There's no Miranda law or any silly thing like that, just pure brute force. Even if you check out a book from the local library that looks suspicious (Nicholas Sparks maybe?) you could be on your way to a paid vacation in Egypt for some questioning followed by a long time of missed summer blockbusters. If you're considered "dangerous" they can basically lock you in and throw away the key. God bless.

Besides the re-election of a president that was on his way out before he got elected the first time and two wars, 9/11 has brought the rule of man over the rule of law; the institutionalization of lies, half truths, misleads and lack of accountability for the government; and has brought the idea that there's always a military solution for everything. It has brought a one party rule where some of his members are blinded with power; it has brought the reduction of rights on regular people, woman and an expansion on religion on daily life; and it has brought the use of force against our own citizens.

It has made our government replicate with a ton of success the very same ideas of the people it vows to be fighting against. And it has brought to light the reality of the "Iron Triangle" in our society. In only four years my friends. . . and I'm afraid the best is yet to come.

Einstein 2

Please read this little post before venturing any further.

So here I am, back from church, and the white little paper that I took with me has ZERO phone numbers in it and my two unused condoms went back to the drawer in my night table, back where they've been since the last century.

This could be a long post of all the shit that I saw and my very clever and deep analysis of the whole event, but I just want to mention few things.

- The COMPLETE and absolutely lack of females of breeding age in service and around the church. So no girls, no motivation, no church for me.

- I forgot about the basket and it was passed THREE times. I had only a $20 in my wallet and I have better plans for it.

- I witnessed a baptism right in front of my eyes. They have some sort of jacuzzi right beside the podium and this people were drawn there from head to toes. What happened to the good old way of pouring a little bit of water on your head?

- The songs; oh Jesus Christ the songs! It has more rhythm a thunderstorm than those frigging songs!

- My mother in law; actually my sister's mother in law holding my hand everytime the minister or whoever was at the podium said "Let's pray". Thirty more minutes there and I swear I was going to get a hard on!

- Let's pray! We prayed like twenty times and every person was worst than the one before. They all started they prayers with lines such as "God, you're an awesome God" and shit. Man I had to bite my tongue several times not to laugh.

- That very sweet lady that was sitting beside me and who said "Amen!" every minute and nodded and agreed with every single word the priest was saying.

- The priest, who was wearing gym clothes and whose sermon was more like a session with Dr. Phil about loosing weight minus all the Bible quotes and the "you have to fear God" and all that.

- I missed my sister's mother in law's husband Bible study teachings where he spoke about *gasp* HELL. He mention something about that that shit really exists and that people better believe it does *ugh*. I was gona say to him "then, see you there pal!", but he paid for lunch so I preferred to stuff my mouth with plenty of food instead.

- I had to shake more hands and introduced myself to more people than I've ever had to in my whole life.

*Note to Self* Next time I set foot in there I'm gona go straight to the singles group and skip the whole mass thing, otherwise I'm going to kill myself in that very same jacuzzi by the podium!

Einstein

Sometimes I wonder if I am partially stupid or a complete idiot. Sunday morning and I've already showered, shaved, ironed a shirt, taken a Tylenol for a headache and applied a couple drops of my colone. I have a pen in my shirt pocket together with a piece of paper for phone numbers, and two condoms in my pants' left front pocket just in case -you never know what is going to happen.

I still can't believe that I agreed in going to my new family in law's church this morning instead of let's say. . . sleeping?

One of my little posts got a link in another blog! Next step, the New York Times Best Seller list!

Thanks mr. drogidy and cheers!

Nice Outside

Went home early today, got rid of my tie and dig out of my laundry basket some shorts and a tee shirt. Went to a nice coffee shop that I found few weeks ago in a corner with no many North Carolinians and a nice outer patio; with a medium size doses of caffeine in my left hand, I dived into all three of my books.

