Recent Blog Posts: Mas

Sunday Breakfast With The Girls

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 18:56:02 PDT

My friend Burgh sent me an email last night with her Florida "vay-kay" pictures. One of them was her and her hubby at the beach. She's in a bikini.

Aside from her day job, she also teaches some fitness classes at her local gym. She works out. A LOT! And watches what she eats.

I emailed her, "woot! All that excercising pays off hu? That's why you look like that.. and I look like a pregnant mama of four. Nice pictures."

She emails me back, "You crack me up...but yeah...exercise and diet...."

SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD is about right for me. EXERCISE????? And diet... I don't know about all that... heheheheh

------- later that day.....

I texted Dee and Goocher about getting together for a girls breakfast on Sunday.

They both said ok.

This morning Dee texts me, "what time?" I say, "Can you be here around 10:00am? Is that too early?"

She texts back, "Heck yah! I get up at 6:30am to run, so 10:00am is NOT early."

I said, "Dang! you're a dedicated runner!"

she said, "I KNOW! I already lost 9 lbs."

I text her back, "BRAT"

But seriously.. dangit. I need to get my big booty in gear. So here is my new commitment, and you MAS buddies, friends and family will hold me accountable, ok?

I will walk two miles every morning or evening. Even on weekends. No dieting because I don't really eat bad.

As I'm typing she text me back, "I know! I am one fit chick!" hee hee

That's putting it mildly!

Chapter Two Part One

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 07:23:42 PDT

Lucas was staring; she could feel his dark piercing eyes fixated on the side of her face.

They were sitting on a curb, practically in the middle of the mercado, surrounded by fruit stands, in a sea of people. There was a low roar of voices, an occasional shout from the vendors, and the impatient blast of a horn. Footsteps tread in rhythmic tempos, wooden crates squealed as they scraped upon the sidewalk, and a child’s cry grew in crescendo.

She couldn’t hear Lucas breathe.

An acidic tang speared the warm sugar-sweet musk that wafted upon the immediate air. A splintered cart creaked under the weight of large blushed yellow ovate mangoes.

Lucas had resorted to holding his breath.

Her pen stopped mid-sentence, her head tilting to stare back at him. She tucked a strand of her short black hair behind her quadri-pierced ear, her long lashes lowering as she squinted in the bright sunlight. “What?”

A thick brow arched. “Did you hear me?”

Maggie exhaled. “There's an island a few hundred miles off shore where pyramids litter the sandy beaches. I heard you.” She turned her attention back to her notes.

A large bronze hand splayed out across her page. “Haunted pyramids. You didn't hear me.”

Two minutes was the longest she’d ever been able to ignore Lucas.

“Imagine the artifacts hidden on that island. Or the Latin hieroglyphics written on the pyramid walls.”

She finally closed her tattered notebook, focusing on him. “We're not archeologists.”

“It won't hurt for us to go take a look.”

She looked over the young man's dark features, catching the smile threatening to surface on his lips. “Who are the inhabitants of this wonderful island?”

He finally did smile, his full lips pulling back to reveal coffee-stained teeth—the result of years of late night studying. “Actually, there are no inhabitants, but there are fruit trees everywhere. A jungle of them.” He hesitated, his lilting voice trailing off into the din of the marketplace. “And—”

“And?”

“And it's sort of legendary for having a nudist beach.”

She gaped. “That's not the kind of legend we're looking for. You didn't tell Peter about it, did you?”

He stood, extending a hand towards her. His smile was wide. “He was with me when I heard about it last night.”

“Lucas!” Maggie smacked her best friend's hand away, groaning. “Stop hanging out with him. He's perverting you.” She stood up from the curb, dusting the back of her baggy jeans with the notebook.

“It seemed like a good idea.”

“Well, it's not a good idea.” Her lithe body stretched, and her small nose crinkled as sweat ran down her back.

“Think in scholastic terms.” Lucas chuckled as he followed her back towards the hotel.

