Every time I come to Hillcrest I feel; welcome, accepted, like dancing, like a piece of meat, and right at home.
Why am I still wasting my time in Pacific Beach?
It's time to face the music. I gotta call my dad...
#loudhousemusicforlunch #imhome
Just had lunch with Hugo at Mo's in Hillcrest.
Every time I come to Hillcrest I feel; welcome, accepted, like dancing, like a piece of meat, and right at home. Why am I still wasting my time in Pacific Beach? It's time to face the music. I gotta call my dad... #loudhousemusicforlunch #imhome Grandma walked to my mom's house to rummage through her garage, and came back with a bunch of garbage that I will undoubtedly be giving to The Salvation Army in the next week, behind Grandma's back. She won't notice. Amongst the garbage was a respectable Sony Stereo system from the late 90s, that worked perfectly. I connected the antenna for Grandma, showed her how to change the radio channels, and turned it on for her. She was ecstatic beyond belief about the success of her garbage rummaging expedition, and looked like a child with a new toy on Christmas. As is standard for Grandma, she expressed her happiness through interpretive dance. I turned the camera on, knowing I was catching gold, but the urge to dance became too strong for me. I fought the urge to dance because dancing and filming doesn't make for good video. As expected, when ever I fight the urge to dance to poppy music, the Gay God's chastise me for being a pussy-ass-straight-guy until I finally give in, and break into dance. Welcome to our Tuesday morning. Grandma, On Bicycles,
I left my triathlon bicycle on the side of the house. Grandma reminded me that it was still outside. "Don, your bicycle is outside." "Oh shoot, yep, I'l bring it in" She walked over and leaned her head down with a very serious look on her face and her finger pointed at my chest. "Don, lemme tell you something." She took a deep breath. "De bicycles have many enemies." She counted the enemies on her crooked fingers. "De cheeldren, de teenagers, and, well," she looked up at the ceiling for a second in thought, then looked back at me with a self assured nod, "mostly de Mexicans. De Mexicans see de bicycles, and," she swiped her hands apart, "gone in seconds." I cracked up laughing. She was not amused. "Yeah, iss true. Dey gotta get to de job. You don' believe me? Okay guy." I continued laughing. She walked away with a long shrug and her eyebrows raised, shaking her head in disappointment of my naiveté. Grandma's thick Colombian accent and broken spanglish make fluid communication a royal pain in the ass for me, every day. She has practically created her only language. (It should be given a name. Ideas?) Here are some of the words and phrases that grandma has molded into her own language. "Fuck-you"- means "fucking" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, "Can you believe this fuck-you guy?" "Where is my fuck-you money?" "Fuck-yo-ass" - means "motherfucker" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, "Can you believe this fuck-yo-ass?" "Where is my fuck-you money fuck-yo-ass?" "Iss a big fuck you"- means "it's a bunch of bullshit" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, "My mother don't do nothing for my wedding. Nothing. But my sister, she do EVERYTHING, spend lots of money, make very beautiful. Can you believe that? My own mother.... Iss a big fuck you" "Making" - means a general verb referring to "doing" "done" "did it" or "cooking" When used in a sentence, usually sounds like this, "I making food today. Is in de fridge if you want." "I making lots of things today. Very busy" "Is no prollem"- means "Don't worry, I'll take care of it, because you're a fucking moron" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, DONNY- "Grandma, I'll fix the plants in the backyard" GRANDMA- "NO, I DO IT, is no prollem" "Dese people comes with all kinds of pollutions"- means "these people are always doing bad things" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, GRANDMA- "Can you believe dese people?" DONNY- "Who?" GRANDMA- "De gays. Always dese people comes with all kinds of pollutions" DONNY- "ALL of them? You sure?" GRANDMA- "Well, not all……but most" "De guys from Harlem"- means "black guys" When used in a sentence, it usually sounds like this, GRANDMA- "I see de guys from Harlem on de TV, on de program for de Cops. Dey always making terrible things" DONNY- "Aren't those cops in Texas? What guys from Harlem are you talking about?" GRANDMA- "You know what I mean" “I started to feel my right arm get taken over by something extraterrestrial, possibly