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Money Well Spent on the Beach

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Do I have stupid written all over my forehead, huh, huh, do I? Evidently, I do.  Rumor has it things just keeps stomping on my door. It is remarkably atypical – as if subscribe – how these idiocies just encircles me.  It is not a fluke but pure coincidence, every day foolishness; a fable at best but strange as it is, I continue to ingest the pill and sip the poison.

This striking silk skin, 5’3”, not too chubby 150 pounds woman walked up to me the other day in South Beach and gingerly proclaimed that I have this aura irradiating, a glow reverberating in me that is behind believe.

Wow me, with an aura! Hello, what does she mean,?! Please! I last saw myself in the mirror and they were not there; so, how in the world did they get to me so fast? She must have been drinking some margaritas.

She so stretched the word far out that my neck really fell back just following “behind”; confused? So am I. Tell me about my aura again because I will need it when I wake up in the morning.

But she insisted. “Come with me to learn more?”, she said. It was not that I credibly believed the woman but she was so cynically persuasive, alluring and angelical like that when she got closer and roughly tapped my right hand, it felt like, she was an octopus and had expelled me with her ink.

The exchange was short and hasty as she invited me to lounge into the spirit world.  I can’t comprehend what possessed me but I immediately ingested the fume and was sucked in. It took me only minutes – long enough for me to swallow the pill before I daringly said yes at once without objecting, as if a magnetic rope hauled me up. I did not even vacillate or repudiate the woman but the episode left me mute, num; in trance. I fell pray to the nameless prowler sperm tentacle as if I was given a tetanus shot. If I could just have her for a meal… heewww. Someone should have tapped my self-imaginary friend not to talk to strangers.

Next thing I know, I was tagging along like a motherless child being taken hostage. I elevated my hands like “I see dead people” and was whooshed away by the woman. I recall looking back at my friends and proclaiming childishly without blinking that I was going to the psych network; I was going for a reading, to bring about what, I have no idea; I was just going and gone I was.

Perhaps, I was searching for an assertion that the Messiah was coming to interpret my soul or I was waiting for Mr. Feelgood ointment or baby oil to rub my stupidity; or perhaps, a rendition of the aura? I mean she said I was possessed matters as well give me the reason for the aura?! Whatever it was, my friends were startled but not completely surprised; I am an adventurous but a prudent one, I may add. Yet, there I was…

Tailing along, during the getting to know virtual contract signing conversation, she mumbled that her ancestor came from Brazil (liar!) after inquiring about where I was from. (Yeah, I bet she would have said Timbuktu if I had joined the choir). She later claimed to be Argentinean but all points bulletin indicated that she might have been a gypsy (but here?). In spite of this, in my moment of Achilles’ heel, talks of the thought completely evaporated as I brushed it aside and continued walking.

I really don’t know her intention for having chosen me – perhaps, she stumbled upon me at sheriff’s line up; I came across like an easy prey; she thought I was charming and wanted to spend a few minutes with me – no, I swim in a different pool; or possibly she just wanted to mend my warped soul. Who knows?! Whatever it was, nonetheless, I found myself crossing the street with the woman, like two old pals in search of a place to bank so we could reminisce about our childhood.

As we strolled across the grass, we found a number of medium-size rocks here and there, some looking a bit pointy, others a little rough in the edges, and others too small for the sizes of our derrieres – I take small to go, please.

We settled on a green bench on the boardwalk. From where we were sitting we could see the beach and no spirits at the table but separated by a cement border.

There was loads of traffic, persons from all walks of life leisurely strolling, jogging and bicycling every single second.

She finally introduced herself as Ava, for all accounts the name could have been manufactured and most likely it was, and proceeded to probe me for mine. Off course, mine was not completely genuine either as I supplied her with the best deceptive answer that first came to my brain, Brenda; how cheesy!  I must have been living in a chicken box or in a puree of margaritaville, otherwise, how else can I explain sitting through the hallucinating omelet and listening to this woman delivering make-believe-envelopes without ripping them apart?

