Saturday, October 8, 2016

Mexican Not American

The Spanish Man was a gentleman.

The Spanish Man is NOT Spainish, he is Indio and the the color of his very dark reddish skin is enchanting. 

Those that send money home are delightful; but they may not believe in Christ which is fine by me; since I don't either. No Le pregunte sobre La Virgin.

I promised myself I would never date another Mexican; and don't mean Chicano, cause they are very possessive. And Macho. But dayum he could fix my car (mechanico) or likely help me with anything around the house, gladly. And that skintone! 

An American man or boychild wants a booty call; to meet at the club, for you to pay his meal or have sex before its time but the Indiginous Mextizo will take a girl to eat at her favorite Mexican food restaurant, let her order whatever she wants, allow her to take HERSELF to the club, cause she wanted to ride the scooter;  but still waits outside to pay her entrance to the club.

...Buys her fizzy water unsolicited, does not get wasted or take drugs and dances all night to Cajun music and wears sexy boots like the campesino that he is. 

Not country-western boots, COUNTRY boots. 

The Indian would have liked to take her home but does not in a million years expect to; speaks Spanish to her/me all night nor does he expect a kiss but probably would have delighted in one. 

He dances close but is not aggressive; and did not shove his tounge down her throat unexpectedly like the white man with the blonde mustache did on his first "date"; outside the same club; which actually wasn't a date at all. 

He works 7-5, M-F plays futball, tiene cuerpo athletico, goes to dance, and is my same age which makes me feel good and not competitive. Tomio tantito Cerveza but surprisingly does not chastise me when I smoke a cig. 

Discusses machismo, and says he hopes I never see his machismo side though if dates continue that is certainly inevitable. Girl has already felt the pull of possessiveness. 

So entirely NOT sure if dates will continue; not knowing if the color of skin can sustain the relationship, cause I would marry into that skintone; if only for a greencard or an even better permanent resident alien Visa. 

Friday, October 7, 2016

Babes Babes Babes! UGH Never Have I been so in love, nostalgic, and obsessive for you.

One sleepless night.
One documentary about Bob Weir; where said sleepless night found me snoozing to the delight of who is Bob Weir. 
One Fresh Air Interview with Bob Weir. 
A thousand plays of the record American Beauty as of late. 
Crying to said record. 
Feeling not so much like an American Beauty. 
Being surrounded by real time gorgeous smart, talented American Beauties. 
Being told unprovoked, many times that I'm one of these American Beauties. 
Not believing I'm worthy of the label. 

OK here it goes: confession is progression for me! Gotta get it out. 

I have been quite circular as of late in my thoughts surrounding my age, the grateful dead, my musicianship, my age, and the ages of others. 


And, maybe a loving touch. And a daddy. In this pursuit I have found myself in trouble! I have a dad, of course, but don't feel very connected. It doesn't take a rockstar therapist (though I certainly have one) have had several, in fact, to tell me that I need to: 

a. give myself the love I need
b. take care of the inner child
c. not rush into physical relationship
d. avoid the {{{compare and despair}}}

The last few people I have dated have all been younger than me; not by much, maybe a year or three. But I've found myself unexpectedly attracted to younger man. 

Anyway, I don't know what has happened. I've always gravitated to older men. ALWAYS> I like smarter men, too, smarter than me, please. And colorful, please.  But, lately I've experienced a certain egoism with my collected experience. Digressing...

For these reasons I'm not normally attracted to youngsters. And this particular one is not a good idea for me for reasons I'm not willing to write in public. 

Insert the Grateful Dead obsession. I have been feeling low, that I should be younger, more beautiful, have had earlier success, more talent, ad nauseam fears. 

Bob Weir comes into my life again. He has written his first batch of new songs in 30 YEARS! lol. Wow. Go Bob. Check out "Blue Mountain"

So far, they are a beautiful collection of songs. Thank you Bob. Getting to know him through his interviews has jogged my memories. 

There is a certain summer in 1991when the Grateful Dead was going to be at a three night stint in Las Vegas. (my current ((but not only -- I'm not crazy)) romantic interest was a 3 yo) 

My sister (yall know, the one and only taken to the other side way too young at 32) my best friend Laura Rosenbaum and I packed up our Birkenstocks, some beer in a cooler, and bought some tickets to the Dead and started the cross country path to Vegas. We had one ticket each for the nights. 

We got into a rollover car accident. 

We ended up, upside down in a ditch. 

We were all safe, but rattled. 

I don't remember how we got home; but we all got MIP's that came back to haunt me later$. 

Back in Austin I was LIVID not scared> how could this happen? Somewhere in my mind I knew it was my one and only chance to see the Dead (as it was) and my two best friends from high school, the Boyd twins were meeting me there. My compadres stayed behind.

The twins and their older brother Normie introduced me to the Dead; and in '89-'91 hippy culture was back full on. Me and my friends listened largely to Cream, The Dead, Cream, and the Dead, Neil Young, and I personally loved Joni Mitchell. *along with some Judy's, Paul Simon, & Lenny Kravitz. Let Love Rule? Mamma Said? Retro CLASSIC AMAZING love it still> Nostalgia.  

Anyway, I powered on. I bought a one way ticket and found myself one day late to the show I had ticket for. 

I looked and looked for a miracle. I didn't have to look hard. It was called "A miracle" if someone gave you a free ticket in; a spare ticket. 

I entered the stadium. I found my friends. I lost my friends. I got lost in the culture. I have NEVER experienced anything like it in my life since. 

The vibe was SO LOVING. I was not on acid yet. In one splendid moment The Dead was playing "Women are Smarter" it was religious. A real spiritual experience. 

I took some liquid acid. It didn't work. I slept in a bush on the strip. I wore a hippy skirt with a draw string and paisley's. 

I rode home with a sweet girl I met and we got gas vouchers all the way back; from you know various churches along the way. I bet you didn't know! Neither did I. It was a huge pain in the ass but it was an adventure. I've never seen her again. 

Now that those days are long long passed (I have never experienced anything that loving in a huge group of people ever, a real love fest filled with amazing music...) 


I'm a GenXer all the way. And I need to feel empowered by that; or just empowered for who I am. 

Sometimes I do. The beauties around me, they are largely 27, 28. They haven't started aging yet. They are talented and gorgeous. They could easily be perceived to my arrested mental state to be a threat. But they're not. 

They have so much to offer me; and I cherish them. I cherish what is real. You know who you are.