as the jew gets his groove on
i'll be walking soon
Yea tho I walk thru the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...
viernes, julio 29, 2005
The Beginning of the End...
chulo falls asleep
as the jew gets his groove on
i'll be walking soon
Yea tho I walk thru the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...
as the jew gets his groove on
i'll be walking soon
Yea tho I walk thru the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...
jueves, julio 28, 2005
Having Relations With Friends - At What Expense...
i called him my own
but we were not committed
what is this feeling?
Today I had a sobering experience. I spoke to a friend today, and he let me know that someone who he became involved with told him that they spent the evening with someone else. They're not in a committed relationship, merely friends who happen to share casual encounters, yet still, my friend had these feelings of jealousy and inadequacy. His story got me thinking about myself.
We all know that I'm rarely one for the relationship model; that I'd prefer to share those special moments with close friends. And with that being said and my close friends being far away from me, It's not their fault if they happen to play the same game. Regardless, I still can relate to how my friend had felt because I've been there. I've been the one who ended up catching feelings for another person only to hear about their latest adventure or their new love.
Do I become jealous because I'm all alone or is it because I'd rather be with them? I'm not sure, I mean it could be a mixture of the two. The question becomes, "Do sexual relations ultimately ruin a friendship? If not, will the feelings that follow from that friend moving on to another person do the job?". I don't have the answer to either question, but I know that the further removed I am, the more upset I become.
It's one thing to have a circle of friends who all have relations with one another. It's when someone diverts from the circle that feelings become activated and the brain starts to wonder. Seriously tho, once it's outside the circle, you're removed from that loop and the communication begins to break down.
So much significance is placed on shared actions between two people that, if not present, things would move so much more smoothly and without incident. I think that's part of the human condition tho, making more of something than it actually is. Empty words, random actions in the moment -- nothing can be taken for face value these days -- there's always more to things than meets the eye.
One day my prince will come...
but we were not committed
what is this feeling?
Today I had a sobering experience. I spoke to a friend today, and he let me know that someone who he became involved with told him that they spent the evening with someone else. They're not in a committed relationship, merely friends who happen to share casual encounters, yet still, my friend had these feelings of jealousy and inadequacy. His story got me thinking about myself.
We all know that I'm rarely one for the relationship model; that I'd prefer to share those special moments with close friends. And with that being said and my close friends being far away from me, It's not their fault if they happen to play the same game. Regardless, I still can relate to how my friend had felt because I've been there. I've been the one who ended up catching feelings for another person only to hear about their latest adventure or their new love.
Do I become jealous because I'm all alone or is it because I'd rather be with them? I'm not sure, I mean it could be a mixture of the two. The question becomes, "Do sexual relations ultimately ruin a friendship? If not, will the feelings that follow from that friend moving on to another person do the job?". I don't have the answer to either question, but I know that the further removed I am, the more upset I become.
It's one thing to have a circle of friends who all have relations with one another. It's when someone diverts from the circle that feelings become activated and the brain starts to wonder. Seriously tho, once it's outside the circle, you're removed from that loop and the communication begins to break down.
So much significance is placed on shared actions between two people that, if not present, things would move so much more smoothly and without incident. I think that's part of the human condition tho, making more of something than it actually is. Empty words, random actions in the moment -- nothing can be taken for face value these days -- there's always more to things than meets the eye.
One day my prince will come...
miércoles, julio 27, 2005
Does Size Really Matter?
the finger that spits
ever so important today
what is big enough?
Well I've had this discussion with some of you by now already. I know what you are going to say, "Chulo, it's fine. I mean really, it's too big for the size of your body. That's why people end up with four inches, because god gave the rest to you." And that may be true, but it seems like everyone else has more dick than me, even the 2'4" Dominican guy from the Island of Dr. Moreau.
Some say, "It's because you're looking down at it Chulo. Really, it's fine." When have any of you known me to be average tho? It's very disappointing. At times, thoughts of porn-stardom enter into my mind. Not for the money, cuz you know it ain't much, but for the affirmation that my dick is big enuf to get others off jus by watching. But we all know I'd end up being some power bottom being fucked by the bigger dick because that's jus how it is. Such a shame too, because I'd rather fuck.
I'd say that of my self-esteem issues, this is probably on the top-ten list. I'm really pretty secure, except when it comes to sexual issues. The shared experience of physical satisfaction over emotional bond allows for me to be close to someone in the moment while maintaining a level of emotional unavailability. This is an issue much bigger than my bicho, no doubt, but still an important aspect in my life that at some point in time should be revisited.
Maybe I'm just over-reacting to an aspect of my life that in reality is inconsequential to the greater whole. Maybe it is a decent size. The King of Spain told me it was pretty good for a "White Boy". I'm not even trying to be Ricky Martinez here, but jus a little something would be nice.
I know what this sounds like -- Chulo never will be satisfied with himself, so he picked something he has no control over to whine about -- but self-esteem issues stemming from personal perception of a negative body image are becoming more and more prevalent amongst men. No longer is it the bitch with the inverted breasts who's whining or the big woman with her Oreo's. It's you, it's me, it's even L.L. Cool J with his ab implants. To what end will we go to be happy? Will I always feel inferior when I'm gettin' with a beautiful Puerto Rican with 9" of meat? The world may never know.
Wanted, therapist to guide Chulo thru his sea of mental issues...
ever so important today
what is big enough?
Well I've had this discussion with some of you by now already. I know what you are going to say, "Chulo, it's fine. I mean really, it's too big for the size of your body. That's why people end up with four inches, because god gave the rest to you." And that may be true, but it seems like everyone else has more dick than me, even the 2'4" Dominican guy from the Island of Dr. Moreau.
Some say, "It's because you're looking down at it Chulo. Really, it's fine." When have any of you known me to be average tho? It's very disappointing. At times, thoughts of porn-stardom enter into my mind. Not for the money, cuz you know it ain't much, but for the affirmation that my dick is big enuf to get others off jus by watching. But we all know I'd end up being some power bottom being fucked by the bigger dick because that's jus how it is. Such a shame too, because I'd rather fuck.
I'd say that of my self-esteem issues, this is probably on the top-ten list. I'm really pretty secure, except when it comes to sexual issues. The shared experience of physical satisfaction over emotional bond allows for me to be close to someone in the moment while maintaining a level of emotional unavailability. This is an issue much bigger than my bicho, no doubt, but still an important aspect in my life that at some point in time should be revisited.
Maybe I'm just over-reacting to an aspect of my life that in reality is inconsequential to the greater whole. Maybe it is a decent size. The King of Spain told me it was pretty good for a "White Boy". I'm not even trying to be Ricky Martinez here, but jus a little something would be nice.
I know what this sounds like -- Chulo never will be satisfied with himself, so he picked something he has no control over to whine about -- but self-esteem issues stemming from personal perception of a negative body image are becoming more and more prevalent amongst men. No longer is it the bitch with the inverted breasts who's whining or the big woman with her Oreo's. It's you, it's me, it's even L.L. Cool J with his ab implants. To what end will we go to be happy? Will I always feel inferior when I'm gettin' with a beautiful Puerto Rican with 9" of meat? The world may never know.
Wanted, therapist to guide Chulo thru his sea of mental issues...
martes, julio 26, 2005
Yahoo! No Longer a Search Engine...
anonymous friend
brought to life thru chat and cam
let's see your freak side
In today's delectable wasteland of shallow emotions, feared social situations and utter lack of self esteem, more and more people have crawled into the sheltered sanctuary that is the internet. Online friends have taken the place of their flesh and blood counterparts and shopping for a mate is much like selecting the latest electronic device; discriminating eyes narrowing down options such as weight and height as they would HDTV and Dolby Surround Sound. Of course with these online friends, online experiences must also be had to bring a sense of togetherness and a level of tangibility, even tho online is created behind code and screens.
I've mentioned The Horrible Website once already and included a link for you all to follow, I will not do it again or mention it by name. The first time was for information purposes only, further instances will be to illustrate, and therefore we do not need any more details than its new italicized name. In addition to that niche website there is a more well known web portal. Indeed -- you guessed it -- Yahoo! For our purposes today, Yahoo! is not merely a search engine, but rather a messaging client that brings people together thru a magical device called a webcam.
Most young patos are horny individuals, even some old patos are too, and as meeting up in real life is sometimes a daunting task, many have found how truly magical the webcam is. The looming question however is how much webcam action is too much? Are you more of a slut for getting on the webcam in the first place or for getting on the webcam with thirty different people?
Granted, the webcam doesn't always turn out to be some homo sex romp -- I'm sure there are many military spouses who use it to keep in touch. But if you're gonna try to get me to believe they're not masturbating as well, then you've got another thing coming. "Virtual Masturbation" is becoming more and more commonplace, it's just only patos who are talking about it.
"Virtual Masturbation", while amateur-porn-ish, at times brings a more comfortable level of online interaction between people. This new sensation of online can bring about new feelings ranging from lust to love and also brings a stronger desire of anticipation. No longer do you have a static image of a penis or an ass, now you have watched your future lover or friend bust a nut all over his chest. Now you've seen how he touches himself and what he does for his eyes to roll back into his head as he brings himself to climax. The anticipation increases. Soon, no longer will you be in separate beds.
Are entire online relationships the next step? Perhaps an upgrade from "Virtual Masturbation" to a stimulation feedback chat? With increasing technology and increasing fear of disease, it sounds like a logical step. But I dunno if I'm ready to give up complete human interaction just yet.
BUZZ!
brought to life thru chat and cam
let's see your freak side
In today's delectable wasteland of shallow emotions, feared social situations and utter lack of self esteem, more and more people have crawled into the sheltered sanctuary that is the internet. Online friends have taken the place of their flesh and blood counterparts and shopping for a mate is much like selecting the latest electronic device; discriminating eyes narrowing down options such as weight and height as they would HDTV and Dolby Surround Sound. Of course with these online friends, online experiences must also be had to bring a sense of togetherness and a level of tangibility, even tho online is created behind code and screens.
I've mentioned The Horrible Website once already and included a link for you all to follow, I will not do it again or mention it by name. The first time was for information purposes only, further instances will be to illustrate, and therefore we do not need any more details than its new italicized name. In addition to that niche website there is a more well known web portal. Indeed -- you guessed it -- Yahoo! For our purposes today, Yahoo! is not merely a search engine, but rather a messaging client that brings people together thru a magical device called a webcam.
Most young patos are horny individuals, even some old patos are too, and as meeting up in real life is sometimes a daunting task, many have found how truly magical the webcam is. The looming question however is how much webcam action is too much? Are you more of a slut for getting on the webcam in the first place or for getting on the webcam with thirty different people?
Granted, the webcam doesn't always turn out to be some homo sex romp -- I'm sure there are many military spouses who use it to keep in touch. But if you're gonna try to get me to believe they're not masturbating as well, then you've got another thing coming. "Virtual Masturbation" is becoming more and more commonplace, it's just only patos who are talking about it.
"Virtual Masturbation", while amateur-porn-ish, at times brings a more comfortable level of online interaction between people. This new sensation of online can bring about new feelings ranging from lust to love and also brings a stronger desire of anticipation. No longer do you have a static image of a penis or an ass, now you have watched your future lover or friend bust a nut all over his chest. Now you've seen how he touches himself and what he does for his eyes to roll back into his head as he brings himself to climax. The anticipation increases. Soon, no longer will you be in separate beds.
Are entire online relationships the next step? Perhaps an upgrade from "Virtual Masturbation" to a stimulation feedback chat? With increasing technology and increasing fear of disease, it sounds like a logical step. But I dunno if I'm ready to give up complete human interaction just yet.
BUZZ!
lunes, julio 25, 2005
An Open Letter to Nextel
flying thru the air
like birds flying to their doom
your service sucks balls
Dear Nextel,
Merge with Sprint for Christ's sake. If I have anymore dropped calls or service interruptions there is going to be a major fucking problem. And another thing, I will not be paying my bill again if this continues.
Love,
Chulo
like birds flying to their doom
your service sucks balls
Dear Nextel,
Merge with Sprint for Christ's sake. If I have anymore dropped calls or service interruptions there is going to be a major fucking problem. And another thing, I will not be paying my bill again if this continues.
Love,
Chulo
domingo, julio 24, 2005
"They're Thieves, They're Thieves, They're Filthy Little Thieves!"
he imported me
from a land far far away
boricua ladron
Dear Yusef,
Thank you for taking the time to place a small nod to my photographic skills. I've only met you twice, but yet you still realise how small, yet significant, the importance of giving credit when it is due.
Love,
Chulo
Dear Medina = Citi,
I am ashamed that with your transformation into "the artist", you have forgotten to give credit to those who have helped you along the way.
Love,
Chulo
You know reader, it's funny. You meet people in this twisted and sorted journey called life. You watch them progress from an over-weight, non-English speaking, Hispanic minority writing love letters in tag to a talented artist who has found the gym and a well defined body on his way to perfect English.
Who are we speaking of? None other than... MEDINA = CITI. I did not ask for any compensation as I flew from PBI to JFK carrying a suitcase, a large Pelican 1520 case loaded with photo equipment and my Apple Powerbook. Keep in mind I have hardware going thru the bones in my leg, hindering my ability to walk correctly, and with all of these things in tow, take the train to Brooklyn, rendezvous with Andrelaso. Rent a U-HAUL, drop my shit off in Sunset Park. Drive to Canarsie in said U-HAUL getting into a car accident along the way because Andrelaso has ridden a train too long, and gotten into an absurd argument because Medina = Citi was late and it was my fault because I stopped at McDonalds for two minutes to get a snack.
Granted that night Escaflowne had his lapse in better judgment when he went to suck my cock as Medina = Citi watched in horror, but that is no excuse for this atrocity that Medina = Citi has committed against me. That's right children, I took all of the pictures for the Medina = Citi art show. I, ZIM... I mean... I CHULO took those photos for nothing more than some wine and cheese, and the chance to break my leg again as I hung art work upon a ladder that was placed atop a table. I asked for nothing -- I know the plight of an artist -- I'd rather you spend whatever compensation that may have beenallottedd to me on turkey wraps. It was the failure to attribute credit for the work I had completed that has me in an uproar.
I went to college for Television & Radio, while my concentration was Advertising & Public relations, we learned not to plagerize. I went to college for Still Photography, it was there that I learned about giving artistic credit to those who inspired you or contributed to the project. Medina = Citi should have known better! Now, as the river runs red with the blood of innocent lambs, I hope that this traicionero realises the seriousness of this oversight!
