Just hearing those four simple words and I already knew I would have a night of fun. Last week, my friend Touche, Phil Touche (and yes, he does introduce himself in that “Bond, James Bond” sorta way) called me up and asked if I was doing anything Friday night. I wasnt really. I told him that my friend Hadassah had made plans with me and a couple of our friends to attend an afternoon screening of Sex and the City: The Movie, followed with dinner and drinks at The Bamboo Club. I wasnt really planning on going out, since I did just come back from California, but when Phil invited me and Hadassah as VIP guests to Tucson’s official Sex and the City after party at Level, I couldnt refuse.

I knew that an event such as this, would call for a special one-of-a-kind, “supercalifragi-sexy nothing to be playing with” look, so I knew I needed to go all out. Everyone was talking about the party and whether animal prints were in or out, so I knew I couldnt disappoint. I decided on a classic nightclub look: a black dress shirt, dark denim jeans, and black leather shoes. The only difference would be, in honor of Carrie Bradshaw, a fedora, a pink tie, and a black and pink studded belt with a giant, pink crystal, diamond-shaped belt buckle. I would never wear such a hardcore pink in real life, but when in Rome. Or in this case, when in-vited.

The Sex and the City day had arrived. I saw the movie, and I gotta say, I loved it. I know it’s been getting mixed reviews, but I loved every minute of it! I cried, I laughed, I had a great time. And despite the fact that I drank an entire bottle of Smart Water before the movie started, I never left my seat. That last hour was killer, so you can imagine my relief as Carrie and her friends toasted their cosmos into the final scene.

After the movie, Hadassah revealed she didnt have an outfit prepared and was clueless as to what to wear. So, she made a B-line for Dillards and came upon a shoe sale. Shoes marked down at 75%, plus an additional promotional discount, is heaven for a girl. For a guy, it’s hell. I dont know how girls are able to find anything among flying shoe boxes and exasperated salespeople, but somehow when shoes are only sixteen bucks, they manage. And somehow Hadassah was able to find four pairs of shoes, all of which went with a little black dress she had in her closet.

We arrived at Level, half past 10 and the party was just getting started. It was THE event and beginning of the summer social scene. There were flirtini’s, martini’s,and skirts so mini, you’d say, “Oh my!” Touche, Phil Touche was already there, waiting for us at the velvet rope, with the VIP wristbands in hand. After we posed for photos and ordered our drinks, we made our way into the club, past the sheer curtains, and into the the plush VIP lounge. Along the way, we met Phil’s other friends, Aly, a designer who works in both Phoenix and L.A. and A.J., an architect friend, from the land down under. They were a little older than Hadassah and I, but boy could they dance and drink like there’s no tomorrow. The ceiling was covered with black and pink balloons, with streamers that hung all the way down, much like the restaurant during the Valentine’s Day scene in the movie. Black gift bags with pink tissue papers adorned the suede seats with frosted shot glasses, filled with Patron Platinum tequilla on every table. Welcome to the good life.

For a brief minute, I hated the fact that I was there. See, I’m more of a homebody type of person. Sometimes I prefer staying in and reading a good book or watching infomercials and classic movies on late night television. Maybe it’s because my party clothes are so restricting. So when I get invited to events like these, it’s always a little bit of a shock to me that my pressence is wanted. And it makes me wonder, after having a taste of the good life, if I can actually party outside the sheer curtains. But I guess for now, I would just enjoy myself. Such is the turmoil of a party-goer.
]]> http://davidtellez.wordpress.com/2008/06/01/sexy-in-the-city/feed/ 0 davidtellez http://davidtellez.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/an-extreme-case-of-the-ex/ http://davidtellez.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/an-extreme-case-of-the-ex/#comments Fri, 30 May 2008 16:08:00 +0000 davidtellez http://davidtellez.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/an-extreme-case-of-the-ex/ ]]> During my stay in sunny Carlsbad, California for Memorial Weekend, my T-Zone had become a little oily and to prevent a disastrous outbreak, I stopped at Walgreens and picked up a bottle of Queen Helen’s Mint Julep Masque. I was at the register when the cashier said, “Can I ask you a question?”