Soft brown eyes glanced back at him, squinting. “I bet he's convincing the professor right now.”

“A wealth of indigenous knowledge.” He squeezed her shoulders, pulling her back before she could step into a cluster of small green guayabas that had fallen off of a rusted metal table. “That's what we came to El Salvador for.”

“We came here to research Salvadorean legends. Not nudist beaches.”

Part Two coming soon

Mother of the Year

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 15:22:37 PDT

Monday was the first day of school. Of couse the Baby Twinkies were excited but nervous at the same time. It took forever to get them to bed. And even longer to get them to stop talking and go to sleep.

My sleep wasn't any better. I've been hurting a lot. My back, shoulders etc. But that's for another blog.

Anyways, Big Mickey asked if I could please walk him to class the first day. I guess he didn't realize this is tradition for me (I always walk them to class their first day) and he's going to have to deal with it all the way through high school.

No, really! I did it for my teens until the 8th grade. Don't worry! It didn't traumatize them or anything. In fact, they enjoyed it. Of course I would never do it in High School. They are too old for that.

Anyways, Annequin was more nervous than usual which is surprising because he's typically a very "together" kinda dude. Seriously, he oozes confidence and it's just natural for him. Nothing he learned, just something he IS.

In fact, he's usually the one telling his lil bro, Big Mickey that's it's going to be ok!

But see, Annequin... (who prayed to God the night before to please make his wish come true) was hoping and hoping and hoping he'd get the same teacher as his best friend "K". That's all he could talk about the night before and all morning.

He didn't.

Which made him soooo upset (plus he was already nervous anyways) that he started to complain that his tummy hurt. YES.. as soon as we saw on the big board outside the office who his teacher was... ALL OF A SUDDEN... he holds his tummy and said it hurt. And he wanted to go home.

I thought he was just upset and faking it so I told him to knock it off. Then he started crying.

So I sent him to the office! Well!!!!!! I Big Mickey was excited about meeting his teacher and new friends and I didn't want Annequin to ruin Big Mickey's excitement with his Debbie Downer attitude just because he didn't get to share a class with his BFF.

"Go to the office and sit there and wait for me till I take Big Mickey to class. Then I'll take you home. But I'm gonna tell you right now, Annequin! If you're faking it you're gonna be in soooo much trouble! AND don't think you're gonna sit at home and watch t.v. all day either! If you're too sick to be in school then you're too sick to watch t.v.! You got it?"

Annequin: holding his tummy in pretend pain and crying crocodile tears "YESSSSSS" (insert fake pouty smiley face here!)

So I take Big Mickey to his class. His teacher does this thing where she makes the kids stand in line and one by one they have to go up to her, shake her hand, introduce herself to them before they are allowed in class.

I then picked Annequin up and told him I was taking him home because he wasn't feeling good.

BUT I REMIND HIM very sternly... if he's not feeling good enough to go to school then he's also NOT feeling good enough to watch tv so he's to stay in bed all day. I figure this is his last chance to redeem himself and decide all on his own that this faking the tummy ache thing is not worth it, and stay in school.

Well, I get home for lunch and guess who's sleeping on the bathroom floor wrapped in a blanket? Yup, Annequin.

I woke him and asked if he was ready for lunch and he said yeah. I asked why he was asleep on the floor and he said because he didn't want to throw up on the couch (AGAIN)

I said, what do you mean AGAIN????

He says, "I was laying on the couch (insert real crying here) and I threw up. I cleaned up as best as I could but then I didn't want to throw up on the couch again but I still wasnt' feeling good and I wanted to sleep so I figured I'd sleep on the bathroom floor in case I threw up it would be easier to clean."

Yup! Mother of the year award.. right here. ME. This Twinkie HERE. My poor baby was not only NOT faking it. But he threw up, thought I'd be upset.. and cleaned it up before I got home.

Talk about GUILT. Aurgh.

who do you want to be president?