Image this, imagine you were Medina = Citi and you discovered your paintings in some publication with no mention of your name at all, now what do you think you would do? You probably wouldn't be happy, now would you reader? Well that's where I am right now. I've noticed that as he draws inspiration from those around him. Now that we've all been cast aside like used birthing husks, who is next to be devoured once he's used them for his artistic needs? Perhaps it will be The Writer, but I personally believe he's too smart for that. But I do know this, regardless of which Jumpoff it turns out to be, I hope that they realise that the relationship dancemerelyy that of a spider spinning a web around the latest insect to land in its web.
What's deadly, eats its mate and wears a red hourglass on its belly? I'll give you a hint...
from a land far far away
boricua ladron
Dear Yusef,
Thank you for taking the time to place a small nod to my photographic skills. I've only met you twice, but yet you still realise how small, yet significant, the importance of giving credit when it is due.
Love,
Chulo
Dear Medina = Citi,
I am ashamed that with your transformation into "the artist", you have forgotten to give credit to those who have helped you along the way.
Love,
Chulo
You know reader, it's funny. You meet people in this twisted and sorted journey called life. You watch them progress from an over-weight, non-English speaking, Hispanic minority writing love letters in tag to a talented artist who has found the gym and a well defined body on his way to perfect English.
Who are we speaking of? None other than... MEDINA = CITI. I did not ask for any compensation as I flew from PBI to JFK carrying a suitcase, a large Pelican 1520 case loaded with photo equipment and my Apple Powerbook. Keep in mind I have hardware going thru the bones in my leg, hindering my ability to walk correctly, and with all of these things in tow, take the train to Brooklyn, rendezvous with Andrelaso. Rent a U-HAUL, drop my shit off in Sunset Park. Drive to Canarsie in said U-HAUL getting into a car accident along the way because Andrelaso has ridden a train too long, and gotten into an absurd argument because Medina = Citi was late and it was my fault because I stopped at McDonalds for two minutes to get a snack.
Granted that night Escaflowne had his lapse in better judgment when he went to suck my cock as Medina = Citi watched in horror, but that is no excuse for this atrocity that Medina = Citi has committed against me. That's right children, I took all of the pictures for the Medina = Citi art show. I, ZIM... I mean... I CHULO took those photos for nothing more than some wine and cheese, and the chance to break my leg again as I hung art work upon a ladder that was placed atop a table. I asked for nothing -- I know the plight of an artist -- I'd rather you spend whatever compensation that may have beenallottedd to me on turkey wraps. It was the failure to attribute credit for the work I had completed that has me in an uproar.
I went to college for Television & Radio, while my concentration was Advertising & Public relations, we learned not to plagerize. I went to college for Still Photography, it was there that I learned about giving artistic credit to those who inspired you or contributed to the project. Medina = Citi should have known better! Now, as the river runs red with the blood of innocent lambs, I hope that this traicionero realises the seriousness of this oversight!
Image this, imagine you were Medina = Citi and you discovered your paintings in some publication with no mention of your name at all, now what do you think you would do? You probably wouldn't be happy, now would you reader? Well that's where I am right now. I've noticed that as he draws inspiration from those around him. Now that we've all been cast aside like used birthing husks, who is next to be devoured once he's used them for his artistic needs? Perhaps it will be The Writer, but I personally believe he's too smart for that. But I do know this, regardless of which Jumpoff it turns out to be, I hope that they realise that the relationship dancemerelyy that of a spider spinning a web around the latest insect to land in its web.
What's deadly, eats its mate and wears a red hourglass on its belly? I'll give you a hint...
sábado, julio 23, 2005
Alcohol: Your Friend in Opening Up
inside a bottle
the desire to express
the things you've held back
preparation:
- Wait two days after the incident to collect your thoughts
- Masturbate furiously thinking of sexual encounters with your friends
- Grab junk food snack and a beer
- Sit down to write
Yes children, writing at times does involve some preparation. With that said, I busted a nice nut and now I'm ready to take on "The King of Spain hypocrisy". You have all read about The King of Spain and his "Dominican Issues"; I'm sure you might even feel like he's someone you know. Don't let "Dominican Issues" fool you, that's every Dominican -- I think it's something in the Platano.
The King of Spain has been vacationing in the Hamptons with one of his friends that I would truly love to rape -- no lie. And Friday evening/Saturday morning he and Frankie went to a club on Long Island that "only Dominicans know how to get to". Whatever, clubbing on the weekend can be great fun. Allow me to remind everyone that I went out Friday evening/Saturday morning, got shitfaced and awoke the next day with him "upset" with me. Whatever tho, I'm jumping the gun.
The King of Spain contacted me wanting to know what I was drinking the evening of My Size Dominican-gate. I told him it was a Cosmopolitan, I even text messaged him what kind of alcohol makes the best one. (In my humble opinion, Grey Goose Orange & Cointreau) Regardless of the alcohol, if it's not a light pink and made with freshly squeezed limes, send a motherfucker back. That lime juice in the bottle is ridiculously sweet. With that he began a drinking spree to rival even my own.
Thru-out the night I would receive phone calls from The King of Spain, each one with him more intoxicated than the one before. It was the phone call when I was told he was leaving the club to get My Size Dominican. Very interesting I thought and swore that was the last phone call I would take from The King of Spain that evening, as I wasn't about to get into the My Size Dominican thing with him again.
We all know I don't listen, especially to myself. After ignoring three of his phone calls and sending him directly to voicemail, I picked up on the fourth call. "Yo te quiero Chulo... Te quiero tanto..", Yes, while I get drunk and cry, The King of Spain gets drunk and professes his love. Quite interesting if you ask me. To complicate things, his designated driver is intoxicated as well and My Size Dominican is drunk too sitting by his side. He continued, "It's ok if you love someone else, I still love you. I will always love you. Yo te quiero... YO TE QUIERO!!"
I went to College, so this wasn't my first drunken phone call. I took all expected steps to assess the situation from 1200mi away. It was then that I learned Frankie didn't want to talk to me as he wanted to drink more and My Size Dominican "still cares about me". With that revealed, I told him that My Size Dominican was a liar and no one who cared about me would have treated me like he did the week before.
You know Dominicans... they stick together because of their "Dominican Issues" bond, and a drunken King of Spain quickly jumped to his defense that I didn't understand and he was new at this and blah blah blah. Shit went on for about 25 minutes before I made an attempt to excuse myself from the conversation. At first he protested and finally acquiesced not but two minutes later.
There I was, alone in Florida, as two of the people I care about, yes -- I think I still might forgive My Size Dominican if he were to ever come to his senses, are being driven around Long Island by another drunk. So I do the only thing I can.. I post a guilt-ridden away message...
"Dear King of Spain,
Seriously Last Night You Were Out of Line.
Love,
Chulo"
Of course because of "Dominican Issues" my reaction was all My Size Dominican based. I was mainly concerned with The King of Spain. There he was out there with drunks and Dominicans trying to make sense of what's going on. Definitely not a good combination. I won't lie and say that My Size Dominican didn't factor in to how I felt. But think about it, there he was out having a good time with everyone else, yet couldn't stop to talk when I was around. The King of Spain can hang out with whomever he'd like to, it's really none of my business. But don't get me involved if you choose to hang out with people when you know there are unresolved issues.
I told him that I was concerned about his well being because that was the truth. I was here and couldn't take care of him like he had helped me after I drank my bottle. It was really hard for me to sleep that night knowing he was in such a vulnerable position. When he realised this you could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn't thinking that I could possibly care about him with My Size Dominican around, but you could also tell that he was sorry for making such accusations.
We both learned something that day, and hopefully we each have much more to teach one another...
the desire to express
the things you've held back
preparation:
- Wait two days after the incident to collect your thoughts
- Masturbate furiously thinking of sexual encounters with your friends
- Grab junk food snack and a beer
- Sit down to write
Yes children, writing at times does involve some preparation. With that said, I busted a nice nut and now I'm ready to take on "The King of Spain hypocrisy". You have all read about The King of Spain and his "Dominican Issues"; I'm sure you might even feel like he's someone you know. Don't let "Dominican Issues" fool you, that's every Dominican -- I think it's something in the Platano.
The King of Spain has been vacationing in the Hamptons with one of his friends that I would truly love to rape -- no lie. And Friday evening/Saturday morning he and Frankie went to a club on Long Island that "only Dominicans know how to get to". Whatever, clubbing on the weekend can be great fun. Allow me to remind everyone that I went out Friday evening/Saturday morning, got shitfaced and awoke the next day with him "upset" with me. Whatever tho, I'm jumping the gun.
The King of Spain contacted me wanting to know what I was drinking the evening of My Size Dominican-gate. I told him it was a Cosmopolitan, I even text messaged him what kind of alcohol makes the best one. (In my humble opinion, Grey Goose Orange & Cointreau) Regardless of the alcohol, if it's not a light pink and made with freshly squeezed limes, send a motherfucker back. That lime juice in the bottle is ridiculously sweet. With that he began a drinking spree to rival even my own.
Thru-out the night I would receive phone calls from The King of Spain, each one with him more intoxicated than the one before. It was the phone call when I was told he was leaving the club to get My Size Dominican. Very interesting I thought and swore that was the last phone call I would take from The King of Spain that evening, as I wasn't about to get into the My Size Dominican thing with him again.
We all know I don't listen, especially to myself. After ignoring three of his phone calls and sending him directly to voicemail, I picked up on the fourth call. "Yo te quiero Chulo... Te quiero tanto..", Yes, while I get drunk and cry, The King of Spain gets drunk and professes his love. Quite interesting if you ask me. To complicate things, his designated driver is intoxicated as well and My Size Dominican is drunk too sitting by his side. He continued, "It's ok if you love someone else, I still love you. I will always love you. Yo te quiero... YO TE QUIERO!!"
I went to College, so this wasn't my first drunken phone call. I took all expected steps to assess the situation from 1200mi away. It was then that I learned Frankie didn't want to talk to me as he wanted to drink more and My Size Dominican "still cares about me". With that revealed, I told him that My Size Dominican was a liar and no one who cared about me would have treated me like he did the week before.
You know Dominicans... they stick together because of their "Dominican Issues" bond, and a drunken King of Spain quickly jumped to his defense that I didn't understand and he was new at this and blah blah blah. Shit went on for about 25 minutes before I made an attempt to excuse myself from the conversation. At first he protested and finally acquiesced not but two minutes later.
There I was, alone in Florida, as two of the people I care about, yes -- I think I still might forgive My Size Dominican if he were to ever come to his senses, are being driven around Long Island by another drunk. So I do the only thing I can.. I post a guilt-ridden away message...
"Dear King of Spain,
Seriously Last Night You Were Out of Line.
Love,
Chulo"
Of course because of "Dominican Issues" my reaction was all My Size Dominican based. I was mainly concerned with The King of Spain. There he was out there with drunks and Dominicans trying to make sense of what's going on. Definitely not a good combination. I won't lie and say that My Size Dominican didn't factor in to how I felt. But think about it, there he was out having a good time with everyone else, yet couldn't stop to talk when I was around. The King of Spain can hang out with whomever he'd like to, it's really none of my business. But don't get me involved if you choose to hang out with people when you know there are unresolved issues.
I told him that I was concerned about his well being because that was the truth. I was here and couldn't take care of him like he had helped me after I drank my bottle. It was really hard for me to sleep that night knowing he was in such a vulnerable position. When he realised this you could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn't thinking that I could possibly care about him with My Size Dominican around, but you could also tell that he was sorry for making such accusations.
We both learned something that day, and hopefully we each have much more to teach one another...
viernes, julio 22, 2005
Pass Me My Green and Red Mask
stemming from a fight
mexican luchadores
this is amazing
It happened a few days before Fourth of July, Azteca and Reymoso were visiting me in Palm Beach for the holiday. Not many of ya'll have heard much about Reymoso because he's a relatively new face in El Barrio Chulo, but none the less, we're almost positive he gets down. It was this unanswered question that ultimately led to today's course of events -- however -- before I get into today, let me give u the background info you might need.
I flirted with this kid Reymoso for days, and Azteca for the most part drove the car and laughed. Keep in mind any "straight" boy would have definitely had a fit by now considering the level of persistence that I have. Do I flirt because I'm genuinely interested? Maybe -- usually not. Flirting is more of a game to see how far you can get.. The ultimate payoff being some sort of action where someone busts a nut. Ain't no one bust a nut, atleast not this weekend, but as you can see in the picture we got Reymoso out of his pants... and que chuleria that ass!
"How did we got Reymoso out of his pants?", you wonder. If you've seen the Mexican wrestlers, you know the scary ones with the latex masks, then you pretty much know the end of this story. For those less... cultured... here's the Cliff's Notes version.
Azteca and I spent a good hour wrestling with Reymoso -- it started on my bed, then it moved out into the loft, then onto the couch and finally onto the floor. It was here on the floor that the magic happened. From giving me ample opportunity to utilize a well placed bite on his ass to having me on my back with my legs up on him, Reymoso was not fighting how the typical "straight" boy would. Ain't no one in their right mind gonna open up such opportunities when fighting with someone who'd quickly slide a dick up in him -- even play fighting. Azteca and I could see that clearly he wasn't giving much of a struggle, so in one fell swoop we had Reymoso pinned to the ground, Azteca holding his arms, and myself holding his legs. Off came the shorts and the boxers and before our bare-assed wonder knew what happened, they took flight over the rail.
And there you have it folks, Reymoso as the Lord intended him to be seen.
Days later I came to the realization that I pulled something in my back, as it hurt to move and wasn't all that comfortable to stand still either. WebMD advice in hand, I went to see Dr. Jose and told him I pulled something in my back and needed Soma. Soma, for those of you who don't pop pills on the regular, is a wonderful muscle relaxer. Dr. Jose said, "I'm going to give you enough for your trip to New York, Chulo. After that, if you're still in pain, you can go get massages at the Physical Therapist."
I went to New York, as you all should have read down below, and did my thing with Soma in hand. When I came back it still hurt a little bit, but nothing near the week before, so I called Dr. Jose's office and Connie, his wife/secretary/lab assistant made me an appointment at the Physical Therapist.
That brings us to today!
