Sunday, July 25, 2010


Where do I begin? How do I approach the idea of conveying to my readers what I find to be the most unbelievable occurrence I've ever experienced? It's rather difficult to express in the written word exactly what it was I experienced in my very own home but what I CAN muster up is that I witnessed a dark, eerie image in my kitchen and I as write this, my heart is forcefully pounding as I'm left in disbelief...

I was taking a shower after a long day's work and as I was lathering my God-like body, I overheard a popping sound, followed by another. After I jumped and clenched my ass cheeks in response to the popping, I rinsed off and wondered if I had left the coffee pot on and was experiencing some sort of electrical problem. I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off and proceeded to walk towards my kitchen when I saw a dark, foreboding image at the entrance of my kitchen walking towards my kitchen window. At that moment, I jumped back a few feet and even questioned if someone had broken into my apartment. I courageously crept back into my kitchen however, flicked on the light but no one to be seen. My kitchen window was locked and my drapes were drawn.

In the past, I've had friends and even some family members who've shared that they experienced unexplained phenomena and begin to describe their encounters in meticulous, eerie detail. Upon this news, I've gotten accustomed to rolling my eyes and chalking up their "experience" as a result of them being slightly crazy or simply unstable.

Although there are a few instances that remain where I question the sanity of an acquaintance or two, I now take the discussion of such entities with a bit more respect and reverence. Below is an image which can best describe what I witnessed in my kitchen:

Yes... my fucking hairs are standing on my neck.

At this moment, I remain perplexed with the idea that all of what I had shunned in the past to be mere fantasy and wild imagination could actually be possible in a world of intelligence and common sense. I only hope that if it was in fact some form of afterlife energy or celestial being, I can only prospect with the thought that it is a peaceful entity who wishes me no harm. Amen?

Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Many moons ago, I compiled a small list of some of my coworkers and wrote somewhat of a brief bio on them. My intentions were to share some of the characteristics of these people to convey the love and respect I have for each and every one of them. It's not very often you can find a slew of coworkers for whom you mesh with wholeheartedly, so needless to say, I feel very blessed. I have been meaning to do a sort of a "Part II" for some time now but due to my hectic schedule (and complete laziness), I never found or had the chance to. Here is the unofficial continuation as I had left out numerous people in my last posting. Welcome to the school of clowns...

Claudio, Claudio, Claudio... where do I begin? Claudio is my brother, my close friend, my confidant, my partner in my daily comedy show and most of all, he's familia. Claudio has become all of the above in the span of 3 years and I've come to know him as if he were my husband. There are times when I am feeling down and he somehow manages to cheer me up in an instant. When I am horny, he also manages to make sure that he walks with that extra little sexy swagger. Oh wait a minute, that's just in my crazy little mind. Regardless, Claudio is the Robin to my Batman and I will always cherish his presence in my insane, erratic life.

Christina became a teacher at my school just over a year ago and within this short span of time, we've managed to become instant Fag/Hag associates with the fierce abandon of two raging drag queens. Not only does she listen when I speak, but she makes sure that she provides me with ample cleavage, as it is a prerequisite in the Fag/Hag relationship. Christina's boobies sway with the precision of two pendulums swaying in a grandfather clock. For what it's worth, I shall find that perfect moment and opportunity where I can rest my ever-so-tired head between her pillows of love. If Wilson is reading this, I remind you that I'm gay.

I chose not to post actual pictures of my coworkers to maintain some kind of privacy on their behalf but in speaking of Tania, I had to post this particular pic of her. Almost doubling as a work of art, this photo not only captures the true beauty of a young woman, but it also captures her very own version of the Mona Lisa. Her facial expression conveys various emotions, but I see a young woman who's searching for excitement, passion, intrigue and suspense. I see a woman who is ready to rape the world with her beauty and unbridled youth. I see my Tania love...

Cathy is the Rocky Balboa of the Guild. Her tough Italian exterior exudes effortlessly and it seems to work well with the occasional unruly parent who is set out to cause misery and torture with the Guild staff. Cathy has the ability to transform an aggressive, completely irrational parent into a puppy with a small penis. With the twist of a word and the stare of a rabid deer, I have observed some of the most gritty parents break down in complete fear in her presence. The woman is a verbal boxer. I'm ready for round three...

Ines is the Bonnie to my Clyde. Ines, the Puerto Rican version of Cathy, is an old-school, Brooklyn-raised woman who has the prowess and command to convince you to tar and feather yourself. Ines and I have spent numerous hours on the phone having complete laugh-sessions and as a result, have buckled in dear pain to the point that I have dropped my damn Blackberry. Working with Ines is like riding a roller-coaster, as you never know which way things might turn. This ride has been the primary reason why I have a secure bond with Ines and that bond will remain unbreakable.