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 01:12:34 PDT

Who do you want to be president? Me? Someone who will make this country better. Someone that stands on principles, morals and values. Someone who tries their best to keep their promise. I remember running for student class president promising better lunches. I wasn’t lying, its just that once I was elected I didn’t know I had no control over that. Oops, sorry. Well maybe that’s my fault for not having enough experience… If I were president I would fix this whole war thingy and get rid of the national debt. I would have a health care system that work s and teachers would be drug tested. Yeah you read right! Unfortunately, easier said than done because once you become president and you set a motion forth it takes a long time, it’s a long, long process for it to become the “new” system. A lot of voting, vetoing, etc… Do you think that the term for a president is too little to make a difference? don’t get me wrong, it takes very little time for someone to screw it up, but what about for someone to fix it? The truth is its too much country for one person to change. I look around on a Saturday night and I see too many people getting drunk, doing drugs, pregnant, going out, speeding, talking on cell phones, shopping, screaming, crying, laughing, and I think…. Can one tiny, little ol president rule them all?

who do you want to be president

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 01:11:19 PDT

Viagra Users BEWARE!

Fri, 22 Aug 2008 14:46:24 PDT

My friend sent me an email this morning and I asked her permission to post it word for word on my bakotopia.com/MAS blog.. and anywhere I could think it could help somebody. Please share this with anyone and everyone that will listen. And feel free to share your thoughts about the subject here!

*sidenote..this is NOT an "email forward". This email was actually sent to me by my friend.

I don't know if I told you that my sister's husband, my BIL, felt like there was something on one of his eyes a few weeks back. He couldn't really explain it but felt like a speck of sand or something was on his eye. He let it go for 3 days and finally told my sister that he needed to go to the eye doctor becaue it was really starting to bother him. The eye doctor ran whatever tests and it turned out his retina had detached in 4 places! They rushed him in for immediate eye surgery and said he would have been completely blind in that eye within hours.

He had the surgery and everything seemed ok and they assured him his eye would be getting better and stronger. But he is noticing that not only is his eye getting weaker, but he is starting to feel like his other eye is weakening. The doctors do not know what it could be.

FAST FORWARD:

My sister was doing one of her client's hair TONIGHT who is married to an opthomalogist and asked her questions about why his eye could possibly be doing this since it's not heriditary. Her client started asking her numerous questions. One of them was, "By chance, does your husband take Viagra?"

My sister was stunned because he does. He just started 6 months or so ago.

She told my sister that it came out in the Medical journals in 2005 that there may be a link between Viagra and blindness.

She immediately called me to tell me and ask me had I heard of anything like that in news reports before. I googled to see if it could be substantiated and there were PLENTY of medical articles and credible news associations (CNN, Washington Post, etc) who mentioned the possible link in 05' because the blood supply to the eyes are blocked or redirected. Pfizer is (probably) keeping this as hush as possible because they have made millions upon millions of dollars and for all we know they have the FDA in their pockets, as the FDA continues to insist there is no substantial link and putting it on other factors (that didn't apply to him).

If you know of ANYONE taking Viagra, Cialis, Levitra please read the articles below and/or pass it on. Because I know someone personally (possibly) affected by this, I wanted to make sure everyone read this. Some people suffered blindness as soon as 48 hours after takng their first dose. He's been taking it for about 6 months. He is now suffering permanent vision loss in the "corrected' eye and is feeling the affects on the other. I'm watching this vital man (who has always been so charismatic and generous) starting to die inside as his vision goes. He also makes the bulk of their household income and provides their medical so they are really worried about what may happen.

The news and medical reports also stated the octal damage is irreversible.

I came across these articles just tonight when I sought to substantiate it. See your own doctor for more information.

CNN.com

http://www.cnn.com/2005/HEA...

Washington Post

http://www.washingtonpost.c...

Medical News Today:

http://www.medicalnewstoday...

L.A. Times:

http://articles.latimes.com...

