Confessions of a Pimperella: Addicted to Love

Facebook is a wondrous tool. I have reconnected with old friends. I keep in touch with family abroad. I also get all the latest chisme about my friends before they even have a chance to share it with me. Case in point, I found out my friend Watts was pregnant through some subtle but very suggestive wall postings. I mean, the element of surprise was gone but I knew what to expect and I am naturally nosey.

Recently I logged-in, cruised through my notifications, and scanned the homepage to see what was going on in my friend’s lives—when I see it.

MP went from being "single" to "in a relationship." · Comment · Like / Unlike

Usually Facebook posts don’t confuse and slow me me down but this one got me stuck on stupid.
“Errrr. He is now in a relationship? But He and C-Dawg are dating. So if she is dating him and he is in a relationship then… she does have a whole album dedicated to ‘them’. But she was excited about being single and doing hoodrat stuff… Was MP dating someone else?…”

This second grade reasoning game went on for a good eight minutes when I finally came to terms that C-Dawg was no longer single. Now, if you are a follower you will recall this blog entry about two months ago. I was excited that my friend was finally single with me. I was stoked that we could tag-team flirt and I was worried that mankind would never be the same. Well that is all over. Gone. Single-hoodrat-shinnanigans are done! I am crushed. I text C-Dawg to get it straight from her

Inez: You and MP?...Together?

C-Dawg: Who is this? My contacts got erased.

Inez: Shabangboo (My nickname)
Aaaaaand you and MP?

C-Dawg: Yes we r!

Inez: OMG!!! What! No mames! Off the market again?!?! Sigh. We’ll always have Vegas.

C-Dawg: I can’t deny love…

Inez: Love!?!?! Woooooow. Aww. That is awesome.

C-Dawg: I think I am a love addict…u can write a blog about it.

Inez: Vale.

I take this as a legally binding license to creative freedom. Here is goes…

C-Dawg and MP have know each other for a very long time (I believe since High School, maybe longer) and have a solid foundation as friends and mutual horn dogs. I have heard that the best lovers are friends, and from what C-Dawg has told me about MP’s skills, the saying rings true. The boy is hung and lays pipe. So why am I so hesitant about this?

“I think I am a love addict…”

Now I am no Dr. Drew but I have seen enough Intervention to know that too much of anything is never good. My partner in crime addicted to love? I am worried about this trend of serial monogamy leading to more broken hearts and less crazy Vegas weekends. I just can’t understand it. My last relationship was two years long and I have been avoiding commitment like the swine flu. She gets out of a six year relationship and jumps right back on the saddle. Is she crazy?

Now, as a self professed relationship risk assessor (direct cause of my single hood), I look at their situation and conclude that they are are in fact fucking crazy. Main points that should be mentioned:

1. They have a tight circle of friends. And I mean TIGHT. They are the Mexican American equivalent of the 90210 cast (for my younger followers; think Gossip Girl…or err 90210). If they were to end up not working out there would be a subsequent butterfly effect hat would cause all kinds of drama in their group. Who would get who in the divorce? Whose side will people take? Manolo might even finally forget he is gay and finally succumb to my sexual advances. Hmm this might work out.

2. MP is still technically married. Stereotypical thoughts of what kind of men cheat on their wives aside, the divorce processes is intense and well cause stress in their relationship. Lucky there are no children involved. Note**MP has a sincerity about him that gives me confidence he’ll do right by C-Dawg. God help him if he doesn’t. Remember I am from Chula Vista, Puto.

3. Last, MP lives in San Diego. C-Dawg lives in Long Beach. Long distance. Nuff said.
These three pressing issues consume my thoughts (hyperbole) when I am invited by C-dawg to go to Oktoberfest in OB. Everyone had flaked on them and she wanted to know if I was still down to hang. I was, but then realized I’d be the third wheel. A small twinge of anxiety hits me. Will I be able to bite my tongue about my concerns if I have a little liquor in me and I am alone with them? I am an asshole after all.

All is well as we hang out. Luckily, MP has a great sense of humor and most of my ridiculousness rolls off his back. Then we end up at a restaurant with the rest of the homies and this conversation starts.

C-Dawg: Basically people, me and MP have been dating since December!

Inez: Wait! So that makes both of you cheating son-of-a-bitches! You were with BK until last week of July and YOU (pointing at MP) didn’t leave your wife until two weeks later!

C-Dawg’s face; a mixture of half-shame and a little “If he is your man then he wasn’t last night” swagger. I feel like a jerk for opening my big trap; we all thought it, I just said it. I quickly back track and say, “Well, I love that your boyfriend lives in San Diego. I get to see you more often.”
C-Dawg: He is trying to get me to move down here.

Instantly, I am a fan. Truth be told, of all my friends, C-Dawg is the one I worry about the least when it comes to her choices in men. She is a strong chick that isn’t afraid to state what she wants. If she has decided to be in couple hood already after only being single for a couple months then he must be pretty special. Besides, perhaps someday I'll join her…

The Pimperella Gets Recipe for Disaster

On my recent trip to Tucson AZ, with my mom and sister, we stayed with an old family friend named May. Now May is someone you would say is very unconventional. She has six dogs (two that are blind). I am not exaggerating when I say she has a massive hole in her living room floor. She works with the Zapatista Indians, roasting, grinding, and distributing their coffee, for free? I am all about helping your fellow man but you need to get paid too. Dance with capitalism every once in a while, you know?

Saturday morning we made breakfast and sat around for some girl talk. In the living room are my mother (‘Ama), May, and her friend Rita. I was enjoying the spirited conversation amongst my eccentric friends but nothing could prepare me for the knowledge I was about to receive.

Rita: You know what is really good for the skin? Babies’ pee. Just grab the diaper and blot it on your face. (Mimes blotting face)

‘Ama: You know my mom use to tell me that! When I use to change Inez’s diapers I would think about it but the thought of it me daba asco.

Rita: No it works! (Notices my disgusted look and addresses me) Gives you something to look forward to when you have children.

Me: Whoa. That is a huge assumption! Who says I'm having kids?

‘Ama: Mija, when you’re ready. Not anytime soon.

Me: Right. (Pretend to be talking to a small child) You may have ruined all my fun with a life-time commitment* but my skin has never looked so radiant. I’ll pass on peepee face.

-The room laughs-

‘Ama: You know what my mom also use to say? That the first period blood was good too. She wanted to ask my niece Michelle but I told her not too. I forgot to ask Inez and my other daughter. They never want to tell you when they get their first period.

May: Do you know what my mother told me. (Addressing me) This is how you make a man yours forever. You get a little of your period blood and put it in his food. He eats it and your scent will always be on him. He’ll crave and want no body else.

Me: Wait a minute! Are you serious!

May: Yeah, homegirl. He’ll be your sex slave.

Me: May, I don’t know about you, but it has been my experience that men don’t need much motivation to have sex.

May: No, not just sex. They will be yours, and only yours. They’ll never want anybody else. Now, you have to be careful. You can’t do this to any looser. You don’t want anybody to be obsessed with you.

Me: No of course not because that would be ridiculous.

May: Yeah just put it in his spaghetti sauce and he’ll never tell the difference.

Eeew. What would Sam the Cooking Guy say?

This horrifies and scares me at the same time, yet I felt the need to tell my friends. I pick up my phone and text my girls. The following are their responses:

C-dawg: That’s fucking CLASSIC

Dalo’s response was way more her style:

Dalo: WTF? Period blood? YIKES!!! Omg that just set up my day!!! Ask her next time “What if you don’t get periods anymore?

Me: Anymore?!?!

Dalo: I know [women] who don’t get their periods.

Me: Then they’ll be alone forever.

Dalo: Was she really serious or joking?

Me: Serious. IDK if it works. I’ll let you know.

Dalo: OMG! No Inez! Who would be your lucky contestant?

Me: I’ll let you know.

Anyone free this Friday? Any takers? No?

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 24

Go here for the previous chapter.

Garret, Jay, and Adrianna look at the contents of the package now lying upon the kitchen table. The anticipation of what the contents were fell flat when they opened it-- a keychain from a self- storage place with three keys jangling on the end, an address with no city or zip, and a SIM chip.

“What is all this?” Adrianna asks.

The question hangs in the air. Garret is so completely exhausted his joints hurt. His mind tries to make connections with these items but he knows so little about Veronica that he feels like a dog biting the stream of a water hose; grasping nothing. Jay picks up the keys.

“Where is this storage place? Is it around this area?” asks Jay as he passes them to Adrianna.
“Oh no. I have never heard of it before.”

“Well the little key there is a distinguishable Master Lock key. So if we find that storage unit we can open it,” determines Jay.

Adrianna picks out the largest key. “This looks like a car key. Maybe a duplicate since it doesn’t have the make on it?”

Jay sighs and fights the urge to completely wipe the table clean of the items. He is frustrated. For his entire young life he has been able to be in control of everything. He has never felt so completely helpless and this spiraling feeling is making him see red.

He had never let in a girl as far as he has with Veronica. All his other girlfriends had no clue what he was involved in and he liked it that way. They were safe and he was making money. Now here he is. The woman that he has fallen for the hardest has somehow worked her way into his world and he feels completely vulnerable. Garret starts to sob. A deep, convulsing cry that scares him and everyone else in the room.

“Boss? Are you ok?”