the Gay God. My entire body got a surge of energy and blood, and I knew something beautiful was going to happen. My right arm turned into an anvil as I dipped down and came back up with a powerful and beautifully formed uppercut…” “In the Name of Love” Gay Pride weekend in San Diego coincided with my friend’s birthday. I took the birthday girl and a few friends out downtown for dinner and dancing. After dinner in a nice upscale restaurant, where we snuck in water bottles full of vodka, we headed out to a popular San Diego bar. The streets of San Diego were filled with happy gay men smiling and kissing, rainbow balloons, signs that said “Pride”, and dick grabbing. Lots of dick grabbing. I loved it. I love the gays in general. They’re just like my friends and I, except they actually fuck each other in the ass. Me and my friends come pretty close, but don’t actually go through with it. (I think we’re all just gay pussies waiting for our father’s to pass away) The bottom line is, me, my friends, and all gay men have a lot in common, so I love them. There’s a few more reasons I feel a special affinity to them, mostly relating to my need to stick up for the underdog, but I’ll get into that later. We were waiting in line for the club when I saw a drunk asshole walking in our direction. I spotted him from at least 50 yards away. He was short and stocky, he wore a backwards hat with a white shirt with pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, and was probably about 25 years old. He looked like a nazi meathead. I watched him walk by a gay couple and hold his arm out like a fairy and say something to them. The two men held each others hands tighter and looked uncomfortable. They gave him a dirty look and continued walking, hoping to get away quickly. Then after the nazi meathead passed them by about 5 steps he turned around, clenched his fists, and yelled “FUCKING FAGGOTS!” at the top of his lungs. He said it with hatred and disgust. It was powerful and despicable. I was beside myself. It takes a LOT of nerve to come to downtown San Diego on Pride Weekend when you’ve got a gay chip on your shoulder. It takes a lot more nerve to pick on those who are there to be celebrated. My initial instinct was to run over and crush his face. I decided against it. It was my friend’s birthday and I didn’t want to end the night with a ride to the drunk tank, plus I was in a sling from shoulder surgery two weeks prior. So I chilled out and shook my head in disappointment. The asshole and his friend walked in my direction. I could tell he was hammered by the look in his eyes as he stared me. I was very uncomfortable when he got right behind us. I drooped my shoulders and hung my head low in painful acceptance of the situation. You see, sometimes I lose control of my fists, and it always seems to happen around drunk assholes. I have been seeing a neurologist to find out why and how I completely lose control of my appendages while I’m fully conscious. I have gotten nerve testing done on my brachial plexus, the muscolocutaneas nerve, and my brain. So far the tests have proven inconclusive. The only thing my neurologist has recommend is to limit my drinking. Unfortunately that doesn’t fit my lifestyle, so we’re going to continue testing. I’m sure there’s a pill for my condition, I just haven’t found it yet. I tried to ignore the drunk asshole and avoid violence, but he was on a mission to piss people off. With no provocation except for the bright purple polo that I was wearing, he starting fucking with me. He leaned in to me and in true manly fashion, he said to my back. “Hey fag, you’re kinda cute” I could not believe that he was still throwing around the word “fag” like it was a whiffle ball, and I was even more shocked that he chose me to pick on. I ignored him, hoping to avoid confrontation, but he didn’t like being ignored. He pressed on, leaning forward to ensure I heard him. “Hey fag, you’re kinda cute, is that your BOYfriend with you?” He was referring to my friend Seth, the token Asian. I turned around and looked at him to assess again how drunk he was. The asshole’s friend stood there and tried to ignore me. I planned to base my actions off of the asshole's level of intoxication. If he was sober I would not have confronted him violently. He looked much stronger than I, and I had my left arm in a sling from a surgery two weeks prior. If I didn’t knock him out, and we got into a wresting match, he could have hurt me pretty bad. Five seconds later my assessment was complete, and I had my plan. If he continued to be an asshole, I would uppercut him