I hate when people say that. You never know exactly what’s on their minds and to be thrown for a loop like that, can be very disconcerning. She must’ve taken my silence as a “yes” because right then and there she asked her question.

“If a guy is still friends – still talking – to an ex, does that mean he wants to get back together with her?”

It was a loaded question. One that should be left to those in the profession of diagnosing matters of the heart. Not me. So I did my best, using every ounce of knowledge I had garnered from movies, television, and of course, real life. I explained that

“If the guy was friends with the girl, before he dated her, then it doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to get back together with her, just that he’s looking for a friend. Which is weird, because that’s why he has you for. If he wasn’t friends before, then stay back! An ex is an ex for a reason. Its the same reason you don’t go back to a hair stylist that gave you an ugly haircut. Too much heartache.”

The cashier thanked me for my advice and I left with the satisfaction of knowing I helped make the world a better place. The same feeling that Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer must feel everyday. Of course, like the old saying goes, “if you give a mouse a cookie…” another situation will be sure to follow, and that’s exactly what happened when I got back into town. The “mouse,” in this situation, was my boss Alice and the “cookie” was, well, the same cookie.

“If someone is still talking to someone from their past, even though they know very well that that someone has brought pain and heartache to them and their family before…that’s a bad thing right?”

I didn’t know if Alice was talking about her mother, who had recently gotten married for the third time or her little, all-state high school quarterback brother who kept breaking up with the high school prom queen, but I knew Alice already knew the answer. I guess all she wanted was a little reassurance she was making a right decision.

I’m not sure whether it was meant to be or not, but after Alice and I talked, I found a letter left out in the open at work. It was to Azten. And it was stained with tears. Heart-breaking, emotional tears. Apparently, Azten had signed all the property and real estate that he and Alice owned together, to the woman he had an affair with, during his marriage. She was a real estate agent, like Azten, which explains how they met. What it didn’t explain was why he would have her sell the real estate that he and his wife accumulated together.

As I read Mary’s words of hurt and anger, which hopefully would be the last and final words to a man like Azten, I wondered how someone could have the heart to hurt someone else so much.

“Dont tell anyone I’m telling you this…but David…Brenda is huge! She’s gained a lot of weight. A lot. I used to think she was so pretty, and she was, remember? But now, Isabel says she’s like a blob. A blob with beautiful hair.”

and…

“Well, since Skye’s birthday is coming up, Isabel wants to throw him a very special, very fabulous, and very chic party at Brenda’s house. I never thought of Brenda’s house as the place to be, but still, I told them you’d be my date.”

There she was, talking about the past and the future, when all I wanted to do was talk about the present. I had called to ask how her finals had been and what she had been up to, not “who wore what?” and “who’s a slut?”. Not that I dont like a good juicy piece of gossip every once in a while, but that day, all I wanted to do was just talk to my friend about themselves. All Maria wanted to do was talk about everyone else but herself.

“Yeah…I dont think I’m gonna go. I dont wanna get…involved…with them, again,” refering to the turbulant and destructive friendships that (I thought) we both shared and experienced with Brenda, Skye, and Isabel in the past. “Just seeing them again will reopen all those memories, you know?”

“What about what you said in Italy?” Maria said. “About, when bad things happen to friends, the good ones support each other but the great ones act as if nothing has happened?”