Garret rushes to the bathroom and rinses his face in cold bursts of water. He can’t loose her. –splash- She complements him. –splash- He’ll never find anyone like her again. –splash-
Garret looks at his reflection and stares deeply into his swollen red eyes. He needs to focus. He wants to be able to look in the mirror and not be ashamed of the man glaring back at him. Veronica has changed his life.

A gentle knock on the door breaks Garret of his trance. “Mijo? The taxi is here. Are you ready to go?” The door slowly opens and Adrianna invites herself in. She turns him around and gives him a gentle wordless hug.
“Vasquez is a fool. If I were 20 years older…”

Their laughter brightens up the mood. “We have to go, mijo. The taxi is waiting.”

The night before Jay made travel arrangements for them to go to LA to get to Veronica. They gather their things and head out to the cab.

“So while you were having an emotional break down,” says Jay rolling his eyes. “I called information and found out that this storage place is in San Ysidro.”

“That is on the American side of the boarder.”

“Yup. Which makes me believe that this street address is in the same city.”

“Elementary my dear Watson.”

“Don’t be a dick. Sorry Adrianna.”

“Aye mijo. I had men shooting in my house last night and my daughter is in a coma. The word ‘dick’ is the last of my problems.”

The cab driver abruptly makes a left turn.

“This isn’t the way to the airport,” instructs Adrianna.
“There has been a change of plans,” grunts the man.

Confessions of a Pimperella: Don’t Be That Girl

My friend Tom is undeniably my polar opposite. He is Caucasian, conservative, and plays golf. We get into heated debates about politics and racial differences but we always end them with a hug and a “You know I love you, boo.” We have a friendship that I am sure will stand the test of time. Tom and I share three similarities that bond us tighter than Ann Coulter’s ass hole (conservative jab; had to do it Tom). One, we can crack each other up. He is one of the few people that I could be locked a white room with no windows and doors and we could still have fun. Two, we aren’t afraid to be assholes. Feelings need to be hurt sometimes for the better good. Finally three, we concern ourselves with doing the right thing for our friends and family.

Recently, Tom was involved with a stage five cling-on (a girl he dated who just couldn’t come to terms with there well established “just friends” status), that we will call Sa-crazy. The following are a list of crazy things she did after they stopped dating:

-Asking his gym front desk if he had checked in that day.

-Showing up uninvited at his house then having dinner...with his parents.

- Emailing him excessively to apologize, tell him he wasn’t shit, and then apologize to him again.

-Shamelessly seducing Tom while over and over he would say no. Well, he did give in a few times, but say no to me once and I would never beg for it.

-She became buddy-buddy with Tom’s socially awkward friend Rustin (more on him later). Tom wasn’t talking to her and she would post something on Rustin’s wall nearly everyday. I am sure in an attempt to still be visible to Tom.

All of this on top of the crazy things she did while they were dating, which included:
-Calling me to wish me a Happy Birthday—at 3am on Tom’s phone.

-Humoring the abusive text messages from her ex-boyfriend. They had been broken up for 2 years...

…I am sure I have established the intensity of this girl’s crazy. Agreed? Whenever, Tom would tell me they were hanging out again I would wonder what he was thinking but would appreciate that he was capable of taking care of himself.

Fast Forward to Tom’s birthday. I show up at the house of one of Sa-crazy’s friends. Immediately, all the girls start shooting me daggers with there eyes, but I figured it was becasue I was new, and we started taking shots. Perhaps a few too many because the night ended with me being upset and Tom hugging me and telling me I am not an asshole (long story).

A week later I find out from Tom that Sa-crazy&Company thought he and I were dating and that we were being disrespectful to her by hugging at the end of the night. Sa-crazy knows we dated. She knows he and I are just friends. –sigh-

Dilemma: I knew I’d see her again at a comedy show we were all going to go to.
Resolve: I’ll ignore her. She doesn’t like me. I don’t like her. Why waste our energy on fake-ass small talk?

The night comes and I arrive at Tom’s house. First thing out of his mouth: “Oh my god. Why can’t my friends and family have my back?”

“Why what happened?”

“First, Sa-crazy has been emailing my dad. What the fuck? And I found out through my mom that they talked on the phone the other night.”

“Whaaaa…that is creepy.”

“No shit! And now Rustin just called saying that Sa-crazy doesn’t want to drive up there by herself and that he is going to drive her and her friend up. He said he would still drive if I was cool with that. He knows I wouldn’t be cool with that!”

So we drove separately. At the show I ignored her. When her and her friend got up to get drinks, Tom and I let Rustin know that she was crazy and he let us know that he felt he was in the middle. He wanted to maintain their friendship because they were “fun”. We assured him that we weren’t going to make him pick sides and that we still thought he was awesome. We continued with the show. That night Sa-crazy sent Tom a message via Facebook; the next day, I got one too. The following is the exact message (purple=my thoughts)

Fuck, she messaged me.

Sa-crazy Batshit September 20 at 9:34am Report

So I just wanted to clear a few things up for you...Especially since Tom thought it appropriate to email MY good friend (Who Rustin? He and Tom have been friends for years. Now he is YOUR [all caps] good friend?), I figure I should be able to get my words in...

A- I would really appreciate it if you kept your thoughts about me between you and Tom, or at least not to one of MY good friends. If you had something to say to me then I was only sitting two chairs down and would've been nice had you said it to ME and not my friend. (I was trying to warn him about your crazy, fool. I don’t care if you know I don’t like you!)

B- I hear that you had some words to say about my friends as well. (No. Didn’t say anything about your friends. Just that they talked about me.) So I just wanted to let you know that I think it's cute (cute?) that you think we even spent anytime at all talking about you, but we didn't. All that was said was that it would've been nice had you even made an attempt to thank my friends who invited you into their home and drank their alcohol (They were pushing shots on me!) and put on that shindig that you were invited to for YOUR friends bday. So no, not one of my friends disliked you but did mention that did not even say more than a hello to the hosts...but flatter yourself as you may saying that people hated you at that party! I do believe when I showed up to your house for your bday, I did not show up empty handed ($5 bottle of wine…ooooh I am sorry!) and made sure to say a few thank you's, but I guess we do things differently. (You were also text messaging your ex-boyfriend in front of Tom at my birthday “shindig”. You’re right we do “do things differently”.)

You and Tom both wanna sit there and say how you guys are drama free and yet as soon as I walk away for 5 min, you blast one of my friends with all your drama?! Tom can run around telling people he changed his number cause "I'm so crazy" when I didn't even know he changed it cause I've only tried calling him once! (He said you begged him to get back with you for “just a few more months”. You’re pathetic.) Very drama free?? We were just there to have fun and not cause any trouble, so it angered me a little to find out that you needed to talk to my friend about me. When neither of your names were in our mouths up until that point. I wouldn't expect anything less than for you to have Tom's side (That’s right! WEST SIDE! Loc up! I'm from Chula Vista, homes!) and say what you will to him about me (I have. Always thought he could do better then you. He had--with me), I could care less, I just don't like when people become shady. You apparently said how "rustin-you are such a nice guy, how could you take HER side" Well maybe cause it IS the right side...Either way, Tom is leaving to vegas, hopefully sooner than later, and you and I will probably never see each other again. Just thought I should be able to defend myself (why do you care what I think?) at least with a few points since you guys wanted to do all the shit talking while I was not around...Good talk! Thanks! (You’re welcome. Hope you feel better. Cut yourself a little too, crazy.)

She sent this to me at 9:30am. This means after her morning piss and serving of Wheaties, she thought it important to message me. Get a life.

I got this while out with Ike. His response; “Bitch is fuckin’ crazy. Who is this broad?”

So after reading this I didn’t respond back. I know it would have made for more juicy blog material (sorry followers), but I couldn’t give her what she wanted--a reply. I blocked her instead. Which means when she tries to follow it up with more hate mail, she’ll be denied. I think that is even sweeter. I also had to delete Rustin from my friends and block him as well. He had shared details of our conversation with her and I could never trust him again. I’ll miss him though.

When it comes down to it, I haven’t had this sort of drama in my life since high school and it was a splash of cold reality; girls like this still exist. Ladies! Do not be this girl! If a boy breaks up with you, let him go. If you hear people have talked shit about you, let those haters hate. When the negative people around you see you sweat they have won. The truly embrace the pimperella mantra, you have to be as cool as a cucumber, baby boo.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 22

Jay looks at Garret with wonder as he passes the threshold without hesitation. Both Garret and Vasquez look back at Jay when they realize he is not following them in. Garret reads his friend’s apprehension and steps back outside.

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, boss? This is fucking stupid. Are you really going to follow the man who just tried to kill you and his daughter into this house?”

“Listen, we are here. If Vasquez wants us dead he’ll kill us if we go inside or not. If you want to stay in the car with Arturo and his sweaty-overweight-wife-beater-wearing ass, go right ahead. I am sure that would be more comfortable.”

Just then they hear a woman’s voice call from inside.

“Estan aqui? El novio? Averlo!”

A small woman with the same breath-taking features as Veronica steps out on to the porch. She smiles at them with pain in her eyes. “Which one of you is Gah-rrr-et?” His harsh English name struggles to escape the smooth sounds her tongue is use to saying. She grabs both of their hands and gently guides them inside as Garret introduces himself and Jay. Her gentle demeanor hypnotizes Jay and he gives way to his anxiety.

