I used to watch "Friends". I know, how embarrassing. But then again, didn't most of the country? I mean anything on the same night as Seinfeld, I watched. Read that to mean Caroline in the City too. Yikes. Anyway, there was one episode in particular that always stuck with me.
During the many times of Ross and Rachel being an item, Ross had come up with a list of five celebrities he could have sex with or at least date without it being called cheating. The idea is novel, the concept is far-fetched but it's fun. Unfortunately to keep up with the dorkiness of the Ross character, he laminated it after removing Isabella Rosselini, whom he then ran into at Central Perk. Yeah I know, who gives a flying fuck? Or even a grounded fuck? Or even just a regular fuck?
That brings us to the core of episode two, season one. I don't have a five, and seeing how south Florida is a hotbed for celebrities and pseudo-celebrities, I feel I need to get my five out on paper now before I run into them while standing in line for a Cafe Cubano, ya dig?
So what's the criteria? I don't know. I don't really have a type, so anyone is likely to be on this list as long as they have breasts and a vagina. Well, in the case of Christina Applegate, maybe breasts aren't that important? So let's start this bloody list already.
First person on the list has to be--yes, Snooki. What the fuck? For real? Yes, for real. Let's go through her positives. She's originally Latina by birth, so that's a plus, and she grew into Italian heritage, so that's a plus. There was something endearing about her in the first season or two looking for anyone to come beat her beat up, but so often there were no takers. I couldn't figure it out; she was fat, tiny, orange, and dumb as a brick. What's not to love there? Okay, the orange, not so much, but her little tiny dumpy body, worked for me. Sure, she's gone a bit pear-shaped having lost weight, which is ironic that when she was fatter and literally pear-shaped that was better. Plus, you have to think about it, she looks like she'd be a blast to fuck, no? You could throw her around, spin her like a top, put her in a dresser drawer and fuck her, all of these things quite exciting. The wife thinks I'm insane for the Snooki thing, but hey what can ya do? Snooki gets on the list. We're down to four more places.
Now I'm going to trend older and lesser-known. She's probably approaching 50, assuming she isn't already but I don't care. She's still a fucking looker. Another Italian, and this time a legitimate Italian, makes the list with Annabella Sciorra. When I was seven or eight, my dad took me to see the Spike Lee joint, "Jungle Fever" and the female lead struck me even then as really pretty. She's got the classic dark hair, dark eyes, but in that movie, she was able to wear a frumpy hairdo and ugly old lady clothes and still make an impression. She was still hot as the plain, postpartum wife in "The Hand that Rocks the Cradle" and as of a year or two ago, she was still hot in her few appearances on "The L Word." If you don't know her, go google her. She's got a simpler, cleaner look. Stark contrast to the overly bronzed, strumpet-looking Snooki. But every list has to have contrast to balance, right?
Alright, we're cooking now, and speaking of cooking, perfect segue into the third entry on the list. Quite surprising, we're trending Italian once again but Food Network darling, Giada de Laurentiis, is a fucking knockout. And for a woman with a pointy thin nose, that's saying something. Sure, she's a Roman, and Romans and Neapolitans, eh, not exactly best friends, but who cares when it comes to her? Plus, her first cousin is president of SSC Napoli, so that would mean tickets to see I Partenopei in action. She's dorky, quirky, chipper, and smiles a lot--all things I hate but she makes it work. If Katie Couric could cook and were Italian, this would be her. And the one thing I didn't really notice, and maybe because I'm not a guy for this feature, but she's got quite the rack. A healthy chest, a classical chef, and a face that could launch 1,000 ships, all of these put Giada firmly on the list. Now let's just hope her list includes nerdy black guys who are balding, tattoo dumb shit to themselves, and are married too.
Two spots left on this list, and I know, you're delirious with anticipation, que no?
And with that flourish of Spanish, we go to our first Latina who has remained Latin to this day. Mexican actress Kate del Castillo. Telenovela queen, star of one of my most favourite movies, she could wear a trash bag and moles all over her face and I'd still be interested. Unfortunately, she's been married twice, and one was former Mexican international Luis Garcia. He gets points for being an Americanista, but then again, he also played with Chivas and Pumas, so to hell with the bastard. But back to Kate. She's stunning without being flawless, and luckily, she isn't on the average American's radar. If you've not seen "Under the Same Moon/La Misma Luna", then you need to go out right now, queue it on your netflix and be ready to watch a beautiful face and a tearjerker that makes me pour saltwater from my eyes no matter how many times I see it.