I knew what she was talking about. It was early Sunday morning and Maria and I were scheduled to appear, along with thousands of other travelers, before the Pope for Easter Sunday Mass. Just as we were about to leave, Maria asked me if I had taken 20 euros from her camera bag. I didnt, but Maria refused to believe me. I had no idea what she had done with her money and didnt even know where she kept it, but Maris insisted that I had taken it, since I was the only one in the room with her. I felt betrayed. Especially since my only friend in Italy would rather believe I was a liar and a theif who would take a measley 20 euro, then believe that I wouldnt. I had no proof I didnt take Maria’s money, but I had hoped our years of friendship would be enough evidence to prove my innocence. It was upsetting and it made my very first visit with the Pope, a very disappointing one.

After surviving hours of cold wind and hard rain (or was it cold rain and hard wind?) we made our silent way back to the hotel, to discover an envelope from the maid, propped up on the goose feather pillows. Inside was a folded up 20 euro bill, the same bill that Maria had lost. I was relieved and angry at the same time. I couldnt even talk to Maria, or look at her for that matter. My head wanted me to say, “I’m so glad you found your money, because you just lost a friend,” but my heart wouldnt let me, because I didnt want to say something I could never take back. We spent the rest of that rainy Sunday afternoon in complete solitude. Me in the plush, art deco lobby with a book and her in our hotel room with guilt. The next day, after the grey skies cleared, both literally and figuratively, Maria tried to bring up the subject once more, but I pretended to not know what she was talking about. That’s when I said those famous last words: “The way I see it is good friends support each other after something bad has happened. Great friends act as if nothing happened.”

And here she was, a couple months later, trying to use my words against me! But it made me think. If what I said was true, then maybe those people werent really my great friends. So why be around them? I then explained, that another reason I couldnt attend Skye’s very special, very fabulous, very chic birthday party was because I would most likely be spending the month of June in New York. True story. Some family friends of ours have invited me to spend a month with them and their family and seriously, could I refuse such a generous offer?

“Seriously? David didnt you just come back from Italy?” Maria asked.

“Yeah…”

“And didnt you go to Kanye West’s concert last month?”

“So?”

“Where are you getting all this money that you can just up and leave and go to different cities and concerts every couple of months?”

“Well, I’m learning how to save, for one thing. And I dont just get up and…

“Dont you know the country’s going through a recession? Do you even know what that means? I’ll tell you what it means. (Don’t you just hate it, when people ask you a question they already have the answer to?) It means people arent making as much money as they should be and they should be saving it because they could be going poor in a couple of months. You’re extravagant lifestyle is making people upset because you’re making them think they need to spend money to have fun. This is why we need a woman president!”

Did I mention that Maria is over-the-moon gay for Hilary? And, of course, obviously, insane. I sat there, stunned, not knowing quite what to say. There are some notoriously bad things happening in the world. War, poverty, and starvation spring to mind, but I didnt think my “extravagant lifestyle” was one of them. Come to think of it, I didnt even think/know I had an extravagant lifestyle. (Of course, as I write this, I’m on my way to San Diego for the weekend, while my younger brother Caleb is on a plane across the Atlantic, headed to Europe with his senior class) But seriously, who are all these people I’m upsetting? If they only knew I have about $75 in my bank account and a $200-something phone bill on my desk. It’s not living extravagantly. It’s called living in my twenties, beyond my meager means and enjoying the present to the fullest.

What’s the German word for feeling misfortune at someone else’s pleasure?

Somwhere between two weeks ago and this past Saturday, my friend Hadassah invited me to attend the after party for the Arts for All Sweet Chairity Auction, held at Skyline Country Club, which was the same night as Madelaine’s birthday dinner. It sounded like fun and since the after party didnt start until after Madelaine’s dinner, I agreed to go. The very next day, my mother told me that my brother had finally decided he wanted to go fto Pinnacle Peak, an Old West Cowboy-themed restaurant, for his birthday dinner on (of all days!) May 10. Luckily, his party began two hours before Madelaine’s and luckily, I was young enough to pull off an appearance at each event.