They enter into the small living room where Vasquez is seating on the couch and five of his men stand and sit throughout the room; dominating the small space. Sra. Nuñez shoos two men out of the Lazy-Boy chairs that straddle a small table directly across from where Vasquez is seated. The two men reluctantly vacate, surprised by her absolute indifference to whom they are.

“Sit down boys.” Jay and Garret look at Vasquez’s men as they sit down. “You want something to eat? I got some mole cooking. It is Vero’s favorite. I thought it would make me feel better but it has made me more of a nervous wreck.”

Sra. Nuñez doesn’t wait for them to answer. She takes a deep breath and heads to the kitchen. Garret’s line of vision follows Sra. Nuñez into the kitchen and then falls onto Vasquez’s stern glare.

“I read the letter you wrote to Veronica…”

Vasquez pauses like he’ll continue and the awkward silence makes Garret shift his weight in his chair. In a desperate attempt to fill the silence, Jay clears his throat. Sra. Nuñez rushes back into the room and sets up two TV trays in front of Jay and Garret.

“Sra. Nuñez, please. I don’t think I am all that hungry,” explains Garret to deaf ears.

“Don’t be silly. It is Vero’s favorite and you have had quite an adventure,” says Sra. Nuñez as she walks back into the kitchen. They hear her rattling plates as she continues to yell out from the kitchen, “And please call me Adrianna. John, quit glaring at those young men. If it wasn’t for you Vero wouldn’t be in LA. I can’t wait to see her! We’ll let the boys eat and then we’ll go.”

“Wait. Why is Vero…err…Veronica in LA?” asks Garret.

“I know specialist at Cedar Sinai and my daughter deserves the best of care. She deserves the best in all things. Don’t you think?” interrogates Vasquez.

“I couldn’t agree with you more. Do we know her condition?” Sra. Nuñez enters the room with two warm plates of mole.

“Well, she is in a coma,” she informs them, “but we have to stay positive that she’ll wake soon. Positive thoughts and prayers will see her through this.” She sets down the plates and waits for them to take a bite. “Eat!”

Jay and Garret push the food around their plates and begin taking small bites. Jay breaks the silence, “No es por nada Senora—you makes the best mole I have ever tasted!” Sra. Nuñez, satisfied that they like her cooking, leaves to back for her trip.

“Her cooking and the sound of her laughter made me fall in love with her,” laments Vasquez and he continues, “Like I mentioned, I read your letter to Veronica. I heard my younger voice in that letter. I would have done anything for Adrianna and Veronica and I made some big sacrifices. What are you welling to sacrifice Garret?”

Sha-boo-boo is Single: Farmers Hide Your Sons

Sha-boo-boo (aka C-Dawg), my girl of close to 11 years and my best friend is now unattached. Status update: C-dawg is now single. She has recently broken up with her boyfriend of 6 years and to say it was a shock is an understatment.

I received the text on Saturday morning and I was floored. They had been together for so long, and even though they had had their problems I didn’t think she’d actually break up with him. I looked at my phone in a daze: “BK and I broke up yesterday :(.” I blinked twice as my foundation crumbled around me. In a sick and twisted way I looked at their relationship as a model of a what I’d like to have in my couplehood—to a certain extent. They were friends. They had a similar sense of humor and they enjoyed being around eachother. It was lovely to watch them dote on eachother. That all changed.

Without getting into too much detail, C-Dawg had become unhappy. She had clearly expressed the things she wanted from him, but the relationship was not progressing the way she had hoped. It was time to end it, and now she feels great. She feels free. I’ll miss BK (he was my good friend too) but I am so relieved to have my best friend back.

I had noticed a slight change in C-Dawg a couple years ago. She would become pessimestic and negative at times. She would shit all over stuff and then say, “I’ve hit a wall. I am ready to go home.” I’d look at her and wonder, Who are you? Where is my girl? The girl that danced with me on the bar, and when we got down the security guard said, “You better get back up there and show those bitches how it’s done.” The girl that helped me put a rusty exercise bike in Oscar’s jeep. The girl that knows what I mean by, “In front of La Virgen? No respect.”

Well, she is back. We figured on Tuesday during Happy Hour (yes I went to a Happy Hour on a Tuesday. Don’t judge.) that her and I have only been single for about 6 months of our friendship, and those 6 months had been bananas. I am looking forward to that period in my life recycling itself through again.

We are going to Vegas this weekend. We are going to break some hearts. Change some lives. And shatter some worlds. Stay tuned for subsequent posts.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 20

“Bue…bue…buenos días, Señor Vasquez.”

“Hay una enferma, joven, que se llama Veronica, aqui?”

The front desk receptionists shoot glances at each other. He is asking for the young beauty that came in with the two young men. She was still unconscious and would be defensless against a brute like Vasquez.

“Si, creo que esta aquí.” The receptionist picks up the phone and quickly dials Dr. Jimenez’s extension. After a fe mumbled exchanges, the receptionist says, “El doctor quiere hablar con usted antes que te lleve verla.”

“Bueno. Aquí espero.”

The nurse knows that Dr. Jimenez has done “side” work for Vasquez before. The good doctor had even been flown to the states to tend to a bullet wound El Chulo had gotten from a rival familia while doing business in Juarez. Dr. Jimenez could pacify Vasquez—get on his good side. The last thing she wants is a blood bath in the lobby.

Vasquez takes a seat next to a woman holding a snot-nosed toddler. His heart fills with worry. The last time he had seen Veronica happy was when she was the age of the little one in the seat next to him. He asks the woman how long she has been waiting to be seen. She looks at Vasquez and rolls her eyes. She mutters something under her breath; asking rhetorically why he cares, and stating even louder that he should slum it more often. Vasquez realizes that she must be incredibly poor. Anyone with access to internet, TV, or a newspaper would know not to talk to him like that.

A man in the next row over behind the woman nudges her shoulder and whispers something in her ear.

“Yo si ce quien es! Y a mi que me importa?”

The woman’s eyes pierce into Vasquez. For once, in a long time Vasquez feels intimidated by another person. He respects her for this—her fearlessness. She glances behind him as Dr. Jimenez walks up.

“Hello sir,” interrupts Dr. Jimenez. “The receptionist let me know you were looking for the young woman that just came in?”

“Yes. I’d like to see her.”

The doctor rings his hands. His nervousness makes Vasquez anxious. “Please tell me what wrong Doctor is. I don’t have time to play games.” Vasquez takes a deep breath, “The truth is she is my daughter. I have made a mess of a lot of things and I need to make sure she is safe.”

The doctor looks at Vasquez with shock and fear. His daughter? He knows giving him bad news could mean his life. Stalling won’t work now. Dr. Jimenez motions for them to start walking towards her room, “Sr. Vasquez the head trauma is severe.”

“What is the prognosis?” asks Vasquez has they enter her room. She looks like an angel asleep. Her arm is hooked up to an IV and the room is filled with a chorus of beeps announcing her vitals. Vasquez was not prepared to see her like this and he rushes back out, “let’s talk in the hallway and let her rest. Please, let me know her condition.”

“Well, to be honest, we don’t have the resources to fully assess the extent of her injury. She is in a coma now, but stable. I suggest we air lift her to the United States were they could better treat her.”

Vasquez agrees motions with his hand and one of his men miraculously comes from around the corner. “Ernesto, make arrangements to transport Veronica to Cedars Sinai. Contact Dr. Mollenkopf. He’ll know what preparations need to be made.” Vasquez directs his attention to Dr. Jimenez, “Can you fax her chart to them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Also Doctor, I want you to personally see that the woman with the small child in the waiting room is cared for next. Send this and any future bills to me. They will be taken care of.”

“Yes I will. Right away,” says Dr. Jimenez confused by the request. “Oh, before I forget. A young man wanted us this to give this to Veronica when she came to.” He hands Vasquez the letter.

Vasquez opens it and reads it.


Dear Veronica,

Jay and I were told we couldn’t see you or get an update on your condition because we aren’t family. We left. I am sorry. I wish I could have protected you from all of this. I failed you as a man.

Jay and I are headed to your mom’s house. I am going to bring her back. If I need a family member to find out that your ok, I’ll move mountains to get one. I wish I was meeting her in happier circumstances but I need to make sure your going to be OK. It is my only focus.

I’ll see you soon—healthy.

Yours,
Garret

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 18

Garret squints through the dust until the figure begins to take a familiar shape—it’s Jay. Never had the sight of his trusted friend looked so good. Jay approaches cautiously. When he realizes that the jeep he had just witnessed flipping over had Veronica and Garret in it he rushes over and kneels next to Veronica.

“Oh my God! Is she breathing?”

“Yeah. Shit! Jay, what do I do?”

Jay Looks around them and his stomach twists with dread. They are in the middle of no where and Veronica clearly needs medical attention.

“Let’s move her to those trees so that her body doesn’t over heat under the sun.”
Garret obeys mindlessly. The adrenaline that shot through his blood is fading, and his body begins to ache. Under the trees Jay asks if there is any water in the Jeep. Garret shrugs his shoulders.

“You need to pull it together, boss. We need to figure out what our next move is going to be.”