The mountainous tails were enormous, enough to chock a mouse. The music begun to play… is it Yanni? No… Beethoven? Nope…  Opera? Nooo… the CD just kept rolling, rolling, rolling like a roulette… “someone is coming your way” a man? Helloooo I am done in that department; “there is major drama in your life right now”, ok, who doesn’t, this is good; “you will find love soon”, hasn’t she indicated that previously?, and “you will have many kids”, moving right along; yada, yada, yada…Oh Lord someone give me some Tequila please, I am seeing starts… the spirits are taking over! Oh well, for a minute I thought they were.

The fact of the matter is that all, if not most of what she spewed out, have already transpired in my life and made its way to the wall of fame calendar. Hence, her speculative stamp was dumfounded and downright ridiculous yet, I sat through five seconds of fictional nuisance with a big smirk on my face until the end; whatever it was.

Her inability to provide me with detailed answers sealed and delivered the deal. (Sounds like Stevie Wonder, sound, signed and delivered I am yours). She was an impostor for lack of a better word and I smelled the stench going but I wore one of the biggest facemasks I could find and went anyway. I guess Dionne Warwick was unavailable.

The rehearsal dinner was over and the tape recorder ran out of tape.  I sat there with a halo looping in my head and still I did not summon enough guts to unmask her nor embark in a duel of wills. I thought about storming out and blow the whistle but a magnetic clip nailed me to the bench. I poked and poked but she did not crack. She navigated conspicuously and when the song was over, she stopped the iPod, right about the time I was ready to play one more song. I wanted her to answer for and unveil my big tomorrow since she could see the envy of many – when was I going to win the lottery?

She never gave me the hypothesis or facts; she opted to play the dumb and deaf card resorting to throw me some numbers instead. Just as she appeared, just as she vanished, quickly into the sunset, right into the traffic along with the many populating the sideboards, perhaps, in search of her next pray on the beach. Although not 100% accurate, she managed to rescue the episode by magically putting her stamp on one aspect, my birthday date. How corny, classical pretender intuitive 101. Like a shrewd charlatan, I was given a range to pick from and not the actual month; to my surprise the month in fact coincided with the frame given alongside the lottery numbers. She offered up two numbers, which I played hours later and remarkably, one of them came out. I was taken in but all was not dead, I managed to rescue this story, an admission of money well spent, well worth the twenty bucks I paid. Blame it on the economy.

No Title Worthy Mentioning

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publix

I live in the suburbia, like many of us, in a relatively quiet town where cows still room the neighborhood, in designated areas off course, and the usual suspects, residents, often run into each other in the supermarket.

There are Senators and Mayors amongst the population and by all accounts it seems to be, well, secure. Yeah, but now a days one never knows as I am sure Madoff’s neighbors thought he was all that until he turned out to be a crook.

This is really one of these things that rattle me.

I run to Publix – our newly renovated and refurbished local supermarket after church yesterday to pick up some groceries, when I run into a situation that made me feel like I was on one of the episodes of the ABC show “Primetime: What Would You Do?”.

For those of you not familiar with the show, the series looks at what people will do in sticky situations. It is not about what they will say but what they will do; how they will act in the face of dilemmas testing their character and values. Using hidden cameras, the show sets up everyday scenarios and then captures people’s reactions. It is fair to say that most of those portraying the act are off course actors who are posing to unsuspected people like me but yesterday, to me, it was not an act or entertainment; it was real.

As I picked some fruits and was on my way to the cereal shelf and was going by the fish and meat section when I noticed two man, friends I suppose; bulky like, shanty looking, rusty, unshaved, hard drinker look and liquor smelly (I am not stereotyping this is just the way they look) dudes. One was buying fish while the other waited on the opposite side of the aisle.

The passageway is long enough for three carts; so even though, one of them was just standing there blocking part of it, there is enough space for extra carts to navigate.