I arrived at the Physical Therapist after getting lost -- even tho it is not but five minutes down the road from my house. I filled out forms and waited a hot minute, making small talk with the women working behind the desk. One was from Puerto Rico, thinks Florida is OK, but Puerto Rico is much better. The other, she's from Florida -- has not traveled anywhere -- yet Florida is still the greatest place in the world. Bitch is on something. I took my seat and waited for my name to be called.
Not but ten minutes later my name was called, and I met this wonderful woman from Argentina. She evaluated my needs and told me she was going to introduce me to my new therapist who will proceed to "beat me up". I asked for clarification after hearing this, and indeed, I heard correctly. I took my place laying on my stomach, legs elevated as Hands from God walked around me preparing her tools.
She placed a heating pad over my shoulders and left me to cook for about fifteen minutes. Upon her return, she took the pad off and used mysterious techniques to massage away the pain in my muscles. She focused on my upper back and neck, and shit was it the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.
After about thirty minutes she asked if I preferred to be on my back or would rather sit up. I chose to sit up because I had my HipTop with me, and could chat with Azteca over AIM -- he was not there. It did not bother me as it typically would have because before Hands from God left me, she attached these devices to my back and plugged it into a machine with black and red posts. She then placed an ice pack on my back and propped me against the wall and turned the machine on.
I felt this sensation, much like marching ants, under my skin. It was phenomenal and my muscles began to twitch. Slowly I began to get used to it, and as I'm a fan of strange sensations I continued to increase the electricity. Before I knew it, my muscles had finished their twitching and there was this dull yet joyous sensation in my back. I did not want it to end, but like all good things the damned thing was on a timer and shut off. Feeling dejected, I turned and asked Hands from God if that was the end. She told me, "I went easy on you today since it was your first visit. Next time it gets a lot worse."
Shit, if that was easy I can't wait to see worse! She told me that I would be coming two times a week probably for a month because I didn't need that much work. If I had my way, I'd go every day and never leave.
Round Two... FIGHT!!!
mexican luchadores
this is amazing
It happened a few days before Fourth of July, Azteca and Reymoso were visiting me in Palm Beach for the holiday. Not many of ya'll have heard much about Reymoso because he's a relatively new face in El Barrio Chulo, but none the less, we're almost positive he gets down. It was this unanswered question that ultimately led to today's course of events -- however -- before I get into today, let me give u the background info you might need.
I flirted with this kid Reymoso for days, and Azteca for the most part drove the car and laughed. Keep in mind any "straight" boy would have definitely had a fit by now considering the level of persistence that I have. Do I flirt because I'm genuinely interested? Maybe -- usually not. Flirting is more of a game to see how far you can get.. The ultimate payoff being some sort of action where someone busts a nut. Ain't no one bust a nut, atleast not this weekend, but as you can see in the picture we got Reymoso out of his pants... and que chuleria that ass!
"How did we got Reymoso out of his pants?", you wonder. If you've seen the Mexican wrestlers, you know the scary ones with the latex masks, then you pretty much know the end of this story. For those less... cultured... here's the Cliff's Notes version.
Azteca and I spent a good hour wrestling with Reymoso -- it started on my bed, then it moved out into the loft, then onto the couch and finally onto the floor. It was here on the floor that the magic happened. From giving me ample opportunity to utilize a well placed bite on his ass to having me on my back with my legs up on him, Reymoso was not fighting how the typical "straight" boy would. Ain't no one in their right mind gonna open up such opportunities when fighting with someone who'd quickly slide a dick up in him -- even play fighting. Azteca and I could see that clearly he wasn't giving much of a struggle, so in one fell swoop we had Reymoso pinned to the ground, Azteca holding his arms, and myself holding his legs. Off came the shorts and the boxers and before our bare-assed wonder knew what happened, they took flight over the rail.
And there you have it folks, Reymoso as the Lord intended him to be seen.
Days later I came to the realization that I pulled something in my back, as it hurt to move and wasn't all that comfortable to stand still either. WebMD advice in hand, I went to see Dr. Jose and told him I pulled something in my back and needed Soma. Soma, for those of you who don't pop pills on the regular, is a wonderful muscle relaxer. Dr. Jose said, "I'm going to give you enough for your trip to New York, Chulo. After that, if you're still in pain, you can go get massages at the Physical Therapist."
I went to New York, as you all should have read down below, and did my thing with Soma in hand. When I came back it still hurt a little bit, but nothing near the week before, so I called Dr. Jose's office and Connie, his wife/secretary/lab assistant made me an appointment at the Physical Therapist.
That brings us to today!
I arrived at the Physical Therapist after getting lost -- even tho it is not but five minutes down the road from my house. I filled out forms and waited a hot minute, making small talk with the women working behind the desk. One was from Puerto Rico, thinks Florida is OK, but Puerto Rico is much better. The other, she's from Florida -- has not traveled anywhere -- yet Florida is still the greatest place in the world. Bitch is on something. I took my seat and waited for my name to be called.
Not but ten minutes later my name was called, and I met this wonderful woman from Argentina. She evaluated my needs and told me she was going to introduce me to my new therapist who will proceed to "beat me up". I asked for clarification after hearing this, and indeed, I heard correctly. I took my place laying on my stomach, legs elevated as Hands from God walked around me preparing her tools.
She placed a heating pad over my shoulders and left me to cook for about fifteen minutes. Upon her return, she took the pad off and used mysterious techniques to massage away the pain in my muscles. She focused on my upper back and neck, and shit was it the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.
After about thirty minutes she asked if I preferred to be on my back or would rather sit up. I chose to sit up because I had my HipTop with me, and could chat with Azteca over AIM -- he was not there. It did not bother me as it typically would have because before Hands from God left me, she attached these devices to my back and plugged it into a machine with black and red posts. She then placed an ice pack on my back and propped me against the wall and turned the machine on.
I felt this sensation, much like marching ants, under my skin. It was phenomenal and my muscles began to twitch. Slowly I began to get used to it, and as I'm a fan of strange sensations I continued to increase the electricity. Before I knew it, my muscles had finished their twitching and there was this dull yet joyous sensation in my back. I did not want it to end, but like all good things the damned thing was on a timer and shut off. Feeling dejected, I turned and asked Hands from God if that was the end. She told me, "I went easy on you today since it was your first visit. Next time it gets a lot worse."
Shit, if that was easy I can't wait to see worse! She told me that I would be coming two times a week probably for a month because I didn't need that much work. If I had my way, I'd go every day and never leave.
Round Two... FIGHT!!!
Seven Days... Where's the Bitch in the Well When You Need Her?
feeling emptyness
the act of sharing yourself
if ever a lie
After you watched the tape, the phone would ring and let you know you had seven days before your doom. If only it were that easy. In this case, I watched someone who at one point was an important figure in my life ignore me and walk away, and now, seven days later, I've yet to hear anything.
At the heart of My Size Dominican-Gate is this illusive concept called "Dominican Issues". I took a class in College about the life and culture of the Dominican Republic, and never were "Dominican Issues" discussed -- atleast not in the buggaron/pato aspect of "Dominican Issues". Maybe I can't relate to these issues because I'm not Dominican, but on a more basic level, regardless of culture or socioeconomic status lies basic human isses and pato issues. I can relate to those... can't I?
If you look at it like this -- take away the Dominican aspect -- you have a new boyfriend/lover/fuck buddy/whatever, does that automatically negate everyone else who has come before in your life or who might have yet to come? Of course not, but maybe this is where our paths diverge. Maybe ingrained within Dominican Machismo is this strange trait to eliminate everyone who had once ment something in a single thought process, because clearly this entire chain of events illustrates how easily people are expendable -- atleast to a Dominican.
You don't have to be a Dominican to realise that any moment, everything that once mattered means nothing anymore.
Shortly before I arrived in New York that fateful Monday afternoon, before Escaflowne dropped some bomb head on my dick, I was talking to My Size Dominican on the telephone. He sounded fine; there seemed to be no static between us -- he even sounded slightly happy at the potential of seeing me again. Is this part of the "Dominican Issues" class that I did not take? Maybe I took the right class, but just missed that day. I don't understand by what bi-polar God you believe in, how you can talk to me for a week, send me your graduation video, act like it's ok, then pull a fucking b-line towards "I don't know who you are -- stay away I'm with my man."
I've spoken to many people, from other Dominicans to otherwise normal people, and came up with two possibilities:
A. My Size Dominican is dick-whipped beyond belief by his man and could not possibly come and talk to me because that would open up such a horrible cosmic event and consume the universe;
or
B. I've done something in between the last time I spoke to My Size Dominican and that night I saw him in Krash to drastically change the landscape of our relationship.
I don't think it's choice B, because that's just not possible. I would have known there was something wrong because of the conversations we had -- I mean unless that's another day in "Dominican Issues" that I missed. So that leaves choice A. Knowing this, should I continue to feel as bad as I do for being outright ignored or should there be a feeling of calm because I know he's not ignoring me because he wants to? Regardless of that answer, I know I will continue to feel bad because I can honestly say that I would never pull such shit. If I didn't want to talk to you or didn't want to see you, I'd be upfront and let you know so that I never put you in the same situation.
What happend to being upfront and honest? I guess he missed that day in "Chulo Relations", but I won't hold it against him. I'm still going to be here when he's alone again and crying over some other nigga. It's too bad you can clock most pato relationships with an Egg Timer. Not that I'm hoping their relationship fails, quite the contrary, I wish them both the best. He made his choice -- but what does that say if he can't even be friends with someone he was once intimate with?
Maybe "Dominican Issues" are more than Bachata and Platano...
the act of sharing yourself
if ever a lie
After you watched the tape, the phone would ring and let you know you had seven days before your doom. If only it were that easy. In this case, I watched someone who at one point was an important figure in my life ignore me and walk away, and now, seven days later, I've yet to hear anything.
At the heart of My Size Dominican-Gate is this illusive concept called "Dominican Issues". I took a class in College about the life and culture of the Dominican Republic, and never were "Dominican Issues" discussed -- atleast not in the buggaron/pato aspect of "Dominican Issues". Maybe I can't relate to these issues because I'm not Dominican, but on a more basic level, regardless of culture or socioeconomic status lies basic human isses and pato issues. I can relate to those... can't I?
If you look at it like this -- take away the Dominican aspect -- you have a new boyfriend/lover/fuck buddy/whatever, does that automatically negate everyone else who has come before in your life or who might have yet to come? Of course not, but maybe this is where our paths diverge. Maybe ingrained within Dominican Machismo is this strange trait to eliminate everyone who had once ment something in a single thought process, because clearly this entire chain of events illustrates how easily people are expendable -- atleast to a Dominican.
You don't have to be a Dominican to realise that any moment, everything that once mattered means nothing anymore.
Shortly before I arrived in New York that fateful Monday afternoon, before Escaflowne dropped some bomb head on my dick, I was talking to My Size Dominican on the telephone. He sounded fine; there seemed to be no static between us -- he even sounded slightly happy at the potential of seeing me again. Is this part of the "Dominican Issues" class that I did not take? Maybe I took the right class, but just missed that day. I don't understand by what bi-polar God you believe in, how you can talk to me for a week, send me your graduation video, act like it's ok, then pull a fucking b-line towards "I don't know who you are -- stay away I'm with my man."
I've spoken to many people, from other Dominicans to otherwise normal people, and came up with two possibilities:
A. My Size Dominican is dick-whipped beyond belief by his man and could not possibly come and talk to me because that would open up such a horrible cosmic event and consume the universe;
or
B. I've done something in between the last time I spoke to My Size Dominican and that night I saw him in Krash to drastically change the landscape of our relationship.
I don't think it's choice B, because that's just not possible. I would have known there was something wrong because of the conversations we had -- I mean unless that's another day in "Dominican Issues" that I missed. So that leaves choice A. Knowing this, should I continue to feel as bad as I do for being outright ignored or should there be a feeling of calm because I know he's not ignoring me because he wants to? Regardless of that answer, I know I will continue to feel bad because I can honestly say that I would never pull such shit. If I didn't want to talk to you or didn't want to see you, I'd be upfront and let you know so that I never put you in the same situation.
What happend to being upfront and honest? I guess he missed that day in "Chulo Relations", but I won't hold it against him. I'm still going to be here when he's alone again and crying over some other nigga. It's too bad you can clock most pato relationships with an Egg Timer. Not that I'm hoping their relationship fails, quite the contrary, I wish them both the best. He made his choice -- but what does that say if he can't even be friends with someone he was once intimate with?
Maybe "Dominican Issues" are more than Bachata and Platano...
jueves, julio 21, 2005
Every Little Contribution Helps...
he left a present
hidden inside the bedroom
house value increased
The Mother Unit left in the afternoon to get her nails done. Before she left the house, I was informed that there were people coming to look at the house and it would be nice if I got out of bed and made it so that my room was presentable. "No problem", I said, because really, it wasn't that serious.
After I hobbled about making my bed, I descended the stairs and put John Legend on the AirTunes, thanx T-Montez for the John Legend CD, it's quite good. I grabbed a Coke and walked the other way to the couch to begin my afternoon of trolling that horrible website for compliments and hungry bottoms to chat with. Keep in mind, The Mother Unit left the house with me believing the house was clean and spotless except for my unmade bed, which I had remedied after I got up. Was she ever wrong.
For it was Creature who truly had the scoop on the cleanliness of the house, for it was Creature who had left a present for The Real Estate Cow, for it was Creature who took a shit in the empty bedroom -- easily visible from the hallway. Yes my friends, the dog shit on the floor and The Mother Unit had no idea.
I thought about it for a moment, leave the shit on the ground and let The Real Estate Cow find it, or be a good Child of God and clean the mess. We all know how innocent I am not, but we also know how much I despise the barron wasteland of death and despair. I wasn't about to just clean the mess and not get anything out of the potential cluster-fuck that was shit on the floor with people coming to look at the house so I reached out and touched someone.
With the telephone in hand I called The Mother Unit -- our brief conversation went something like this...
Chulo: You said the house was clean, right?
The Mother Unit: Yeah, you just had to make your bed.
C: Well, The Real Estate Cow just went into your mother's room and found dog shit on the floor.
M: Don't tell me that -- what happened?
C: What do you mean "What happened?" -- what do you think happened? They looked at me and asked if the shit was included. The Real Estate Cow said it wasn't what they were looking for.
M: Oh, don't tell me that. God damn dog - I'm never going to sell this fucking house...
