The Nightmare of White Wine

I drink red wine. It’s evident from my constant reference of it. I drink red wine because the white wine gives me nightmares. 

I didn’t know what I was doing there, in the liquor store buying bottles of white wine with my grandmother. Wine is such a staple in Italian dinners and cooking, so normal, so essential. I didn’t know that, that was what made her sour. 

She’d rock me to sleep. She’d blast Pavarotti in the background, and allow me to dance in the rain. When my mom was out, she’d let me dress up in my mothers wedding gown and wear it around the house. In the summer we’d garden. Tomatoes, an apple tree, basil, all of it, it was from the backyard near the hammock. I’d lay in the hammock when she was hanging the laundry outside. Sometimes she’d take all the white sheets from the warm dryer and wrap me in them so I could nap out there. She never cared if my uncle and I would make a blanket fort in the living room. I could be innovative there, I could dream, and the dream was allowed to be real. 

It wasn’t until, until I could comprehend the change in the air, the change in the wind, that last swing of the white wine. The difference of one bottle to two in the trash. The poison of the dream, the creation of a nightmare would manifest with only the subtle hints of it in her attitude. I never hid wine from her. I never understood or comprehended her disease until I was much older. The vague verbal whip lashes of the wine from her breathe all made sense much later. 

She would slaughter the thought, the reputation, the mention of my father or any of my kin from his side. I would be there at age 10, defending him. Knowing something was wrong but not what. Obstinate, defensive. Her rants would make it to my aunt, not by blood but by the deeper bond of soul, “That rich bitch, SHE isn’t your aunt, don’t call her that!”  It was anyone and everyone from her life. My grandfather (her ex-husband), her sister, my mother, it was the world according to her mind fueled by white wine. 

It destroyed her. It exhausted all the parts of her body and now it has eviscerated her mind. However, not before it fashioned a manipulative, selfish, menacing villain that pitted the family against each other. Having her children fight for the approval of her stuttering words. I love this woman. This destructive manipulative villain that makes Cersei Lannister seem kind.

I love her dearly. She gave me everything. She provided me with so much love, so much comfort, she gave me history and heritage. There won’t be a day that goes by that I won’t think of her melodies and humming when she cooked, her free loving attitude that allowed my ambitions to flourish, to climb the neighborhood trees and indulge in the rain storms. Christmas gifts in the form of dentist visits, and abilities to travel abroad. She invested herself in me. Invested her smile, her freedom, and so I fear, sometimes, her love of wine. I don’t fear that I have inherited her addiction. No, that does not seem to be so. However, I do biasedly indulge in the red. The white wine gives me nightmares. 



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Advetnure Awaits. 

What it’s like to know that you are PMSING

The fact is -I am pmsing. So, I am sorry that I’m not sorry that one minute I wanted some Oreo’s and a binge season of XYZ show then the next minute I really just wanted sex and then afterwards just wanted no one to touch me. This might be confusing to you, but for me, I am very capable of multi-tasking seven emotions at once right now. Warning. 

Often, I do hate it when someone looks at me and asks,"Wait is it that time of the month?"Like it’s there way of saying, honey you’re a bit overboard with the emotions here. As if it’s an excuse to call women crazy and the like. I don’t like it. However, I’ll admit, I am aware of when I am pmsing, I can tell when I start to hyper-analyze the small things and get thrown off by a detail. It goddamn happens. It usually involves a check in with myself of: (1) wait, why does this bother me? (2) This usually doesn’t bother me? (3) When did you have your last cycle? (4) Hmm, it was a little while ago. (5) Oh wait my glands are a little swollen, ah there it is the breast glands start to ache. The bras really start to get inconvenient. I love it when I realze that there is an ache in the breasts. For one, they get slightly larger, secondly women generally get a little more turned on when pmsing. So it’s like the full package if your dating. Great sex prior to the week break ya know? 

Really though, when you realize that you are pmsing it’s like remembering where you left your keys after having lost them for a little while. That feeling of comfort once they are found. That is what it’s like realizing that you are PMSING and that you don’t in fact give a shit about what anyone said, or that your energizer you ordered and waited for tasted bad, when you kinda knew that could be a reality. But dammit I need to yelp that, I wanted this to taste perfect for my post Oreo binge, netflix addiction, sex and alone time. It was supposed to taste like banana and coffee. “I hate that place!” I declared. That is when I knew. That is when my room mate knew, we never curse that delivery place. We love them even knowing that they in fact mess up the ingredients to their own drinks. 

YESSS this really isn’t me, I am just pmsing YESSSS, It’s yes, in fact, that time of the month. And that feels really fucking good to me right about now. 