I happened to be walking behind two beautiful young girls as they naively strolled by. I say girls (believed to be sisters; they resembled each other) because they could not have been no more then 15, going on 18 and 10 years old respectively.

As the girls appeared on his radar, the guy’s face – the one waiting for his friend – lit up as they approached. He intensely begun to piercingly and starvingly looking at them, as his head followed them each step of the way, as if he wanted to devour them, sexually pleasure himself and could not wait to have the older one on his arms. He was so fixated on the girls that he did not even notice that I was also engrossedly looking at his conduct as he unceremoniously pored over them. Once through with his make-believe voyage, he turned to his partner and they both quipped some off the cuff remarks. I could not hear the exchange frankly not because I could not but because I choose not to hear; I was not interested in learning about their weightless and sickening thoughts.

I know this look; I am familiar with this look; I have seen this look before.

I was so flabbergasted that I could not help but shake my head. I made sure they saw me hoping my action would embarrass them. But that did not work, so I spoke up. I told him that “You know, it was not right what you just did Mr.”

“What”, he replied!

“You know what you were doing; they are just kids!”, I said.

“Oh, they will grow older one day anyway?”, he hastily answered. I swear, I am not kidding; he said that to me.

Wait a minute; did he just say that to me? Did he just shove me down? I was expecting a different answer, like “I apologize madam” or “I was just joking”, something around the realm or not one at all. But to tell me, that they will grow older one day anyway; is he kidding me?

His answer perforated my soul with angst. I was so infuriated that fumes began to annihilate my brain instead of going through my nasals. At that point, to me at least, until he gave me that repugnant answer, it was no longer casual but of sexual intend. They both had “that” smirk in their faces. Granted, the older girl had on short shorts (we live in a tropical climate) and her rear-end resembles that of J-Lo, and the younger girl had on pants but none warranted that behavior.

I felt like confronting the man but decided to walk away instead; I could not afford a scene. I felt like complaining to the management and say what?

Let’s be honest, no one else heard him but me, how could I then justify my battle? They were not doing anything visibly inappropriate; nothing obviously that merited being forceful. It was however, the matter of how he glared at them; it was his response that disturbed me. It may have been the case of “boys will be boys” but nothing justified they not establishing the fact that they were two little girls. It made me pause and I still can’t shake that out.

I was still enraged when I turned left to the next aisle and bared my anger with the first lady I saw. She too could not believe it but had the best choice of words for them – “perverts”, she called them to later “it makes you wonder about people”, she added. Yet, the two of us did not summon enough courage to take that information any further. We both sat on it and went or marry ways. We made our silent noises, murmured around and that was it.

I was exasperated. It is not like he was making a pass at the little girl but he just as well could have. I remember being young once and feeling humiliated by the unflattering behavior when the “guys were being guys”. I know the feeling. It is worth mentioning that I run into the girls a few aisles down; they thanked me but I could not shake the feeling that they did not grasp the depth of the situation.

Pontifice Pope Benedict XVI, please!

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pope_benedict_xviFirstly, I would like to indicate that this piece is not intended to offend anyone but to illustrate the pretense, absurdity and implication of a statement.

Who better than me to address this issue? In earnest, my upbringing and propinquity propels me to and under the circumstances, it is academic; I speak with authority when I say: Mr. Pope what’s up; yeah, what’s up?

Perhaps, this is not the moment (it is Easter season after all) to thump my religion, yes I am a practicing catholic, and it is not my goal either but when I heard the latest from Pope Benedict XVI, I was left speechless and to ask, with all due respect Sir where is your sense of responsibility?

By virtue you are the leader of a religion, the Roman Catholic Church, an institution of specific core beliefs and values, idealized and followed and revered by many whom by all accounts sees you as man of great statue; hence, with the moral obligation to be choosy and parsimonious considering that your words, carries a lot of clout and weight.

My blood rose up and my head spun and I clung when I heard about the Pope’s latest toss; this time about AIDS and condoms.