I let her sit there for a moment getting more and more irritated as the moments went on before I finally told her that The Real Estate Cow had yet to arrive. "So there's no shit on the floor?", she asked. To which I replied, "Oh no, there is, I just have yet to pick it up." She sat silent for a moment and finally implored that I pick up the shit. Of course I did because I want to get out of here as much as she does -- if not more than she does.
The Real Estate Cow finally arrived, 30 minutes late, and showed the house, completely unaware of the incident that transpired not but an hour before. Her clients... on the fourteenth house. If that's not a sign of general lack of satisfaction I don't know what is.
Maybe the dog shit would have been the tipping point...
hidden inside the bedroom
house value increased
The Mother Unit left in the afternoon to get her nails done. Before she left the house, I was informed that there were people coming to look at the house and it would be nice if I got out of bed and made it so that my room was presentable. "No problem", I said, because really, it wasn't that serious.
After I hobbled about making my bed, I descended the stairs and put John Legend on the AirTunes, thanx T-Montez for the John Legend CD, it's quite good. I grabbed a Coke and walked the other way to the couch to begin my afternoon of trolling that horrible website for compliments and hungry bottoms to chat with. Keep in mind, The Mother Unit left the house with me believing the house was clean and spotless except for my unmade bed, which I had remedied after I got up. Was she ever wrong.
For it was Creature who truly had the scoop on the cleanliness of the house, for it was Creature who had left a present for The Real Estate Cow, for it was Creature who took a shit in the empty bedroom -- easily visible from the hallway. Yes my friends, the dog shit on the floor and The Mother Unit had no idea.
I thought about it for a moment, leave the shit on the ground and let The Real Estate Cow find it, or be a good Child of God and clean the mess. We all know how innocent I am not, but we also know how much I despise the barron wasteland of death and despair. I wasn't about to just clean the mess and not get anything out of the potential cluster-fuck that was shit on the floor with people coming to look at the house so I reached out and touched someone.
With the telephone in hand I called The Mother Unit -- our brief conversation went something like this...
Chulo: You said the house was clean, right?
The Mother Unit: Yeah, you just had to make your bed.
C: Well, The Real Estate Cow just went into your mother's room and found dog shit on the floor.
M: Don't tell me that -- what happened?
C: What do you mean "What happened?" -- what do you think happened? They looked at me and asked if the shit was included. The Real Estate Cow said it wasn't what they were looking for.
M: Oh, don't tell me that. God damn dog - I'm never going to sell this fucking house...
I let her sit there for a moment getting more and more irritated as the moments went on before I finally told her that The Real Estate Cow had yet to arrive. "So there's no shit on the floor?", she asked. To which I replied, "Oh no, there is, I just have yet to pick it up." She sat silent for a moment and finally implored that I pick up the shit. Of course I did because I want to get out of here as much as she does -- if not more than she does.
The Real Estate Cow finally arrived, 30 minutes late, and showed the house, completely unaware of the incident that transpired not but an hour before. Her clients... on the fourteenth house. If that's not a sign of general lack of satisfaction I don't know what is.
Maybe the dog shit would have been the tipping point...
miércoles, julio 20, 2005
The Blow Job - Today's Hand Shake?
awaken slowly
harder as the moments pass
when you gonna bust?
This is my first post from my Sidekick... Amazing how technology can cross borders like that. Back to the topic tho, is the Blow Job today's hand shake? Looking back during the past week, with all of the oral sex that had been thrown around like tiny pieces of confetti, the answer is a resounding yes. The only qualifier is whether you swallow or not.
People might use oral sex in a vindictive manner to get back at those who have hurt them, in effect saying, "Look Medina =...", I mean, "Look mother fucker, two can play this game!"; Others might use it during a passionate night inside a parked car in the Village, both leaving without the need for a late-night snack, satisfied on both a physical and emotional level. All I know is regardless if you're giving head or getting head, with great power comes great responsibility.
Some people just shouldn't be allowed to suck on a dick. Usually it's females because they insist teeth feel good, but in this case it's the breed of vindictive pato who also should be banned. It reminds me of the melodrama that developed in Melrose Place... am I a ruiner of lives because I let my dick get sucked or because I didn't stop it from the get? The world may never know.
I do know that you burn more calories suckin a dick than runnin' a mile...
harder as the moments pass
when you gonna bust?
This is my first post from my Sidekick... Amazing how technology can cross borders like that. Back to the topic tho, is the Blow Job today's hand shake? Looking back during the past week, with all of the oral sex that had been thrown around like tiny pieces of confetti, the answer is a resounding yes. The only qualifier is whether you swallow or not.
People might use oral sex in a vindictive manner to get back at those who have hurt them, in effect saying, "Look Medina =...", I mean, "Look mother fucker, two can play this game!"; Others might use it during a passionate night inside a parked car in the Village, both leaving without the need for a late-night snack, satisfied on both a physical and emotional level. All I know is regardless if you're giving head or getting head, with great power comes great responsibility.
Some people just shouldn't be allowed to suck on a dick. Usually it's females because they insist teeth feel good, but in this case it's the breed of vindictive pato who also should be banned. It reminds me of the melodrama that developed in Melrose Place... am I a ruiner of lives because I let my dick get sucked or because I didn't stop it from the get? The world may never know.
I do know that you burn more calories suckin a dick than runnin' a mile...
martes, julio 19, 2005
And Now There Are Rocks
now rocks on the grass
homeowners association
i'm fucking pissed off
You've been to Florida... Shining sunlight, pristine beaches, swaying palm trees. It's a wonderful place... FOR A VACATION!! I on the otherhand have the unfortunate experiance of living in this hole for alittle over a year. Why did I come here, with whom do I stay with? The answer to both riddles are: My Parents. Scheming, lying malcontents who desire nothing more than the eternal damnation of my soul.
This is the story of the unusable gate...
We moved into this house of lies in November, that night my grandmother died. If that's not an omen, i'm not sure what is. This isn't like the neighborhoods up north or the rows of brownstones you might find in Brooklyn -- these are developments, "Gated Communities", Playdough, cookie cutter cut outs, the same jacked shit for miles complete with waterfront property -- too bad it's a man-made hole filled with putrid, disease infested water.
Our house is a Carrington, a very rare model in the neighborhood for it's not the largest square of playdough, nor is it the tiny one family shit you might find John Smith and his cocksucking suburbanite wife Sally living in with their beast of a southern child Jethro. This home, complete with two levels, four bedrooms and three bath also include a series of lies that the Jew bastards who sold it to us sang like poetry.
Of course you can build a pool...
Of course you'll be within the gate...
It's wonderful being on a corner lot...
All lies. We have no pool -- Florida has some jacked laws that say it's gotta be so many feet from the house, translation blah blah blah. We are not in the gate, they placed it right before the house, translation, pay these dues for services you do not benefit from. And the corner lot? Added privacy I suppose, but trying to sell this Amityville type shit to a newly married, larger family oriented John and Sally? Oh no, too close to the street... Our future Jethro will try to play with his friends Ford and Volvo and meet an untimely end.
With all this going on, and none of it consented to before we actually purchased the house, has led to lawyers being contacted on our behalf. Dearest Alex, the lawyer husband of my mother's coworker, penned an eloquant 15 day letter to these homeowner association bastards, and of course we haven't recieved a response. Surprised? Not in the least.
It was today that I got involved. Apparently under the stealth of the afternoon, as I was busily jerking off, the assasins snuck up onto the property with large boulder type rocks made of coral rock, and placed them onto bare soil holes that used to be grass to prevent unauthorized entry into the complex, as people were driving over our grass to avoid the gate. We asked them to move the gate in the letter, the responded with rocks. Typical backwards southern shit right there.
My parents sat and had a discussion in the kitchen that went something like this...
Mom: I'm off thursday, I'll call then...
Dad: I left a nasty message on his voice mail...
Mom: I'll call on thursday and let them know i want them gone...
Dad: Blah Blah Blah...
I don't get it, why is it the 23 year old offspring that has action not procrastination flowing thru his veins? Why is it that Chulo has to limp out on his broken leg and throw the rock into the street? Explain that? True change comes from extreme action. Is the homeowner association president Mr. Twat gonna give two fucks that the rocks he had given orders to place on our land going to care that we're upset? Of course not. If the motherfucker can't leave the property because rocks are blocking his way out? Now that's a different story. Dad didn't see it that way.
Take this as official notice Mr. Twat...
This is WAR mother fucker!
homeowners association
i'm fucking pissed off
You've been to Florida... Shining sunlight, pristine beaches, swaying palm trees. It's a wonderful place... FOR A VACATION!! I on the otherhand have the unfortunate experiance of living in this hole for alittle over a year. Why did I come here, with whom do I stay with? The answer to both riddles are: My Parents. Scheming, lying malcontents who desire nothing more than the eternal damnation of my soul.
This is the story of the unusable gate...
We moved into this house of lies in November, that night my grandmother died. If that's not an omen, i'm not sure what is. This isn't like the neighborhoods up north or the rows of brownstones you might find in Brooklyn -- these are developments, "Gated Communities", Playdough, cookie cutter cut outs, the same jacked shit for miles complete with waterfront property -- too bad it's a man-made hole filled with putrid, disease infested water.
Our house is a Carrington, a very rare model in the neighborhood for it's not the largest square of playdough, nor is it the tiny one family shit you might find John Smith and his cocksucking suburbanite wife Sally living in with their beast of a southern child Jethro. This home, complete with two levels, four bedrooms and three bath also include a series of lies that the Jew bastards who sold it to us sang like poetry.
Of course you can build a pool...
Of course you'll be within the gate...
It's wonderful being on a corner lot...
All lies. We have no pool -- Florida has some jacked laws that say it's gotta be so many feet from the house, translation blah blah blah. We are not in the gate, they placed it right before the house, translation, pay these dues for services you do not benefit from. And the corner lot? Added privacy I suppose, but trying to sell this Amityville type shit to a newly married, larger family oriented John and Sally? Oh no, too close to the street... Our future Jethro will try to play with his friends Ford and Volvo and meet an untimely end.
With all this going on, and none of it consented to before we actually purchased the house, has led to lawyers being contacted on our behalf. Dearest Alex, the lawyer husband of my mother's coworker, penned an eloquant 15 day letter to these homeowner association bastards, and of course we haven't recieved a response. Surprised? Not in the least.
It was today that I got involved. Apparently under the stealth of the afternoon, as I was busily jerking off, the assasins snuck up onto the property with large boulder type rocks made of coral rock, and placed them onto bare soil holes that used to be grass to prevent unauthorized entry into the complex, as people were driving over our grass to avoid the gate. We asked them to move the gate in the letter, the responded with rocks. Typical backwards southern shit right there.
My parents sat and had a discussion in the kitchen that went something like this...
Mom: I'm off thursday, I'll call then...
Dad: I left a nasty message on his voice mail...
Mom: I'll call on thursday and let them know i want them gone...
Dad: Blah Blah Blah...
I don't get it, why is it the 23 year old offspring that has action not procrastination flowing thru his veins? Why is it that Chulo has to limp out on his broken leg and throw the rock into the street? Explain that? True change comes from extreme action. Is the homeowner association president Mr. Twat gonna give two fucks that the rocks he had given orders to place on our land going to care that we're upset? Of course not. If the motherfucker can't leave the property because rocks are blocking his way out? Now that's a different story. Dad didn't see it that way.
Take this as official notice Mr. Twat...
This is WAR mother fucker!
domingo, julio 17, 2005
Plane Delayed indefinitely
rush to the airport
to find your plane is delayed
fucking thunderstorms
You know what? Some things in life are truly consistent. You can go to the same place all over the world and find the same quality of retard regardless of your location. Of course I am talking about the people that work at Dunkin Donuts. They must send their recruiters out to every Planned Parenthood and GED center in the Nation so that they find the perfect mix of high school dropouts and pregnant bitches to fill their ranks. Who knew that chive cream cheese was a luxury only white people were afforded!
So I waked into the Dunkin Donuts by the Hoyt St. A train in Brooklyn. It shares a space with a Baskin Robins and a Taco Bell. Employed within is a mix of Indian/Black women; each with a piece of the clue, none with the common sense to share their piece to truly find enlightenment. Andrelaso clearly has been here before, as his order went smoothly and without incident. Mine on the other hand was a disaster. With Dunkin donuts being a world-wide chain you've come to expect the same thing regardless of your location. This is not the case.
When it was finally my turn, keep in mind I've been passed over twice already, I ordered what I usually get - a garlic bagel with chive cream cheese. And of course she takes the next person in line as if I hadn't spoken at all. So it was then that I realised they don't have garlic bagels, I changed my order to a sundried tomato bagel. Once again, looked at as if I had six heads, I was ignored. Finally marched my flaco ass over to where the bagels were kept, it was then I realized they only have like onion, everything and plain bagels. With that integral piece of knowledge, I felt prepared to order my bagel.
I would like an onion bagel, toasted with butter and chive cream cheese, and a small tropicana coolata...
Bitch rolls her eyes into her head and gets to work on toasting my bagel, clearly she failed to catch the coolata as the one being made by the other bitch behind the counter was being prepared for the woman behind me, the same woman who had been in line for a tenth of a second. After buttering the bagel she slices it in half, now I have four chunks of bagel, rather than two halves. She places it in a bag with some napkins and then looks at me with this vacant expression. I remind her CHIVE CREAM CHEESE... She looks at me "not possible..."
Dejected, I contemplate leaving the store with nothing, but the hunger in my stomach wouldn't have it. I finally ask, "Well if there is no chive cream cheese I suppose strawberry cream cheese would be fine." She shook her head and walked away. You can see the steam rising from my head at this point... So finally I ask, "What kind of cream cheese DO you have?". Not a bad question, should have asked it from the start. They have Original, Lite, Garden Veggie & Salmon. I go with the Garden Veggie. She then looks at me and wants to know what is in the bag... THE SAME BAG SHE PUT THE VERY SAME BAGEL IN!!!
I jus shook my head. Finally I left that god awful place with the bagel and coolata, Andrelaso in tow. We arrive at the A train and wait for what seems like days. Bear in mind atleast 5 G trains have arrived at and left from the platform before I finally got up and asked the train operator if the A train really existed. He told me yes, closed his window, and sent his G train on its way. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw it, the A train. But was it a Far Rockaway A train? It turns out it was.