That is what it’s like when you realize that you in fact aren’t that batshit crazy or irritable. Your body is just busy lining up all the eggs it’s about to kick out of your body. It’s revving you up for the execution of the limited about of eggs you are given and that you slowly get rid of until there are none left. No. Big. Deal. Really, though it’s not a big deal. It’s the most natural thing that occurs next to the urge of hunger. Which, apparently in pairs up with hunger and makes you crave the strangest things, like the banana and coffee drink at that delivery place. 

 It’s quite the nourishing feeling knowing and understanding that you are in fact pmsing. Closure occurs, all the world starts to make sense again.  You start to smile again. Smiling that you know you are pmsing and all the small shit that annoyed you a minute ago, doesn’t matter because you are now in fact salf-aware and given great justification as to why you want to eat all the food in your home. 

I am so happy that I am in fact, pmsing……and that I will give that delivery place another chance. 

Dating Dexter

"I want a better name than 11" 

It’s interesting that I should be choosing to write this at the moment. I am trying to forget him for a little. I’ve caught a case of text anxciousness. I wonder if he is out for a kill.  As quickly and as much as we have hung out, I still really know nothing about him. He makes the perfect Dexter. 

He picked me up at 7:30pm. It was decided he’d plan it all, and it’d be a surprise. Not the smartest frist day agreement on my part, but I took it and he took me to the beach. I was either going to be drowned in the water or in making out. If he was the real deal, maybe both. He lit the first date beach picnic with his cellphone and a plastic cup. “hmm crafty” I thought. The bag he brought was packed perfectly, the car was prisitine, and his appearance blends. Memorable and handsome in physic but, humble enough to seem forgetable amongst the neon ruins of Miami, the perfect serial killer look.He is careful with his words, a demand of his day-time profession. I like the words he uses. He strings them together with thoughts of politics and philosophical inquries. His words makes my mind work, they challenge, they give my mind a struggle. I can’t read him. Not one grimmance. Except the smile. I know I am safe if there is a smile. It doesn’t seem as if those are given away easily. "I still could die, but hey he brought wine…"  We stayed out there for 5 hours. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the salt air but we broke out of the cordial and he cut to the gut of what could be next: “I read about 9 and all I can say is, challenge accepted.” 

 The second date demanded sweats, eating take-out chinese food, and watching the league; for the third date I packed an outfit to change for work the next morning. Finally, fourth date I started to take his allustrious proposition to play hookie and escape to the keys for the weekend a little more seriously. Maybe that is where he will kill me and where he keeps his boat. I wonder…

I mean he killed the number 11. So I guess we’ll call this one Dexter.  


Of all of the Gin joints in the World.

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness, cause all of the moves make up for the silence. 

These days have been full. Work, grad work, and part-time work have all accumilated to a snap chat social  life and post-poned everything. 

I think with the introduction of 10 it was evident I ended the detox. However, when I came back home I persisted on the said detox. Along with burning some bridges, I also happened to slowly fade away from any or all that made me feel less than wonderful. Now, now I can say that I am a happier person. I may be sleeping at midnight, up at 5am, sacrificing weekends, dealing with a less than efficient work place, and struggling with my own professional development- but I’m happy doing all of it. That comes with some serious core of support of friends, family, and a better mental perspective. 

Alas, in the beginning of setting up my life for this school lifestyle I signed up on Okcupid. Why? Well, I felt confident enough  to know exactly what I don’t want and, even more, have the confidence to articulate what I do want. 

 I’ve been having fun for the past year, and it’s been fun- you know the stories, and I didn’t even start numbering until February..there were others. However, now, I am settled and grounded. These days, it’s either me in my bed alone  or I’m going home with someone that I see as a partner in crime.  Nothing in between. No setteling for someone in the “meanwhile” no complete spontaneous act  of a one night stand. No, I had my wasted nights of fleeting romance and carpe diem poetry beckoning my starvation for the impetuous part of my youth. Now I am seeking for that other part of youth: the excitement of an IM, text message, e-mail, phone call, any communication with that crush

When I feel the vibration, hear the subtle ring, I want my mind to immidiately think of you. Who ever you are. I want to wish hope and want that you’ll ask to see me at the next dance or football game. I want to know that you chose to take the long way to class just to pass by me and smile. I don’t like holding hands, but after awhile, when you do reach for it, I want to melt inside and want to jump up and down when you drop me off home. Can I wear your college sweat shirt and it’d be okay if I kept it until your scent wore off? Then there will be that one song that I’ll associate with you, and I’ll replay it all day long when your gone. When the weekend comes I’ll figure out a way to make it to that house party so we can see eachother. Maybe I’ll tell my parents I was staying at a girlfriends house and we can escape this town, this night.  I want to miss you when you’re gone. Leave an impression on my bed and mind. I want to have a crush on you- a high-school kind of crush. 

