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How good would it be… If I had sex in my senior seminar classroom?

How good would it be… If I had sex in my senior seminar classroom?

I must be honest…

The thought has crossed my mind more than once while we’re there analyzing prose

I think it’s because of the classroom itself…

See, it’s a small classroom with a single oval table and about ten chairs for us to sit in.

There are tons of books all around the classroom in glass-door chests and I wonder…

How good would it be… If I had sex in my senior seminar classroom?

Before anyone gets there, before our novels by Dickens are spread out taking all the space, before we are consumed by the world of literature, I could meet with my lover and have hot, wild, passionate sex on the table… in my senior seminar classroom…

Think about it… Not only will the thought of being caught by the professor make the love scene intense, but also having such an audience in the room makes my blood rush now, simply from the thought!

Oh! The tons of wonderful authors in those books that surround us will be there as well, watching my lover and me making love on the oval table.

Dickens, Marlow, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Conrad, and The Bronte Sister are all there, amongst others, watching us….

It’s like we’re having a literary orgy

And I, conscious of the audience, will moan using alliteration…

Baby, I’m begging for your blissful belongings!

And using my metaphors and similes…

I will ride you like a drunken woman on a mechanical bull because your loving is a downpour on my body…

I’ll even use metonymy as I whisper in your ear and tell you, your Johnson is feeling exceptionally delightful…

And just when our climax is near, before my classmates arrive, before the novels are open…

While we continue to work towards our love coming down… I’ll look over my shoulder and in the excitement, thrill, and stimulation, maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a glimpse of the authors giving us a standing ovation…

Or, wait… could it be my professor walking in?

It is… He walked in as I daydreamed about,

How good it would be… If I had sex in my senior seminar classroom.

Reflections by the Window

By far, my biggest insecurity isn’t regarding any physical attribute. It isn’t about how well I fill out or don’t fill out my jeans. It only concerns one thing, and one thing only: Being a mother. Very often, more often than I would like to, I have insecurities about the most important job in my life… I wonder if I’m being a good mother and most of the time I’m beating myself up telling myself that I could’ve done better with one thing or the other. Maybe I’m chasing perfection, and of course bound for failure, or maybe I can grow and become a better parent one day at a time. I don’t know which one it is or if it’s a little bit of both but what I’m absolutely, without a single doubt, sure about is that I often suffer from moms-guilt when I take longer than usual at school or work, or when I want to spend some time reading a good book or blogging. I always feel guilty when I rather watch one of my movies or shows, which are not appropriate for the kiddies, than to watch Toy Story for the tenth time. These things don’t happen all the time. I make time for my children everyday but when they do occur I can’t help but to feel guilty.

As I looked out the window, I thought about all kinds of things. I asked myself if things would’ve been different had I had my children later in life and not at such a young age. Here I am still growing and evolving and being a parent to two boys. It’s not an easy job, but then again it’s not an easy job at any age. I also thought about my parents; how much I love and respect them and while I reminisced about them, I learned something about being a parent. I learned that if I’m even questioning whether or not I’m a good parent, chances are that I am. Bad parents don’t wonder if they’re doing a good job. They simply don’t care. I also learned that taking time out for myself isn’t bad either. What matters is that I try to spend time with them as often as I can and that I’m there for all the important things.

I remember when I would ask my mother to play a game with me and she would often tell me no, either because the novelas were on, or because she didn’t know how the game was played. My mother wasn’t the most attentive mother, but she always showed me she cared. She was there every time I was sick; to take me to the doctor, and to make sure I got well soon. She was always there to defend me from anyone and I always felt protected. My father was always an excellent provider; whatever I needed, he was there to make sure I got it. It was him, who I always coerced into playing with me and he was always there to listen to me ramble on about my school day. They were both very supportive: there for every talent show, every science fair, and every parent-teacher conference.

My parents were there for me just like I’m there for my kids, comforting them when they’re sick, taking them to the doctors, making that chicken noodle soup. I give them smiles, kisses, and hugs on a daily basis. And yes, while I stand here and ask myself, “Am I spending enough time with them?” “Am I being too strict?” or “Am I not fun enough?” I am also telling myself that my kids appreciate any time I spend with them, whether it’s taking them to a birthday party or a short conversation during dinnertime. They love me because they know that I will be there to protect them, to guide them, to listen to them, and to simply love them.