Final spot, one unlucky woman. People everywhere, all 12 of you, sitting at the edges of your seats just wondering who the hell could this loser be interested in now?
If you've ever heard of Bamboleo, and no not the Gipsy Kings track, but the Cuban salsa ensemble, then you know where this is going. Haila Mompie. Often described as a new Celia Cruz, this Afro-Latina can sing, dance, and do them both while making you hot inside. And in stark contrast to the rest of this list, she's often bald or closely cropped, and you're never really sure what colour her hair will be when it's there anyway. Do yourself another favour, go on iTunes, buy "Yo No Me Parezco Nadie", listen to the smooth rhythms, and then go see if you can find a live performance of it. That's a woman, there.
So there you have it. Five women, surprisingly heavily Italian for a guy who often downplays his own Italian heritage, but it's a list I'm proud to have compiled. Note, there's no Kardashian, or a Halle Berry, or any of those overhyped boring bitches. They can be the eye candy for the majourity, I don't want them. And no video vixens or hoes from your average King magazine or whatever it's called. I'm not a body guy, I'm a face guy, and those kinds of girls, well have you seen their faces?!
Hopefully, this inspires you to make your five and get them down now so your mate can't hold it against you.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
1.1--Series Premiere: Overhyped and Overused.
I was younger once. I knew what it was like to be a teenager. To walk around thinking I had the whole world figured out, that I knew best--wait, I still do that. Scratch all of that. Regardless, I was once younger.
I have a mate, coming to the end of his teens and approaching his twenties chronologically, but developmentally still lagging a bit behind. I talk to him quite often and usually we get to the point in the conversation where I expose his lack of knowledge in soccer, world history, and whatever else and it turns into a conversation about how much he loves his girlfriend. His first girlfriend. A girl he radically changed his life for and now stands on the edge, teetering, trying to avoid the fiery crash off the cliff. Needless to say, they're in a rocky spot right now.
Today, we're chatting and he includes me in on what love really is. A 19 year old lad, in his first relationship, explained to me, Mr. Approaching-30-Married-Man, what love is. He summed it up in two words: trust, communication. I scoffed at him. I told the lad that any good friendship requires those two. That's not love, that's having successful relationships, whether between friends, parents, bosses, coworkers, teacher-student, whatever. Then I leveled with him. I told him one simple thing, something I believe wholeheartedly.
There is no such thing as love.
Okay, sure, the word exists. I love Mexican cuisine (authentic, not that shit los gabachos think is Mexican). I love banda and Duranguense music. I love Tottenham Hotspur and DC United. I love the Florida Gators. I love coffee. I love south Florida. I love podcasts. I could go on and on about what I love. I ialso say I love the wife, I love the kid, I love my bffs, I love cats. Same word, so many different connotations. But let's be real people, for one word to be so overhyped, so overused, no one can define it, no one really knows when they have it, and the shit just doesn't exist.
I've told my wife, whom I love without condition and to no end, this tons of times. I told her, "Q, there's no such thing as love." Then it's like well what do I mean if I love her but think love doesn't exist?!
When I say I love my wife, I mean this: sure, she's incredibly annoying, opinionated, stubborn, domestically challenged, loud, and can never say sorry or admit wrong in a timely fashion (if ever), but in spite of all of these obvious reasons to want to punch her in the throat repeatedly, I stand by her through it all and plan to do so until one of us dies. I mean, I promise to fuck her and only her, help her where she's deficient and stand back where she excels. I mean, from time to time, I'll snuggle up on her while she sleeps and I'll try to like most of her friends.
None of that is the love of The Notebook fame, Sex and the City fame, nor even Tyler Perry movie fame. The love I speak of, is what marriage is--a business deal; a legal and binding contract. I'll support you, you support me, we take care of shit together, and in the meantime we have some funny moments, really great sex, and we try not to kill each other. I know, this notion of love isn't incredibly or even remotely romantic, but it's stripped down of all the religious and Hollywood bullshit that's coated love for the longest.