Lawyer seek:

http://www.lawyerseek.com/P...

THE ARROYO OF CAMPO LA JOYA*

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 11:17:57 PDT

A dog barks

below the ridge.

Bougainvillea blossoms

swaying in the courtyard

beg the seaward

breeze for mercy

just before it carries

off a bevy of petals

in its playful arms.

From my rusty old swivel chair

in the courtyard I twist around

to look at the sawed off branches

of the pepper tree, which, tomorrow,

Javier will feed to the stinking

arroyo where the fat woman, her

round sweaty face glistening and

heavily smudged with soot,

grubs with grimy hands

for bones which—with teeth

ground down past the

jawbones of history—she

can still chew on.

While off in another part

of the earth—when

the dry season comes,

men on legs

frozen with famine,

who would kill for the wood

smoldering in the

stinking arroyo, simply

multiply like weeds.

On the legs

of a cold sun,

the famine draws

nearer, fly rimmed starving

eyes, mothers

desperate to feed

bloated stomachs...still

distant though in the

late evening haze.

But some say:

If you listen

with your soul

to the sounds of

the sea in the

gathering dusk,

you may hear

it whispering not

about the Millenium

but about the coming

of a very long

and starless night.

*An unincorporated rural settlement

in Baja California, Mexico

Something Stinks In China

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 23:50:50 PDT

By now I'm sure it's way old news but I still wanted to address the lip synching fiasco at the Chinese Olympics. Or what will be known around the world as the "Chinese Milli Vanilli fiasco of 2008."

Girl, you KNOW it's true.

But what about the fake fireworks? Did you hear about that?

OH, of course you did. It made headlines.

What about China's weather? Isn't it sooooo perfect and beautiful?

Ummm that would actually be a NOOOOOOOO! You see, China had almost all their manufacturing plants shut down so as they wouldn't pollute the city while the tourists were in town.

And there is... well...there is....

Well, a whole bunch of other fake shit that quite frankly... I mean really? ?? WHO CARES??????

Does this make China a bad country? NO... their everything else makes them a bad country.

Did you know that the USA took similar steps to ensure the perfect Olympics in Atlanta & LA we moved homeless so they wouldn't be near the events? Yup, it's true, folks. AND they did the same thing in Tempe when the super bowl was there years ago, they literally put all the homeless on busses and shipped them down to Tucson.

Can I just ask you something? Whatever happened to the sanctity of political secrets? geez.louize.

I long for the days where politicians were cripples and nobody knew about it and Presidents had prostitutes come to the White House and everybody kept the secret.

I mean seriously if a political leader wants to have the perfect Olympics with only pretty people that is his government, his people, his perrogative. enough with the drama.

NOW the little girl knows that the whole world knows she's too ugly to be on t.v.

Thanks alot whistleblower dude. Good call.

The whole world thanks you. And guess what? You don't look at ALL like a big ol' snitch. Not one bit.

Now can I ask something else???? Am I the ONLY one that sees the big fat elephant in the room? LOL

** see picture above to see what I'm talking about.

and go HERE for full article of fake shhhhhhtuff, including how fake the USA is compared to China, according to this reporter!

THE TALE OF A YOUNG MAN IN THE DESERT.

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 12:06:44 PDT

(This was published in hardpan a poetry quarterly in Modesto)

Surrounded

by three cinder block walls

under a leaky tin roof

where buckets catch the rain,

brown hands

eat nopales and beans

and scrape together $300 credit

to pay a coyote—for

the pull north for work

is bone deep as the legends

that defy the most menacing

threats reality can muster.

And, just as rain yields to gravity,

filial hope—in the face of debt,

and a deadly journey—

yields to the pull

of the fabled land

that lies to the north.

As a hopeful son

crosses the border

into the Arizona desert,

nothing changes—

the same bleak, brown grass

on both sides, the same

two gallons of water

still in each hand,

the same blind hope

lodged in his soul

______________________

His worn sneaker with trailing laces

was found beside a cactus,

and—quite far from there—

his parched body was gathered

into a bag bound for a morgue

in El Norte, to be frozen.