An hour later went to get a refill and on my way out again I see this girl coming back inside from the patio. Even though she was wearing her sunglasses, I recognized her immediately. I greet her with one of my best smiles and the same words you'd use to greet a good-old friend of yours. She looked at me unable to hide her puzzle face. I walk two steps more towards the door and turned my head around. She was peaking at me through her sunglasses lying half way on her nose, her male friend/lover/brother or whatever, had a WTF expression on his face.

I shot another of my charming smiles and suddenly she remembers. Smiling she says "well, I didn't know how you look without your tie. . ."

Now you know- I reply with a wink and step outside as the door slowly closes behind me.

Too bad I'm not into brunettes with big boobs and sparkling honey eyes these days. . . or am I?

Life Lessons

There's an old saying that goes "you should learn from your own experiences and mistakes", but it is easier to say it and to write about it than to apply it in real life. And today was one of those days when I'd have really liked to be able to keep that phrase more handy.

Specially because this is a story that involves Jean-Francois' penis.

After coming back to my office building from lunch, I stop in the restrooms located in the first floor to take a leak -I always drink water with lunch but today I drank more water than usual. Once I finished I headed for the elevators, pressed the "up" button and waited patiently while a small group stared to gather around.

While waiting I started to feel a little weird, like a little discomfort right below my belly button, something that started like a little itching that by the time I jumped in the elevator and pressed my floor number started to turn into a burning sensation. Yes my friends, a burning sensation right in my crotch, and to be more precise, right in my dick.

Of course everybody pressed a different floor and the elevator was slower than ever and the little burning sensation started to get less little and more closer to a BURNING sensation in fucking capital letters. And I was unable to reach in my pants and check out what the fuck was going on with my flute, as there was plenty of people around.

By the time I got to my floor my Huge love tool was burning and I was fricking out, "this is the fucking end" I thought and once I got in the restroom I locked myself in the toilet reserved for the handicaps, which has plenty of room, and according to what I was feeling I really thought that I was gona be handicap for the rest of my life!

I pulled out my anaconda and with both hands checked out what the hell was going on, but didn't see anything strange. I went to the sink, wet some paper towel and went back into the handicap toilet. Very careful and very gentle I wiped out my baloney not knowing what the fuck was going on. The cold damp wet paper towel gave me some temporary relieve and I thought that maybe the lack of use (no girlfriend) was taking a toll on me and I sweared right there that I was going to take things into my own hands, I mean, not into "my hands" but more in the way of trying harder to meet someone.

I pulled up my pants, straightened my neck tie, went to the sink, washed my hands, and wet my forehead in order to get rid of all the sweat in my forehead, because I was suffering my friends. Then the burning sensation started again and I noticed that it had moved to my nuts! I got in the toilet again and by the time I pulled my pants down again, thinking that maybe I was seeing my manhood for the last time because it was going to have to be removed, the itching and burning moved to my forehead. At that time the shit had clearly hit the fan and I was literally covered in it, so I realized that even though my palm tree, coconuts and forehead were burning I knew that it was either fainting right there or dropping to my knees asking for forgiveness. But then a moment of clarity arrived to my not very clever mind and I understood every-fucking-thing.

And I couldn't help it but laugh and remember that I definitely hadn't learnt from my past experiences.



One of my co-workers always have a garden during summer, where he and his wife grow among other things tomatoes and habaneros, which is a type of chili. Around this time of the year I always get a bag of each from him and today I took one of the little habaneros with me for lunch. In the restaurant I chopped the habanero and mixed together with my rice and vegetables and put a little bit on top of the grilled Mahi-Mahi. Of course that that little habanero was spicy as hell, and I had to drink a lot of water; and as I drank a lot of water, I had to stop in the bathroom in the first floor of my building on my way back to my office.

So while in the restroom with my pants down and my dick, balls and forehead in fire I recalled that after lunch and after chopping that little habanero I didn't watch my hands, therefore the juices from it end up on my manhood and therefore that fucking burning sensation.