in the chin. He would take a nap, and I would tell the cops that he got in my face and told me that “fags needed to die” and that he was “going to kill me and my faggot friends” and a few more embellishments to make me look like a victim and him look like a criminal. Then I would pretend to be gay. I would hold my friend Seth’s hand and kiss his cheek while I spoke to the cops, evoking some gay sympathy. (Who doesn’t feel something sweet when two people in love support each other?) Then I would acknowledge that I was genuinely afraid for my safety; and admit to hitting him. Everyone around me would have backed up my story, including my girlfriend who was standing right next to me, and my fake boyfriend Seth; and the cops would have let me go. After all, it was Pride weekend, and while there’s no place for gay haters on any weekend, they are especially unwelcome on Pride weekend. The last thing a cop wants in the news is that he arrested someone for standing up for the gays. With my plan in mind I turned my back on the asshole and faced forward. I smiled at my girlfriend and considered giving her a kiss on the cheek, but decided against it, because I secretly wanted this asshole to think I was gay and continue harassing me, that way I would have the justification to crack his face open. Two seconds later he gave me exactly what I wanted; permission to hit him. Apparently the asshole said, “Hey fag, I bet your butthole is really loose.” But all I heard was, “Hey bro, can you please hit me in the face?” I turned around to make sure I heard him properly, after all, I didn’t want to hit someone who didn’t deserve it. He looked at me with a deer-in-headlights look that said, “I’m not kidding. I really need you to hit me, its for my own good.” I started to feel my right arm get taken over by something extraterrestrial, possibly the Gay God. My entire body got a surge of energy and blood, and I knew something beautiful was going to happen. My right arm turned into an anvil as I dipped down and came back up with a powerful and beautifully formed uppercut. My boxing coach would have been beyond ecstatic to witness my perfect technique, except; I missed. I completely fucking whiffed. I could not have been further from his face. The asshole maintained his fifty-yard-stare and blinked. Without much hesitation I dipped right back down and came up with an even harder uppercut, formed just as well, but thrown with much more pizzazz and power. I was certain that he was going to sleep for a long time. My fist came right up under his chin and then; I fucking missed again. This time just grazing his nose. I’m sure he felt the wind of my fist passing by his face. I couldn’t believe it. I’ll never forget the confusion in his eyes as a second fist grazed by his face. He blinked again, but this time it was a longer and more pronounced blink. I was so infuriated at myself for swinging and missing that before my arm came back down I backhanded him with a closed fist and yelled as I did it, connecting with his nose and sending him into the wall. My yell was purely out of frustration with myself. I was fucking pathetic, or maybe the Gay God doesn’t know how to throw a goddamn punch. All I know is that the feeling of whiffing twice, and my fist busting into his nose was like getting into a Jacuzzi. It was painful at first, evoking a wince, then magnificent, evoking a nice long sigh of pure relaxation. Everyone around me, but especially my girlfriend, got scared. I had just stepped into a nice warm Jacuzzi, so I felt relieved. I turned around and faced forward, pretending like nothing happened. Everyone looked at me like I was a psychopath, and I was starting to get uncomfortable. I felt the need to diffuse the situation, “Hey guys, be cool. We’re all good now.” My girlfriend was very confused “Oh my God, What just happened?” “Nothing it’s no big deal babe, he was just making fun of gay people and he asked me to hit him so I did. Its all good now” I gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. She was even more confused. The asshole stood there with blood dripping onto his shirt, he kept repeating very slowly and calmly, “What the fuck bro? …..What the fuck bro?...... What the fuck bro?” The asshole’s friend felt noble for a second and said “Whoa whoa whoa, everything is NOT COOL” I turned to him and said “Hey bud I’m in a really good mood right now so please don’t make me angry. Your friend asked me to hit him so I did. No need to cry about it” “He didn’t fucking ask you to hit him!” He sounded like he was doing what he had to do to protect his friends honor, but