“All we have been doing is reacting and figuring out. We need to plan,” sighs Garret. “For whatever reason Vasquez has stopped chasing us. I don’t think he grew a heart. Even is Veronica is his daughter, he is still a cold hearted son of a bitch. He’ll be back and he’ll be ready to kill us.” Garret looks down at Veronica. Suddenly renewed with a sense of responsibility to Veronica and Jay, Garret stands up and runs to the jeep to survey what resources they have available to them. He looks through the wreckage and finds a flare gun, to jugs of water, the berretta he had found earlier, and a CB radio.

The radio cracks. –beep- Boss, for clarification, we are turning back to head quarters? Over.

-Beep- Yes announces Vasquez’s deep voice. That is an order. It is done. Over.
-Beep- Sir, suggestion to make a sweep of the area. Over.
A long pause makes the silence torturous for Garret. If they come back he’ll have to move Veronica away from the jeep.
-Beep- That will not be necessary. Please let others know that it is a direct order. I’d like for arrangements to be made by the time I return to move on to Juarez. I’d like to leave immediately. That is all. Over.

Garret can’t believe what he is hearing but he’ll accept it. Just then Jay calls out to Garret.
“Hey Garret! She is bleeding from her ear!”

Confessions of A Female Player: A Playa Is Born

Slut, whore, skank, and cum dumpster are terms with such a negative connotation and I don’t feel describe me in the least. I don’t charge for sex. I don’t dress provocatively. Most importantly, I am particular on who dumps their cum on me (safe sex kids). For lack of a better term, I am going to refer to myself as a female player. The fact that women don’t have a better term that expresses they don’t give a damn about these “suckas” is a shame, but that is a blog topic for another time. For the time being, player is the best way to describe my current need for sex and my utter avoidance of commitment. To better understand the root of my “playa status” I should briefly describe my past relationships.

At 17, I moved in with my boyfriend after a long 3 month courtship. After a nearly 4 year abusive relationship, I returned to our little apartment from a work trip only to find a young woman in our bathroom. She was still dewy from the shower she took and her clothes were still in the dryer. Bless her heart. She had laundry to do after fucking my boyfriend. Following frantic apologies and rushed efforts to have her leave without me going ape-shit, we agreed it was over and I moved out.

At 23, I met another young man with a lot of promise. He had a genius IQ, was the executive of a payment option company, and my dad thought he was bright. Two years into our relationship he gave me the “It’s Not Working” speech and we broke up. Three months later I found out that what was not “working” for him was being a two-timing bastard. I found out through lengthy text messages from the “other woman” that they were sleeping together for 8 months of our relationship.

After these two disastrous tramples with cupid I went through a minor playa period. I avoided anything serious and dated casually. I knew I wasn’t ready for another serious relationship but I had faith that since I was a good person that would find a good man.

Then, I met disaster number three; a tall, dark, and handsome man that made me drop all my walls only to break up with me, get back together with me, break up with me again, get back together with me, and then break up with me again. This emotional roller coaster was what officially catapulted me into full on player-hood.

You can say I am suffering major posttraumatic stress disorder of the douche-bag sort. As much as I’d like to say I am not jaded, I can’t help but think every guy is a jerk. I have managed to build fort-quality walls up in an attempt to protect myself, and the “deal-breakers” I discover persistently dwarf any perspective relationships. To say I am a heartbreaker is an understatement and at the same time I wish I could say I care that I hurt them.

-Cue Rick James: “Coooold Blooded.”

So as I chronicle my dating life, know that you are reading the thoughts of an extremely scarred woman. Should I ever say, “This guy is special. He has won me over,” be prepared to RSVP to a miracle wedding. Pigs will fly, the Devil will have frost on his car, and I’ll be wearing white.

PS. Honorable mention will be made to the follower who can create a better term then “female player.”

You Can't Cook Up This Kind Of Chemistry in the Lab

There is the danger zone, the no-fly zone, the school zone, and even the T-zone. However, today I want to talk about the dreaded “friend zone”. For clarification, this is a vast black hole that is void of any sexual tension or passion. No spark, no chemistry, and no hanky-panky can be found in this area. This, my few followers, is the zone Baby Face (last night’s date) coasted into.

I met Baby Face (he doesn’t look a day over 19 and he is a year younger then me) a while ago and we have gone on a few dates but nothing had ever materialized. He is cute, goal oriented and a devoted father. We have a similar sense of humor and the conversation flows smoothly. All of this is great; however, when I consulted with my clitoris mid-date she said, “Yeah I am getting no love ‘n feeling down here. Abort.” Fail.

I know my male followers (at least the straight ones) are collectively rolling their eyes. “Give him a chance. If he is a nice guy try to make it work.” And a nice guy he is. He brought snacks for our hike, made sure I was comfortable, and opens the car door for me first. None of that is lost on me and if I had a burning desire for him to couple with all of that we’d be in Vegas right now. I just can not suffer through a relationship with no sexual chemistry.

What pains me the most is that at the end of the date he gave me a peck (what is this 7th grade?) and said, “We have to do this very soon. Don’t let this much time pass before calling me again.” -Gulp- We do? I shouldn’t? I’ll have to talk to him and tell him I’d love to remain friends. Ouch.

She's Back and Taking Numbers...Literally

The Dating Diva is back! I know not since “Pool Cue”, have I posted anything about my personal life, but the cat is out of the bag (pun not intended). You are going to get all the deets now. Some guys I have dated are my facebook friends and since I happily post links of my entries, their names are going to be changed to protect their identity. They’ll know who they are, and they might not like it, but I no longer care. This is being done for the good of singlehood. If one person can benefit from my romantic failings then this blog will have been all worth it.

So moving forward--I am single. No surprise to the people that know me best. Between bad dates (“Tom, text me that you are really drunk and need me to pick you up.”), Bad relationships (“The tacky bitch text messaged me that my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with her!”), and living out other people’s horrors (“He cried on our date, but I’ll still keep my Match.com profile.”) I am going to try to share it all. Call it a Dating Diary.

So I have a date today. I’ll keep you all posted, and if any of you have any other “social experiments” you’d like me to try, let me know.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 16

The secret out; Vasquez’s shame hangs in the air like a thick bitter sap. He tries to read Veronica’s face for her reaction, but can’t identify the emotion behind her hazel eyes. She reaches for the Polaroid picture that Vasquez set down between them. She was afraid to touch it at first. Worried that as soon as she did, the reality of his story would hit her like a speeding train. As she confirms her younger self, Garret looks over her shoulder at the photograph. “Wow. You were a beautiful little girl.”

“Thanks,” utters Veronica. A tear falls down her cheek as the familiarity of the photo’s background makes her homesick. Aside from the shag carpeting that was replaced with linoleum flooring, her grandmother’s house has not changed much. She wipes the tear away quickly and shoots a glare at Vasquez.

“Do you know that I grew up on food stamps? That I had to watch my mother cry in shame when she couldn’t afford to buy me new shoes for school? That we the only thing we unwrapped at Christmas was tamales?” Veronica’s voice begins rising to a scream. “You fucker! You live in luxury. Private helicopter, tapestry covered walls, and fine tailored suits, and I am struggling to send money monthly to provide the bare minimum!” Veronica ninja-stars the Polaroid photo at Vasquez’s face and it bounces off his forehead. Veronica burst into sobs. “You weren’t there. You were never there. Screw your picture. Your sad story. Vasquez, power and money can’t get you out of the fact that you aren’t anything but a common dead beat dad.” Veronica, composes herself, stands up, and walks to the door. “Fuck all of this. I am out of here. Make them stop me. Have them shoot me in the back as I storm out. A coward like you would do something like that.” Veronica swings the door open to find a long tunnel in front of her.

“Please, Veronica. We are in a very remote area. At the chance you figure out the complex labyrinth of tunnels and get above ground, there isn’t anything for miles. You’d die of dehydration under that intense desert sun. Please sit down.”

Garret stands up and slowly walks up to Veronica. Tenderly hugs her and whispers in her ear, “You are an incredible woman and when this is all over I want to start fresh and be in your life. Please stay. We have to play this right. Be smart and stay cool.” Veronica nods and nudges past Garret as he whispers in her other ear, “By the way, telling off Vasquez was a total turn on.”
Veronica shoots Garret a sly smile, returns back to her seat, and asks plainly, “Where is Jay?”

“He will join us in a few minutes. However, before he arrives I’d like to proposition you two with a deal. Garret, Chulo informed me that you have made some grave mistakes in your dealings with my organization.”

Garret’s mouth dries up, “Sir, I am aware things did not go smoothly…”

“What I want to know, Garret.” Vasquez interrupts, “Is what you would have done differently.”

Garret searches for an answer. He is aware that that a bad answer could cost him his life. “Well sir, honestly, I’d of had Jay…”

Just then the door is busted open by El Chulo. His lip split open and a wilt forming above his left eye he yells in, “Number 2 has gotten away!”

“How can this be? Oh never mind. He won’t get far. Get my blood hounds and a group of ten of your best men,” Vasquez looks at Veronica and Garret, “We’ll continue when I return.” He rushes out the door and they hear the lock click them in.

“Fuck, Jay is in trouble!” Says Garret as he rushes to the door to try to open it/
“How do you know?”

“I got to make out an impression his ring made on El Chulos forehead. I am assuming ‘Number2’ is secret code for him since he works for me. Shit. We need to help him.”

Veronica stands up and looks around the room. “Well, we are in some kind of under ground bunker, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then they have to have a ventilation system.” Veronica reaches for the tapestry and pulls it off, exposing a large vent underneath. She reaches up and pops the cover off. “After you?”