It was the night of all three events and I was ready by four in the afternoon, with my hair all slick and my shoes all shined. I arrived at Pinnacle Peak with my family, only to discover my mother had never made a reservation. And being that it was Mother’s Day Weekend, we would have to wait for about an hour…and a half! I After about an hour of waiting in an old-fashioned Old West saloon, complete with coyboys in Converse serving beer from pitchers of plastic boots, I got a call from Cafe Poca Cosa, reminding me that if no one was at the restaurant by 7 PM, we would be charged a cancellation fee. So I left. I didnt have time to go back home to get my car, so I took a cab downtown.

With minutes to spare, I walked through the glass doors of the resturant and checked in with the hostess, who had a free pomogrante vodka martini waiting for me. I was the first to arrive and took a seat at the bar as I got ready to play host for my friend’s birthday. The second guest to arrive was Hadassah, with both a gift for Madelaine and a gift for me! Hadassah’s brother had recently graduated from Washington State University, with a major in psychology and was moving back home to Tucson. He spent the better part of last week on a road trip with his dad, as they drove from Washington with all his belongings, back to Tucson. Along the way, they stopped in San Francisco, where Hadassah’s dad’s cousin, Bev and her husband Greg lived and stayed with them for a couple of days. During their stay, Hadassah’s brother noticed a really outrageous framed lithograph that was kept in a backroom and wondered why it was hidden and wasnt displayed openly in the house. That’s when he found out how his family was a part of American music history.

Bev and Greg used to live in Hawaii during the 70s and early 80s. During that time they met a man named Mark at a party and fell in love with a certain lithograph hanging in his house. He was desperate to get rid of it and sold it to Bev and Greg for $8,000. The happy couple immeadiately purchased the lithograph and displayed it happily in their home…until they saw Mark in the news. Did I mention Mark’s full name was Mark David Chapman? The man who killed John Lennon! Apparently, the $8,000 was used to purchase a plane ticket to New York and the rest…well, is American history. Bev and Greg dont like discussing “the piece of art that killed John Lennon”, for obvious reasons, but seriously…what a way to find yourself in American history.

I couldnt believe the bomb Hadassah had dropped at the bar at Cafe Poca Cosa. I also couldnt believe that I was there for almost an hour and no one else had arrived. Where was everyone? I texted the birthday girl and found out she was still in hair and makeup and still hadnt found anything to wear. If making a late appearance was considered fashionable, then Madelaine was Prada. Soon after, a girl, whose name I still cant remember, arrived and then two more guests. They all thought the party was supposed to start later in the evening and were shocked to know they were late. In fact, some friends didnt even think the party was still happening when Madelaine jokingly said that her finals had taken a really big toll and that sleep was all she wanted to do. I didnt know what to do. I also didnt know what to say to the hostess or Suzana who kept asking us if the rest of the party would be arriving shortly. The VIP banquet room was still empty, since we were not allowed in until the entire party had arrived and the restaurant had to continue telling guests no room was available. I could tell they were upset and when I mentioned that the birthday girl had yet to make an appearance they laid down the law with me. Cancelling the VIP room without a 12 hour notice was a charge of $25 per person. For a party of 20, that was $500. And since I had made the reservation using my credit card…well, let’s just say I literally fell out of my chair.

$500. $500. $500?!

Hadassah saw the blood in my face drain so fast, she immeadiately whispered in my ear, “David, take a deep breath. Like right now.” I did, but that still didnt help the fact that I had just lost $500 in two seconds flat. It was a record, even for me. Not that I wasnt used to spending that much, but usually it takes me 10 seconds and usually its for myself. At that exact moment, Madelaine walked in with her new boyfriend at arm. She was on her phone, trying to do her best at damage control, and trying her best to avoid her mother, who had walked in when Suzana told me about the cancelation fee. Madelaine’s mother was upset. Very upset. And the moment Madelaine got off her phone, her mother beraided her, telling her that the money she was giving her for her Memorial Weekend Vegas trip was being given to me at the end of the night. Great. What was I supposed to say? “Happy Birthday Maddie! Sorry about your Vegas trip, but thanks for paying me back!” I was literally sick. Hadassah had escaped to the bathroom to cancel our appearance at the after party and I needed to talk to somebody.