he was still careful not to go too far. I think my appearance really confused and intimidated him. I was dressed like a gay nerd, wearing a purple polo, blue jeans, and brown dress shoes, with the body of a welterweight fighter, with one arm in a sling, and I had just calmly hit his friend. He probably thought I was much more capable than I really am. I got a little closer to him, looked him in his face and said “Do you want to make me mad?” He said nothing, but his face clearly said “No I don’t.” I said “Thank you” then turned around and ignored them. The drunk asshole stood there holding his nose, looking right at me in a state of angry, scared, confusion. A minute later the bouncer walked up doing his usual count of people in line. The assholes friend got his attention. “Excuse me sir, this guy in the purple shirt just hit my friend in the face for no reason” I turned around and said “No I didn’t. Look at me, I’m in a sling for god’s sake. I just had surgery. He probably fell or something. Don’t blame me.” The bouncer looked at the asshole bleeding all over himself, then he looked at me and said, “Well he’s bleeding, and your not, so you’re out!” The bouncer smiled. It was obvious he loved kicking people out. I said “Wait a second sir, so its okay for him to walk around calling people fags?” “Okay then, you’re both out. That was easy, see ya later boys” He chuckled to himself as he exercised his power over us pathetic peons. Being a bouncer must be the pinnacle of power and control. My whole group left the line and casually walked to the bar across the street and had a gay ole time. The next bar had gay couples everywhere, so I felt like an outcast with my super old fashioned straight girlfriend. I put my arm around Seth’s waist and kissed him on the cheek, hoping to fit in with the scene. My girlfriend rolled her eyes at me, while Seth laughed and tried to wiggle away from me and dodge my next kiss. “Jesus Donny you are so gay” I grabbed him hard and pulled him back into me, “Don’t be a fuckin fag bro, just come here and kiss me in front of all these nice boys.” “Didn’t you just hit someone in the face for using that word?” I was a little embarrassed and relaxed my grip on him. “Well, I mean, he was a HUGE asshole, but, I don’t mean it, in like, a bad way. I mean it like, out ----” “Don you sound like an idiot right now.” I put my head down in shame. “Ughhhhh, you’re right, I’m dumb.” “It’s okay, I still love you, but I don’t know if your girlfriend does.” She was clearly annoyed and waiting for me to grab her and lovingly kiss her on the cheek. A handsome man walked up to us with a big smile, “Hi, I’m John, what’s your names?” Seth and I looked at each other and smiled as if to say, “We knew this was coming,” then we shrugged and ……. Ever since I was bullied as a young nerdling, I've wanted to stick up for other little nerdlings. The problem was, I was skinny, weak, and couldn't fight. So I tried to get bigger, tried to get stronger, and tried to learn how to fight, but it simply hasn't been enough. I've tried the "sticking up for little guys" thing, but it doesn't always work out the way I hoped. I'm just a bigger, stronger, little nerdling at heart, and that's the way God intended me to be, but that's not gonna stop me from sticking up for the little guys when see bullying. The day I watch someone get bullied and not take action is the day I die. I just wish I wouldn't get knocked out so often..... Grandma was on the couch watching the movie “Jarhead” on the edge of her seat. She looked so interested I thought she was going to fall off. She was watching the scene where a Marine Battalion Commander is giving the entire Battalion a motivational speech before they deploy to Iraq, in 1991. She was trying to understand what was going on in the movie, and compare the man to me. She turned abruptly to me and said, “Donny, who is dis man’s dere?” She pointed at the Battalion Commander on the TV screen. “He is de supervisor to dese mens?” I laughed, I never thought of a Battalion Commander as a supervisor. “Yes, he is in command of all those men. He is in charge. The boss.” “Ohhh I see.” She pondered for a second. “And how you can get dat job?” “You have to kiss the ass of the guys above you.” I made a kissing sound. Grandma laughed, then said, “Oh shutup… But really, how you can be? What is de job?” I knew she was asking about rank. “He’s a Lieutenant Colonel, and he’s in charge of about 800 Marines. You have to be an Officer in the Marines for at least 15 years before you can do that job.” “Ohhhhh. Ok.” She paused a second, then turned to