“You’re crazy. What do you think we are, the A-team? Let me tell you, this is real life. We don’t know where that leads to.”

Veronica pops her hip and gives him an expression that reads: Really asshole? You got a better idea?

“OK. You’re right. Let me go in first.”

Garret pulls himself up and turns around to hoist Veronica in after him. The vent is large enough for them to be able to crawl on all fours as they maneuver through.
“I don’t even know if it is night or day.”

“Day. I see natural sun light ahead. Bad news. There is a huge industrial fan at the end.”

Veronica and Garret close in on the fan. “We need to jam it.” Veronica reaches under her shirt and does a maneuver that wiggles her out of her bra and she pulls it out of her sleeve. “Can we work with this? Maybe you can use the underwire.”
“Oh my god that was hot. You are just full of ideas.” Garret grabs the bra and pulls out the metal underwire from each cup. He twists them together to make it stronger and carefully slips it between the blades. The fan halts and jerks to get free.

“This won’t hold for long, hurry.”

They wiggle their way through and quickly move towards a Jeep parked a few feet away. Veronica and Garret both head for the drivers side. “I am driving,” declares Veronica.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes I am. One, you know Jay better and you would be better at spotting him. Two, I grew up in Arizona. I have been off-roading and driving quads since I was 15.”
“Good point.”

As Garret runs around to the passenger side, a bullet hits the car. Garret gets in as Veronica franticly grabs the key from the visor and starts the car. She peels out as they hear shouts from men announcing that they had escaped.

“We don’t have a lot of time before they are on our ass.”

Veronica turns sharply on a dirt road and busts through a gate. Garret looks in the back seat for a gun and turns up with a berretta.

“Not ideal but the best we got. It’s loaded…shit! Look ahead!

Four SUVs barrel down the road blocking their way and forcing Veronica into a game of chicken. Veronica breaks hard, kicks it into reverse, driving backwards at top speed as she swings it into a small side road she noticed a few hundred yards back. Not expecting her change of direction they drive past her, and she turns back on the main drag leaving them driving in the wrong direction.

A helicopter flies directly above them and follows Veronica’s every move. A small Cb radio sounds off in the jeep.

-Veronica, it is your… it is Vasquez. You have worn my patience. Stop the jeep.
Garret picks up the radio and talks into it. “Vasquez, I got an answer to your question. The one thing I would have done differently is I wish I had taken Veronica on a date. Just a date. No deals. No agendas. No drugs. I love her.”

Veronica looks at Garret. “You do?”

Just then the jeep hits a mound of dirt on the right side of the jeep and it flips over 3 times before coming to a halt.

Insults on a Plane: What Would Samuel L. Jackson Do?

A couple of months ago, in April, I went to Guadalajara Mexico to visit my very dear friend Josadac (Jojo). I really enjoyed my visit. We explored the city and caught up. Essentially it was 8 days of us soaking up as much quality time as possible since we live so far from each other now. It was great but like all great things, my visit concluded and I headed back home and to life.

The day of my return trip I knew I would be faced with a grueling day of travel. It was during swine-flu mania and I was sure since I was traveling from Mexico I’d be faced with one hold up after another. However, to my surprise, other then being head up in Dallas for two hours I didn’t hit any major snags. That is, until one of the most awkward traveling experiences I have ever had happened on my last flight.

Like I mentioned, we were held up in Dallas for two hours because of a thunder storm. Everyone was irate. Personally, I hate turbulence. I was more then happy to wait for it to pass. Give me clear skies. I’ll wait all night. We were finally given clearance to board, and like animals, everyone rushed to get on the plane. I rolled my eyes and waited for the stampede to clear and I sat back down. As soon as I felt the line had gone down I began to board the plane. Now I should say that whenever I travel I make prior arrangements to always get the aisle seat. I am prone to motion sickness and middle/window seats do nothing but excite my condition. So on my last flight, tired, and ready to go home, I worked my way down the aisle to find a young lady sitting in my seat hold the hand of the young man next to her. They must have been about 19-21 years old, wearing pajamas (pajama travelers are one of my biggest pet peeves, but that is a whole ‘nother blog) and giggling about some inside joke.

“Um,” I interrupt, “You are in my seat.”

The young couple shoots glances at each other and although I was only addressing the girl, her boyfriend speaks on her behalf.

“She was, um, wondering if you would trade seats with her.”

Open to hearing them out I respond with, “What seat do you have?”

“30b.”

First of all, “30” is in the back of the plane, which will not do. It is loud back there and people stand around you waiting to use the restroom. No. Second, “b”, as in the middle of “a” and “c”, is a middle seat and I can’t do middle, especially since I went out of my way to make arrangements for the aisle seat.

“Mmm, actually I do…”

In a flash the girl’s sweet and coy disposition turns to fury. She snaps her neck at the young man and yells, “See Kevin! I told you she wouldn’t! You are such an asshole! You are such a fucking asshole! Thanks a lot!” Totally making a scene, she grabs her things and storms off to the back of the bus and with an unspoken sense of duty Kevin follows behind her. Now here I am, awkwardly waiting for him to return since I can’t sit down until he does. He returns and sits down in the middle seat and I feel I should say something.

“I am really sorry. I get motion sickness and I have to sit in the aisle.”

“No, no, no. You don’t need to apologize.”

“You know, just because you’re a man that doesn’t mean you’re not in an abusive relationship,” I half joke with a nervous laugh. He looks at me and regards my statement as fact and turns away.

We settle in. I take out my magazine and wait for our take off. I hear them seal the door, the seat belt sign lights up, and we begin to move to the runway. Out of no where the girlfriend returns to our seat and says, “Obviously, no one else is boarding the plane. There isn’t anyone seating next to me. You can sit next to me now.” Her tone is more demand then request. Kevin looks at her, rolls his eyes, and settles deeper into his seat. Of course I am in the middle and I am frantically flipping through my magazine in an effort to escape from this awkward moment. She storms off and takes her seat.

The rest of my flight back home was pretty uneventful, but it got me thinking. How would that scenehave played out had it been a woman who was cussed out? Do we as society have more tolerance seeing a man in an abusive relationship?

I have to say this: at anytime a person disrespects you, belittles you, calls you names, and just plain sucks the life out of you, you are in an abusive relationship.

Abusive. Take the glorified connotation out of that word. Don’t think that just because you don’t live like Julia Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy, that you are in a healthy relationship. The person you are coupled with should support you and highlight your life. Not weight you down with their oppressive demeanor.

I know I am not the relationship guru. All my relationships have ended disastrously. I would just like us all collectively agree to treat our partners with respect. Like I have always said, “You’ll be my king if you treat me like a Queen.”

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 14

Click here for Chapter 13

After much confusion, a helicopter ride, and some shoving and pulling Veronica is lead to a cushioned chair and pushed down aggressively to take a seat. Still blind folded, Veronica hears whispers and strains to hear what is being said.

“Boss…touched her.”

“Take care of it…the boyfriend...she knows.”

“You sure?...messy…cops.”

“I don’t…leave…”

A long pause fills the room as her heart begins to race. The sound of her own blood pulsing through veins is the only sound she hears. A shift of movement shuffles around her. She senses they are preparing to finish her off.

“If you are going to kill me, can you do me the courtesy of taking off my blindfold? I’d like to see the face of my executer. Grant me the dignity of that, please.”

Just then Veronica feels someone gently untying her blindfold. Her heart races faster. This is it. I am going to die. As the blindfold is pulled away Veronica takes in the room. Windowless but ornately decorated. Veronica sits at the head of a long mahogany table. Beautiful tapestries cover the walls and an antique cabinet displays the most beautiful china. A man in his mid-sixties walks from behind her and sits adjacent to her. His salt and pepper hair contrast with his dark piercing eyes. He looks at Veronica as he shifts his weight in his seat and rests his elbow on the arm rest.

“Are you hungry?” the man asks with out emotion. Veronica is having a hard time reading him. His eyes, his body language, his tone—all are void of feeling.

“Where is Garret?”

“I am Vazquez,” he introduces, ignoring Veronica’s question. He leans over and presses the intercom on the table. “Victor, bring us some coffee and those Italian cookies.” A man walks in almost immediately and sets down a plate of exotic cookies and pours them each a cup of coffee.
“How do you take it?” asks Vazquez.

“To go.”

At this Vazquez reveals a smile. He takes in a sip of his coffee.

“Listen Vasquez, sir. I am very overwhelmed by all of this. Drugs, guns, helicopter flights—all of this is not my life.”

“Well, Veronica. This has very much become mine. And I have made myself a small fortune.”

“But at the cost of what? People’s lives?" Veronica swallows back tears, "Sir, where is Garret?”

“You like this boy. Why? He has exposed you to a lot of danger. A man that can not protect you does not deserve you. Remember I said that.”

“I’ll sow it onto a pillow so I’ll never forget.” Veronica is surprised by her own words. She knows she is playing with fire. A man like Vazquez is feared; not mocked.

“If you’re anything like your grandmother, your needle point is amazing.” Vazquez’s eyes dig into Veronica for a reaction.

“What do you know about my grandmother?” probes Veronica with a lump in her throat. She can handle herself but no one can touch her family.