In real life, there is no love at first sight, no long, unrequited love that suddenly turns requited and lives happily ever after, no fairy tales. Notice in all of the movies, books, and television shows, there's never talk of bills, bad breath, getting fat or sexually undesirable, erectile dysfunction. You know, the shit that actually makes life with your significant other complicated? The worst part about Hollywood is it has my daughter convinced that there's Prince Charming and happily ever after. Now I'll have to go in her head later and undo all the shit that those fucking Princesses did to her brain.
My wife and I both were those people who believed in love and the romantic connotations involved. We wanted big weddings just for the show and because it's what people do. We probably both tried to be "romantic" to our past partners. Now, we're past a year of marriage, wedded in the courthouse, and we merely try to survive life in a capitalistic economy that's down the tank while raising a soon-to-be four year old and again, not kill each other. Yeah, not as easy nor as fun as what people would like to think. But to me, that's fucking love!
Just think about how much money people waste on love! Pheromone perfumes and colognes, self-help books, therapy, countless drinks at the bars, dinners, movies, little black dresses, eHarmony subscriptions, match dot com, love guru seminars, and many more. But no one ever says, "Hey, there's no such thing as compatibility." There's no such thing as compatibility. At least, not in the denotation of the word. Men and women as a whole are too different, see the world differently, think differently, express emotions differently, so how the hell are we compatible? Examine yourself. You get along much better with your same sex friend than you do your opposite sex partner. My female best friend and I, pretty good, but then again, with me, she's one of the lads. She swears with her mates, she's a girly girl. I can't even envision that.
We're not meant to be together except to procreate. Monogamy isn't real. We're animals. We're no different than rabbits and apes. We're geared to fuck, not spend eternity with one person while madly in love. Come on, son. Men cheat, women cheat, we both look at others outside of our mates; it's not real. It's so unreal that we have to work at it and make sure we're monogamous. You know why? Because it's not what we're supposed to be. I'll never cheat on my wife, but then again I'll never cheat on anyone. But it's not because I'm so much in love and no one exists. It's I wouldn't do that to my wife because it's plain wrong and two, my dad was a huge cheater. So nuture, not nature, makes me faithful.
Give it up, people. The quicker you give up the ghost of what love is and means, the quicker you'll find someone you can get along with, in spite of their idiosyncrasies and quirks. I wish you luck. I wish you all the success in finding a mate that I've found. Now let me return to two of my great loves: soccer and coffee.
I have a mate, coming to the end of his teens and approaching his twenties chronologically, but developmentally still lagging a bit behind. I talk to him quite often and usually we get to the point in the conversation where I expose his lack of knowledge in soccer, world history, and whatever else and it turns into a conversation about how much he loves his girlfriend. His first girlfriend. A girl he radically changed his life for and now stands on the edge, teetering, trying to avoid the fiery crash off the cliff. Needless to say, they're in a rocky spot right now.
Today, we're chatting and he includes me in on what love really is. A 19 year old lad, in his first relationship, explained to me, Mr. Approaching-30-Married-Man, what love is. He summed it up in two words: trust, communication. I scoffed at him. I told the lad that any good friendship requires those two. That's not love, that's having successful relationships, whether between friends, parents, bosses, coworkers, teacher-student, whatever. Then I leveled with him. I told him one simple thing, something I believe wholeheartedly.
There is no such thing as love.
Okay, sure, the word exists. I love Mexican cuisine (authentic, not that shit los gabachos think is Mexican). I love banda and Duranguense music. I love Tottenham Hotspur and DC United. I love the Florida Gators. I love coffee. I love south Florida. I love podcasts. I could go on and on about what I love. I ialso say I love the wife, I love the kid, I love my bffs, I love cats. Same word, so many different connotations. But let's be real people, for one word to be so overhyped, so overused, no one can define it, no one really knows when they have it, and the shit just doesn't exist.
I've told my wife, whom I love without condition and to no end, this tons of times. I told her, "Q, there's no such thing as love." Then it's like well what do I mean if I love her but think love doesn't exist?!