me, “Sow what you do over dere?” She said, pointing to the TV screen. You are de Captains?” “Yes I’m a Captain now, but in Afghanistan I was a Lieutenant, so I only commanded 40 Marines” “Oh wow, that’s a big job” “Ehhh, its not that big, but It’s a fun job” I sat with her and we watched the movie together for another 15 minutes before she turned to speak to me again. I’m glad I stayed. She was very hesitant with this question, which is unlike her. “Donny, can I ask you de question about de war?” “Of course, anything” “Do the mens have women ova dere?” “Nope” “So whayyou do for….you know?” She didn’t want to flat out ask me how long I was tortured by a lack of vagina, so she kept beating around the bush. “For how long….there is no womens?” “7 months” She leaned her head back in shock “Oh my Gah, Don, its too long” She looked as if it was the worst tragedy of war. I had a quick flashback to jerking off in a porta potty with steaming hot shit under me. “Yeah, you’re telling me….” She took her eyes off the TV screen and instead stared at the ceiling as she pondered something profound. A few minutes later she came out with it. She leaned towards me, “This is why de mens and the mens make de sex right?” As she said it, she did the international hand signal for two gay men having sex, which, obviously, is touching two index fingers together repeatedly. I almost fell out of my chair laughing. When I finally caught my breath, I was bright red in the face. “No grandma, if you are not gay you don’t all of a sudden become gay in war. You are either born gay, or your not.” She lowered her eyes at me as if I said something stupid, ignorant, and juvenile. She spoke slowly. “Donny, please. Don’t say eh stupid things to me. “ She shook her head as if she was really disappointed that I would say something so ignorant. “De gay is de sickness. Dese people are bery, bery unfortunate people. You don’t be born to make de sex with de men.” I laughed loud again, “No grandma, that’s not right,” I sat up in my chair and got ready to teach the teacher. “You are born gay, you don’t choose to be gay. How do you know? Have you ever spoken about this with gay people?” She shook her head uncomfortably, “Noooooooo, Donny, I don’t talk about dese things with them. Iss no right. Iss no my place.” She looked away. “Well you should, that way you understand them.” She tilted her head, as if she was beginning to agree with me. “Well, maybe” “Are you friends with any gay people?” She looked at me like I was an idiot, “Of course! I live in New YorCity. Many many thousands of de gays. Especially in de East Village. Oh, and eh South of Houston.” She threw her hands up in despair. “Oh forget it, all de mens is hold de hands, eh kissing, many things.” “Yeah, and, what’d you think?” She leaned her down “Oh, well, BERRRY nice eh people. Bery clean, eh polite, make good money. Eh professionals, you know. De gay peoples is bery professionals.” She did the international hand signal for a professional, which was to grab the imaginary lapels on a suit with her index fingers and thumbs, and gently drag her fingers down the lapels to the bottom of the imaginary suit jacket. When she completed this hand signal she continued teaching me about the professions that gay men were involved in. “Eh lawyer, eh architecto, engineer, make de painting, de movies, Broadway, you know. …Dey make a good business.” She shrugged as if we were agreeing on it. I smiled hearing her more educated, inner flower expose itself. We sat silently and watched the movie for another 10 minutes. Once again, she turned abruptly to me and broke the silence, She pointed to her own brain, she obviously had something on her mind. “So I thinky….” She held the pose for a moment to increase the tension, “I know what de mens do.” “What men do what?” She pointed to the TV screen, “When you ova dere.” Before I could respond, she made the international hand signal for jerking off. Her very short and fast hand movement indicated a painfully small penis. I rolled off the couch and onto the floor with laughter. I even peed myself a little. Grandma got a real kick out of her own revelation and rocked back with laughter in her chair. If she only knew how frequently men jerked off in combat…. She waited till my laughing subsided, then hit it again, “Wait, wait, like dis” She did the jerking off motion again, this time making a fish face as she did it. Why she chose a fish face instead of an O face I don’t know, but it worked, and I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. She loved the laughter that her hand motion was creating, so