Thursday, May 13, 2010

Sabatini Cocoa and her knight in shinning armor

All of you that know me are aware that I am not your average married girl. I have somehow managed to balance my married life with my own life and I expect my husband to do the same. I have plenty of single friends and I live vicariously through them, even though I don't miss single life a bit (I am too lazy for it). I have dates with my husband, I have dates with my girlfriends, I have dates with my husband and my girlfriends. And sometimes those dates with my single ladies turn into unexpected adventures, to say the least.

I've always said my life is one of those "you had to be there jokes" and last night is an epic example of it...It all started very innocent, a girlfriend invited me out for a drink to listen to some good music and talk shit, which is one of my favorite sports only second to shopping. I very rarely go out without my husband, not because I can't but because I don't need to, I don't want to. I have tons of fun with him and my girlfriends love him. I have to give him a lot of credit because it must not be easy to keep your testicles in place after enduring many hour long discussions about: whats wrong with Mr. Big?, did you see the new Instyle?, argh, I wish I looked like Kim get my drift. I will never forget a particular evening that involved my husband, two of my girlfriends, vulgar amounts of champagne, a hotel room and myself...Any man's fantasy, right? Well, he ended up nursing 3 drunk chicks in frumpy pajamas that were threatening to cut his testicles, saute em' and feed em' to him if he didn't shut the fuck up...Bless his heart.
Going back to last night, I get home from work, start getting dressed and decide to wear what I call my stripper shoes (5 inch bronze platforms heels) because my friend, who will remain un-named, is particularly tall and I needed some leverage. Little did I know that those shoes where going to become the irony preceding that evening. I get to the place, a dim lit small Italian restaurant and meet my friend at the bar, she looks fabulous as usual and she orders me a drink from the bat shit crazy bartender. The bartender, who will also remain un-named, is one of those characters that you have to love because you didn't have another choice, she is loud, obnoxious, 75% plastic and clearly starved for attention. Did I mention that no matter what or how much we drink our tab is always $15.00? So, needless to say, after the show was over our decision making abilities where impaired, so she suggests we continue drinking. I swear to God this girl has an inhuman resistance to alcohol, the bitch can drink for days!!

I suggest we go to a bar next door that is conveniently within walking distance from my apartment (you know, just in case we have to make a run for it) she agrees. We get in her car and the bat shit crazy bartender suggests we change our destination to a place called "Envy", mind you, I am new to the area and I don't get out much so I say: "sure, lets go!" before my inebriated brain realizes "Envy" is a strip club. At this point we are half way there and I can't freak out because then I will always be "that boring married old bitch" and my drunken self would never have that.

We get to the place and the bat shit crazy bartender introduces us to the owner and tells him we are "rock stars", I smile and make a beeline to the bar. I had 2 choices, I either sat next to a half naked middle aged woman grinding on top of a defeated looking (married) old man or I sat next to a rather normal looking dude. I chose the latter, my poor friend sat next to the before mentioned couple. I'm not above it or anything, but man! this place is seedy. The woman behind the bar looked like she had eaten a pharmacy load of painkillers and was rude on top of high! I text my husband: "OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG I'm at a titie bar,FML!!" to which he answers: "Haha". Seriously? We ask for a Mich Ultra and a Heineken, we got a Mich Ultra and a Bud Light, I hate Bud light but I am not going to fight a stripper wannabe, not tonight. I start sippin' on my beer and admiring the strategically placed mirrors on the wall that make it seem like there's tits on my head when the man sitting next to me decides to utter these words: "well, it suddenly got prettier in here". I smile, say thanks, but the fucking guy wants to talk. I am the only girl that comes to a strip club and gets hit on by a guy, or so I was told. Needless to say, the working ladies where giving me dirty looks since I was entertaining their customer for free and fully clothe.