And though El Norte spends billions

to stop los Jaunitos and las Marias

from crossing that border,

they still keep crossing it:

they come by the millions

to send money home—

to fix leaky roofs, and other reasons

too numerous to name.

Some succeed, but others

die like carrion

to feed the feverish

dry winds of the desert.

And while its certain

that all things change,

until they do,

one thing that’s never certain ...

is when.

Chapter One Part Ten

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 07:28:51 PDT

The edge of town was close, less than a mile from the shack. Michaelson was there, at the designated bus stop. Leaning close to a pair of teenage girls.

The commandant stopped beside Michaelson, eyes watching the road for signs of the bus. He consciously ignored the teasing voices of the two girls, and Michaelson's lascivious laugh.

He felt the nudge, but didn't acknowledge it.

Michaelson snickered. “What do you say? Do I have time for a quickie?”

Kiarme's head slowly turned to look at him. His face remained expressionless. “About as much time as it takes me to draw my gun.”

Michaelson blinked, his leer instantly disappearing.

Kiarme turned his attention back to the road, his lips pressed tight together. It was difficult suppressing his instincts; he commended himself on the effort. The hardest parts of the mission were over: all of the supplies were bought, the dynamite had been acquired, and he had managed to keep Michaelson alive.

He stared down the coconut tree-lined road, waiting for the glint of metal and the cloud of exhaust. The sooner he got back to Playa Arrayan, the sooner he could relax. Once he got back to his island, he’d report back to Blue and let him deal with Michaelson’s discipline.

The girls giggled again, and he heard Michaelson snicker.

It was just a matter of getting through the night now.

Chapter Two coming soon

Ode to César Chávez

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 14:52:42 PDT

Like a cockroach I crawled

onto a day labor bus that morning

over on Stockton’s

old west side near the

rescue mission and the little Mexican

café where the salsa was so hot

it gave you the hiccups. Then

with the bus’s motor idling in the

dark like a plane waiting for

take off, I took a seat and

waited. After a few more sleepy

souls had, with lowered gaze

and hunched shoulders,

stumbled on the bus, the driver

counted us, and pulled the door

shut. He let out the clutch, the

bus groaned and shuddered, then

slowly moved out in the darkness.

Then, bouncing, swaying and jerking

the bus crawled in low gear along a

field’s black edges under the stars

before grinding to a stop

beside a jumbled up heap of tossed

off gunny sacks. We filed out like

prisoners into the first faint light,

grabbed our sacks, and all went to

bashing, and whacking at the

grubbed up broken skulls of

fractured dirt packed as hard

around the carrots as sun baked

bricks. The smashed clumps

exploded with dull thuds as they

broke loose from the dusty

orange roots being

chucked into our sacks.

This was the ‘70’s and

the pay was nineteen cents a full sack.

Come quittin’ time the

paymaster tallied my nine and a

half sacks ‘n’ gave me a dollar’n’

eighty cents—the highest pay on the

bus that day. The way I felt, he

could’ve just kicked me in the

seat of my pants.

It was for just such indignities that

Chavez threw his whole

heart into the struggle for those

cropping the fields and catching the

rails north to the apples, and the

new ones—hungry shadows stealing

north ‘cross la frontera in the night,

dodging la migra’s search lights

harpooning the darkness.

In my mind’s eye

I see his likeness

skillfully carved

from a choice piece of

very rare wood by

destiny’s hands, then

hand waxed and

burnished to a deep

luster in his memory

by all those who

looked up to him.

He was always there

when we needed him

in the fields! And when

death pounced he’d

battled the best he could,

and better than most!

EL NORTE

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 12:29:20 PDT

Her strength

rises and falls

in the dust,

smashing the dreams

lying about her feet.