I wondered aloud, “Whatever happened to having a crush?” -“Sex”- my good friend responded. Is that it? the quick rush of sex that killed the prospect of having a crush? The waiting, wishing, wanting, pining, total heart wrench of receiving or not receiving a text from someone.  I couldn’t help but kind of agree. I mean, I like sex. I stil stand by my beliefs of it as an animal act and the like; do what you want with whom you want and all. However, I can’t exactly ignore the interesting dynamic that arises when you don’t rush into sex. That dynamic being, having a crush on someone; being very, and totally smitten with them. Quite frankly the last time that occured for me beyond highschool  was  in circumstances that delayed sex and forced a slow flirtation to take it’s place. I don’t know if there is a formula here, but right now it’s something I’m exploring. I know what I want, and I want it more than a luxurious, fast, passion of tangled sheets. I want to actually crave kissing you, to quickly run into the bathroom to check if I look nice before you knock on my door, I want to have the biggest smile pasted on my face when I get that text message from you. I want a crush. 

oh and when we do have sex, I want to immidiately tell all of my good friends once you leave. Like I’m back in middle school telling calling up a girl friend to talk about a first kiss. I want to brag about you, that guy who I have the crush on. 

And if it doesn’t work, and you really do crush me. I want to feel the loss. I want to actually miss someone. I put my gladiator sandals on over a year ago looking for something more, getting back out there, I’ve had plenty of negotiations and minor battles, but there hasn’t been a real massacre of vulnerability, the battle for the books, the kind that make or break the war. A real good old crush. That is what I want. 

This song will never get old.

Welcome Ladies and Gentleman, to the 8th Wonder of the World

Detox: the process of removing toxic substances or qualities.

Not too long ago I decided to do a dating detox, just some time to date myself. Single and simmering in it, no need to be with others when I needed to understand the relationship I was going to have with myself. 

"I love myself." During an introduction game of say your name and tell us someone you love, that is what I said. “I love myself.”  A chuckle came from the crowd, the type that identified the selfishness in my answer. I stood by it. "I mean it, it sounds selfish but in the society we live in, we aren’t told to love ourselves in a way that allows us to make decisions that honors your entire entity. Your body, your mind, your character, your worth. I’ve never felt so ready to do all those things." 

I have written what seems like a chaotic amount of back and forth about 4. Always ending in the same identification of no chemistry but the platonic is there. We had a hollow foundation, a completely undefined comfort zone. And then this summer’s break came to allow us to explore other options, a mutual agreement. My only request was that I didn’t want to be the last to know." Do what ever you want with whomever from the area, but tell me if it’s someone from within our brigade, don’t let me be the last to know if it’s within our circle." I would give him the same respect. 

Sadly, the grapevine was a little too long for his reflex. An unsolicited conversation with a mutual friend later, I heard the news. I was done. 

There is no way to describe the deep seeded surmounting betrayal I felt. There was no confusion of what my insecurities and fears would be about this arrangement. There was nothing. This was an offense on the friendship. The things he knows about me. He knows. A day later I conveniently received a text from him asking to talk. Someone told him I knew. Is that what it took? We can’t take ownership and be honest with an intimate friend? Especially with the only request that was made, the only courtesy or respect that I had asked for: to have the news from him. To not be the last to know. And never to be the one to have to bring it to him. I responded with the times that I had available to give this talk it’s time. He agreed and then never followed through. No reschedule, no text, no call. 

I proceeded to live my life without any expectations to hear or speak with him again. Two weeks later on the first day of his arrival home he sent a friendly exclamation pointed text message. What a joke. Let’s ignore the fact that I completely didn’t follow up on the one request you had and pretend like everything is fine. No acknowledgement of my actions or apology on my part needed. But hey I am back how are you other than knowing your angry because of what I did? 

I never answered. 

A day later through our mutual friend circles I received a call from him, inquiring about the trivia night I was doing and when it ended. Because ya’ know we’re like best friends, feel free to come on over. I was polite, cordial, and welcoming as I could be; we shared friends. He didn’t come. He messaged me to the effect of letting me know, stating we should hang out and grab some lunch, and with another exclamation point said trivia must be fun. 

I didn’t bother to answer. 

The next night and packing for Jersey I sat there thinking how long I could go on just being to the point, cordial, kind, but moving away from the friendship. How long could I play this game? Especially being someone that stomps on any notion of playing any games with friends. I picked up the phone and called him. The conversation that proceeded was painful. Pretending like everything was fine, he actually started to talk about his own work experiences and how it was a struggle for him. I couldn’t physically be on the phone longer if it went in that direction so when it was silent, I said, I find this difficult to say but I do clearly remember my last request being to let me know if you were hooking up with someone within our circle before I heard from anyone else. And then you did and I heard from someone else. So I am confused about what is happening here and I don’t see us having a friendship.