“She makes the best tamales. Your mother could never get them right.” Vazquez looks down and examines his coffee. His face expresses that he is mulling over a memory. “Veronica, allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Vazquez and I am your father.”

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 12

Check out Chapter 11 here.

Garret’s eyes blink into focus until he can make out the details of the popcorn ceiling with gold glitter peeking out of its textured surface. Yup, I am in Mexico. He shifts his weight to roll over, when he is forced back down by a sharp pain in his shoulder. He looks down at the source of the ache and finds his shoulder bandaged up along with further evidence of his wound on the night stand next to his bed: tequila, bandages, a bloody bullet, and a poking rod. So much for it just being a flesh wound.

Garrett carefully straightens up in his bed and looks around the room. He is in nothing but a pair of boxers that are not his own. The walls are painted an obnoxious powder blue and each corner is adorned with some form of declaration to religious devotion. The room is saturated with the scent of laundry detergent mixed with burnt tortillas. Smells like abuelita’s house. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, finds the cold linoleum flooring under his feet, and places the palms of his hands on his forehead. His mind reels with the events of the last 72 hours. Has it been 72 hours? How long have I been out? His stomach churns as the gravity of the situation settles into his conscious. He knows Veronica is in danger.

There is no telling how long those goons had been following Jay. They might have already been on Jay’s trail when he went to pick up Garrett at Veronica’s place. Fuck. How did he ever convince himself that involving an outsider would be OK? Veronica was only supposed to be a mule—never in any real risk. The plan: they go on a blind date. While Garret charms her; Jay gets the stash, then solidify the deal in Long Beach. He didn’t think he’d be falling in love with her. He also didn’t think that she would be put in danger, but hindsight had now shed light on how completely naive that thought had been.

Garret sighs and lets his chin fall to his chest. His shoulder throbbing and his spirit defeated. How is he going to fix this? Garrett picks up the tequila bottle on the night stand, anchors it between his thighs, and wiggles the cork out with his good arm. He raises the bottle to his lips and takes a giant swig. The burning sensation rinses the acidic taste in his mouth but not the sense of dread he was hoping it would. Garret sets the bottle back down and looks around for his clothes when the bedroom door opens.

“Good, you’re up,” announces Jay as he steps in with a plate of chile con carne and fresh tortillas. “Eat something. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How long have I been out?” The dry raspy sound of his own voice startles Garret as he follows Jay with his eyes to the other side of the room.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing really. After we crossed the border it all pretty much fades to black.”

Jay sets the plate down on a desk adjacent to the bed. “Eat over here. My tia has already given me a lot of shit for the blood on her sheets. She wants you to eat here at the desk.”

Garret sways his upper body back and the momentum carries him to his feet. He walks to the desk and winces, “Shit. You never realize how much you use your shoulder until you have a bullet removed from it. Damn it hurts.” Garret sits down and takes a in a few small bites. Jay leans against the wall, crosses his arms and clears his throat, “Garret. Boss. There is something you need to know.” Jay swallows hard. “They got Veronica.”

“Fuck.” Garret jerks up from his chair only to be rudely reminded of his wound. He spins around and collapses on the bed. Jay turns the desk chair around to face the bed as Garret tries to breathe through the pain.

“God Damn, why does it hurt now more then when I got shot?” cries Garret, pressing his forearm around his waist and rolling on his back.

Jay gets up and rushes out of the room and returns with his Tia Louisa. Garret had met her before at a Jay’s niece’s bautismo. A short, frail woman with long salt and pepper hair always tucked into a neat bun and simple, unassuming clothes; Louisa had the mouth of a sailor, the past of a truck stop hooker and the only relative that knew what Jay was involved in.

“Que chingados? You can’t handle the pain. Pinche hijo de puta,” belts out Louisa as she kneels on the bed next to Garrets shoulder and begins to peel back the bandages. Garret can’t help but smile at the ridiculous combination of Louisa’s looks and the words spilling out of her mouth.

“Garret, there is more I have to tell you.” Jay says sitting back down, resting his elbows on his upper thighs.

“Tell me. How can this get any….Arghh!” Garret looks over to see Louisa pouring more tequila over the suture. “It had to be cleaned. No te mueves. Hold still,” commands Louisa as she wraps clean bandages around the wound

“Garret, Veronica’s involved. She has gotten herself in deep. They tell me she was playing both sides. Working with the cops and trying to get a cut of the deal.”

“What?”

“Boss, you need to think. What did you tell her? Did you see a wire?”

“Trust me she didn’t have a wire on. I was all over that body,” Garret’s sly smile gives way to seriousness, “I doubt she knew what we were doing. Where is she? Is she OK?”

Garret’s mind fills with images of her being tortured, violated, and beaten. El Chulo was an animal. Garret had taken a big risk getting involved with them but he thought the pay out would be worth it. When he first met with El Chulo to finalize the details he had noted some dried blood under El Chulo’s fingernails. When El Chulo noticed were Garret’s line of vision was falling he smiled and said, “My manicures are expensive. Trust me, you don’t want you pay that price.” They both knew what he meant.

“Andale mocoso. All set,” declares Louisa as she finishes wrapping the wound and slaps it hard, sending a searing pain down Garret's arm.

“Louisa! Damn it!”

“That is for my sheets,” Louisa explains, slapping him again. “And that is for getting my baby mixed up in this bullshit!”

"Argh!"

"Tia, please,” Jay implores. “Thank you, but Garret and I need to talk…privately.”

Louisa looks down at Garret in disdain as she slides of the bed and exits. Jay closes the door behind her and sits back down.

“Tell me everything, Jay.”

“When we crossed the border I knew Louisa would put us up, so I headed over here. You began to slip in and out. When we got here, your shirt was soaked in blood. Louisa cut it off and we could clearly see the bullet just under the skin. Fucking disgusting. She knew what to do and I played nurse. You’ve been under for half a day.”

“Fuck.”

“After we moved you out of triage, I looked at my phone and I had ten missed calls. First one was from Veronica. The other nine were from El Chulo. I checked my messages and he…well, you should hear the voicemail.”

Jay prompts his voicemail and hands it to Garret.

*beep*
Listen here you fucking idiots. We’ve got your bitch here. You thought we wouldn’t find out? I want Garret to call me back immediately. Veronica is a very beautiful girl and my men…my men don’t get many chances to socialize with women. They are brutes. I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can. Call me.

The message ends and Garret’s heart sinks.

“Did you call him?”

“Like a million times, bro. Every time he answers saying that he’ll only speak to you.”

Garret looks at the phone and flips it open. He needs to do something. He is overcome with a sense of responsibility and a need to protect her. He dials and the phone rings.

El Chulo answers, “I’ll only speak to Garret.”

“It’s Garret. I got something you want. Something we never discussed. Meet me at Los Cruces Gorge and bring Veronica.”

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 10

Chapters: 7, 8, 9

“Go head and answer it,” Garret nods to the phone in Jay’s hand.

Jay feels nauseous with guilt as he flips open his phone and forces out a, “hello?”

“Jay?”

“Veronica…”

“OK. Let’s not play dumb here. We both know what happened last night. Please be a man and spare me the bullshit,” Veronica demands.

“Oh uh…” Jay searches Garret’s face while he mouths what is she saying?

“Jay… I am so sorry. You have to believe me when I say that I never-- in a million years-- thought this would ever happen to me on a first date let alone ever in my life! Everything was going so well. We exchanged embarrassing stories, went to go eat at a local taco shop, and then bam!--I find thousands of dollars worth of premium mota in my trunk. Who am I? Sad Girl? Mi Vida Loca and shit? Please Jay, tell me-- is Garret mad at me? He has got to be pissed,” Veronica takes in a deep breath.

Jay lets a long pause play out as Garret shoves his shoulder. “Say something, stupid,” whispers Garret.

“Sorry Veronica, I am still in shock over everything. Um…uh…when Garret called me this morning to pick him up from the police station I thought I had accidently taken one of Nicole’s xanax again,” Jay jokes nervously.

“Again? She’s on xanax?”

Jay closes his eyes tight and doesn’t know where to take this conversation. He doesn’t want to be too cool with it and tip her off that he’s involved, but he doesn’t want to be angry and alienate her. He looks over at Garret who is waving his hands in the air in an unidentifiable motion. What does that mean?

“You know, maybe you should call him and try to explain things yourself.” Jay looks at Garret who is agreeing with large nods of his head. “Garret is a pretty cool character. You’d be surprised what he can tolerate.”

Veronica scoffs at the fact that she is now being “tolerated”. That doesn’t sound good. He has got to be livid. She agrees that talking to Garret would be the best thing. Her phone clicks and she realizes that Arturo is calling her. She rushes off the phone with Jay and picks up the other line.

“Arturo.”

“Hey cousin! What’s new?”

“I found the weed and had to call the cops.”

“I know. My boss knows too. What did you tell them? I know you are a rat. I could always smell it on you and your side of the family. Fuckin' putas, all of you!”

“Hey stupid, you are the one that hid that shit in my trunk without telling me,” interrupts Veronica plainly. “You are not exaclty a fucking criminal mastermind. Now listen up because I have something to tell you. I had noticed some of the drugs you put in there when I had stopped to get gas in Yuma; before my date at the golf course. You know? The stuff you hid where my spare was supposed to be?”

“Yeah.”

“I still have it. I got a plan-- one where everybody wins. When can you pick it up?”