Did I hear him right? Can someone please shoot me a pill if I am equivoqued, because I may need to be sterilized; no, not like that. I mean, the beat has been drumming for a while and the libretto traveling along, hand in hand, in concert raging the pot of doubters, rolling slowly, carving the mountain and band aiding the cracks of ignorance; a slew of work much fermented to the level where the world is today with this malady, and there he was.

Did he just say that the “use of condom actually will not solve AIDS?” C’mon Mr. Pope. This is me, your prodigal kid, born and raised, baptized and first, second and third communion completed; this is me, the daughter of a die-hard catholic couple – my mom attends church every single day; this is me, the one and only who until yesterday thought you were it; this is me, who still fasts prior to attending mass and this your response.

C’mon Mr. Pope, sorry, no insult here but you can’t know better; how could you but where is your sense of responsibility?

To be honest with you, I am confused; really I am confused because in one hand you advocate that all life are created equal; that life is precious and important and we should always value it regardless of its stages – hint, hint no abortion and no contraception; yet, you are telling millions not to give much credence to life after all by abstaining from using condoms. I mean how else can I file your statement or should I see you as one  mastermind grandstander and promoter of a brand, yourself. I mean whatever else is there to decipher?

Here you are pointing to the suffering humans that the biggest sin they committed was to have sex and worst gift they gave themselves, was to wear condoms. The fact that was even suggested and implied makes me pause.

This is really the message being disseminated to the world that the so-called plastic device they have been using to protect their wellbeing; that many have been advocating and professing to reduce the spread of the infectious disease, will not in any way, shape or form solve AIDS, I don’t know. Hum, it may not solve it but it may help right? Basically and with all due respect, you are indicating that people have the carte blanche to make a down payment or a lay-a-way plan on a burial plot. I mean, (I really love this word, I am meaning a lot) what in the world Mr. Pope!

On your way to Africa this week, a continent where manhood is measured by how they “have to feel” their mate; how a man is considered a man by how many women he can bang and how many children he can produce; this is a continent where a man is considered “supreme” virile by the power of his manhood; this is a continent where casual sex is considered a hobby, an activity; this is a continent where you do not make love, you have sex with as many random partners as you can obtain; this is a continent that has been immensely ravaged by the disease where daughters and sons are not being raised by mommies and daddies but grandmas, a disseminated generation totally obliterate but you unceremoniously put down the much advancements that have sustained the same policy you are deploring; it is besides me.

It is bad enough that organizations are fighting, promising anything and everything possible to convince the doubters and worriers that condom will protect them, and just now that they are breaking down barriers, making inroads, you throw them a lollipop. How irresponsible!

‘”You can’t resolve it with the distribution of condoms,” the pope told reporters aboard the Alitalia plane heading to Yaoundé. “On the contrary, it increases the problem.”’ Speaking with authority of one who knows best and has a handle on the situation, his answer to the equation that “the responsible and moral attitude toward sex would help fight the disease.” You are joking right? Mr. Pope, don’t get me started. Why doesn’t he inject all the money that has been paid out to victims of sexual molestation into aiding his cause? I mean, we would have enough money to buy out a country and make it wholesome.

Obviously, you really do not understand, you have no idea what it means to have a combustive reaction Pontifice. This is what feels like when two sexual insatiated bodies’ fluids fuse and catch on fire; they burst out.

It is bad enough that all come to a screeching halt when the bell rings in the middle of one good tango (%$*&6$) and you are reminded to pull up the goods; now you decry us with one more slogan; have an honest attitude towards sex – reject the use of condoms against artificial contraception and fidelity in marriage and abstinence from premarital sex as key weapons in the fight against AIDS. Yeah, I can just see it, starving souls waiting in line to get a dose of an antidote of moral value; lifeless souls on a moribund marriages abstaining from infidelity; ok, whatever you say Mr. Pope, try that elsewhere. I guess you really haven’t been living in the 21st century. God if only my mother could hear me. As Bristol Palin said, preaching abstinence does not work. We all have physiological needs; it is how we approach it that can be the subject of individual discussion.