Some of you might gasp like this is harsh, but admittedly I’ve been taking too much of this for too long. There were too many occasions that I allowed myself to turn a blind eye to his flirtatious advances of some of our mutual friends. Or just accept that some phone calls weren’t going to get picked up or text message unanswered. I exchanged this treatement  for the comfort, consistency, and warmth at night. I did not honor myself by not taking myself out of this environment sooner. 

The ball was in his court. He explained through a timeline that by the time he would have talked to me, it was too late. So he let me be angry and didn’t address me or it until he returned. And even upon his return he didn’t expect me to return his text or phone, he knew I’d be mad. 

"So you waited until I called you about it?" 


I took a breath as I looked across my room at a wall of photos, evidence of where I’ve been and who was with me for the ride. This thought jumped to distinctly remembering saying earlier that day to a group of strangers that I loved myself, and that I was convicted and rooted in that phrase, that notion, that reality. And so in that moment, I told myself I love myself too much to be treated like this. 

"You don’t value me. We’re not friends. Delete my number." Click. 

The conversation was over. 

There was nothing to converse. Conversations over an argument or disagreement are for friends.  Friends are the people whose actions align to honoring you. It aligns to being respectful, kind, and considerate. I couldn’t even think of an example of one action of his that afforded these words. The definition of his actions were simply that he was not my friend. I was just the one that stated it. 

I put my phone down, went to my computer and put on the song Izzo/ In The End Jay-Z & Lincoln Park from the album Collision Course. I looked in the mirror and mouthed "Welcome ladies and gentleman to the 8th wonder of the world…..Thank you coming out tonight, you could of been anywhere in the world but your here with us. And we appreciate that." I was speaking to my self-worth, dignity, and love for me. 

The next day I had two presnetations and a flight to catch back to the colonies (NYC/JERSEY). I packed with a smile on my face throughout the night and then faced the group of people I just told I loved myself the day before, I knew I wasn’t a liar. 

That’s the anthem. Get your damn hands up- 

The MP


5 Deal Breakers in Dating

I realize there are tons of articles written about deal breakers when it comes to dating; but I am confident this one is a good blanket layer of base expectations. 

1. Tipping. If I am with someone who is very cheap on tipping service for NO GOOD REASON Forget them. You can tell a lot about someone by the way they treat people they don’t need. Forget unattractive, it makes me want to punch you.  It’s human decency to tip nicely. This isn’t Europe, we all know servers work for their tips, and even more there is no reason to be rude to anyone just because their work is within the service industry (which is the largest growing industry in the US). Yup, I will judge you for being cheap on service. 

2. Time. Do not waste my time or anyone else’s. If at any point something like this happens: 

Person 1: Hey are you ready for lunch today?

Person 2: I am so sorry my friends and I decided to go to the beach. reschedule? 

Or worse, they don’t answer. Nope. This person is inconsiderate and selfish. Any fuckery with time is a no go. We’ve all got stuff to do. 

3. Reciprocity. Life is give and take. Not all giving and not all taking. Thus, sex shouldn’t be the exception. If you are giving oral you should be receiving (unless you have some other preference). You should be satisfied, or at the least attempted to be satisfied. 

4. Maturity. I’ll be a girlfriend but not a mom. And gentlemen, you shouldn’t be a dad. The hot mess at a party that needs to be tucked in, coddeled, and demands attention for a small good deed. No. No. No. I am not going to teach you how to act because you are not my child. 

5. Using. I’ve been in a scenario or two when friends have been okay with other friends paying for them without any intention to pay back. Accepting this extravagant gift of dinner without a fight over the check. Even purposeful going out to with or to an event knowing the check would be on the other person. It just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not about opening receiving a kind gesture; it’s about the intention to never return the favor in some genuine or equitable way- the lack of sincere gratitude and increase of “woo hoo didn’t have to pay let me get away before the tide changes.”  It’s a very particular case, it’s a very subtle moment, but when it happens, it’s painful to watch. It’s even more painful when the person who reaped the benefits has no second thoughts and only a “well guess I got a free _____” Ouch. Quite frankly it’s hard for me to have friends like this let alone a companion. 

This was all discussed on a beach in Miami with a few other girlfriends. Let’s see what happens the next time some sex and the city like scene happens on a Miami beach. 

Until then, cheers. 

The mp

Fantastic cover. Brings the song to a whole new level of meaning.