So, my girlfriend is coming to see me soon. She, living in LA, and me here in Austin. This blog is not about long distance romance, so stop right there bucko with the flying of the tongue advise on the aforementioned subject, I don't care to hear. Ok disclaimer out of the way. Now what I was thinking, and in the same vien of my last few posts, the tiny details of the everyday.
I want to clean, and I mean clean. I already started in on the fridge. I took out every product we have, pulled out shelves and cabinets and scrubbed them silly. Got the top of the fridge wiped done and now I'm onto some sightly bizarre thoughts. I want to scrub the tiles that are pealing up in the bathroom. I mean they aren't dirty, just old and falling apart. That fact actually I like, they have wethered the storm and are doing their best to keep our feet safe. They just need some love. These are 4am thoughts as I want to get a little done, day by day, till my shining light makes her appearance. I have 7 days so I think I'm good.
I love fabuloso, lavender scent all the way. I'll hit the kitchen and bathroom big time with it. I figure the night before her arrival. I'd like to say they I'm completely secure in my manhood with cleaning and cooking. I love to cook. I created a new way to serve black beans. I added potatoes, bacon and jalapenos in the frijoles negros, all separately cooked first of course. I smothered it over scrambled eggs and added avocado on top. So delicious! Yes, I invented it, thank you, thank you. So yes, I have come to terms with my femine side. I did in fact long ago. I know its one of the many amazing traits that my gal loves about me. Yes, I'm very humble as well.
When I was little I had very long hair and my hippy loving Mom dressed me as Buster Brown. This in itself wasn't traumatic, it was the fact that we were living in East LA. during the 70's among a very old school Mexican household. My very macho cousins were the farthest thing from little cute sailor boys. They ridiculed me, often calling me a faggot year after year. So yes, many beatings and tears, but I never changed. In fact, I was already into dancing and acting classes while my primos were into theft and drugs. I wanted to be a film star since I could walk, so my Mom made those opportunities happen. Man I really wish I kept my long hair. I was 5 or 6 when my Great Aunt Maria chopped off my mane and put it all in jar, blessed it and continued with her tough love to us all.
Years later, I'm sitting here now in fact missing them, some of my primos aren't alive. One O.D., the other spent years in and out of prison and a nasty drug habit. The other found Jesus, as did I, and moved to a remote part of California, as I did not. God, I truely love them all. We had a family reunion a few years back in Phoenix. I was a blue belt in Jiu jitsu by then and my primos wanted to see some of my moves. My Aunt Maria was still alive and we had a captive audience as I kindly preceded to choke out my oldest cousin. He was so sure he could escape my hold, but technique always trumps assumptions. He choked and rather badly. All my aunts and even my Mom cheered for me. "Yay Paulie!" "Revenge!" But it was all in play and my primo shook it off. I know in his macho eyes I gained his respect, but I really didn't care, or did I? Maybe he'll like my frijoles negros concoction? OK, back to cleaning! See you on down the road.