When I was 6 years of age, my dad decided to up and leave his family to partake in a 3o year tryst with drugs. Because of this, I grew up to be an individual who wields a thicker skin, thus molding me into the man I am today. Mike has easily and officially taken over as the father-figure in my life and I'm grateful that he is as equally insane as I am. Our time spent in the lobby of our school serves as our comedy lair as we engage in some of the most berserk yet well-crafted comedic performances to date. From our clever use of word-play, to our sinister giggles when unsuspecting victims (Guild staff) pass us by, there is never any room for boredom. The simple fact that he has a full head of hair at the age of 135 and I'm balding at the age of 35 is an indication that I need to choose better friends. I kid.

Saturday, April 24, 2010


Love is a strange feeling that can be one of the most amazing in the world. Sometimes the emotions associated with love are blissful, and there are times where they could pierce you like a Katana to the heart. My friend and luscious hag Tiffany constantly reminds me of how freeing and yes, blissful, love can be. She constantly inspires me to seek for this enigmatic, ferociously tender thing called love...

I'm sure Courtney knows a little thing or two about Love...

I'm not going to preach about how gay love is far more compatible than heterosexual love.

With love comes everything underneath its umbrella. Underneath this umbrella lies a sticky, sweaty, sometimes clumsy... yet passionate, chafe-inducing bunny-sex regimen.

I've only felt it once and I am truly grateful and humbly content that I have not experienced it since. Oh how I fear you... Mr. Broken Heart.

Could I ever love someone to the capacity of marking up my body and soul with their likeness? If so, may this special person be the one who is holding my hand while I have the tattoo surgically removed because I finally realized that I was a bleeding heart, emo wack-job.

Love is not lying helplessly on the pelvis of a dead man. Love is unzipping his goth pants and slurping him down while erotically staring into his amber eyes. Women, take note.

There's no love like Crazy Love. Crazy Love allows you to love to the fullest, whether you rob banks together or ritually have sex at your local public library. Always live hard and love hard.

After all is said and done, I'd like to think that LoVe is something that should be reached for. If you can extend your hand far enough to grab a pinch of what true love is, than you've lived. I on the other hand am patiently waiting for someone to reach out and grab a pinch of my heart. I'm too fucking busy to start reaching and searching. There's not enough time in the day...

Saturday, April 10, 2010


Ever wanted to get to know me a little better? Already know me but care to know a little more? Well, I've recently decided to open up to those who give a damn and divulge some of the little things that make me tick and function in everyday life. My likes, my dislikes and even two of my fears will be discussed below and I hope you can come out of this blog feeling all warm and fuzzy (and a little horny) inside. Here goes...


By any means, I'm not a geriatric walking into the sunset for his final time, but I must admit that I'm no longer the spring chicken I once was. The other night I rolled over in my bed and triggered the most excruciating cramp in my leg which led me to fall off my bed. Needless to say the deathly, awkward drop did not help.

My studio only allows for so much furniture to begin with so I make it my business to accent my apartment with the bare essentials. As a big guy (tall, not fat you bitches) it is imperative that I have enough space to allow for an accident-free household. I have a full-size bed. I would fuck up my delicate shins and do the dance of death until I collapse if it were otherwise.

My studio is in an eight-family apartment building and the garbage pails are accessed through a basement walkway that resembles a creepy, drippy, stalactite cavern. Every time it is time to take out my garbage I wince in fear and disgust with the thought of walking through this cavernous wasteland.

Because it first starts with infatuation, coffee reels you in like a crackhead to his crillz. As you get to know it more and more, you begin to love the drink, the smell, the taste, the way it is made, the way it looks, where to drink it, how it all started and what it would feel like if I dipped my penis into it. Oh, have I said too much?

Don't ask me why I love the color green. All I understand is that my eyes lock onto this vivid color, sending a message of euphoria to my brain, leading to my intense gravitation towards the color.

Let me make this clear. I'm far from your average Guido or gangster rapper who finds it necessary to flaunt their bling in place of their small penis. I on the other hand find that a nice watch is the perfect compliment to the perfect gentlemen (or hot Latin hunk). Pictured above is the watch I have my eye on. Feel free to purchase this Ed Hardy masterpiece for me out of the kindness of your heart.

I truly love children. I really do. I even sometimes imagine what it would be like to have a child of my own one day. After the mushroom wears off, I suddenly remember that I'd rather die.

As mentioned above, I live in a studio apartment in Brooklyn New York. As a single man, it is truly unnecessary for me to have a large apartment as I am somewhat of a minimalist. Plus, it serves as a reminder that I do not want children.

My mother's name is Evelyn. My mother is my life. I love her with all of my heart and have learned to love her in a wiser capacity. My mom might as well have been a ninja because she single-handedly raised four children and managed to raise intelligent, compassionate children in the process. I love you momma.