Hadassah was shocked I had bursted into the women’s restroom and immeadiately told the girl at the sink to leave, as we were trying to have a very important conversation. I was drunk and I was freaking out. This was a horrible night that just couldnt be happening! I was totally out of the party mood so I decided to go home and kill myself. But Hadassah wouldnt let me. She kept telling me it wasnt my fault, and I knew it wasnt, it’s just…I couldnt help but feel bad that I was taking Madelaine’s Vegas money. I couldn’t imagine what was going through Madelaine’s head. No special birthday dress, half the birthday guest list was a no-show, a bill of $500 was looming over her head, and now her Memorial Weekend in Vegas was canceled. What a lot of information to absorb in just a few seconds.

Dinner was awkward and all I could do was drink. And think about the fact that I needed another one, very fast. Everyone tried to make the dinner conversation light and casual, but the big pink suede elephant standing in the middle of table made it that much more harder. After being fueled by Mexican-fusion food and mint-infused drinks, I was beginning to slowly accept my fate of having to be $500 poorer and killing Madelaine after cutting the birthday cake. Too bad blood ruins the taste of buttercream frosting. And just before falling deep into an emotional hole, Suzana came and pulled me out. Because of the simple fact that I attended happy hour religiously at her house of Mexican-fusion, Suzana waived the $500 fee “this one and only time”. I wanted to jump up and give Suzana the biggest bear hug I could muster with all my drunken strength, but I was too woozy to actually stand up. So instead, I kept saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” over and over again, hoping my relieved enthusiasm would show through my state of drunkeness. And that was how I celebrated my friend’s birthday.

I attended the birthday party of a local celebrity hair stylist and realized the fun and importance of living well beyond my meager means. Life’s too short. So why not have a few bath towels and soaps printed up with your name on them? Of course, having your own personal supply of tuxedo shirts for the caterers isnt all that it’s cracked up to be. There’s some things in life that dont cost a thing and are equally as terrific and fun. Like participating in a state-wide “Rock, Paper, Scissors” Tournament or being able to rock out with Kanye West, ten feet away from him (thanks Madelaine)!

I’ve also been learning a lot about myself through the people I’ve been associating with; things I thought I already knew, but have to learn again. For example, just as my boss Alice was finally coming to the reality that she is now living the life of a single mother with a baby on the way and as her husband Azten sits and waits in prison, Alice’s mother gave her the ultimate ultimatium: if and when Azten does get out, Alice was to choose between him and the rest of her family. Alice’s mother was through with Azten. Enough was enough.

And though I believe one should never make someone choose between love and life, I think I may have to take sides with Alice’s mother. Azten has hurt Alice too much. Just last year he was in court for a sex scandal and though he was proven innocent, it doesnt change the fact that he’s put Alice through a lot of stress, a lot of hardships and a lot of turmoil. In fact, last Friday, I found out through a very reliable, but very discreet source that Azten has been having an affair with a single mother…and Alice knew all about it. Which then begs the question, just what kind of person is Alice to stay with someone who has caused her so much grief?

Dont get me wrong. I do understand the power and importance of forgiveness, but isnt the whole point of the matter to forgive and move on, not forgive and stay on? It’s affecting the way I look at Alice. Everyday I see her, I lose a little more respect for her. How can I respect someone who cant respect, or for that matter, love, themself? And though it may seem like a sign for me to move on, my heart wont let me. With Alice’s baby due in a mere matter of weeks and her personal struggle against the world, it just doesnt seem right for me to leave Alice in the dust. Maybe it is my responsibility and maybe it isnt, but I dont think I can just leave Alice as her world continues to shatter. Or can I?