I will always be there for all the things that matter. I just have to take it one day at a time.

Woman...

You know, this weekend I finally learned something vital and worth blogging about. Women are the reason why men continue to act like “dogs”. I don’t mean to come down on my breed, but, ladies, we need some harsh honesty for our asses and I’m here to give it to you.

So, I’m at this party, a kid’s birthday party, to be exact, it is mostly a family affair with some friends and neighbors there as well. One woman, who had been invited by the host (the birthday boy’s mom), was a co-worker of hers, and I guess she must’ve forgotten where she was and decided that she was going to flirt, exchange phone numbers and Facebook information, and hit on some of the guest that were there. Mind you, practically every man there was married or with their girlfriends. My first thought was that she was being extremely disrespectful to the host. Here she was, having been invited to her co-worker’s home to share in the child’s birthday party, and she is busy picking up men, as if she was at the club. My second thought was: “Women like this kill me!” This woman, without any hesitation, exchanged numbers with a man who was there with a date, and exchanged Facebook details with a man who was there with his wife and kids. This same woman who is now showing an obvious lack of respect for everyone, including herself, is the same woman that would probably cause a fight had she been the man’s date or the other man’s wife.

This is when it hit me. Men do what they do to women because women allow them to. If we have just a little respect for ourselves, they wouldn’t get away with half of the things they do to us. We are so busy complaining about them when we are the culprits. We are so fixed up on the idea that “the next girl is not going to care about us, so why should we care about them?” that we keep the circle of infidelity going. Women, we need to stand together on this issue, if we ever want to tackle it. If we don’t respect ourselves, you better be sure that a man isn’t going to either. We are so quick to disrespect ourselves on the sake of a man that if he’s disrespecting one woman to talk to you will also disrespect you to talk to the next girl.

Let’s have some self-respect. Lets do onto others, as we will like done onto us. Lets not settle for second. Lets not let a man put any other woman above us.

And if you don’t show respect for yourself or for another woman, then don’t complain when the tables turn on you…because they will.

(Note: Pay close attention to my diction. I used the word “breed” in the first paragraph because it’s supposed to make you think of dogs. If a man can be called a dog for putting his nose everywhere, then a woman can be called a bitch (female dog) for acting like one.)

My Conversation With God (And A Shout Out To My Girls!)

So, I’m at this fashion show the other day and while there are so many things going on, and so much fashion for me to admire, the only thing I could do is have a conversation with God. No, I’m not the most religious person you’ll ever meet; In fact, I’m not very religious at all, but while I looked at those skinny beautiful models, I couldn’t help but to ask God: “God, if you were going to make me this slim, and never give me the hips, bootie, and thunder thighs that I always wanted (even after two kids!), then why, why oh why, couldn’t you make me about five inches taller, so that I could be a model, get paid for being skinny, and forget the fact that I have no bootie!” I tried my best to keep my sense of humor that night, but I couldn’t get past my thoughts and my conversation with God. I mean, don’t get me wrong, God did a great job in creating me. I do think I’m gorgeous, and I am very smart, and funny, but God, what happened to the bootie? The hips? The thick legs? The C-cup breast size? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I really don’t. Most of you out there reading this are thinking that I’m being greedy, but shit have you seen Jennifer Lopez? … In case you haven’t, she has a beautiful face, nice hips, an ass to die for, basically all around perfection. Have you seen Beyonce? The list goes on and on. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable in asking him why couldn’t he have created me five inches taller so I can be a model, or give me Ms. Jelitza Ayala’s beautiful legs, Ms. Mahogany Torres’ wonderful hips, and Ms. Natalia Abreu’s bootylicious ass? Take notes God, for when I’m reincarnated. Love ya.

LOL-ing…..

Latina Pride

Here I am listening to Olga Meredith’s “Paciencia y Fe” song on the In the Heights soundtrack. This is probably the most important song in the musical, for it sets the tone for the entire show. It’s a song about the Latino experience, whether in our native countries or in America. If you’ve never heard it, I strongly advise you to do so. I’m sure it’s on YouTube or maybe on the show’s actual site.