A couple years ago I got the same bag with the same tomatoes and habaneros and something similar happen to me back then, but I didn't learn my lesson. I got home one night, cooked some pasta and chopped a little habanero to spread it on my plate. Once I finished eating and drinking lots of water, I watched TV for a while and then I went to the restroom, washed my hands and proceed to take out my CONTACT LENSES! Sun-a-ba-bitch my friends! Needless to say even though I washed my hands really fucking good my eyes burned like crazy and even the tears that rolled down my checks burned them as well. Back then I thought that the solution for my contacts has gone bad and end up buying two more bottles (I have to confess it that I'm a slow learner and a couple weeks later, exactly the same happen and I blame it on the solution again, not even thinking about the little habaneros).

I learnt my lesson today, the hard way and for the second time in my life, would it stick to me?

BLAH BLAH BLAH

I bet you my mom was drunk tonight. She had me on the phone for almost an hour talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking talking and talking and talking and talking and shit!

Both my ears are hot and red and my poor cell phone was like "dude, enough with this crap!".

And then they ask me that why is it that I don't call them more often. . .

The Sky is the Limit!

Life is just getting better by the minute here in the South. . . yesterday I spoke to my future mum in law and she invited me for lunch today, but as I am a busy man (you know, blogging, downloading porn from the internet, napping, looking at the ceiling, having conversations with the mirror and so on) I had to decline. I told her that we could meet later in the afternoon to have a cup of coffee, and we agreed to meet at 3:30 PM.

Being as naive as I am, I thought that it was gona be like a hair cut: walk in, sit down, cut here and there, gel or not, bye-bye. But to my surprise, when I got there right at half past three the rest of my family in law was there to greet me! Can't life just get fucking better in this early fall days?!

Yes it can my dear friends.

It was not just a cup of coffee but a South American cookout, which can last for hours and hours and it includes not only tons of food but plenty of drinking and talking and laughing and *gasp* a lot of questions directed to Jean-Francois and more food and dessert and coffee and I even end up buying a subscription to Time magazine for 21 months for fifteen bucks for the kid of a friend of them who's in middle school and is part of this fundraiser crap and of course I end up pulling my wallet and contributing to such a noble cause and even more *GASP* questions to Jean-Francois who by the way doesn't fucking like people asking questions but as he's now part of the family we have to learn not only all of his past but *cough* his plans for the *cough*cough* future and shit. As slick as I am avoiding questions I gave them plenty of half answers and half truths because I don't want them to call my sister's fiance to tell him that his new brother in law is just a fucked up guy who has no fucking idea wass up in his life and maybe he'll cancel the wedding and the only real chance that my sister has ever had of nailing a ring on his left hand will go up in smoke due to me.

I hope I didn't mess it up too bad, though.

We held hands before eating the food and thanks God they didn't ask me to bless the food, because that would've been the end of it all; but my mum's in law's husband is a minister in one of the local churches and of course he did the blessing. I ate a full plate the first time and went back to the grill to get some more chicken, potatoes and salad. For dessert we had some Cherry Garcia with some cookies and coffee, and my sister in law had to go running after the dog who found a whole in the fence but as much as I wanted to help the truth of the matter is that I couldn't move.

Then after the coffee I found out that my sister in law's husband is on his way to become a minister as well and my heart just filled with joy, can you believe it?! Where the hell did I get all this good luck from. . . honestly I would've preferred good looks instead my friends! But as I believe that you have to get the most out of any situation, I steered the conversation to the singles group at the church, and I believe I stroke gold! Well, not yet but a ray of light is in the horizon. According to them, there's a large singles group and there's plenty of girls of all ages. . .

I don't want to go any further predicting the future because those are untested waters for me, but com'on, doesn't it look like the sky is the limit here?!

Life is *Goooood*

Isn't life full of amazing coincidences. . . ? They just make my heart pump joy to every single corner of my handsome and fit 5'6 and smile and love life like never before. . .