30 minutes later I'm thanking Andrelaso for a wonderful, drama filled stay. I really did have a good time considering the course of events. I learned a lot about the people I know - most importantly that T-Montez and I have a new and wonderful relationship that the world should fear. We then hugged and parted ways, he for the A train and me for the Air train.
Inside terminal 2 was a mess of people and Song Airlines workers. I managed to sneak up to an open console and check myself in without incident -- that was until I was informed that my 4:05 was now leaving at 5:45. With that piece of information, I gave my bags to TSA and went thru the security checkpoint without incident, of course the 5 women before me couldn't grasp the concept of taking off their jewelry, so each of them beeped as the went thru and had to be physically processed.
With that completed, I took myself to the Delta Clubhouse and began to drink. It's great, you enter the Clubhouse, flash some credentials and then you drink Ketel One Bloody Marys till your heart's content. It definitely takes the edge off. After about four Bloody Marys and a Corona, I was feeling really nice. Nice enough to board the plane.
I was sitting in Row 3 -- I could see the cockpit. I've never been inside one before, so the curiosity got to me and I emerged from my seat to get a closer look. That's when the man inside was like, "What, you wanna come inside?" Don't have to tell me twice, I was inside the cockpit getting a tour of all the systems. There are more switches inside that motherfucker than in anything else I have ever seen. It's got de-icing devices, three auto pilot thingys, a massive bay of circuits and all kinds of goodies... I think I even saw a flux capacitor! I was sent away back to my seat with a printout of the paper that said we had clearance to fly. Pretty neat huh?
When I made my way to my seat, I discovered something shocking... Two French children as my travel companions. Most of you know that I really can't stand children -- there are two exceptions, my own children and children who don't speak English. This worked out wonderfully, they spoke French. I took my seat and promptly passed out.
7:00 rolled around and I was still on the tarmac, Eulicious informed me that it's because of the 10 Mile rule. Each plane has to wait to take off, and because of poor weather conditions, the next plane has to wait until the previous plane is 10 miles out. Sounds like it makes sense, right? Whatever the case I was now awake and the children were eager to play trivia games with me on the Song display interface. I'm not sure if they understood the questions as everything was in English, but Betty was kicking my ass.
After we were midflight, she stole my laptop and was watching Kill Bill with a sick determination to understand reflected in her eyes her brother wanted to listen to 50 Cent on my iPod. Did I tell you the children couldn't have been older than 10? Whatever tho, their parents were in the ass of the plane, kids need to learn sometime. Keep in mind all they boy could say was "Candy Shop".
We finally landed in PBI hours after I had anticipated. It was all good tho cuz Mom was waiting for me in the baggage claim area. She helped me with my bags and we got into the Rover and Dad took us all home.
Next time, I'm packing lighter...
to find your plane is delayed
fucking thunderstorms
You know what? Some things in life are truly consistent. You can go to the same place all over the world and find the same quality of retard regardless of your location. Of course I am talking about the people that work at Dunkin Donuts. They must send their recruiters out to every Planned Parenthood and GED center in the Nation so that they find the perfect mix of high school dropouts and pregnant bitches to fill their ranks. Who knew that chive cream cheese was a luxury only white people were afforded!
So I waked into the Dunkin Donuts by the Hoyt St. A train in Brooklyn. It shares a space with a Baskin Robins and a Taco Bell. Employed within is a mix of Indian/Black women; each with a piece of the clue, none with the common sense to share their piece to truly find enlightenment. Andrelaso clearly has been here before, as his order went smoothly and without incident. Mine on the other hand was a disaster. With Dunkin donuts being a world-wide chain you've come to expect the same thing regardless of your location. This is not the case.
When it was finally my turn, keep in mind I've been passed over twice already, I ordered what I usually get - a garlic bagel with chive cream cheese. And of course she takes the next person in line as if I hadn't spoken at all. So it was then that I realised they don't have garlic bagels, I changed my order to a sundried tomato bagel. Once again, looked at as if I had six heads, I was ignored. Finally marched my flaco ass over to where the bagels were kept, it was then I realized they only have like onion, everything and plain bagels. With that integral piece of knowledge, I felt prepared to order my bagel.
I would like an onion bagel, toasted with butter and chive cream cheese, and a small tropicana coolata...
Bitch rolls her eyes into her head and gets to work on toasting my bagel, clearly she failed to catch the coolata as the one being made by the other bitch behind the counter was being prepared for the woman behind me, the same woman who had been in line for a tenth of a second. After buttering the bagel she slices it in half, now I have four chunks of bagel, rather than two halves. She places it in a bag with some napkins and then looks at me with this vacant expression. I remind her CHIVE CREAM CHEESE... She looks at me "not possible..."
Dejected, I contemplate leaving the store with nothing, but the hunger in my stomach wouldn't have it. I finally ask, "Well if there is no chive cream cheese I suppose strawberry cream cheese would be fine." She shook her head and walked away. You can see the steam rising from my head at this point... So finally I ask, "What kind of cream cheese DO you have?". Not a bad question, should have asked it from the start. They have Original, Lite, Garden Veggie & Salmon. I go with the Garden Veggie. She then looks at me and wants to know what is in the bag... THE SAME BAG SHE PUT THE VERY SAME BAGEL IN!!!
I jus shook my head. Finally I left that god awful place with the bagel and coolata, Andrelaso in tow. We arrive at the A train and wait for what seems like days. Bear in mind atleast 5 G trains have arrived at and left from the platform before I finally got up and asked the train operator if the A train really existed. He told me yes, closed his window, and sent his G train on its way. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw it, the A train. But was it a Far Rockaway A train? It turns out it was.
30 minutes later I'm thanking Andrelaso for a wonderful, drama filled stay. I really did have a good time considering the course of events. I learned a lot about the people I know - most importantly that T-Montez and I have a new and wonderful relationship that the world should fear. We then hugged and parted ways, he for the A train and me for the Air train.
Inside terminal 2 was a mess of people and Song Airlines workers. I managed to sneak up to an open console and check myself in without incident -- that was until I was informed that my 4:05 was now leaving at 5:45. With that piece of information, I gave my bags to TSA and went thru the security checkpoint without incident, of course the 5 women before me couldn't grasp the concept of taking off their jewelry, so each of them beeped as the went thru and had to be physically processed.
With that completed, I took myself to the Delta Clubhouse and began to drink. It's great, you enter the Clubhouse, flash some credentials and then you drink Ketel One Bloody Marys till your heart's content. It definitely takes the edge off. After about four Bloody Marys and a Corona, I was feeling really nice. Nice enough to board the plane.
I was sitting in Row 3 -- I could see the cockpit. I've never been inside one before, so the curiosity got to me and I emerged from my seat to get a closer look. That's when the man inside was like, "What, you wanna come inside?" Don't have to tell me twice, I was inside the cockpit getting a tour of all the systems. There are more switches inside that motherfucker than in anything else I have ever seen. It's got de-icing devices, three auto pilot thingys, a massive bay of circuits and all kinds of goodies... I think I even saw a flux capacitor! I was sent away back to my seat with a printout of the paper that said we had clearance to fly. Pretty neat huh?
When I made my way to my seat, I discovered something shocking... Two French children as my travel companions. Most of you know that I really can't stand children -- there are two exceptions, my own children and children who don't speak English. This worked out wonderfully, they spoke French. I took my seat and promptly passed out.
7:00 rolled around and I was still on the tarmac, Eulicious informed me that it's because of the 10 Mile rule. Each plane has to wait to take off, and because of poor weather conditions, the next plane has to wait until the previous plane is 10 miles out. Sounds like it makes sense, right? Whatever the case I was now awake and the children were eager to play trivia games with me on the Song display interface. I'm not sure if they understood the questions as everything was in English, but Betty was kicking my ass.
After we were midflight, she stole my laptop and was watching Kill Bill with a sick determination to understand reflected in her eyes her brother wanted to listen to 50 Cent on my iPod. Did I tell you the children couldn't have been older than 10? Whatever tho, their parents were in the ass of the plane, kids need to learn sometime. Keep in mind all they boy could say was "Candy Shop".
We finally landed in PBI hours after I had anticipated. It was all good tho cuz Mom was waiting for me in the baggage claim area. She helped me with my bags and we got into the Rover and Dad took us all home.
Next time, I'm packing lighter...
sábado, julio 16, 2005
Later Flights are a Chulo's Best Friend
intoxicated
nothing good can come from this
how could this happen
I woke up at 1:30, my flight was to leave at 4:05... factor in an hour for packing, two hours on the train and 30 minutes making my way thru security, yeah, that's 5:00... 45 minutes past due. I may be Chulo, but not even Delta is about to wait THAT long! I picked up the NEXTEL and in an E.T. instant, I phoned home. Of course mom was quick to lend a hand in dealing with the Delta people and getting me on the next flight out... tomorrow.
Today was a day of reflection and sharing, for after the whole "My Size Dominican-gate" incident the night before, I was fresh with new insight on life and why things happen the way they do. It was with the help of T-Montez that I saw things clearly for the first time. Together we will rule New York City with the Sword, the Spear and the Iron Fist of the Orc!
On a serious note, Escaflowne messaged us today, and unfortunately we had to break it down for him into terms he could understand. But unlike a special Olympic hurdler, he couldn't grasp the basic idea that he and Medina = Citi were no more. He was so proud of his plan to cause Medina = Citi pain, that he failed to realise that when he crossed the line, he was dropped like a Nextel phone call.
T-Montez and I took turns with Escaflowne, hoping that one of us would get thru to him. It came down to an ultimatum, either you drop your quest to win back Medina = Citi because it's a waste of your time and it's giving us a headache or you can continue on without us, because honestly, we can't take it anymore. He signed off, I'm unaware of his final choice, but he knows he only has two.
My night was much better, after I packed all my things and prepared for my flight the next day. Andrelaso had gone to a party with his white friends from French Connection, and T-Montez and I were left alone in the house. I helped him edit some of his thoughts, and he convinced me to write mine down. Then the phone rang, it was my Eulicious, he was waiting for me outside.
Eulicious and I have gone back some time, almost two years. His temporary visitor status expired on the 23rd of February, but he insists he has a Green Card. I know he's about to be deported. Nah, jus playing. Eulicious is one of the first people I met on migente.com. He's a sweet guy & i'm glad I have him around. He's one of the people I know I can always turn to when I need to advice or jus need to bug out.
I feel bad cuz dito is moving down to Florida and we're trying to sell the house to head back up north. I told him that things will work out if they're ment to be. I know it's tru; sometimes it seems hopeless, but there's always a bigger picture that you miss.
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone...
nothing good can come from this
how could this happen
I woke up at 1:30, my flight was to leave at 4:05... factor in an hour for packing, two hours on the train and 30 minutes making my way thru security, yeah, that's 5:00... 45 minutes past due. I may be Chulo, but not even Delta is about to wait THAT long! I picked up the NEXTEL and in an E.T. instant, I phoned home. Of course mom was quick to lend a hand in dealing with the Delta people and getting me on the next flight out... tomorrow.
Today was a day of reflection and sharing, for after the whole "My Size Dominican-gate" incident the night before, I was fresh with new insight on life and why things happen the way they do. It was with the help of T-Montez that I saw things clearly for the first time. Together we will rule New York City with the Sword, the Spear and the Iron Fist of the Orc!
On a serious note, Escaflowne messaged us today, and unfortunately we had to break it down for him into terms he could understand. But unlike a special Olympic hurdler, he couldn't grasp the basic idea that he and Medina = Citi were no more. He was so proud of his plan to cause Medina = Citi pain, that he failed to realise that when he crossed the line, he was dropped like a Nextel phone call.
T-Montez and I took turns with Escaflowne, hoping that one of us would get thru to him. It came down to an ultimatum, either you drop your quest to win back Medina = Citi because it's a waste of your time and it's giving us a headache or you can continue on without us, because honestly, we can't take it anymore. He signed off, I'm unaware of his final choice, but he knows he only has two.
My night was much better, after I packed all my things and prepared for my flight the next day. Andrelaso had gone to a party with his white friends from French Connection, and T-Montez and I were left alone in the house. I helped him edit some of his thoughts, and he convinced me to write mine down. Then the phone rang, it was my Eulicious, he was waiting for me outside.
Eulicious and I have gone back some time, almost two years. His temporary visitor status expired on the 23rd of February, but he insists he has a Green Card. I know he's about to be deported. Nah, jus playing. Eulicious is one of the first people I met on migente.com. He's a sweet guy & i'm glad I have him around. He's one of the people I know I can always turn to when I need to advice or jus need to bug out.
I feel bad cuz dito is moving down to Florida and we're trying to sell the house to head back up north. I told him that things will work out if they're ment to be. I know it's tru; sometimes it seems hopeless, but there's always a bigger picture that you miss.
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone...
viernes, julio 15, 2005
Friday Night in the City
a dominican
one slightly smaller than me
broke my heart today
It's been almost a year since I last saw My Size Dominican, he walked away from me with my friend Liza, tears in his eyes. I walked the other way with Andre by my side, feeling an empty space within me. One would wonder, "If you both felt this emotional connection, what happened?" Well, distance and time happened, but it wasn't always like that.
I met My Size Dominican on migente.com, an online community reserved for Latinos and Hispanics, but infiltrated by people of all races and creeds. Online has never been a replacement for human activity, but some of the people I've met there I now consider really close friends. My Size Dominican was one of those people. We began the typical online bullshit, sending messages back and forth, hanging out in the chat room and just day to day updates of how things were going, me in Ithaca and him in Long Island. I was a Senior in College, he was a Junior in High School. He was of age, however because he came from a campo near San Jose de las Matas, Dominican Republic, he had some catching up to do.
After some time of talking on the internet I was about to have My Size Dominican in front of me. He took the bus from the City to Ithaca for the weekend. This was just the first of many bus rides to come. It was during these weekend visits from My Size Dominican that he became what seemed to be a permanent fixation in my life. We shared everything with each other, and I won't lie, I looked forward to his visits because with over 6000 people on campus, there was nobody quite like him.
With My Size Dominican it was more than SEX, granted he was a first for me in many aspects, but he met my friends, was invited to our parties, I would think about him when he wasn't around, he meant something - something significant. I knew he felt something too, otherwise why would anyone in their right mind travel 6 hours by bus for sex when you lived in New York?