When I say I love my wife, I mean this: sure, she's incredibly annoying, opinionated, stubborn, domestically challenged, loud, and can never say sorry or admit wrong in a timely fashion (if ever), but in spite of all of these obvious reasons to want to punch her in the throat repeatedly, I stand by her through it all and plan to do so until one of us dies. I mean, I promise to fuck her and only her, help her where she's deficient and stand back where she excels. I mean, from time to time, I'll snuggle up on her while she sleeps and I'll try to like most of her friends.
None of that is the love of The Notebook fame, Sex and the City fame, nor even Tyler Perry movie fame. The love I speak of, is what marriage is--a business deal; a legal and binding contract. I'll support you, you support me, we take care of shit together, and in the meantime we have some funny moments, really great sex, and we try not to kill each other. I know, this notion of love isn't incredibly or even remotely romantic, but it's stripped down of all the religious and Hollywood bullshit that's coated love for the longest.
In real life, there is no love at first sight, no long, unrequited love that suddenly turns requited and lives happily ever after, no fairy tales. Notice in all of the movies, books, and television shows, there's never talk of bills, bad breath, getting fat or sexually undesirable, erectile dysfunction. You know, the shit that actually makes life with your significant other complicated? The worst part about Hollywood is it has my daughter convinced that there's Prince Charming and happily ever after. Now I'll have to go in her head later and undo all the shit that those fucking Princesses did to her brain.
My wife and I both were those people who believed in love and the romantic connotations involved. We wanted big weddings just for the show and because it's what people do. We probably both tried to be "romantic" to our past partners. Now, we're past a year of marriage, wedded in the courthouse, and we merely try to survive life in a capitalistic economy that's down the tank while raising a soon-to-be four year old and again, not kill each other. Yeah, not as easy nor as fun as what people would like to think. But to me, that's fucking love!
Just think about how much money people waste on love! Pheromone perfumes and colognes, self-help books, therapy, countless drinks at the bars, dinners, movies, little black dresses, eHarmony subscriptions, match dot com, love guru seminars, and many more. But no one ever says, "Hey, there's no such thing as compatibility." There's no such thing as compatibility. At least, not in the denotation of the word. Men and women as a whole are too different, see the world differently, think differently, express emotions differently, so how the hell are we compatible? Examine yourself. You get along much better with your same sex friend than you do your opposite sex partner. My female best friend and I, pretty good, but then again, with me, she's one of the lads. She swears with her mates, she's a girly girl. I can't even envision that.
We're not meant to be together except to procreate. Monogamy isn't real. We're animals. We're no different than rabbits and apes. We're geared to fuck, not spend eternity with one person while madly in love. Come on, son. Men cheat, women cheat, we both look at others outside of our mates; it's not real. It's so unreal that we have to work at it and make sure we're monogamous. You know why? Because it's not what we're supposed to be. I'll never cheat on my wife, but then again I'll never cheat on anyone. But it's not because I'm so much in love and no one exists. It's I wouldn't do that to my wife because it's plain wrong and two, my dad was a huge cheater. So nuture, not nature, makes me faithful.
Give it up, people. The quicker you give up the ghost of what love is and means, the quicker you'll find someone you can get along with, in spite of their idiosyncrasies and quirks. I wish you luck. I wish you all the success in finding a mate that I've found. Now let me return to two of my great loves: soccer and coffee.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
0.0 -- Pilot
I was recently looking through a photo album of one of my African-American exes and I realised, once again at least, I'm tremendously lucky I married outside of my ethnicity. High five to myself! Dodged a big ass bullet on that one. What? No I don't hate the black chicks, I just wasn't in the market for one anymore. It's called knowing thyself, and isn't that what people all over are trying to do? Know themselves? Isn't that like a path to righteousness or some bullshit?
I'm clicking through picture after picture of her graduation from college, with her family; grandparents, parents, cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles. Upchuck. Gag. I tried to insert me into that picture with a smile and I wanted to immediately kill myself. Everyone at a local dining establishment, in "Sunday attire", drinking sweet teas and enjoying stupid fucking stories from her childhood. Just think, if that relationship had worked out, I would be sitting there, faking a smile, wishing death upon all of them. Or better yet, I'd be sitting there, hoping for some sicko with an AK to chop up the whole table, myself included. The agony I would have suffered.