My sister is getting married and believe it or not part of my new family in law lives in the US, in the East Coast, the South East, the Bible Belt. They live in North Carolina, can you believe my eyes? They live in Charlotte, the so-called "Queen City"! They live in southern Charlotte, as well as I do, just a fifteen minute ride from my condo. Isn't life just amazing these days?!

As my mom only wants the best for me, she thought that it would be a fantastic idea to share with my new in laws not only the fact that I also live in Charlotte, but she went the extra mile and gave them my cell phone. Awwww mom, aren't you just great?

Wednesday morning, while I was on my way to Charleston and my cell phone was sitting on my night table, the first phone call went through and with it the first voice message. Thursday, when I was chilling by the ocean, two more phone calls and two more voice messages appeared on the screen of my old Nokia. Friday morning, and I ain't making this up, one more voice message appeared and a woman on the other end speaking English demanded to know if that phone belonged to someone called Jean-Francois. I can feel I'm going to love my new in laws. . .

Friday afternoon I call my new sister in law, the author of the voice messages, and after a small talk where I tell her how exited and happy and what an "amazing coincidence" that we both live here in Charlotte she invites me to her house to meet all the family. I was working and had to work until well pass 9 PM, but she said that it was OK, that they'll be waiting for me no matter what. Couldn't get out of that one but figured out that the sooner I meet them, the better.

Got there after 10 PM and well, I have to admit it, they were very nice. She gave me food, beer, I meet her three children, husband, a couple that lives nearby and who are also from South America and I even had the chance to pet her little dog. My new mother in law had to go home with her husband because they were kind of tired but they left plenty of good wishes for me.

And that is just the tip of the iceberg because you really don't know how lucky a man I am. My mother in law is married to a pastor from one of the local churches and my sister in law loves to pray and read the Bible as well as her husband and they enjoy so much going to church and their children also love to go and hang out at church and by the way Jean-Francois, what church do you go to? And yes of course you have to come to our church and meet everybody and I bet you people in the congregation are going to be thrilled to meet you and God Almighty this is such a wonderful coincidence for crying out loud!

And things are just getting better by the minute. Sunday morning I'm making my coffee (just few minutes ago) and the phone rang, the screen displays an unknown number with a 704 area code so typical in Charlotte and I just can't believe my ears and God bless the Southern United States: my mum in law calling to invite me for lunch tomorrow to meet her and her pastor husband. Am I the luckiest hommo sapiens on the face of this planet or what?!

Oh, my Gracious Goodness! This just can't get any better my friends. . .

Actually it can. I tried to make clear to my sister in law that I don't go to church and that the Lord and I aren't like this [cross fingers]. I didn't bless the food but just dived into it with my fork and knife causing her to rise an eyebrow, but better to get that out of the way. HOWEVER, there was a big ray of light when I told them that I was single, free like the wind and not seeing anyone these days. My sister in law's husband laughed and said that they can claim SEVENTEEN marriages that they've helped put together and I told them that I would be thrilled to help them get to the Top 20! They laughed with joy thinking about how great the Lord is for sending this astray sheep to them, and I also laughed thinking of all the fine young girls at church that are looking for and in need of some good sex with a hot and a cool red haired Latino. HEHEHE -evil laugh.

They invited me to go to church today but I declined due to some unavoidable stuff that I had to do -like blogging for example? But I know that I'm not gona be able to stay clear of the whole church experience, so if I'm gona be part of it, why not try to steer things my way and end up meeting some beautiful and God-fearing young girls with whom I could share if not the rest, at least the next few months of my life, ah? Or who knows, perhaps I'll end up loving the Lord and reading the Bible and volunteering and finally becoming a God-fearing member of the southern society. . . maybe. . . but in the meantime I'm just going to focus on getting laid and what a better place than a church. Better place to get to know fine young girls, I mean.

Readin'

I had forgotten that back in May I'd read "Brain Droppings" by George Carlin, and as that is a book about American society and J-F is a poor foreigner who's trying to understand what the hell is going on up here, I'd consider it as non-fiction (1.35!). Comments or suggestions on my judgment? Please leave a comment below, I'd love to read it. . .