“ Tomorrow.”

“OK, call me when you hit the state line,” she instructs. “Oh and hey! I am going to need a $500,000 storage fee for this mess you got me into.”

“Oh, so what—now you think you are all Billy-bad-ass or something? Listen bitch…”

Veronica hangs up on him. What she has is worth millions of dollars. He can afford 500 grand. She then calls Sergeant Howell.

“Sergeant Howell, speaking.”

“Hello Sergeant, its Veronica. Listen, I have been trying to reach my cousin for two hours and I haven’t gotten a hold of him. Could he have gotten word that I was busted?”

“Impossible. Only you and Garret came into the station and he isn’t involved.”

“Right.”

“You and your cousin hadn’t made any definitive plans to meet yet, right?”

“No we hadn’t,” Veronica replies to throw off the Sergeant. As much as she can’t stand her cousin; she knows they’d go after her mom if she sets him up. Besides, she had it all figured out and was confident she could pull this off.

When she had found the first stash—a kilo of coke and the 4 bags of ecstasy-- in her trunk she drove it straight to her ex-boyfriend, Octavio’s, storage unit. He was out of town so often he hadn’t had time to get his keys back from her. In fact, she was positive he didn’t remember she had them. She knew it would be a safe place, since the storage unit wasn’t in her name and they weren’t together long enough for anyone to remember she even existed in his life. Octavio was a part time lover--never there and only good for one thing, and even that wasn’t all that great. Veronica chuckled to herself as she remembered the time she faked a headache until he left her apartment, only to reach for her vibrator.

“What’s so funny?” asks Howell.

“Nothing. I can’t believe I am in this situation is all,” replies Veronica.

Focusing back on task she schemes that as soon as she gives Arturo the load of illegal drugs she’ll give Howell the run around. He’ll assume that somehow Arturo caught wind that Veronica was brought in by the police and skipped town. Everything would work out, she assured herself. Arturo will get his stuff, I’ll get some money, and mom will be safe.

“Ms. Nunez, give me a call as soon as you get a hold of him. We’ll coordinate from there. You should know you are doing a great thing. You are very brave. Women like you are rare-- beauty and guts. You are amazing.”

Veronica doesn’t know how to take that statement and she ends the phone call. Great, the last thing she needs is for Howell to take a special interest in her. Please don’t like me. I don’t want you to have a puppy love crush on me. She discounts it as her overactive imagination and prepares for her final phone call—to Garret.

Just as she is about to call she notices a text message from him.

Veronica, I know you are embarrassed. You don’t have to be. Meet me at Ace’s Bar on 4th @7pm. I can’t wait to see you.




At 6:50pm Garret walks into Ace’s to find Veronica already sitting at the bar. A tinge of jealousy bubbles in his stomach as he notices a guy leaning on the bar next to her. Tilting his head towards her, smiling obnoxiously, while shooting glances at her breast. She is beautiful, wearing a pair of hip hugging jeans, a tight v-neck sweater and her hair wept up so you could follow the soft skin of her neck to her elegant shoulders. She glances over and their eyes connect.

“Garret! We were just talking about you. Tom, this is my boyfriend Garret; Garret, this is Tom.”
Tom shifts his weight to face Garret and extends his hand as Veronica motions to Garret to get rid of him.

“Nice to meet you Tom, and thank you for taking good care of my beautiful Veronica. Now, I don’t want to sound like a prick but I have been waiting all day to see her and I really need you to get out of my way so that I can give her a kiss.”

Tom steps away from the bar and before Veronica knows it, Garret has her head in his hands and brings her in close for a kiss. Her heart pounds with intense pressure as she lets go into the moment and kisses him back. An undeniable attraction causes them forget where they are until someone in the back yells out, “Get a room!” Garret pulls back and asks with a devilish grin, “What do you say?”

They don’t say a word as they walk toward the elevator in Veronica’s complex. As the doors slide close, Veronica presses the button and Garret spins her around and kisses her passionately. Overcome, she forces him back and pins him against the wall.

“This is crazy, Garret…”

Looking past Veronica’s shoulder Garret says, “Um, I think we are at your floor.”

Veronica turns around to find the elevator doors have opened with the Wongs and their pomeranian starring back at them. Veronica moves Garret’s hand from her ass and turns around.

“Hello Shuping and Ed. Sorry we were—uh…” says Veronica as she grabs Garrets hand and leads him out of the elevator past the Wongs.

“You know this is an elevator, not a home. You do that in your home!” yells Shuping as the dog yaps in agreement.

Laughing, they run to her front door and rush inside. The second the door clicks closed, they find their way back into eachother’s arms and move quicly back towards her room peeling clothes off and kissing. Veronica sits on her bed to wrestle her shoes off, when she glances up to see Garret standing in his boxers starring at her in the darkness.

“Whats wrong?” She asks.

“You are beautiful.”

Garret walks to her slowly as Veronica inches her way back on the bed. He rests his weight on her and kisses her again. This time tenderly and slowly. He can feel very ridge of her lips on his as he explores her body with his hands. She runs her hands down the muscles of his back and kisses his neck and shoulder. She adjusts her body under his weight and wraps her legs around his.

“Are you OK?” Garret asks.

“Yes,” Veronica whispers back as she reaches for her night stand and produces a condom.

Garret laughs, “Very slick. Gotta love a girl that is prepared”

Once ready, she pulls him back into her and whispers something Garret can’t make out. He slides himself into her and finds a rymthm that syncs with the motion in her hips. She makes it no seceret what she likes. Moaning and sighing with every motion. Veronica lets herself get lost in the moment. She needs this release and she holds him even closer to her.

Garret straightens his arms and watches Veronica’s face as she arches her back and climaxes. He wraps his arm under the small of her back and brings her body on top of his. He lays back and watches her roll her body on top of his as he places his hands on her hips to guide her movements. The sight of her drives him crazy and he brings her back down to him as he finishes.

Veronica rolls off of him and rests her head on his chest.

“Garret, I want to explain something to you.”

“Not now. Just rest…”

Just then, both of them flinch when they hear a knock at the door.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 8

A succession of door slams echo around Jay as he squints to make out the darken figures walking towards him. Jay prepares his face for this confrontation. He knows that it well be important for him to show no fear, no desperation, or doubt. Certainly these swaying shadows moving towards him are Vasquez’s men. They’ll want to know his plan. They’ll want good news to tell their boss. Immediately, Jay recognizes El Chulo-- Vasquez’s right hand man.

El Chulo is the only one in Vasquez’s group that has a street name. Vasquez wanted his cartel to run as a legitimate operation. “We don’t live in fear,” he was once heard declaring, “We don’t hide behind the names of boys. I pride myself on running a classy operation. One where men are guaranteed a quality product, and for that I will state my name proudly and so will my men. We will never carry monikers that are only suited for Dick Tracey comic book characters.” El Chulo was the exception to this rule.

As the story goes, he was found on the door step of the Vasquez’s family ranch. Every day Juana, the maid, would prepare the children for school. She’d hand them their lunch, lick down straying hairs and wipe the corners of their mouths. As was customary, Juana would also declare how wonderful, intelligent, and beautiful the children she cared for were.

As the children ran into the foyer from the kitchen, bellies full of arroz con leche and ready for school Juana declared, “Aye, míralos. Que lindos, inteligentes, y chu…” Juana’s daily pronouncement was interrupted by the cries of a baby just outside the front door. She moved slowly to pull the massive wooden door, and as it cracked open, sun light and louder cries filled the room. She moved to the infant and swept him up and asked him where he had come from and why he was crying. “Quizás quería que le dijeras que era chulo también. Maybe he wanted you to call him chulo, also,” offered one of the children. Juana agreed with the child and declared that the baby was the most wonderful and gorgeous child she ever laid eyes on. From that day on, Juana raised El Chulo as her own and even though she baptized him Emilio, the legend of his discovery followed him along with the name.

“Jay, I am sure you are not surprised to see me,” calls out El Chulo with his arms extended to his sides and a confident smile on his face. Jay is not surprised to see him but he wonders how El Chulo found out as fast as he did. The question must have been plain on his face because El Chulo offered a, “you know I have people everywhere.”

Jay swallows first before speaking. He decides to stall before giving up any of what he knows. “Chulo, none of this is necessary. I would have called you once I had Garret with me.”

“Now, Jay you know I like to be hands on. Phones calls are so impersonal. I’d rather look into your eyes. Now tell me, what has happened to Garret.”

“We’ve hit a slight snag. “

“Slight? I hear chotas are involved,” El Chulo gives Jay a sideways glance. His nickname suits him. He is indeed handsome. His beer-bottle-in-the-sun brown eyes sit in almond shaped perfection on his high cheek bones. “Don Vasquez wanted me to secure that you and Garret are not doing anything to jeopardize his good name. Now tell me Jay, what does she know?”

The predawn light seeps through the morning chill. Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks around the other eight men surrounding him. Clones. Stone faces and Italian suits. “Chulo…”

“Find out what she knows and take care of it,” interrupts El Chulo. “Can you two handle that?”

“We can.”

“Good. Andale vamanos!”

In one sweeping arm movement El Chulo and his men return to their vehicles and drive off leaving Jay with sweaty palms and more bad news for Garret.