Then I think of having to go to church with her and her parents sometimes, because I know this bitch would have wanted to live close to home probably or at least within a 3 hour car ride. Sitting in a black church, for two hours, hearing some Ludacris-sounding pastor change pitch and emphasis with every other sentence and sometimes going into that "powerful whisper" like Ray Lewis to suggest this shit is important. All I would be thinking the whole time is "Wasn't part of the reason I became Catholic was to avoid this very moment? This long ass service? This boring ass bland service?" Or better yet, having to fake being Christian, because these days, I'm definitely Catholic but not a Christian even in the loosest definition of the word.
I know. I'm severely generalising and marginalising the African-American woman on the basis of one girl. But then I go through the memory's rolodex of exes and the similarities are massive and they all lead to one thing--I would have killed myself or been a mass cheater, fucking every two-bit whore in sight just to get some action in my life.
Oh African-American woman, you and I weren't meant to be. However, I doubt you're crying your eyes out because I know, I'm impossible to get along with, my values seem askew, my politics are too out there, my religious views are sacrilege, and I hate the idea of family. So maybe you dodged a bullet too, no?
I flash the pictures of scenes with all my exes that I would have had to endure, and I tell you, it makes my skin crawl. I'm not one to put on heirs, to live up to something I don't aspire to nor want. I'm not a shirt and tie guy. I'm not a kids and backyard guy. I'm not a family reunion guy. I'm not a Sunday service guy. I don't like Tyler Perry movies and fish dinners. I'm not a bad guy either, I'm just not that guy.
I'm the guy who doesn't mind, and quite enjoys, working at home by cooking, cleaning, every now and again teaching my kid a valuable lesson, folding laundry; your typical domestic endeavours. I don't hold gender roles. If you're better than me at something, then go ahead and do it. I can pick up the slack somewhere else. My non-African-American wife can attest to that. Sometimes she likes to go back and insert traditional gender roles on me, but then again, she also lets me be who I am. I'm a lucky guy. Sure, she may not be perfect, in fact she's far from, but she let's my nutjob, wacky ass remain a nutjob and wacky. She'd love it if I learnt to drive, but then again, she doesn't push me. I'm sure she would love it if I wanted to be a lawyer or a top executive at some company, but then again, she also loves coming home to a tasty, hot meal. She doesn't say hey, let's go to Mass or church, but she also doesn't entirely say, "Hey, you can't practice that syncretic religion" either.
African-American woman, I doubt that those kinds of things would be intriguing to you. I doubt that you'd let them fly. I hate stereotyping and generalising, but I've dated enough and know plenty of other brothers who've dated enough and continue to and our stories are mirror images. There's that list of things us brothers should be and should do. I've seen them on twitter constantly--must love kids, must love his mother, must love God, must have a masters', must be ambitious in regards to whatever, must do this, must do that. If that's the case, African-American woman and myself, we're not compatible.
I'm not the case of "why black men are dating non-black women" because it's not that bullshit excuse of I can't take a powerful woman. My wife is quite powerful. She knows what she wants, she goes out there and she gets it. She graduated three times, she's in the career she always wanted, she's the rock of this family. So it's not a fear of a strong woman. She's also loud, opinionated, hates to be wrong, stubborn, and will fight over anything. So again, get out of here with the strong woman routine.
But let's be real, there are constants across the black woman board, and a lot of them, I've mentioned. We're not compatible. Never mind the fact that I'd probably have no musica latina in my life, or beans and rice and a mother-in-law who can cook the shit out of them (realise, I'm saying African-American here, not Afro-Latina. I could still have that stuff). Never mind the fact that I'd also probably have to play Keep Up with the Joneses, stop with the tattooing, and who knows what else.
African-American woman, I know. You're constantly shitted on by men of all colours, by media outlets, by job markets, by the world. And when it comes to black men, where have all the good ones gone? We're either in jail, on the down low, or dating non-black women. Well, be happy. No one ever said I was a good black man.
I'm clicking through picture after picture of her graduation from college, with her family; grandparents, parents, cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles. Upchuck. Gag. I tried to insert me into that picture with a smile and I wanted to immediately kill myself. Everyone at a local dining establishment, in "Sunday attire", drinking sweet teas and enjoying stupid fucking stories from her childhood. Just think, if that relationship had worked out, I would be sitting there, faking a smile, wishing death upon all of them. Or better yet, I'd be sitting there, hoping for some sicko with an AK to chop up the whole table, myself included. The agony I would have suffered.