Was this how things were done in the magazine world? Were stories handed out like candy, while the paychecks just sat around like a bowl of creamed peas? I had to find out. I had to take a stand. So, thinking like a mature adult would (and maybe even a professional writer), I called my publisher, Harry, and in a very diplomatic manner, I explained to him that I couldnt possibly write another word until I had been paid in full for my last story. It was actually one of the few acts I have done in my life, that made me feel like a grown-up. Of course, it took me a few times (more like fifteen) to say it perfectly, but thank God, voicemails now have that feature that allow you to listen to your message and re-record if necessary!

The next day, I got a mass email from Harry, explaining the fact that the first issue ended up taking a slight loss because the magazine ended up having a larger page count than anticipated. Harry then went on to say that outstanding payments were currently being paid and asked if we could all be patient and bear with the fact that we are a new business still trying to work out all the kinks. I am of course paraphrasing the email, but immeadiately after I read it, I felt guilty. So guilty.

Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe I was too forceful. I almost felt as if he was directing the email towards me, because I had called the day before. I knew it wasnt just me he was addressing the email too, but in the back of my mind, I couldnt help but feel I was the one who had opened up the figurative Pandora’s box of regret and apology. I immeadiately signed my contract, faxed it over to Harry and left to Italy the following day.

While in Italy, I forgot about the late paycheck, the email and everything else in between. That is, until I reached U.S. soil. My email and voice mailbox was bombarded with messages from writers and photographers alike who I worked with. From their angry and bitter messages, I learned that they had still not recieved a paycheck and no one was returning their calls. I also learned that Harry had filed for bankruptcy in December of last year, which I’m not sure if it has anything to do with the magazine, but it was being passed in my direction as “general information”.

Something wasnt right. I didnt know what to do. Was I supposed to return the messages, which would undoubtedly fuel their fire of anger when I told them I still hadnt been paid? I dont know. Somewhere deep down in me, I I wasnt worried. Something told me I would be paid real soon, as if this was nothing but a minor setback for a new and growing business. After all, if it’s true Rome wasnt built in a day, then how could I expect the start of a magazine to be perfect after only one issue? Plus, these people took a chance on me, a complete unknown, and gave me an entire section of a magazine. How could I turn against them? Is it just me or am I being too naive?

the architecture…
the food…
the fashion…
and the wonderment of the entire country that is Italy!
I went with my friend Maria, a tour guide named Jasper and what I thought would be five other college students. One was, but she was in her late 30′s, and the rest were well over 50. Not that I discriminate against age or anything, but I thought I would be traveling with people in my own demographic range. Still, traveling with them was a blast, proving once again that age is nothing but a number and friendships can be made over copious amounts of limonciello. Five thousand miles and a 12 hour flight later…
I was in the country of spaghetti and Dolce & Gabbana.

Our first stop was in Florence, which from a distance, looks like Beverly Hills with it’s Spanish-inspired orange brick and white buildings against a brilliantly blue sky, but a thousand times prettier.

According to the history of Florence, the Medici family, which produced three popes, dozens of Italian rulers, and numerous commissioned works of famous renaissance art, is solely responsible for making Florence the city that it is.

The city is home to a statue on every corner and a fresco on every wall. There’s the David…
the David…
and the David.
Even the finger of Galileo…
and Venus on the half shell!
The next city we visited was Pisa and yes, I can definately say, the tower does lean.
And yes, the scary view is so worth it!

There’s a church (a total understatement if there was one) right next door filled with Christian, Judiasm, and Muslim influences, showing that people of all different backgrounds can actually live together in harmony and create something tremendously beautiful.

After several days of filling up on pizza…
and gelatto (heaven in a cup!)…
we finally made our way to la citta eterna, otherwise known as Rome, the eternal city.
It’s a city where the modern world and the ancient world mix, creating a place where time seems to have no power.
And there I was, walking on the same land Jesus, Caesar and Lizzie McGuire walked!
And then, just like in a classic Hollywood movie, it rained on Good Friday.