she kept doing it, varying the speed and length of the stroke, and even rocking her hips in her rocking chair as she did it. I didn’t breath for several minutes, and neither did she. We laughed until our sides hurt and I worried she was going to have an asthma attack. She finally waved her hand at me as if to say, “Okay, Im done, that’s too much!” When I found my breathe I said, “Actually, yes, exactly like that.” I spared her the details of my daily Afghan ritual. She waved her hand at me again and wiped her mouth, picking up the drool she had from the laughter. Then she looked away laughing and said “you go to eat. Please, don’t be gay, I want de grandhildren.” She laughed to herself again. “I’ll adopt!” She looked at me angrily, then ……. “Whoa, whoa, excuse me bro,” I puffed my chest so he knew I was serious, “you don’t think I'm gay? Are you serious?” I pointed to Johnny. "I’ll suck his fucking dick right now.” Fucking posers The Christmas season is one my favorite time’s of the year in San Diego, right up there with summer, spring, and fall. At least a half a dozen of my good friends always throw Christmas parties, and I embarrass myself at at least 4 of them. Two of the best guys I know own their own gym in Point Loma, S10 Fitness. I met Dave and Chris when we were personal trainers together in 2006, long before I joined the Marines. In 2014 they threw a raging Christmas party at their gym and invited everyone. Every inch of the gym was decorated in Christmas theme, there were great asses everywhere, a fire performance, a bar in the middle of the gym, and least 15 gallons of liquor behind the bar, ensuring that everyone at the party blacked out and trashed Dave and Chris’s livelihood. I showed up with my cousin Bobby dressed as an altar boy and a priest, respectively. Dave the owner dressed up as Jesus Christ, completing the Catholic Christmas. While outside at the ice luge, awaiting my turn, my old fraternity brother Johnny and I started yelling Biblical verses at each other at the top of our lungs. This was for absolutely no reason. Things got a little heated, as most religious interactions involving booze do, and in a passionate rage Johnny jumped on me and wrapped his arms around me like girl would do to her boyfriend after a long time apart. Naturally, I latched on, and embraced him tightly as he began bouncing up and down like he was riding me, yelling as loud as he could “OH FUCK ME FATHER, FUCK ME FATHER, FUCK ME FATHER!” I was very quickly annoyed beyond belief, so I threw him off me and adjusted my altar boy cassock. “I’M NOT A FUCKING PRIEST, I’M A FUCKING ALTAR BOY, FUCK MAN” We immediately began laughing until I heard someone behind me say in a very annoyed tone “Excuse me boys are we done yet?” I turned around and saw the handsome gentlemen who was pouring ice luge shots looking at me like I was an idiot. It was my turn and he was waiting for me. “Sorry, we’re really gay.” I said, hoping to confuse him and make him look at me weird the rest of the night. He responded quickly “Umm, NO,” he put his hand on his chest, “I’m ACTUALLY gay, and you guys are just fucking posers.” I felt like my gay manhood had been challenged. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, excuse me bro,” I puffed my chest so he knew I was serious, “you don’t think I’m gay? Are you serious?” I pointed to Johnny. “I’ll suck his fucking dick right now.” Johnny stepped up to my defense and stood shoulder to shoulder with me, chest puffed and arms out and said “Yeah, I fuck him in his ass all the time.” My new gay friend was not amused. He rolled his eyes and said “Paleeeease. You wouldn’t know how to suck a dick if it hit you in the face.” My face got bright red with anger, “Johnny, hit me in the face with your dick right fucking now. I’ll show this mutherfucker who’s gay.” I got on my knees and Johnny began undoing his belt buckle. I yelled at him, “HURRY THE FUCK UP AND PULL IT OUT PUSSY!” I yelled until I remembered that Johnny loves to take things too far, and really was about to pull his dick out and try to hit me with it. At that point I pussed out, pushing him away, and shamefully giving up the game of gay chicken. I turned to my new gay friend in defeat. “You got me bro, you got me, I’m just a regular straight nerd.” He laughed and said “Don’t worry I wont hold it against you. You’re too cute. Shot?” He held up the bottle, indicating I was a fool to wait any longer. I blushed little and as I stepped up to the ice luge and opened my mouth. He poured me a shot of something fruity and fantastic. We chatted and I told him that my best friend of 18 years and I, were just at the Amsterdam Gay Pride Festival. He laughed and said, “Oh my Gosh. That’s how It starts. Trust me. That’s how it allllllways starts. You’ll see. You have a lot to learn. You’ll see.” I was astonished, I looked at him wide eyed and said “holy shit, that’s exactly what a bunch of gay guys said to us in Amsterdam when we told them that we were ‘just friends’.” He just smiled. “You’llllll see” Um, I still don’t get it, that’s how what starts? Grandma, On Kleptos,