Then I think of having to go to church with her and her parents sometimes, because I know this bitch would have wanted to live close to home probably or at least within a 3 hour car ride. Sitting in a black church, for two hours, hearing some Ludacris-sounding pastor change pitch and emphasis with every other sentence and sometimes going into that "powerful whisper" like Ray Lewis to suggest this shit is important. All I would be thinking the whole time is "Wasn't part of the reason I became Catholic was to avoid this very moment? This long ass service? This boring ass bland service?" Or better yet, having to fake being Christian, because these days, I'm definitely Catholic but not a Christian even in the loosest definition of the word.
I know. I'm severely generalising and marginalising the African-American woman on the basis of one girl. But then I go through the memory's rolodex of exes and the similarities are massive and they all lead to one thing--I would have killed myself or been a mass cheater, fucking every two-bit whore in sight just to get some action in my life.
Oh African-American woman, you and I weren't meant to be. However, I doubt you're crying your eyes out because I know, I'm impossible to get along with, my values seem askew, my politics are too out there, my religious views are sacrilege, and I hate the idea of family. So maybe you dodged a bullet too, no?
I flash the pictures of scenes with all my exes that I would have had to endure, and I tell you, it makes my skin crawl. I'm not one to put on heirs, to live up to something I don't aspire to nor want. I'm not a shirt and tie guy. I'm not a kids and backyard guy. I'm not a family reunion guy. I'm not a Sunday service guy. I don't like Tyler Perry movies and fish dinners. I'm not a bad guy either, I'm just not that guy.
I'm the guy who doesn't mind, and quite enjoys, working at home by cooking, cleaning, every now and again teaching my kid a valuable lesson, folding laundry; your typical domestic endeavours. I don't hold gender roles. If you're better than me at something, then go ahead and do it. I can pick up the slack somewhere else. My non-African-American wife can attest to that. Sometimes she likes to go back and insert traditional gender roles on me, but then again, she also lets me be who I am. I'm a lucky guy. Sure, she may not be perfect, in fact she's far from, but she let's my nutjob, wacky ass remain a nutjob and wacky. She'd love it if I learnt to drive, but then again, she doesn't push me. I'm sure she would love it if I wanted to be a lawyer or a top executive at some company, but then again, she also loves coming home to a tasty, hot meal. She doesn't say hey, let's go to Mass or church, but she also doesn't entirely say, "Hey, you can't practice that syncretic religion" either.
African-American woman, I doubt that those kinds of things would be intriguing to you. I doubt that you'd let them fly. I hate stereotyping and generalising, but I've dated enough and know plenty of other brothers who've dated enough and continue to and our stories are mirror images. There's that list of things us brothers should be and should do. I've seen them on twitter constantly--must love kids, must love his mother, must love God, must have a masters', must be ambitious in regards to whatever, must do this, must do that. If that's the case, African-American woman and myself, we're not compatible.
I'm not the case of "why black men are dating non-black women" because it's not that bullshit excuse of I can't take a powerful woman. My wife is quite powerful. She knows what she wants, she goes out there and she gets it. She graduated three times, she's in the career she always wanted, she's the rock of this family. So it's not a fear of a strong woman. She's also loud, opinionated, hates to be wrong, stubborn, and will fight over anything. So again, get out of here with the strong woman routine.
But let's be real, there are constants across the black woman board, and a lot of them, I've mentioned. We're not compatible. Never mind the fact that I'd probably have no musica latina in my life, or beans and rice and a mother-in-law who can cook the shit out of them (realise, I'm saying African-American here, not Afro-Latina. I could still have that stuff). Never mind the fact that I'd also probably have to play Keep Up with the Joneses, stop with the tattooing, and who knows what else.
African-American woman, I know. You're constantly shitted on by men of all colours, by media outlets, by job markets, by the world. And when it comes to black men, where have all the good ones gone? We're either in jail, on the down low, or dating non-black women. Well, be happy. No one ever said I was a good black man.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)