The dynamic of our relationship changed when I graduated in May because I was no longer living a nice bus trip away. My family relocated from Rhode Island to Florida, so now I would see My Size Dominican when I went to New York - if he could find the time off from the Bodega. That brings us back to that day with My Size Dominican in tears - the only day I saw him since I graduated. It's not like I didn't try to see him, it's just the cruel reality of life - bringing two people together, only to watch them suffer as they're torn apart.
Karma is a bitch, I know that now. As My Size Dominican felt the pain and sadness of leaving me in tears, my turn was bound to come, and it did Friday night.
Friday began much like any other, me getting lost in Manhattan, meeting up with people and shopping to get things required to look cute in the club. Today I met up with Medina = Citi and his personal shopper to discuss the drama of Deceit, a week-long novela starring me and the closest of my friends. That is an entry in itself, but none the less important in our series of events. After I left Medina=Citi inside the shoe department of Macy's Herold Sq. I met up with The King of Spain. The King of Spain and I began our day of shopping at Bloomingdale's on 59th and Lexington where we met Rachel of 2xist and got some lunch at 41 Carrots, one of the cafes inside Bloomingdale's. From there we each picked up a pair of sneakers and then made our way to Brooklyn.
On the way back to Calle Cincuenta y Seis, The King of Spain and I stopped at the Mexican barber shop and I got shaved up nice, let me tell you, I was lookin fresh. She cleaned me up and we got back to the apartment. It was there where we all prepared for what was to be a nice night out at Krash. Andrelaso looked cute in my paint splotched jeans, The King of Spain in his polo and me in a Black 2xist square cut and black pants. On the way to the train, we stopped over at JUrb's house to say hello and he completed my setup with a white hat. I was definately lookin' cute.
We met up with Medina = Citi at the club and proceeded to get our club on. As I was sipping a Cosmopolitan at the bar, yes I know it's a bitch drink but they're pretty good, I thought I saw My Size Dominican. Of course I shrugged it off, he is only 20, so it couldn't have been him. I continued down the stairs to the other bar where my friends were at, and finished my drink. Andrelaso looks and says to me "Isn't that My Size Dominican?" That was the beginning of the end.
I shouted out his name and followed him up the stairs, and sure enough, it was My Size Dominican. He said, "I'll be right back." He never came. Two shots of Patron later I'm making the worst decision of the night and traded the AMEX Platinum for a bottle of Moet and an ice bucket. I forgot the most important fact, the one that gives the entire story significance. My Size Dominican is there WITH HIS MAN.
We knew he had a man. He told us. But actually being passed up for his man, downright ignored after everything we had together, it hurt too much and I needed to forget about it extremely quick. What most might not realise is that this demonstration of hurt and sadness is almost contrary to my entire being. Never do I experiance emotion like this. So bottle of Moet in hand I began to drink... and drink... and drink.
The King of Spain was not happy with this at all. He saw how I felt for My Size Dominican and it made him feel hurt as well because The King of Spain had feelings for Chulo. That and he didn't like how I immediately ran for the bottle to solve my problems. Halfway thru the bottle I began to cry... publicly. I did manage to finish the bottle before I left the club. Spectators of this scene say I followed My Size Dominican all night, but my feelings say I just wanted to get away from him. I do remember him sitting next to me at one point in the evening, but I don't remember if I sat next to him or him next to me. By that time in the evening it didn't really matter, all I could do was cry and sip my bottle.
I don't remember how the evening ended, I do know that The King of Spain made it home ok, I managed to fall in the street, curse out someone who worked at Delta on the phone and be sick in the subway. All in all I was a horrible mess. I don't know what happened to Medina = Citi, but I'm sure he made it to where ever he was going to next.
Suavemente gave me the Mas Flow 2 CD and it has a song on there that pretty much sums up my feelings right now for My Size Dominican, and of course Baby Ranks sings the part. I seem to be drawn to Baby Ranks, I dunno why.
verme... no quieres mas...
y tal vez... te arrepentiras...
no se... seras tu quien perderas...
seras tu... tu lo sabes...
This ends the first post... Hopefully I won't get bored with this before I make post two...
one slightly smaller than me
broke my heart today
It's been almost a year since I last saw My Size Dominican, he walked away from me with my friend Liza, tears in his eyes. I walked the other way with Andre by my side, feeling an empty space within me. One would wonder, "If you both felt this emotional connection, what happened?" Well, distance and time happened, but it wasn't always like that.
I met My Size Dominican on migente.com, an online community reserved for Latinos and Hispanics, but infiltrated by people of all races and creeds. Online has never been a replacement for human activity, but some of the people I've met there I now consider really close friends. My Size Dominican was one of those people. We began the typical online bullshit, sending messages back and forth, hanging out in the chat room and just day to day updates of how things were going, me in Ithaca and him in Long Island. I was a Senior in College, he was a Junior in High School. He was of age, however because he came from a campo near San Jose de las Matas, Dominican Republic, he had some catching up to do.
After some time of talking on the internet I was about to have My Size Dominican in front of me. He took the bus from the City to Ithaca for the weekend. This was just the first of many bus rides to come. It was during these weekend visits from My Size Dominican that he became what seemed to be a permanent fixation in my life. We shared everything with each other, and I won't lie, I looked forward to his visits because with over 6000 people on campus, there was nobody quite like him.
With My Size Dominican it was more than SEX, granted he was a first for me in many aspects, but he met my friends, was invited to our parties, I would think about him when he wasn't around, he meant something - something significant. I knew he felt something too, otherwise why would anyone in their right mind travel 6 hours by bus for sex when you lived in New York?
The dynamic of our relationship changed when I graduated in May because I was no longer living a nice bus trip away. My family relocated from Rhode Island to Florida, so now I would see My Size Dominican when I went to New York - if he could find the time off from the Bodega. That brings us back to that day with My Size Dominican in tears - the only day I saw him since I graduated. It's not like I didn't try to see him, it's just the cruel reality of life - bringing two people together, only to watch them suffer as they're torn apart.
Karma is a bitch, I know that now. As My Size Dominican felt the pain and sadness of leaving me in tears, my turn was bound to come, and it did Friday night.
Friday began much like any other, me getting lost in Manhattan, meeting up with people and shopping to get things required to look cute in the club. Today I met up with Medina = Citi and his personal shopper to discuss the drama of Deceit, a week-long novela starring me and the closest of my friends. That is an entry in itself, but none the less important in our series of events. After I left Medina=Citi inside the shoe department of Macy's Herold Sq. I met up with The King of Spain. The King of Spain and I began our day of shopping at Bloomingdale's on 59th and Lexington where we met Rachel of 2xist and got some lunch at 41 Carrots, one of the cafes inside Bloomingdale's. From there we each picked up a pair of sneakers and then made our way to Brooklyn.
On the way back to Calle Cincuenta y Seis, The King of Spain and I stopped at the Mexican barber shop and I got shaved up nice, let me tell you, I was lookin fresh. She cleaned me up and we got back to the apartment. It was there where we all prepared for what was to be a nice night out at Krash. Andrelaso looked cute in my paint splotched jeans, The King of Spain in his polo and me in a Black 2xist square cut and black pants. On the way to the train, we stopped over at JUrb's house to say hello and he completed my setup with a white hat. I was definately lookin' cute.
We met up with Medina = Citi at the club and proceeded to get our club on. As I was sipping a Cosmopolitan at the bar, yes I know it's a bitch drink but they're pretty good, I thought I saw My Size Dominican. Of course I shrugged it off, he is only 20, so it couldn't have been him. I continued down the stairs to the other bar where my friends were at, and finished my drink. Andrelaso looks and says to me "Isn't that My Size Dominican?" That was the beginning of the end.
I shouted out his name and followed him up the stairs, and sure enough, it was My Size Dominican. He said, "I'll be right back." He never came. Two shots of Patron later I'm making the worst decision of the night and traded the AMEX Platinum for a bottle of Moet and an ice bucket. I forgot the most important fact, the one that gives the entire story significance. My Size Dominican is there WITH HIS MAN.
We knew he had a man. He told us. But actually being passed up for his man, downright ignored after everything we had together, it hurt too much and I needed to forget about it extremely quick. What most might not realise is that this demonstration of hurt and sadness is almost contrary to my entire being. Never do I experiance emotion like this. So bottle of Moet in hand I began to drink... and drink... and drink.
The King of Spain was not happy with this at all. He saw how I felt for My Size Dominican and it made him feel hurt as well because The King of Spain had feelings for Chulo. That and he didn't like how I immediately ran for the bottle to solve my problems. Halfway thru the bottle I began to cry... publicly. I did manage to finish the bottle before I left the club. Spectators of this scene say I followed My Size Dominican all night, but my feelings say I just wanted to get away from him. I do remember him sitting next to me at one point in the evening, but I don't remember if I sat next to him or him next to me. By that time in the evening it didn't really matter, all I could do was cry and sip my bottle.
I don't remember how the evening ended, I do know that The King of Spain made it home ok, I managed to fall in the street, curse out someone who worked at Delta on the phone and be sick in the subway. All in all I was a horrible mess. I don't know what happened to Medina = Citi, but I'm sure he made it to where ever he was going to next.
Suavemente gave me the Mas Flow 2 CD and it has a song on there that pretty much sums up my feelings right now for My Size Dominican, and of course Baby Ranks sings the part. I seem to be drawn to Baby Ranks, I dunno why.
verme... no quieres mas...
y tal vez... te arrepentiras...
no se... seras tu quien perderas...
seras tu... tu lo sabes...
This ends the first post... Hopefully I won't get bored with this before I make post two...
jueves, julio 14, 2005
Beware... for Thursday Nights the Whores Come Out
thursday nights are free
the little school house heats up
ain't no snatch in sight
Thursday nights at the little school house, Escuelita as it is more commonly known, are free and exclusively for the male population. Translation, everyone with a penis, regardless of race, class or ethnicty will be in attendance. This my friends, this is a recipe for disaster.
Hercules and I went out to the little school house to see what was up. It's a Thursday night, not really much else to do. When we arrived we chilled at the bar and people watched, because as you know, me with a broken leg is not about to get up and salsa with some puerto rican. As we sat there we made idle conversation with the bartender and learned a most horrific thing -- Red Hat, my all time favorite bar back, no longer is employed at the little school house.
For a moment I was saddened, however that moment was quickly interrupted by some strange man who began flirting with me. It was not welcomed for I had been watching this shirtless wonder flirt with everyone else in the room. Of course i'm not going to hate right away, the attention, while misplaced is always welcome... Hercules on the otherhand was quick to slap a bitch down.
It was then that I met someone new, I met Tiger, one of Hercules' friends. Now Tiger (See Photo) is wearing these bangin' basketball shorts. You know how I feel about shorts and sweats... Kid looks good, right? But as I'm not about to leave the bar or Hercules, I jus chill and let Tiger float around the club and stop by for frequent visits. It's not like i'ma borachon or anything, I jus wasn't about to leave the only source of sanity I had in a den of tigres y patos.
After my second drink, the night began to get better, chillin on my barstool. It was after my drink was empty that I thought to myself, do I get another drink, however it was the shirtless wonder who made that decision for me -- he left a drink behind me for me to consume. Hercules was like, "That's that dude's drink!! I quickly dismissed it as mine now.
Like all "good" things, they must come to an end, so Hercules and I said peas to Tiger and we headed towards the door. We both agreed, the moral of the story was... Even in a gay club, there needs to be a proper chick to dick ratio, otherwise, it's jus bad news.
After the club, Hercules and I relived one of the first times we chilled -- we went to "our diner". Great place, russian help, fresh squeezed OJ and $20 eggs. You need to spend a night drinking to handle the bill, but then again, what can you expect from a 24 hour diner in Times Sq.?
Can't beat cheap farm fresh eggs with a stick...
the little school house heats up
ain't no snatch in sight
Thursday nights at the little school house, Escuelita as it is more commonly known, are free and exclusively for the male population. Translation, everyone with a penis, regardless of race, class or ethnicty will be in attendance. This my friends, this is a recipe for disaster.
Hercules and I went out to the little school house to see what was up. It's a Thursday night, not really much else to do. When we arrived we chilled at the bar and people watched, because as you know, me with a broken leg is not about to get up and salsa with some puerto rican. As we sat there we made idle conversation with the bartender and learned a most horrific thing -- Red Hat, my all time favorite bar back, no longer is employed at the little school house.
For a moment I was saddened, however that moment was quickly interrupted by some strange man who began flirting with me. It was not welcomed for I had been watching this shirtless wonder flirt with everyone else in the room. Of course i'm not going to hate right away, the attention, while misplaced is always welcome... Hercules on the otherhand was quick to slap a bitch down.
It was then that I met someone new, I met Tiger, one of Hercules' friends. Now Tiger (See Photo) is wearing these bangin' basketball shorts. You know how I feel about shorts and sweats... Kid looks good, right? But as I'm not about to leave the bar or Hercules, I jus chill and let Tiger float around the club and stop by for frequent visits. It's not like i'ma borachon or anything, I jus wasn't about to leave the only source of sanity I had in a den of tigres y patos.
After my second drink, the night began to get better, chillin on my barstool. It was after my drink was empty that I thought to myself, do I get another drink, however it was the shirtless wonder who made that decision for me -- he left a drink behind me for me to consume. Hercules was like, "That's that dude's drink!! I quickly dismissed it as mine now.
Like all "good" things, they must come to an end, so Hercules and I said peas to Tiger and we headed towards the door. We both agreed, the moral of the story was... Even in a gay club, there needs to be a proper chick to dick ratio, otherwise, it's jus bad news.
After the club, Hercules and I relived one of the first times we chilled -- we went to "our diner". Great place, russian help, fresh squeezed OJ and $20 eggs. You need to spend a night drinking to handle the bill, but then again, what can you expect from a 24 hour diner in Times Sq.?
Can't beat cheap farm fresh eggs with a stick...
miércoles, julio 13, 2005
Break Up to Make Up?
late in the darkness
he reminds you of a child
of innocence lost
I tried to meet up with Me, Myself & I and Artisha today, but in typical Chulo fashion I ended up wandering around aimlessly lost in lower Manhattan. Ain't that the story of my life. Along the way I found Damien as Principio was en route via automobile. For those of you who missed the past few months, a quick breakdown...
Me, Myself & I: A wonderful person who I chat with on the regular. Usually wearing large sunglasses at night, his heart is bright enuf to warrant their use...
Artisha: Someone I used to communicate with a lot more often until he found a man who got insanely jealous of Chulo and cut the bish off...