A few days ago I was cleaning out and organizing the garage for the 11th time this year. I noticed a Johnny Cash cd that has been in the same place for all 11 of those cleanings. I took it into the living room and handed it to Grandma, where she was reading a book on World War II with a giant magnifying glass. “Grandma, do you like Johnny Cash” She looked up at me, but kept the magnifying glass in the same place. “What?” She looked annoyed. “JOHNNY CASH” I yelled to make sure she heard me. “Yes, what you want with him?” “Do you like him?” She looked at me like I was a complete moron. “Of course, you kidding me? He is de star. Bery beautiful music.” “Okay good, then this is for you” I handed her the CD. She looked at the CD, then looked up at me to make sure I was serious. “Oh my Gah! I like bery much. De music is de best ones. From long time ago. You know dis is very good music?” “Yes I know, of course. That’s why I want you to have it.” I also don’t use CDs anymore. “Oh thank you mijo. Thank you.” Today I was eating lunch in the dining room. Grandma walked up to me very susipiciously. “Did you buy me dat CD.? Dey Johnny Kesh?” “Yep” “When?” “I dunno. A long time ago.” “How much you pay?” “I dunno, it was a long time ago” “You liar” “Whaaaaat? Why?” I was busted. She positioned herself right in front of me and looked me in the eyes “Because I sure I buy dis ones long time ago” “Oh, well I thought I bought it…maybe not..” She smirked and nodded. “Yeah, right. Ok guy” Then she walked over to her entertainment center and started pulling out CDs. She opened up a Kenny Rogers CD case. It was empty. “You see dis? Nothing. Someone eh steal from me” “Nooooo, on one stole from you. You just misplaced it.” “EXCUSE ME, I remember bery well. Someone take eh dis ones. And many more. Some people have de problem with take de things” “Like who?” I thought she was insinuating one of my friends. She shrugged, I dunno, can be anybody. “Some peoples have de disease. De steal de things, and for no reason. Maybe de don’t even need, pero dey steal because de brains is have de problems” She pointed to her brain. I began laughing. She continued going, and I just smiled knowing I was gonna hear something awesome. She moved around to the other side of me as I sat there and stuffed my face. She was in the mood for a lesson. “Some people’s no can control de brain. Dey steal EVERYTHING from EVERYBODY,” she waved her hands like a sun rising to emphasize how many things cleptos want to steal. Then she grabbed the salt shaker on the table. “Dese peoples no undastand why dey steal. They just take like dis.” She pretended to put the salt shaker in her pocket and walked away, just like a clepto would. I cracked up. Then she grabbed the ceramic butter container and put it in her pocket. This time she did a great impression of a clepto. Looking all around, eyeing the loot, then quickly putting it in her pocket, and walking away nonchalantly like nothing happened. I was dying. She was dead serious. “Is no funny. Dese people have de disease. Dey don’t know.” “Yeah, its called a cleptomaniac” She nodded her head in agreement, “Das right, de kryptonite” I burst out laughing. “No, no, KLEPTO” She nodded, “Yes, klecko, das right” That was as good as it was gonna get, so I left it alone. “Yep, that’s it” She walked back over to the entertainment center and finalized her lesson, “You neva know who got de disease.” She shrugged. “It could be anybody, you, little Chris, Bobby, de women’s. Anybody. You neva know.” She did another shrug then closed the entertainment cabinet. “What about you Grandma? Could it be you?” “You don’ know who it is, man. You don’ know.” She did one last, long shrug as she walked to her room with the ceramic butter container still in her pocket. Grandma, On Writers,