Unfortunately I had to pee so I went to the sad, cruel excuse for a bathroom which doubles as a dressing room. It smells of beer, broken dreams and bad decisions.I had a slight heart attack when the first thing I see is a head peaking out of an unlocked stall and a Puerto Rican flag on the floor, yes people, I couldn't make this shit up. I say, very nonchalantly: "nice flag" to which Candy replies "thanks, I'm Puerto Rican". I made the rookie mistake of saying: "me too". Well, now I know Candy has a 3 year old who is 4 feet tall and his daddy is Hatian and doesn't pay child support. I smile and walk away, slooowly while she is on the phone. I text my husband to please, please, please come save me! I get back to the bar and my friend and I start talking about what our stripper names would be, you know, the name of the first street you lived in and your first pet. Turns out mine is Sabatini Cocoa and hers Gennaker Sydney, classy. I feel a hand on my back and I jump about a foot and a half, its the door girl pointing towards the entrance. There he is, my knight in shinning armor coming to rescue my drunk ass. We got home and as I scrubbed the night off my skin I think about how lucky I am, how great my life is regardless of all the bullshit. I'm thankful that I can put those demonic shoes away, and that I will never have to use the name Sabatini Cocoa.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

The characters that give life to my story

Growing up I was, lets say, a little challenging. Anything and everything I wasn't supposed to do I probably did. I drank, I smoked,I partied, I dated older boys and hated school. I had one goal and one goal only, piss my mother off, I did an amazing job at that , by the way. I swore to myself that I would never be like her, that I would be different, that I would be better...

Boy, how things change!! Not only did I start looking just like her, but with each passing day I started acting more and more like her. As the years passed I started understanding and listening to my mother a little more, of course I never let her know I was listening, but I was. I am. And today, I believe that I would be the luckiest girl alive if I turn out to be HALF the woman my mother is.

Truth is that I come from a long line of amazing, remarkable women. My grandmother is a fighter, a survivor and the most gentle soul you will ever encounter. I truthfully cant remember ever seeing her angry or loosing her temper, except when grandpa insists on messing with her garden! Ha! Grandma raised her daughters right and in turn my aunt and my mother raised us right. I am very fortunate to have a tight group of women in my life that shape who I am and who I will become as time progresses.

I can only hope to inherit my grandmother's kind heart, her compassion, her faith in God and in people. From my aunt, her disarming smile, her perseverance, her honesty and her sense of style. And from my mother, well, what can I say, you are a true survivor, an inspiration. You never put your head down, you continue walking. No matter what life has thrown at you, you always come out on top, no matter the sacrifice, you always make it happen. Thank you for making me eat my pancakes and blow my nose. Thank you for all the birthdays, for all the recitals, for all the dreams you made come true.

To all the women in my life, the angels in my life, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sister, friends. Thank you because even though I might not say it, sometimes not even show it, you are and will always be the characters that give life to my story and without you life would definitely be, well, life less.

Monday, May 3, 2010


I don't know why I put myself through this, every month, to be honest it's more like every week. I salivate and my hands get clammy when I am in the presence of a new fashion magazine. I buy them like it's my job, my religion. I bet my husband would prefer I'd develop a drug habit in place of my magazine habit, it would be quite possibly cheaper. I sit in complete silence, fan the pages on my face, smell it, inhale it, salivate again. Then I devour it. I first look at every page with the voracious desperation of a child opening presents on Christmas morning. Then I start over again and read each article meticulously. Then something awful happens. Just what I imagine happens to a junkie after a fix, that wave of self hatred, self loathing, that deep, deep sense of helplessness. And I ask myself this question: Why the fuck can't I be rich so I can buy all this shit???!!!! It happens EVERY TIME.

Some people might think this is silly and a tad overly dramatic. But I urge you to stop and think about this. Where do you think women get their ideals on beauty, life, relationships and even parenthood? Ok, so probably 50% is from Oprah, but the other 50% is from what? The media, in the form of glossy, bright, beautifully overpriced magazines. How else can you explain that something like "gaucho" pants are fashionable and the fact that Kate Gosselin is still on TV. Magazines. Oh! the lies they tell! Like the fact that Jennifer Aniston's secret is Smart Water, that simple, water. Bullfuckingshit, how about the fact that she is a bizillionaire, has a personal chef, a trainer,a stylist and virtually zero stress. Not to mention that she will forever have images of her naked ex Brad Pitt embedded into her brain. I'm guessing, THAT! is her secret.