Unfortunately, back home, it wasnt a particularly good Friday for my boss Alice and her husband Azten. He and his friend Vinny were taken into custody on two counts of first degree murder with a million dollar bail set for each, because of a botched drug deal back in January.

It rained two more days back in Rome. Even during Easter Mass at the Vatican with the Pope…
which a nun told me was God’s way of showing the vistors at the Vatican, that there were people out there in the world who face many trials and tribulations and it’s our job to pray for them and help them in any way we can.
So, right there, in St. Peter’s Square, with a nun from Guam, I prayed for Alice and Azten.

Understandably, my boss went through a period of denial, anger, barganing, depression, and before just settling into Kübler-Ross’s final stage of grief, acceptance, she found out her husband was innocent. According to unnamed sources, it’s a case of trying to put the blame on someone that unfortunately has to go to court and though I cant really get into details, let’s just say everything with my boss, her husband, and their family, will be alright.

Talk about the power of prayer, huh? But if you think my prayer doesnt really prove anything, consider this fact: when I left, the euro was worth $1.64. When I returned, it was worth $1.50. I totally helped pay off the national debt with all the shopping I did, so…you’re welcome U.S. You can thank me with another trip. Maybe Paris…or even London! I’m not that picky…

What’s wrong with me?

Everyone I talk to keeps asking me if I’m excited, if I’m thrilled, if I’m ready. I think I’m ready. I mean, sure, I still have to pack and get ready (I only have my shoes packed so far) but I have everything I need. Passport? Check. Camera? Check. My Italian phrase book? Check. I got everything I could possibly need to have a great time in Italy. But I’m still not excited.

Last weekend, I attended another First Fridays event, with Hadassah. This time, the theme was “A Night In Hollywood” which wasn’t as glamorous as I thought it would be. Instead of classic Hollywood where all the stars and celebrities hang out, we ended up on the boulevard where all the drag queen prostitutes and iconic film characters mingle. Still it was a ton of fun, with mile a minute laughter. And the guy that noticed my date and I having the time of our lives? It was no other than fashion footwear businessman, Phil Touche.

I had interviewed Phil for my article on First Fridays, and doing as acquaintences do, he greeted us warmly, and complimented our “put-together outfits”. In fact he loved my G-Star coat so much, he wanted to buy it right off my back! Talk about wearing the right thing at the right time. I declined the offer and instead accepted his invitation to a fashion show, sponsored by the Southern Arizona AIDS foundation.

The following Sunday, Hadassah and I arrived at the university of Arizona grand ballroom which had been transformed into a fashion show extravaganza. Tall models, flamboyant hair dressers, and snooty waiters were all there ready to entertain and criticize our every move. It was so much fun! The clothes were amazing…even the dress that had over 2000 condoms sewed on! Who’da thunk thin rubber could be so classy?After the fashion show and the mad grab towards the $300+ goody bags, we were invited to the after party at Level. Usually the nightclub isn’t open on Sundays, but for such a fantastic event for such fantastic people, they made an exception.

The club was packed. Local celebrities were in tow, such as Toni from Toni & Guy Hair Salon, Chuck George from Channel 13 news and some model I saw on a local magazine two times. Phil introduced me to one of the organization workers of the event who in turn introduced me to everyone worth knowing in Tucson. It was so surreal and so unbelievable, I didn’t want the night to end. In fact, I think its one of the reasons why I haven’t been as excited to go…

With so much going on in Tucson and so many new people to see, things to see, and places to go, I feel like I’ll be missing out on so many things. I know it doesn’t make sense, considering I’m off to Italy, but then why can’t I be excited? Is this normal behavior? What’s wrong with me?