In the song Olga talks about life “back home”, in Cuba: the sky full of stars, the birds, the heat, the poorness, the hunger, the anger, but also, she talks about life in America: the discrimination, the lack of good jobs, the language barrier issue, the ambition, the bravery, the faith, the dreams. I mean, really, the song is incredibly passionate, heartfelt, and above all, real. It’s definitely one of my favorite songs on the soundtrack and one of my favorite songs period.

Listening to “Paciencia y Fe” brought back memories of a conversation I had once and it completely changed my perspective. Listen up:

One night I was hanging out with some friends when two of the guys there asked me a question that they had already asked me before, but the first time it was brushed off with no further discussion. The guys were African-American and their question was: “what influential individuals do Puerto Rican people have to be proud of?” I answered with what I knew off the top of my head and I said Tito Puente, one of the greatest artists in Latin Jazz, Rita Moreno, the first female entertainer to win all four major awards (Grammy, Emmy, Tony, Oscar), and Antonia Novello, a brilliant doctor who served as the surgeon general of the United States between the years of 1990-1993. In my eyes, these people were, indeed, influential individuals, people of substance, and is that not what was in question? The original question was: whom do Puerto Ricans have to be proud of? An accomplishment is an accomplishment, at any level, and it’s something to be proud of. However, the people I mentioned were not good enough for them. They wanted individuals that can be compared to the likings of Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, or Nelson Mandela: people who changed the world in some way.

I respected their objections, but my first thought was that these people are so famously known, and they did what they did because they had no other option; they had no other route to take. They were under an immense amount of pressure that could’ve only been tackled by the extreme. Therefore, they took actions that reflected their troubles. I believed Puerto Ricans were never under such severe circumstances to bring about such reactions. Yes, we were discriminated against, but it cannot be compared to the discrimination African Americans experienced. These were my initial thoughts. The fact that Puerto Ricans were also enslaved in their own country, that we were colonized and used and abused (think: Vieques), and that many people on the island fought hard to make a difference didn’t come to mind. My brain wasn’t prepared for such a question and I felt upset that I didn’t have the knowledge to tackle this situation. However, these men managed to challenge me. After speaking to them, I wanted to learn everything concerning Puerto Rican people; the time before the United States took control, the time after, life on the island, and migration to the states. I was hoping to find prominent Puerto Rican people that I could be proud of under anyone’s standards, and, indeed, I did.

I learned of many prominent, successful, intelligent individuals. People like Luis Munoz Marin, Pedro Albizu Campos, Ricardo E. Alegria, Victor A. Carreno, and many others. But still, I constantly thought about my initial motivation while I advanced in my research. The truth is I am not sure why these men questioned me the way they did about people of the same ethnicity as mine; I don’t know if they were doing it out of genuine interest, to challenge me, or to demean me. I must admit I did find their question a bit offensive at the time, but it is because of their question that I embarked on this wonderful journey to discovering my roots, my heritage, and my culture, which has given me a reason to be proud of where I come from.

But now as I listened to Meredith’s voice I realized that I didn’t have to do all that research to name Puerto Rican individuals worthy of praise. I only had to look within myself and think of my mother, my grandmother, my father. These are people who took a risk, left everything they knew about, to embark on a journey in search for a better life for their family. My race is full of women and men who took the poor jobs with horrible wages that no one else would take, and made a living off it; It’s full of men and women who are driven, brave, hopeful, and who were able to continue to dream through all of the chaos. The simple stories in our own family’s history are stories full of pride. Stories like the one Esmeralda Santiago tells us in When I was Puerto Rican, or like Christina Garcia’s Dreaming in Cuban, or Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, or in Miguel Pinero’s poetry. These are the stories and the people that I’m most proud of.

Thank you, Meredith. If only I had listened to you that night.

My Love Song To No One

Gravity is working against me.

I’ve fallen for you, baby.

Can I smell you?

Can I taste you?

Tell me you want me to.

Whisper it softly in my ear.

So I can scream it out loud.

Can I seduce you?

Can I sex you?

Tell me you need me to.

That you won’t have it any other way.

That we’re 2 halves looking to be whole.

Can I have you?

Can I keep you?

Tell me that I can.

Come on, tell me…Tell me that I can.