"Skinny Deep" is such a good book, it had me laughing and smiling on every page. The story of the book is not funny but the way the author describes it, the similes and metaphors he uses and the characters makes that book hilarious. Is just impossible not to love Joey, Chaz, Ricca, Tool and even Mr. Red. Read that book!

"A Walk to Remember" by Nicholas Sparks is excellent. In the prologue the character says that First you'll smile, and then you'll cry, and believe me, he delivers. I found myself on Thursday evening at White Point Park, the southernmost tip of downtown Charleston, devouring this book; first smiling and then with my eyes all wet and shit (what a pussy, I know). Even more so I had to finish the book once I got back to Charlotte, well pass midnight that very same day, because. . . well, I'd better let you read it and find out for yourself.

R Ê V E S

I found myself working on a house in a hot summer day. I'm taking pieces off a roof and piling them up on a side. In my mind I keep playing a conversation I had earlier about how difficult it is to build a new property in that area because you have to use old pieces to build a new house so that it resembles the local architecture.

I go back in the house and see huge pieces of furniture in what appears to be the dining room, living room and den, all three areas kind of together. The house is for sale. My landlord is sitting on a chair and I ask him that once he sales the house, where is he going to put all this furniture? I picture his house and know that all his rooms are packed with all kind of furniture. He tries to explain to me how he could fit all that in his house but I really don't see that happening.

I push the bottom on an elevator, I'm trying to go up. I wait for what appears to be like a couple of minutes and a guy who's is besides me says that this elevator may not go to the floor I want to go to. We walk to the other elevator across an open entrance hall in what appears to be a residential building. We jump in the elevator. That's a panoramic elevator and there's a lot of people in it; young people, girls in bikini and some young guys with swimming trunks, all sun tanned going somewhere up. I have a beer in my hand, ice cold, and my floor light is on. Everybody knows that this elevators may not take me to my floor but everybody is smiling. I take a drink of my beer and say that if it doesn't go to the tenth floor, my destination, I'd just go down again and grab another Ice cold beer. Everybody smiles. The elevator stops in my floor and I jump out.

I get to a room with a large table when a guy called Mohammed that I suppose to know appears and says that I have to go, that everything is over. He hands me a copy of The Economist, published at some point in the future, and the cover of it has a story about me and another guy who'd been asked to go as well. He says that he's sorry and tries to explain how it happened, but I tried to read the magazine in order to figure out how my own dead happened but is impossible, I can't read and I can't understand what he's saying.

My ex boss appears and says that what the fuck he thinks he's doing; Mohammed says that is all right, that anyway it doesn't hurt if we know how it happened, he takes my boss by the elbow aside and whispers something that I can't understand. My ex boss is very upset and he signs Mohammed to get rid of us and not to say anything else. Mohammed turns to me and says that he's sorry, shrugging, and says that I have to go.

I'm walking down a long street. I'm on left sidewalk and perhaps a mile away I can see a very busy road with buses and cars. To my left there's a park with a line of bushes and a lot of trees; on the other side there's two story houses that resemble a traditional neighborhood in South America. As I walk down that street I see in the distance the guy that was let go together with me, he's walking towards me and I want to ask him or tell him about our certain death. A Suburban SUV is driving very slow on my direction, I tried to remember if I'm suppose to be hit by a car but can't remember; somehow I think that it happened different. The car slows down and points towards me. I freaked out and jump the bushes, getting in the park and trying to get behind one of the trees, the Suburban is definitely after me. I fall on the grass and my legs don't respond, I can barely drag myself towards the closest tree and I know I'm not going to make it. The Suburban drives into the park and the driver approaches me slowly, knowing that I'm on the grass and that I can't escape, the engine is roaring like crazy, like a lion ready to eat an injured animal.