She stops

and watches the big rigs

passing her fenced in

dusty yard, day after day,

in a mind numbing push

for a place

none will ever reach.

She doesn’t hear the shouts

of the two small mouths

in the dusty yard, that

yearn for her love;

for only the syllables in the

headphones of the radio

strapped to her hip like a gun

lift her above the places of

drowning in her mind.

From those heights

in dreams

she sees the scraggly old buyer

of dead dreams

receive her lot, and—

without so much as a glance

into her dark glasses--

weigh the batch

and fling it back into the dark,

bottomless pit of dead dreams

at the end of the world. . .

His nail scarred hands

count out the silver she

passionately trusts

will redeem the long, dusty,

journey north,

and, lift her forever

above the dust

here among the gringos

and their strange ways.

But tonight

She’ll sweat once again

‘neath the groaning weight

of a man’s wounded ego;

then she’ll dream (this woman

watching the highway)—

of long ago when the fabled roads

of dust and hope

all led north; of times

before the burning

of the bridges; of times

when fabulous tales

carried in the clotted silence

of parched mouths

came back south

from El Norte—of stories

that stirred up flames

in the soul of a small girl

still inside her. . . still

waiting, still searching for

something in the dust

of El Norte worthy

of her dreams.

The 15th Annual Hispanic Consumer Trade Show

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 18:17:15 PDT

I just want to remind everyone that our annual Hispanic Consumer Trade Show will be held at the Kern County Fairgrounds this coming Sunday, 08-17-08 from 11am to 5pm.

It's free (no charge) and there will be great food, beverages, live music and entertainment and children's activities so bring your kids.

There will be a lot of businesses there dispalying their business wares and there will be an overall of fun so see you there. Oh and if you get lucky and get arrested and sent to the trade show jail, Do not fear, Gotta Go will be there to bail you out.

Hey Somedude......where you at?

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 17:58:07 PDT

Hey Dude!! Where are you? I know we don't agree on a lot of things but hey! We kind of have something in common in our heritage. I was kinda having fun talking to you so get back in here and tell me your wisdom!!

COLORBLIND AND JAMMIN'

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 12:24:26 PDT

Big eared, you story tellin' mouse 
runnnin' up and down 
those black-and-white, all-night keys 
bouncin' off big ol' bass notes—
and no lovesick lyrics
bein’ poured 
down no microphone; 
just get on down 
an’ sting me sweet, 
you honey bees suckin’ deep
for the liquor 
in the sap from the trees 
down on Cool street forever!

And cut me loose, 
Mr. blues man!--'n' 
let the spirits in the rooster's blood 
bring it all back down 
to the bluesy stuff;  
away out in a 
moonlit swampy place
where the whole world's 
gettin' down 
like a dog on a bone
in a                Cool 
soul-to-soul smack 
of sweet brown heavens 
movin God's mountains, 
and you Mr. drummer got me wonderin'--
can you still take me under 
with those runaway bolts 
of God-a-mighty thunder?-- 
Still blow me away out 
past all the colors and shades 
of slam-dunk useless hate? 
An'hey! Hold that note! 
Mr. Sax-man. And drift with the moon 
lookin' back down 
on all those ball’n’chain years 
hidden in the sores 
and festerin' wounds
down inside those sun-to-sun, 
can't-run-and-can't-hide blues; 
'cause when you pushin' truth 
across-the lines, 
you gonna get stabbed 
sometimes, an' clear on down 
through the soles 
of your walkin' shoes, 
travelin' and paying your dues,
Mr. Moon Man, workin' the groove,  
fixin' the night,
an' fixin' those all-night rides 
for flyin’an’cryin’ 
with an inside high—with that story 
tellin' mouse runnin' up and down 
those black'n'white keys, 
bouncin off late night base note’s 
boogie woogie fishin’ boats; workin the groove, 
driftin' with the moon, ‘till we
get it right—'till we all be jammin', 
toe tappin' 
and colorblind!