Yes, my nick-name was Pito when I was a child. My mother used to constantly call me "papito" which is an endearing Spanish term for "my cute son." My mother then one day decided to shorten it up to Pito.
(I could imagine saying the full papito can get exhausting after a while...)

I can only imagine that my tonsils must have been the size of brass balls for my mom to allow surgery on her son. I do remember the luscious ice cream that the crazy nurses gave me every half hour after they ripped my swollen organs from my throat. I say crazy because one of these dumb bitches gave me a drink with a straw knowing damn well that I was unable to suck. Needless to say she received a wickedly venomous tongue-lashing from momma.

I can't even look at Glen (devil) Beck. I detest him.

There is so much truth in this quote.

I'm a righty. It's the only time where I run with the sheep.

I have three sisters. Their names are Maio, Natalie and Evelyn. They are all bat-shit crazy. Just kidding.

In case you give two flying fucks, I wake up at 6:30 in the morning everyday during the week. My job is 7 minutes away from where I live. Don't hate, congratulate.

I will always be a loyal and faithful fan of Calvin Klein's underwear as I have been wearing them for most of my adult life. Something about the simplicity (and intelligent marketing techniques as seen above) keeps me contained in a snug pair of Calvins.

Iceberg lettuce is useless and I simply do not enjoy eating it. Most of the time, when I am served iceberg lettuce as a side or in a random salad, they serve me nothing but white vegetative chunks of condensed water with no flavor.

Actually, I take great pride in my excellent punctuality. If I were late however, I guess I would chalk it up to my trying to perfect my hair. I've always been a stickler with my mane and I will not leave the house until every hair is in place.

If you're looking for that one dish that will have you savoring for seconds and thirds, then allow me to make my specialty: Rice, beans and pork chops. Sure, your arteries will suddenly clog and you'll suffer a thrombosis, but you'll die with a pasted smile on your face.

I love monkeys. They're like retarded versions of us.

His bank account is beyond numbers and he is a fucking genius. Bill Gates puts his money where his mouth is and serves as one of the most giving, appreciative philanthropists of our time.


Yes please...

Yes please...

Yes please...

Augusten Burroughs is someone whom I respect wholeheartedly. As an aspiring writer, Augusten has helped me refine and sharpen my writing skills with the flair and creativity I never knew I had marinating in me.

Accidentally being swallowed by a whale shark. Just thinking about it makes me want to pass the fuck out.

The piano is probably the most beautiful instrument known to man. The chords and the keys scream romanticism and emotion and serves as a vessel to create music which can touch you in places you never knew existed. I covet those who can flutter across the ivory keys with ease and wild abandon.

Saturday, March 06, 2010


My Haggy Denise just recently had a birthday and I hadn’t had the opportunity to dedicate a fabulous birthday blog to her. You see, Denise is a leap year baby and as everyone knows, she can only truly celebrate her birthday once ever four years. Born into a world with an eclectic few, she was carved and prepared by Mother Nature to become the ultimate of all hags and rein Queen of the Hagrem. I got over the guilt of not being able to blog about her special day quite quickly because I knew that as long as I produced and posted one before the end of the year, she can’t fully complain. Nevertheless, I dedicate this splendiferous birthday wish to my one and only haggy… Denise.

Denise and I clashed horns on the first day we met when we were playing with a ball and taking turns hitting it over the fence. I bounced the ball into the front property of her house and I kindly asked her if she could throw it back. With the ferocity of a rabid hound, Denise replied NO!! (insert growl here). She continued to batter me by stating she didn’t have to throw anything to me and proceeded to ask me (in a sarcastic tone) why she should throw it back. That was the beginning of a long-lasting, sadomasochistic, passive-aggressive bond that we continue to hold today.

Denise's father had recently passed away and during this tragic time, I witnessed a softer, vulnerable side of a woman whose skin is usually thicker than anyone I know. This vulnerability reminded me that despite a person's outer strength, a personal loss can remind you of how valuable your family and friends truly are. I hold my friendship with Denise in the highest esteem and cherish every moment we spend honking like mules because the chipped paint on my bathroom radiator resembles a tiny old man. Yes, we're insane...

When Denise comes to my studio, mayhem and madness ensue. She gravitates towards physically abusing me and religiously leaves her mark with 7-inch scratches that refuse to heal as if I was scratched by a venomous werewolf. The day after her swift attacks, I go to work with a short-sleeved shirt and my coworkers inquire about my savage scratches. When I nonchalantly reply that the scratches are a result of my Haggy's visit over the weekend, they collectively pause and give me a look of pity and concern. I simply chalk it up to their being jealous.

~Happy Birthday Denise~