In fact, spring break couldnt have come at a better time this year. In exactly one week from today (okay, more like eight days), I will be granted two weeks of vacation from work, from school, from family and everything in between. No, I wont be at Daytona Beach trading tips on how to excel in the drinking game of quarters, but rather, I shall be strolling along cobblestone streets and ancient ruins in the wonderful boot-shaped country of Italy!

It’s been about six months of hellish preperation (the trip organizer is a middle-aged woman with a thick Middle Eastern accent, and try as I may to keep an open mind, I can only understand everyother word she said, making the trip enrollment process twice as long and twice as hard), but finally, finally, it’s almost here! I’m going with my friend Maria and six other students from the University of Arizona. I havent met any of them, but I am hoping to God and crossing my fingers they arent nerdy travelers who wear four-foot long backpacks and velcro.

Already, I’ve been preparing myself for Italy. I’ve eaten at the Olive Garden four times last week, watched many Italian films such as The Lizzie McGuire Movie, and even went to the opera to a three hour performance of The Magic Flute (ok, so it wasnt an Italian opera, but the atmosphere was very much the same). I’m ready for fun and adventure…the only thing is…is Italy ready for me?

Except during Valentine week, when I literally have no life. Stripping flowers from their thorns and ugly leaves takes up much more time than you think. And it’s all preformed in really cold conditions since flowers wilt in heat. But it’s all to make some wife/girlfriend/mistress/gay lover smile for a day and a night. And though I usually love brightening up people’s day and making them smile, this Valentine’s I really could care less.

My boss Alice is pregnant. Two months pregnant to be exact. She found out last month, right before leaving to Vegas, and has been quite the hormonal creature. Her stomach has already popped out and she’s already donning jeans with blue stretch material on top. Talk about “mom jeans”. But the worst part is, she’s becoming more and more forgetful and is going through some pretty heavy mood swings. All of which I have to deal with by myself since my co-worker is in and out most of the time, working here and at the coffee shop across the way.

Then there’s the new foreign exchange student. His name was Pieryo and was from Peru. He was staying with Alice’s mother and Alice’s younger brother, Tyler, the all-star quarterback and most popular kid at school. He was immeadiately welcomed into the bossum of the cool kids and thus became a cool kid himself. Imagine, having to skip over years of adolescent hell and just skip to the good part. And I dont know if it was because we were both cool nerds, but we shared a lot of the same interests, including old school Michael Jackson.

I had heard a leaked version of Michael Jackson’s new 25th remix album on Myspace and after I told Pieryo, he told me he had a video on Youtube of him doing the Thriller dance. Then I went to the movies with my co-worker Amanda and who should be there, standing in line, but Pieryo. All of a sudden, our common interests turned into an obsessive fascination for him. Everything I said and did was “so much fun, it’s fun.” At first, it was kinda cool changing and molding the mind of a foreign kid, but then it got weird, when he told me he wanted to laugh like me and

It didnt help that he hung around with me all day during Valentines day at the shop. But at least he was helpful. Which is much more I can say than for Azten, Alice’s husband. During the past year and a half, Azten lost a brother and a best friend. He almost got divorced twice and was found not guilty on some charges that I really cant get into. All in all, you could say Azten leads a complicated life, mostly because he brings it upon himself. Which is why I couldnt figure out why he would impart complication onto someone else. Trying to shape up his life and help Alice out a little more, Azten has taken an intrest in the flower shop. The thing is, it’s really annoying.

Azten has decided to move the flower shop in a whole new direction. He began by forming a more structured and disciplined way to do work, thinking it would make us more professional and productive. Then he decided to sell cigars, right next to the flowers. And now there’s this talk of selling hotdogs and it’s just…not right. He’s interrupted our work space and the way of work that works for us. And we cant even say anything, because Azten takes everything so personal, which makes it that much harder to respect him. Not that he garnered much respect in the first place because of his behavior and the way Alice has talked about him in the past, but still. All I know is, this is gonna be a long pregnancy. And that basically was my February.