Damien: A mad cool person from home, who coincidently happened to be in the City when Chulo was wandering the streets lost...
Principio: Chulo's first exclusive relationship... with a boy. Attended Cornell when Chulo was at Ithaca and they didn't know each other. Know many of the same people...
Once Damien and I met up with Principio he expressed a need to go to FedEx Kinko's, so as we thought one was nearby we drove to drop him off. Two FedEx Kinko's later we realised that the motherfuckers were all closed at 11:59 -- what happened to 24 hours? Damien decided he would get out since we were close to where he was staying becase he had some shit to finish up and Principio and I continued on our late night meeting with Me, Myself & I and Artisha.
Not but five minutes away Artisha decided she's gonna go home. Irritated with me because I was late, didn't feel like staying out any longer. She lives in NJ and NJ is far... all those Bridges and Tunnels. Hearing this, Principio and I quickened our pace and finally found where they were at. Of course Me, Myself & I was happy to see me, he's always happy to see me... Artisha shot me a dirty look & said hello & goodbye and was on his way.
Me, Myself & I hung out on the corner for a few minutes before the excitement of faggots wrastilin in the Village broke out and some Cracka pulled a gun. Before I could blink an eye, cars swooped in, blocked the road and arrested a Mo'Fo before he could pull the trigger. As Me, Myself and I had to work in the morning, and I was ridiculously late, we had to cut our evening short.
I returned to Principio who had remained in the car as he was parked illegally. We then went to this Greek place in the Village and got some drinks and a snack. I won't lie, I was very concerned with being alone with Principio because of how things ended. I mean granted we were still friends, but there was so much that was unresolved that it was really hard for me to see him again. I mean after all, he did tell me that I was a bad boyfriend.
We got our drink on and began to conversate about what went down and were we stood. I won't lie, I wanted to cry cuz I felt bad, but I held off. Can I let you know that the bartender there is an inattentive bitch? All she did was talk to some John. I swear to god he must have been payin the bitch to stand there and talk cuz our cups sat empty for a hot minute. And he must have been paying CASH, cuz you know a motherfucker didn't accept credit cards!
We paid the bill and headed back to the car... Of course I didn't pay attention to where we left the car to begin with, so the long walk around the building naturally confused me as I was walking longer than I thought I had to get there. When you have a broken leg you tend to notice these things.
We continued our conversation that we were having at the bar and it evolved into a familiar moment once shared between us, a brief second of intamacy that drew our lips together. And before you know it, there's two dumb motherfuckers making out in the street. Had it been any other neighborhood we'd have been shot. We stayed in the moment for a hot minute before returning to his car.
After what seemed like hours of talking, Principio dropped me off at my train stop and we parted ways. I would not see him for the rest of the week because he was afraid of the consequences. I was glad I got to see him if only for a few hours -- in reality I missed having him around like he once was. I did feel better tho that we were able to discuss what was going on between us, even if it yet has to be fully resolved completely.
Where did the guys with the dogs go?
he reminds you of a child
of innocence lost
I tried to meet up with Me, Myself & I and Artisha today, but in typical Chulo fashion I ended up wandering around aimlessly lost in lower Manhattan. Ain't that the story of my life. Along the way I found Damien as Principio was en route via automobile. For those of you who missed the past few months, a quick breakdown...
Me, Myself & I: A wonderful person who I chat with on the regular. Usually wearing large sunglasses at night, his heart is bright enuf to warrant their use...
Artisha: Someone I used to communicate with a lot more often until he found a man who got insanely jealous of Chulo and cut the bish off...
Damien: A mad cool person from home, who coincidently happened to be in the City when Chulo was wandering the streets lost...
Principio: Chulo's first exclusive relationship... with a boy. Attended Cornell when Chulo was at Ithaca and they didn't know each other. Know many of the same people...
Once Damien and I met up with Principio he expressed a need to go to FedEx Kinko's, so as we thought one was nearby we drove to drop him off. Two FedEx Kinko's later we realised that the motherfuckers were all closed at 11:59 -- what happened to 24 hours? Damien decided he would get out since we were close to where he was staying becase he had some shit to finish up and Principio and I continued on our late night meeting with Me, Myself & I and Artisha.
Not but five minutes away Artisha decided she's gonna go home. Irritated with me because I was late, didn't feel like staying out any longer. She lives in NJ and NJ is far... all those Bridges and Tunnels. Hearing this, Principio and I quickened our pace and finally found where they were at. Of course Me, Myself & I was happy to see me, he's always happy to see me... Artisha shot me a dirty look & said hello & goodbye and was on his way.
Me, Myself & I hung out on the corner for a few minutes before the excitement of faggots wrastilin in the Village broke out and some Cracka pulled a gun. Before I could blink an eye, cars swooped in, blocked the road and arrested a Mo'Fo before he could pull the trigger. As Me, Myself and I had to work in the morning, and I was ridiculously late, we had to cut our evening short.
I returned to Principio who had remained in the car as he was parked illegally. We then went to this Greek place in the Village and got some drinks and a snack. I won't lie, I was very concerned with being alone with Principio because of how things ended. I mean granted we were still friends, but there was so much that was unresolved that it was really hard for me to see him again. I mean after all, he did tell me that I was a bad boyfriend.
We got our drink on and began to conversate about what went down and were we stood. I won't lie, I wanted to cry cuz I felt bad, but I held off. Can I let you know that the bartender there is an inattentive bitch? All she did was talk to some John. I swear to god he must have been payin the bitch to stand there and talk cuz our cups sat empty for a hot minute. And he must have been paying CASH, cuz you know a motherfucker didn't accept credit cards!
We paid the bill and headed back to the car... Of course I didn't pay attention to where we left the car to begin with, so the long walk around the building naturally confused me as I was walking longer than I thought I had to get there. When you have a broken leg you tend to notice these things.
We continued our conversation that we were having at the bar and it evolved into a familiar moment once shared between us, a brief second of intamacy that drew our lips together. And before you know it, there's two dumb motherfuckers making out in the street. Had it been any other neighborhood we'd have been shot. We stayed in the moment for a hot minute before returning to his car.
After what seemed like hours of talking, Principio dropped me off at my train stop and we parted ways. I would not see him for the rest of the week because he was afraid of the consequences. I was glad I got to see him if only for a few hours -- in reality I missed having him around like he once was. I did feel better tho that we were able to discuss what was going on between us, even if it yet has to be fully resolved completely.
Where did the guys with the dogs go?
martes, julio 12, 2005
I've Let a Viper In My Home
being used for sex
medina = citi
the show must go on
Once upon a time Medina = Citi and Escaflowne were introduced by Chulo and that led to a scandalous ride home on the N train. This ride also led to an interesting relationship of five months.
Of course with every relationship there are ups and downs, however in this case Medina = Citi and Escaflowne were both rumored to have participated in extra-curricular activities. Let me remind you Escaflowne is 12. Well not really 12, but relatively young to the life, and when five months and one day arrived, and Escaflowne got the Ax much like Andrelaso, well, he didn't take it so well.
Clearly Escaflowne expected alittle more than a "Peace out! I gotta find myself." type of breakup, but if that's what Andrelaso got after five years, Escaflowne's NEW YORK MINUTE relationship really wasn't the AMEX Black he thought it was.
Escaflowne carried on for months about how he would get Medina = Citi back, even tho we all knew it was a hopeless cause. We tried to tell him this, but really, he was otherwise inconsolable. During this time he and Andrelaso bonded over a common factor in their lives, being scrapped by Medina = Citi. This only led to bad things, you know how homosexuals can be.
Secrets were shared, events transpired and a dream was revealed... Andrelaso, Chulo, Escaflowne and Medina = Citi engaged in one night of passionate something. Never would it come to pass, Medina = Citi would not have it. The mixing of circles, and blah blah blah. Come to find out, Chulo had experianced this dream one on one with each of the participants. Not that Chulo is a whore mind you, but the blow job is today's hand shake -- and it was the blowjob that set this gory story into motion.
It started in Medina = Citi's bedroom at the top of the stairs with a well placed kiss by Escaflowne onto Chulo's lips... and a well placed grab on Chulo's... well you know. But anyways, i thought it was the end until I came downstairs and got into the bed. Now what do you get when you place four people in one area that have had relations? Especially when one is dying to hurt the one who hurt him? You get a fucking mess if I've ever seen one. And that's exactly what happened.
Escaflowne began to feel me up, and before I knew it, there his mouth was sucking on my dick. Of course I returned the favor because in the heat of the moment better judgement is lacking and Escaflowne has a pretty penis. Then you heard from the other country, Andrelaso, "What's going on over there?". Everyone knows that showing is more productive than words so... now there's a third. The dream is almost complete... the planets slowly coming into alignment. However tonite was not the night, and Medina = Citi layed there in his bed, awake, watching it all.
Had this been my room, my bed, my exes, I would have thrown a fit then and there, but there's a catch. Medina = Citi's art show was that day, and he needed us to set it up for him. He's not dumb, so he put this all aside until he could deal with it later, but he made it known to Escaflowne that he was cut off. Escaflowne, unable to function, sat in the middle of the bar and sobbed. Upon deeper investigation, we learned that it was Escaflowne's intention to hurt Medina = Citi as he had hurt him. Finally he got ready and we all headed to return the rented U-HAUL.
After afew blocks and a train ride we arrived to Colombus Circle, the place where the magic happened. The show was to begin at 6:30 so we had roughly 10 hours to set up. Medina = Citi gave us instructions as to where pieces were to be placed and walked around checking on other things. Myself, I was taking pictures of the artwork and of Jose and adorable puerto rican who could have gotten it. Around four my ex-girlfriend, Amando arrived on scene to participate in the Medina = Citi art show extravaganza. The King of Spain arrived shortly there after.
The show finally began, the soundtrack was started and the food and wine revealed. The guests began to pour into the penthouse suite to look at the artwork and conversate with one another. There were many people of the artistic realm in attendance, from Travis Montez, Gay Poet & Writer; Enrique Cruz, Porn Producer; and Emanuel Xavier, Actor & Writer. Not to mention some freelance photographer who fell into a tree -- shit, and he got paid to take photos of the show... amateur.
Escaflowne chilled with his friend Booty and wandered around the guests bragging about "His Baby". Clearly he hadn't gotten the memo that they were done months before. I suppose that's partly Medina = Citi's fault since Escaflowne was kinda led on thru physical interactions the two had shared -- of course Escaflowne felt those interactions were more significant than reality would later indicate. Unfortunately Escaflowne bragged to the wrong person about "His Baby" and that person promptly left.
Overall the show was a success, pieces were sold, attendance was bangin and in general it was a good time considering the drama that had precipitated that morning. I spent the evening doing my job taking photos and helping the attendees as my friends sat amongst themselves and conversated. My poor Peanut ended up cleaning up towards the end because he wanted to help out and Hercules looked cute chillin on the couch.
After Steve, the owner of the Penthouse, got tired and tossed us all out, the night was almost over -- FINALLY! We stood outside the complex, Andrelaso, Amando, Peanut, Hercules, The King of Spain and Myself, Medina = Citi and his entourage stood by the side of the street announcing their departure. Medina = Citi et. al. were the first to leave, along with The King of Spain. Andrelaso was next, as he was intoxicated and had to sleep. I would have left with him, except Amando pulled some kind of shit where she was going to go to Hoboken unannounced and sleep over her friend's house. I wasn't having that, especially since no one knew if her friend was even home. Hercules bounced, he was tired and Peanut offered to wait for me as we found Amando a place to sleep.
After we found a hotel and called a cab, Peanut and I said good night to Amando and headed toward the train. We both took the D to Atlantic where he transfered to get to Flatbush and I remained to catch the N at 36th st. I made it home in record time. While the day was a success, it had more drama than a telemundo novela.
Margarita... Por Que!!
medina = citi
the show must go on
Once upon a time Medina = Citi and Escaflowne were introduced by Chulo and that led to a scandalous ride home on the N train. This ride also led to an interesting relationship of five months.
Of course with every relationship there are ups and downs, however in this case Medina = Citi and Escaflowne were both rumored to have participated in extra-curricular activities. Let me remind you Escaflowne is 12. Well not really 12, but relatively young to the life, and when five months and one day arrived, and Escaflowne got the Ax much like Andrelaso, well, he didn't take it so well.
Clearly Escaflowne expected alittle more than a "Peace out! I gotta find myself." type of breakup, but if that's what Andrelaso got after five years, Escaflowne's NEW YORK MINUTE relationship really wasn't the AMEX Black he thought it was.
Escaflowne carried on for months about how he would get Medina = Citi back, even tho we all knew it was a hopeless cause. We tried to tell him this, but really, he was otherwise inconsolable. During this time he and Andrelaso bonded over a common factor in their lives, being scrapped by Medina = Citi. This only led to bad things, you know how homosexuals can be.
Secrets were shared, events transpired and a dream was revealed... Andrelaso, Chulo, Escaflowne and Medina = Citi engaged in one night of passionate something. Never would it come to pass, Medina = Citi would not have it. The mixing of circles, and blah blah blah. Come to find out, Chulo had experianced this dream one on one with each of the participants. Not that Chulo is a whore mind you, but the blow job is today's hand shake -- and it was the blowjob that set this gory story into motion.
It started in Medina = Citi's bedroom at the top of the stairs with a well placed kiss by Escaflowne onto Chulo's lips... and a well placed grab on Chulo's... well you know. But anyways, i thought it was the end until I came downstairs and got into the bed. Now what do you get when you place four people in one area that have had relations? Especially when one is dying to hurt the one who hurt him? You get a fucking mess if I've ever seen one. And that's exactly what happened.
Escaflowne began to feel me up, and before I knew it, there his mouth was sucking on my dick. Of course I returned the favor because in the heat of the moment better judgement is lacking and Escaflowne has a pretty penis. Then you heard from the other country, Andrelaso, "What's going on over there?". Everyone knows that showing is more productive than words so... now there's a third. The dream is almost complete... the planets slowly coming into alignment. However tonite was not the night, and Medina = Citi layed there in his bed, awake, watching it all.
Had this been my room, my bed, my exes, I would have thrown a fit then and there, but there's a catch. Medina = Citi's art show was that day, and he needed us to set it up for him. He's not dumb, so he put this all aside until he could deal with it later, but he made it known to Escaflowne that he was cut off. Escaflowne, unable to function, sat in the middle of the bar and sobbed. Upon deeper investigation, we learned that it was Escaflowne's intention to hurt Medina = Citi as he had hurt him. Finally he got ready and we all headed to return the rented U-HAUL.