I read through the pages like I'm looking for the meaning of life, which I'm sure is somewhere between relationships and the horoscope. I love how they tell you everything, ranging from simple things like "what to do to look super cute" to "how to know when your man is cheating" and validate your life with columns like "don't worry, it ok...". If only it was that easy, if only all the answers could be contained in 194 full color pages. Us, as a society have given so much importance to celebrity that we have lost track of what's real, what's important. Do you even know how many houses I have decorated in my head while reading the latest issue of Harper's Bazaar, or how many fabulous parties have I attended in haute couture while reading Vogue? At this point I am basically best friends with Lauren Conrad and we can not wait till that annoying girl Heidi goes away, ewww, she is totally gross and totally jealous of us.

It's a little ridiculous how far my celebrity knowledge goes. But please don't ask me what's going on in the middle east because I have no idea, after all, no good gossip comes from those parts. I remember the days when I would read the paper cover to cover and knew everything about current events and politics. I really wonder what happened? Did reality become too painful to bear, did it become so real that I needed to escape? Maybe I escape inside frivolous publications because I want to be lied to, I want someone to tell me to my face that if I but a pair of Christian Louboutins my life will be better, that I'll be happier. That the worst tragedy happening in this world is that Jessie cheated on Sandra, not that millions of children are dying because they have nothing to eat. That is too depressing. I think about wanting to make a difference in the world, do something that matters, but right now I don't have enough money, no, it'll have to wait. I don't allow myself to think too much about it because it brings me back to reality, to my reality. Where I want to do so much to make a difference but don't have the means to do it, where I want to start a change but I'm too lazy to take action. I use the cheap almost mundane excuse that "one person can't make a difference".This is why I escape, because right now I need to, any other option will be too painful. So I turn to the next page. Maybe I need help, maybe I need life rehab. It worked for Britney and Lindsay, and as the thought enters my mind I immediately wonder if the Betty Ford Clinic allows magazines....

Women of a certain age

I've been thinking about friendship lately. Is it me or does it really get more difficult to make friends as you get older? It would make sense for it to get more difficult since your interests shift and you expect different thing from people. I remember being 17 at a bathroom in a club (underage drinking and partying was my sport!) and some random girl came up to me and told me how much she loved my top, we have been friends ever since. I gave her that top and she still has it.

I find it really challenging to make friends these days and quite franky most of the time I just don't want to be bothered with it. Is it that I am too demanding? Too jaded? Maybe even scared to get hurt. Could it be that I am comfortable knowing that regardless of friendships being married means I am not alone? Fuck! Just the thought of that is really disturbing because I swore to myself that I would never turn into "that married girl that doesn't need friends cause she married her best friend", I hate that girl! No, I am not that girl. I love my husband and we have a great relationship but I don't necessarily want to discuss with him the things I talk to my girlfriends about, besides, he would be bored to tears or completely uninterested when I start talking about Tomkat, Brangelina and Speidi and if he wasn't I would be afraid, very afraid.

I don't understand women that say they want a man that likes fashion designers, pop music, trips to the spa and never ending shopping trips...umm do you want a gay friend? Or do you want to get laid? Cause' you cant have both from the same man!! (I mean, physically you could but ewww!) Just like you cant get everything from one girlfriend.

I consider myself quite promiscuous when it comes to friendships, I have many friends, all very different and I think they all represent different aspects of who I am, all my different personalities..ha! And even though this is fun and all, most of the time we share the laughter but hide the tears. You are who you want to be, share what you want to share, never get too close this way you wont be judged or hurt. In part because lets be honest, few friendships are without self interest. I have found myself craving a core, those people who not only are there when your world catches on fire but remain when the smoke clears and help you pick up the pieces. This is the type of friendship that is the hardest to find, the ultimate goal, the hallmark card inspiring , lifetime made for tv movie of friendships. The friend that'll force you to examine and encourage you to grow. That doesn't tell you what you want to hear, tells you the truth and nothing but the truth, unadulterated, pure, clean and concise. I don't have time for anything less, after all I am not 17 anymore.