Grandma was sitting on the couch with her arms folded over her chest as she watched a trashy Spanish TV show. She looked like she was in a bad mood, but she wasn't. She's just Grandma. “Grandma, I need your help tomorrow. Are you busy?” “Well, I gotta do a few things, pero, not too busy. What you need?” “I’m doing a photo shoot, and I want you to be there to help me” “What is dis?” She looked very confused. “I will be taking professional pictures. PICTURES” I said it louder because she’s going deaf, and just in case she still didn’t understand, I held my hands in front of my face as if I was holding a camera. “Ohhhhhh, de pictures. I see. I see. What I need to do?” “I just need you to smile, laugh, act serious, mad, silly, and just be funny for the camera. Just be yourself.” She nodded her head with her eyes closed, “Ohhh yes, I undastand.” She opened her eyes. “Make de nice face, make nice to de peoples, make eh funny. Yeah, I get it.” She said it as if she’s done this a hundred times and was not excited by being in front of the camera anymore. “Yeah exactly. You’re always great when you see a camera. Everyo-- “But what I gotta do? I need to know ezactly what is going on. I don’t want to be in front of all de people and not know what I do. I lookeh stupid. Das no nice.” She laughed at the thought of embarrassing herself in front of a crowd of people. “No, no, no, don’t worry about that. We will have people there who are taking care of things, so all you need to do is stand there and smile. That’s it.” She seemed to accept this idea “Oh ok. I see.” As expected, she had her reservations, and she looked at me suspiciously. “But wait. What this is for? Why you do this?” “I’m writing a book, well a few books, but one of them is about you.” Her eye brows raised. “So I need to take pictures of you to go with the book.” “So my pictures are go in de book?” “Yes, and on my website, and also o---“ “Lemme tell you something.” She uncrossed her arms and held her crooked finger up in front of her face. “Make de books is very hard job. Very hard job.” She wiped her mouth. “I knew de man’s once in Colombia. He was make de books. De writer. Okay.” She took a pause to think for a second. “Dis mans is eh always drunk.” She shook her head and waved her arm in disappointment. “always Drunk; in de morning, drunk in de day, in de night. Always when I see de mans, he eh smell like de liquor. Yeuck. Is eh really disgusting. Oh, and no job. Can you believe? Man has no job? So I say to him one day ‘What is wrong with you man? Why are you drink like dis?’ And he say to me ‘Because I have to be drunk to write. Only I can write when I eh drunk.’” She leaned in to me and looked me right in the eye, “Can you believe me? Always have to be eh drunk to write? Eh so eh stupid.” She waved her hand in disgust. I began exhaling out of the side of my mouth so she didn’t smell the Whipped Vodka on my breath. “Yeah that’s really stupid Grandma, I don’t know why he'd need to drink all the time.” She nodded in acceptance of my agreement. “Okay. So de mans write de book, pero, de Spanish people no read. De Spanish peoples no read anything for nothing. Only watch de TV and de radio. Dey don’t read unless de teacher make them. Can you believe me?” She put her hand on her forehead in despair. It was painful for her to think about the general unwillingness of an entire continent to read anything unless they were in school. Grandma continued, “So de Spanish peoples don’t read, and de mans makeh many, many hundeds of books, and lemme tell you something, iss no cheap to make de hundreds of books. Bery espensive. And you know how many books he sell?” “How many?” She held up a crooked zero with her hand and looked away with a disgusted look on her face, then said “For NOTHING. For nothing. De mans has eh no job, no food for de family. De wife is out working, looking for de money. And de mans is at home like dis,” She did an impression of a man writing on paper with his right hand, and then taking a swig out of a bottle with his left hand. She was so spot on, she could have been doing an impression of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Joyce, or any other famous writer who drank. “Oh no that sucks. It’s too bad he couldn’t sell his books. It was probably his dream.” “Eh. Maybe." She seemed sympathetic for a second, then got fired up again. "But you gotta make de money man! You gotta makeh something good. Make sure de people want to buy. You cant just make de gahbage and expecteh to sell to every body. Iss a hard job man. Bery Hard job.” She crossed her arms again, insinuating that the conversation was over. “Ok, well then I need you to make the pictures extra funny to make sure I sell more books.” “Iss no prollem. I make eh funny. Don’ worry.” |
o'malley's wayIf you're looking for a laugh, stick around. I'm happy to self-deprecate for your enjoyment. archives
May 2015
Categories
All
|
|
|