Veronica looks at her wrist watch. 5:15am. She hopes that Garret has been let go. For hours now she has been recycling the moments of the night in her mind. Everything that could have gone wrong on a date did. She hardly knew the guy but every time she shut her eyes, his face was all she saw. Was she starting to fall for this guy? How can that be? After a string of failed relationships, Veronica had made it a habit to look for everything that was wrong with the guy she was seeing. The lawyer that was overweight; she needed a guy who was athletic. The civil engineer with a high pitched voice; she would cringe whenever she spoke with him on the phone. The project manager with a messy bathroom; she couldn’t date someone whose house toilet she had to do the hover maneuver. Then there was Garret. What was wrong with Garret?

Howell steps into the interrogation room. He tells Veronica that they have been able to identify her cousin and judging by his priors, they don’t doubt that he would be involved in something like this.

“So can I leave?” asks Veronica drained and missing her bed.

“No.”

“Can you let go of Garret?”

“He has been let go and was picked up by Mr. Romero.”

“Jay!”

“Yes, I believe that was his first name.”

A hot flash of embarrassment comes over Veronica. Hopefully Jay will use some discretion at work and not tell everybody. He probably will never talk to her again. Neither will Garret for that matter. Why did this have to happen on a date with a nice guy?

“Ms. Nunez, you are turning red. Are you ok?”

“Yes, I am fine. When will I be able to go Sergeant?”
“Ms. Nunez, have you ever been involved in a sting operation?”

Four Steps to a Great First Kiss

I formally apologize to my followers for not writing anything outside of the chapters to The Court Chronicles that Ike and I have pin-balled back and forth. The truth, I have had writers block, but I had an unexpected surge of inspiration today and here you go. Last time I wrote about how to become friends with an ex, today I give advice to my male readers….

Not too long ago I met a nice young man named IB (initials: to protect the innocent, however no one really knows this guy outside of his other nickname). He was a nice young man. He was attentive, had a quirky sense of humor and planned fun and different dates. IB stood slightly taller than I at about 5’9”, had thick hair and held a close resemblance to Mark Wahlberg. I guarantee that my female followers just gave a collective sigh. So what was wrong? What made me not call him back and how did he become the subject of ridicule in my circle of friends? Let me back up to paint an accurate picture to my readership.

We had just finished getting his car washed. I know that an errand on a date is a huge no-no, but it was after the fires and I insisted we go get it washed so the ashes wouldn’t ruin his paint. On the ride back to his place where we were going to bar-b-que, he kept giving me lovey-dovey eyes and I knew the first kiss was coming soon. We stepped out of his car, and as I came around to the front he stopped me and brought me close to him. He looked into my eyes and whispered, “I want to kiss you. Is that ok?” I laughed. I nodded. He held my face in his hands and brought me close for what I anticipated would be a tender and memorable kiss. I was wrong. At least half wrong; it was memorable. Lord knows I tried to forget.

IB, God bless his heart, was an awful kisser. Every move he made was wrong and invasive. He started by securing his lips around mine as though he was one of those fish that cleaned the undersides of humpback whales. Next, he forced his tongue down into my mouth and wiggled that sloppy piece of flesh haphazardly; a move I would assume was to show me what he would do to me “downtown”…he never got that far. And then in a fit of aggression, he became overcome with passion, grabbed the back of my head and brought me even closer, causing our teeth to clink together. I pulled away; afraid he had chipped an incisor which he saw this as an invitation to kiss my neck. More sloppy saliva and now was he biting me? Ouch. After that debacle, I never called him again.

“Why don’t you teach him how to kiss?” a friend offered.

“At 32, if he hasn’t got kissing down by now, he is a lost cause,” I countered. I believed with strong conviction that there was no saving him. The damage done. My attraction for him—gone. A new nickname born. From that day on my friends and I called him The Bad Kisser.

Gentleman, I know it will be easy to laugh this article off and say, “Wow, that’s cold Inez, “ But please read on. You might learn something.

Steps to a great kiss:
1. Don’t ever ask if you can kiss someone. It is lame and cowardly. If you have us in kissing-range-closeness chances are we want you to kiss us.
2. Start with a peck. This important for the first kiss. It shows that you are tender and considerate. Not a saliva wielding monster.
3. Part the lips slightly and gently nibble her bottom lip. Make sure to part the lips slightly, as to not get her chin as well. Try to stay on our lips. I know every woman cringes when we get spit in our nostrils.
4. Tongue. OK tongue is tricky. Women don’t mind tongue done in moderation. Introduce it slowly and gently. Please do not park your tongue in our mouths. Develop a rhythm, in and out, round and round, and every once in a while repeat step three. Really is all about the attention to the lips.
Note: DO NOT kiss like they do in porn. Not good. I could go on about what they get wrong in porn but for right now I advise to never make a pointy tongue and wiggle it in front of your girl’s tongue. Not sexy.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part II, Chapter 6

Click here to read Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Sergeant Howell drums his pen on the stainless steel table in front of him. He looks over the file in front of him and looks up and examines Veronica’s face. He tries to read her sincerity as she says, “Officer Howell…”

“It’s Sergeant Ms. Nunez.”

“Right, sorry. Sergeant Howell, Garret had nothing to do with any of this and I’ll take the full brunt of the consequences. Please let him go.”

“Ms. Nunez, why don’t you let me focus on the police work? I’ll decide who stays, who goes, and when any of that is going to happen.”

Sergeant Howell gets a text message on his phone and excuses himself from the interrogation room. He tells Veronica that he’ll be right back and that she should do herself a favor and be honest with him when he gets back. She nods solemnly. The door slams aggressively as she tries to collect her thoughts.

How could this night have gone so bad? I hope Garret is ok. He didn’t have to stay with me as we waited for the cops. A lesser man would have left me curb side. He has won me over and now I doubt he’ll want anything to do with me after this night.

Veronica looks down at her hands and reflects on how blue her hands look under the glow of the fluorescent lights. A minor observation to distract her from the reality of the situation. She is now going to have to decide how much of the truth she is actually going to tell Sergeant Howell. She knows how this works. Veronica is in real danger once the police are involved.

The door clicks open and Howell walks in and sits down with purpose. He looks at her intensely for an awkward amount of time. He looks back down at the file and opens it slowly, sighing, and making a wide range of moaning sounds as he goes over the arriving officer’s initial report. God, spare me the intimidation dramatics please, thinks Veronica.

“Alrighty, Ms. Nunez lets get to the bottom of this.” Howell clicks his pen several times before he continues, “Can you please explain to me why a young lady, such as yourself, with no priors, would have five kilos of marijuana and 100 pills of ecstasy in the trunk of your car?”

“Well offic…um sir…Sergeant, can I be frank?”

“I would prefer it.”

“I want to be honest with you. I really do. I want nothing more then to explain everything away to you, but I am afraid. These guys know where my family lives and I just can’t put them in danger.”

“Ms. Nunez, prison is not a good place for a pretty girl like you. Help us out and we’ll help you out. Plain and simple.”

Veronica begins biting on her lip and twirling her hair. “OK. I’ll tell you everything I know, if you promise me that I can call my mom. I’ll also need permission to go to Arizona to bring her back over here.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

“You are going to have to do better then that Sergeant. My mother needs to be safe. I care less if I am in prison if my mother is not safe.”

Veronica locks eyes with Howell. He can tell by the forcefulness of her gaze that she will not back down from this request. He needs this break. He hasn’t solved a case in a month and his performance review is coming up. He smoothes down the corners of his well groomed mustache. “OK. I will personally drive you to Arizona. You have my word,” caves Howell.

Pleased with his word, she begins, “What do you want to know?”

“Start from the beginning,” Howell clicks his pen.

“I don’t know where the drugs came from, but I know who put them in my car. About 2 weeks ago I went back to Arizona to visit my family and my mother confessed to me that my cousin Arturo had been bullying her to use her car. My mother takes care of my grandmother and needs to take her to dialysis regularly and had turned him down repeatedly. I called him up to set him straight and he agreed to leave my mother alone if I would let him use my car. I did for the sake of my mother. Now, it is no secret what Arturo is involved in. I knew what he was going to use my car for but I just wanted my mother to have some peace.”

“So you admit that you knew he was going to transport illegal drugs with your car?” Howell questions as he scribbles a note in her file.

“No. I knew what he might use my car for. He never mentioned specifically what he would do. He borrowed my car one afternoon for two hours. I got it back just as I had given it to him, or so i thought. I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, I had forgotten all about it until tonight.”

“Says here in the report, Mr. Galles and you were on a date. Night golfing?” He smiles mockingly.

“Garret’s last name is Galles? Yes, it was our first date. I opened my trunk to get my golf clubs when I discovered what Arturo used my car for. It seems like my cousin decided to cram as much drugs as he could in the side compartments of my trunk. The small door buckled under the pressure and the packages tumbled into my trunk.”

“How do you know your cousin had anything to do with this? How can I trust what you say is true?”

“Sergeant, I called the police as soon as I opened my trunk. Why would I do that if they were my drugs? Besides, my cousin called me and left a message saying he wanted to come visit me next weekend. I think my cousin set me up as a mule, sir.”

“Can Mr. Galles cooperate that story?”

Veronica rolls her eyes at the absurdity of the question. “No sir, the man has only known me for a few hours. We nave been sitting here at the station in separate interrogation rooms for twice as long as our actually date was.”

“OK. I’ll be right back.” Howell closes his file and walks out.