After afew blocks and a train ride we arrived to Colombus Circle, the place where the magic happened. The show was to begin at 6:30 so we had roughly 10 hours to set up. Medina = Citi gave us instructions as to where pieces were to be placed and walked around checking on other things. Myself, I was taking pictures of the artwork and of Jose and adorable puerto rican who could have gotten it. Around four my ex-girlfriend, Amando arrived on scene to participate in the Medina = Citi art show extravaganza. The King of Spain arrived shortly there after.
The show finally began, the soundtrack was started and the food and wine revealed. The guests began to pour into the penthouse suite to look at the artwork and conversate with one another. There were many people of the artistic realm in attendance, from Travis Montez, Gay Poet & Writer; Enrique Cruz, Porn Producer; and Emanuel Xavier, Actor & Writer. Not to mention some freelance photographer who fell into a tree -- shit, and he got paid to take photos of the show... amateur.
Escaflowne chilled with his friend Booty and wandered around the guests bragging about "His Baby". Clearly he hadn't gotten the memo that they were done months before. I suppose that's partly Medina = Citi's fault since Escaflowne was kinda led on thru physical interactions the two had shared -- of course Escaflowne felt those interactions were more significant than reality would later indicate. Unfortunately Escaflowne bragged to the wrong person about "His Baby" and that person promptly left.
Overall the show was a success, pieces were sold, attendance was bangin and in general it was a good time considering the drama that had precipitated that morning. I spent the evening doing my job taking photos and helping the attendees as my friends sat amongst themselves and conversated. My poor Peanut ended up cleaning up towards the end because he wanted to help out and Hercules looked cute chillin on the couch.
After Steve, the owner of the Penthouse, got tired and tossed us all out, the night was almost over -- FINALLY! We stood outside the complex, Andrelaso, Amando, Peanut, Hercules, The King of Spain and Myself, Medina = Citi and his entourage stood by the side of the street announcing their departure. Medina = Citi et. al. were the first to leave, along with The King of Spain. Andrelaso was next, as he was intoxicated and had to sleep. I would have left with him, except Amando pulled some kind of shit where she was going to go to Hoboken unannounced and sleep over her friend's house. I wasn't having that, especially since no one knew if her friend was even home. Hercules bounced, he was tired and Peanut offered to wait for me as we found Amando a place to sleep.
After we found a hotel and called a cab, Peanut and I said good night to Amando and headed toward the train. We both took the D to Atlantic where he transfered to get to Flatbush and I remained to catch the N at 36th st. I made it home in record time. While the day was a success, it had more drama than a telemundo novela.
Margarita... Por Que!!
lunes, julio 11, 2005
Chulo in the City
flying metal bird
take me where i want to be
sunset park or bust
mofongo con pernil... $6
unlimited metrocard... $24
PBI to JFK round-trip... $160
being in new york... priceless
Chulo's come to the city to photograph The Puerto Rican of a Thousand Names art show -- MEDINA = CITI. From this point on, The Puerto Rican of a Thousand Names will be known only as Medina = Citi. My plane landed around 3:30ish and after I collected my bags I made tracks to Jay St. in Brooklyn via the Far Rockaway A train. The train ride was not overly exciting, however waiting for Andrelaso to find me by the Jay St. stop I found some interesting people.
My favorite was the crackwhore in tattered clothes and ghetto chancletas. She came up to me, crack-glazed eyes not more than 30 minutes old, trying to pawn off $12 worth of metrocards for $10. We all know the resale of metrocards is illegal, and no doubt the shits were used. I looked at her - I have an unlimited, but thanks. She looked at me, "You're gonna need 'em one of these days!". If she only knew.
Finally Andrelaso arrived and saved me from the denizens of downtown Brooklyn. Our mission -- pick up the U-HAUL from the rental place and get to Medina = Citi's house in Canarsie. We loaded our things into the truck, verified the gas meter was where the attendant had indicated and we were on our way. First stop -- Sunset Park to drop some shit off. Of course Medina = Citi had a problem with that, "Why would you pick up the truck first? That's extra miles!! Who is going to pay for that?! Budget blah blah blah...". Dramatic? Of course, it's Medina = Citi, but he's under stress, so we'll let it slide.
Begin our voyage to Canarsie... of course what happens? Because Andrelaso has sex with girls more than he drives, we rear-end this pato in a beat up Datsun-looking car. Kid said he was fine, the Truck looked ok, we cut our losses and continued on since we were already late. Medina = Citi called like 14 times along the way before we finally made it to his house.
It was there that I met Jose, a beautiful Puerto Rican with braids and Medina = Citi's trainer, Juan? The lot of us loaded the truck with the art pieces and Andrelaso and I set off following the Dominican trainer. That didn't go so well, he sped away, and Andrelaso and I were driving to catch up. Only problem with that is no one bothered to secure the artwork to the side of the truck, so shit was bouncing all around the truck with the greatest of ease. All I know is somehow we drove by them and I ended up at a McDonalds. I got yelled at for that because there was no time for McDonalds, and Andrelaso got yelled at for letting me go into the McDonalds in the first place. We finally rejoined the others and there was a switch of drivers... Juan was dominican and ended up driving the U-HAUL with me because Medina = Citi was late and Andrelaso wasn't driving quick enough, Medina = Citi was driving Juan's car... without a license because he doesn't have one.
Folks, I saw my life pass before my eyes as this motherfucker drove me thru pot-holes and the depths of hell...
We made it in one piece to Colombus Circle where the space was located and unloaded the U-HAUL. Let me tell you, that was another project in itself. Medina = Citi remained upstairs and talked to Laura while everyone else made it up multiple flights of stairs many many times until the truck was empty. It was my job to get the music ready as I couldn't walk the stairs or carry too much stuff because of my broken leg.
When most of the prep work was done, art pieces placed in the areas they belonged, food and drinks in the ice box and music ready to go, we left the space back to Canarsie. Back in Medina = Citi's home we prepared our clothes and our minds for the show the next day, but I don't think anyone planned for an episode of Melrose Place.
Michael is mine! And I'ma hurt you if you believe otherwise!!
take me where i want to be
sunset park or bust
mofongo con pernil... $6
unlimited metrocard... $24
PBI to JFK round-trip... $160
being in new york... priceless
Chulo's come to the city to photograph The Puerto Rican of a Thousand Names art show -- MEDINA = CITI. From this point on, The Puerto Rican of a Thousand Names will be known only as Medina = Citi. My plane landed around 3:30ish and after I collected my bags I made tracks to Jay St. in Brooklyn via the Far Rockaway A train. The train ride was not overly exciting, however waiting for Andrelaso to find me by the Jay St. stop I found some interesting people.
My favorite was the crackwhore in tattered clothes and ghetto chancletas. She came up to me, crack-glazed eyes not more than 30 minutes old, trying to pawn off $12 worth of metrocards for $10. We all know the resale of metrocards is illegal, and no doubt the shits were used. I looked at her - I have an unlimited, but thanks. She looked at me, "You're gonna need 'em one of these days!". If she only knew.
Finally Andrelaso arrived and saved me from the denizens of downtown Brooklyn. Our mission -- pick up the U-HAUL from the rental place and get to Medina = Citi's house in Canarsie. We loaded our things into the truck, verified the gas meter was where the attendant had indicated and we were on our way. First stop -- Sunset Park to drop some shit off. Of course Medina = Citi had a problem with that, "Why would you pick up the truck first? That's extra miles!! Who is going to pay for that?! Budget blah blah blah...". Dramatic? Of course, it's Medina = Citi, but he's under stress, so we'll let it slide.
Begin our voyage to Canarsie... of course what happens? Because Andrelaso has sex with girls more than he drives, we rear-end this pato in a beat up Datsun-looking car. Kid said he was fine, the Truck looked ok, we cut our losses and continued on since we were already late. Medina = Citi called like 14 times along the way before we finally made it to his house.
It was there that I met Jose, a beautiful Puerto Rican with braids and Medina = Citi's trainer, Juan? The lot of us loaded the truck with the art pieces and Andrelaso and I set off following the Dominican trainer. That didn't go so well, he sped away, and Andrelaso and I were driving to catch up. Only problem with that is no one bothered to secure the artwork to the side of the truck, so shit was bouncing all around the truck with the greatest of ease. All I know is somehow we drove by them and I ended up at a McDonalds. I got yelled at for that because there was no time for McDonalds, and Andrelaso got yelled at for letting me go into the McDonalds in the first place. We finally rejoined the others and there was a switch of drivers... Juan was dominican and ended up driving the U-HAUL with me because Medina = Citi was late and Andrelaso wasn't driving quick enough, Medina = Citi was driving Juan's car... without a license because he doesn't have one.
Folks, I saw my life pass before my eyes as this motherfucker drove me thru pot-holes and the depths of hell...
We made it in one piece to Colombus Circle where the space was located and unloaded the U-HAUL. Let me tell you, that was another project in itself. Medina = Citi remained upstairs and talked to Laura while everyone else made it up multiple flights of stairs many many times until the truck was empty. It was my job to get the music ready as I couldn't walk the stairs or carry too much stuff because of my broken leg.
When most of the prep work was done, art pieces placed in the areas they belonged, food and drinks in the ice box and music ready to go, we left the space back to Canarsie. Back in Medina = Citi's home we prepared our clothes and our minds for the show the next day, but I don't think anyone planned for an episode of Melrose Place.
Michael is mine! And I'ma hurt you if you believe otherwise!!
martes, julio 05, 2005
A Day at the Beach
called in the morning
was not going to his job
came to visit me
I've been talking to Five Times Boy for going on eight months. It's been an interesting online relationship of chatter and flirting coupled with boyfriends while the other was single. He lives in Miami and had a brief episode in New York. It was a combination of his smile and his personality that drew me to him and ultimately led to our hanging out on that fateful sweltering day in July.
We had talked about hanging out the entire week, but with his job and school and what not he was unable to attend, but I awoke that morning to glance at my cell phone; there it was, a phone call at like eight in the morning, and again at ten. I thought something was wrong so I checked the voicemail and found, "I'm not going to work today, I want to go to the beach... with you. Call me back." I thought to myself, "Is this kid for real? He's gonna drive from Miami to chill with me?" So skeptically I gave him a shout back to see what game he was playing, turns out he was for real. Me with a broken leg and bored out of my skull had nothing to lose, so I gave him the green light.
It wasn't until about the third exit away from my house that I actually started to get that nervous yet excited feeling inside of my body. Five Times Boy was coming to my house -- and I haven't shaved! Yo, first impressions are the most important, so I had to look fresh. The house was clean, so I didn't have to worry about that. I just had to pick my busted self up from the ground and reconstruct to a presentable form.
Five minutes later...
I opened the door to find Five Times Boy at the front steps. He's looking all cute with his hair shaved in a nice fade, baggy jeans and a cute red shirt. I invited him in and gave him a tour of the house that ended in my bedroom because the plan was to hit the beach and I had to change into my suit. Keep in mind, I had every intention of going to the beach, he jus wanted to watch me change into my trunks. Everyone knows that I get hard with a slight gust of wind, so the weight of his stare woke the dick up in like five seconds.
That was all that was needed before we were on the bed making out and exploring each other's bodies furiously. Licking and touching -- biting and sucking. The foreplay was hot, the intimacy was hotter. The anticipation for our eventual meeting was coupled with extreme sexual tension that once our lips touched, it exploded into a early-twenties rush of sexual freedom. Before I knew it I was on top of him and we began what would continue going all day long until early the next day.
We managed to pack five sexual acts, two meals, a trip to the mall, a movie and a good night kiss into one incredible day that left me physically shaking. I was glad he took the day off to go to the beach with me. I found probably one of the few people who I've met in this God awful state that I can honestly say I can spend the day with and not get bored. Five Times Boy is a great guy I'm sure our friendship is just beginning.
This usually doesn't happen...
was not going to his job
came to visit me
I've been talking to Five Times Boy for going on eight months. It's been an interesting online relationship of chatter and flirting coupled with boyfriends while the other was single. He lives in Miami and had a brief episode in New York. It was a combination of his smile and his personality that drew me to him and ultimately led to our hanging out on that fateful sweltering day in July.
We had talked about hanging out the entire week, but with his job and school and what not he was unable to attend, but I awoke that morning to glance at my cell phone; there it was, a phone call at like eight in the morning, and again at ten. I thought something was wrong so I checked the voicemail and found, "I'm not going to work today, I want to go to the beach... with you. Call me back." I thought to myself, "Is this kid for real? He's gonna drive from Miami to chill with me?" So skeptically I gave him a shout back to see what game he was playing, turns out he was for real. Me with a broken leg and bored out of my skull had nothing to lose, so I gave him the green light.
It wasn't until about the third exit away from my house that I actually started to get that nervous yet excited feeling inside of my body. Five Times Boy was coming to my house -- and I haven't shaved! Yo, first impressions are the most important, so I had to look fresh. The house was clean, so I didn't have to worry about that. I just had to pick my busted self up from the ground and reconstruct to a presentable form.
Five minutes later...
I opened the door to find Five Times Boy at the front steps. He's looking all cute with his hair shaved in a nice fade, baggy jeans and a cute red shirt. I invited him in and gave him a tour of the house that ended in my bedroom because the plan was to hit the beach and I had to change into my suit. Keep in mind, I had every intention of going to the beach, he jus wanted to watch me change into my trunks. Everyone knows that I get hard with a slight gust of wind, so the weight of his stare woke the dick up in like five seconds.
That was all that was needed before we were on the bed making out and exploring each other's bodies furiously. Licking and touching -- biting and sucking. The foreplay was hot, the intimacy was hotter. The anticipation for our eventual meeting was coupled with extreme sexual tension that once our lips touched, it exploded into a early-twenties rush of sexual freedom. Before I knew it I was on top of him and we began what would continue going all day long until early the next day.
We managed to pack five sexual acts, two meals, a trip to the mall, a movie and a good night kiss into one incredible day that left me physically shaking. I was glad he took the day off to go to the beach with me. I found probably one of the few people who I've met in this God awful state that I can honestly say I can spend the day with and not get bored. Five Times Boy is a great guy I'm sure our friendship is just beginning.
This usually doesn't happen...
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