Very quickly I jump on my feet before the driver can react and plan to jump on the hood next. I'm planning to get my hands through the sun roof and chock the driver. I can picture myself choking him, grabbing his throat with my owns hands and all my strength yelling at him "who the fuck sent you?!". Through the driver's window I can see the installations of a cargo terminal with cranes, ships and containers all around us.

When I jump on the hood and regain my balance I found out that it doesn't have a sun roof.

I wake up and start blogging. . .

Morning Meeting

Early Friday morning, after a nice two day trip down in Charleston, I found myself in the same meeting room with Linda, one of my co-workers. As we were sitting across the round table, I'm reading some documents that I have on my lap while she does the same with some papers scattered on the table. She's trying to make some small talk with me but my answers are short, monosyllables most of them, not really bothering to answer or to comment on whatever she's saying.

Along those lines she asks me if I have some awesome plans for this holiday weekend, and if I remember well I answered that didn't have anything special in my mind. Then, without loosing thrust she goes and ask me "Why don't you go and visit that girl of yours who moved back to Germany?"

My ears turned red as they always do when the blood starts pumping and I raised my eyes to meet hers, that were still buried in her documents. When she didn't get an answer from me she rises her head to see if I'd listened to her question only to meet my eyes looking across the table at her like Superman right before using his x-ray vision.



That is non of your business - I said. And after letting that sink for a second I asked her back "Did I make myself completely clear?". Note how carefully I used my words so that there's no doubt in her little mind that whatever I do or whoever I see is clearly not her fucking business. She dives her head in the documents on the table mumbling some sort of answer, and proceeds to sit quiet as a tomb until whoever we were meeting finally gives us the honor to show up.

I seriously didn't see that coming, to be honest with you. I've told only one of my co-workers about my last relationship and I wasn't expecting him to spread the word. But if that little story reached Linda, I bet you every single soul on my floor knows even more than I do about my love life.

I never talk about my relationships with people outside my inner circle of friends, and even with my friends I'm very careful on what I share and what I don't. One of the most important things in a relationship is the privacy that you have in that little universe that you form with your girlfriend, and keeping people updated on it is not a wise move. There's nothing like turning into a sex freak or a sweet guy or coming up with cheesy lines and gentleman's manners that exists only in that universe, but only between the two of us, only in our very own world of words, signs, touches and alike; a language that only we two can talk and decipher. Not having to worry that whatever you do or say in the intimacy of your relationship is going to end up in the front page of "The Watercooler Times" is key in any relationship.

Once you start sharing insights of your relationship with friends or other people, is like turning a revolving door where they feel like they have a said on whatever you do, how you do it and even more so some just think that they should go ahead and just do you a favor bringing up suggestions, God forbid judgments. Is not that I have things crystal clear when I'm head over feet in a relationship, and for that matter I really don't have a very tight grip on everyday life, but if I'm going to screw it up I'd love to take full blame and responsibility for my actions; the buck stops with me.

Looking forward for Tuesday to tell my co-worker about that little chat I had with Linda. . .

Charleston

I went to Charleston [SC] for a nice two day weekend trip. The two days being Wednesday and Thursday, right in the middle of the week. Why not wait for Friday and take off for the real weekend, even more so if is Labor Day weekend? Because it is Labor Day Weekend and the last thing that I wanted was heavy traffic, crowded hotels, overcrowded streets, packed restaurants, overflowed pubs and extremely overweight people with a crimson burn getting right in the middle of my pictures.
















A little mini-break to relax, chill out, take it easy and forget all the shit going on in Charlotte. No phone, no cell phone, no bills, no e-mail, no *gasp* blogging and no nothing. I had to be back on Friday, for a series of unfortunate meetings, but it was a nice and quite little trip.



Oh, and by the way. . . Next time don't forget how useful it is to remember your exits, bitch! That little fact could save a lot of gas, time and specially you won't have to curse out loud every single thing on earth including the highway authorities and whoever the fuck is responsible for those big-O-green signs.

And if is late at night and you're trying to go back to your resort motel, a good memory comes really handy.