Nowadays my appetite for cable TV has tripled. I'm not only watching guilty pleasures like Bad Girls Club but I'm also including various docs in my viewing diet. This past Sunday I caught TLC's 650-lb Virgin…yes, I know those two words go hand-in-hand. A couple of things I took away from it: a) good thing I'm losing weight, b) you know you're obese when your genital area looks like a huge flesh hamburger bun (extra sack up top and his bolas below) and you have to pull out your penis with tweezers in order to take a whiz. Yikes. The doc follows David Smith on his journey from obese man to blossoming personal trainer.
Smith is freaked out by his package's extra package so just imagine whipping that out in front a woman. Still, there are a ton of freaks out there and I wouldn't be surprised if one of them wouldn't take it for whirl…or at least flick at it. Smith is now beginning his career as a personal trainer. Yes, he isn't as diesel as your regular PT and yes after flab reduction surgery his nipples are on his ribcage area. But there’s one thing he can do the others probably can't—he can say I was there before. He’s got the package to prove it.
Grey's Anatomy is consuming my wife and her BFF Pris. Pris and Oz were in town from sunny San Diego so we decided to go to the new Yankee (gag) Stadium and watch A-Rod walk three times. Even though the wives were entertained their convo mainly focused on the Grey season finale. They were even spotted on the Jumbotron and didn't realize it because Izzy is on her death bed aka the writers are killing her off because Katherine Heigal is a dbag. But I started thinking (mind you I'm a Met fan) that Yankee baseball and Grey's Anatomy are quite similar. See below.
Derek Jeter is a combination of McDreamy and McSteamy: Jeter is a fan fave who is the consummate pro. Yet, he has scumbag tendencies like McSteamy because he dips his pen in a lot, a lot of ink.
Token Asians: Hideki Matsui and Sandra Oh...I'd go with Godzilla.
A-Rod is Grey: he's an emotional wreck, has a man crush on Jeter and has used steroids. Grey is an emotional wreck, is married to McDreamy and has used botox on her leathery face. Ding, ding, ding. While the Yankee boast more Latinos than a WKTU freestyle concert, Grey’s has one Latina—Sara Ramirez. And that’s the biggest dissimilarity. PS: Yankees suck.
I'm a mama's boy. It didn't hit me until I got married and called my mom a couple of times every day. She raised me the good ol’ Latino way: chancleta, metal spoon, Nintendo controller cord basically whatever she can get in a good whooping. Time outs are for sissies, kids. With Mother’s Day coming on Sunday it made me (and my ass) remember the top worst beatings she ever gave me.
5.At 2-years-old I used to hold my breath when I didn't get my way. My mom tossed me into a tub of cold water. Imagine shrinkage as a toddler. Brrrrr!
4.Throughout my childhood when I acted up my mom and her henchwomen aka my older sisters would hold me down on the floor. Ma dukes would proceed to lay the power of dad’s belt on me.
3.Random smacks. It'd be a pleasant day and I’d get a smack in the face. For what? Something I did the week ago and she always made sure I got checked. Funny how moms always say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” Nope!
2. At age 5, I called my mom a bitch in a video store. She laid down the smack down. No He-Man movie for me.
1. At 12, the height of my assholism, my mom gave me the beating of my lifetime. I had been acting up in school, hanging with hoodlums, doing graffiti, etc. My mom found out I got a C in Spanish (can you imagine?) and I hid the report card! Envision a female mini version of Manny Pacquiao vs. Bambi. I was Bambi.
Aside from good ol' fashioned Latin American discipline my mom is a great mom. I love you mom with all my heart so enjoy your day. I scoff at my sisters when they give my nieces timeouts. Those damn hypocrite henchwomen!
I planted a tree this past Saturday. I shit you not. The wife and I volunteered to plant trees in Pomonuc Park in Queens. I always wanted to do something green especially after watching Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth. This was the first time in a long time that I actually did hard manual labor. The last time was probably when I was skinning chickens with my pops at the butcher shop. I could do it, I just put my back into it (word to Cube).
One of Yva's co-workers also attended. She ended up on a team of about 10 or more people, Yva and I were on a team of four including us. Her co-worker kept on telling us her team was going to out-tree ours. Umm ok. What she didn't know was that my team was chock-full of hardworking immigrants or immigrant offspring. It was myself and the wife (brown people with parents who speak English so broken you’d swear Fat Joe sat on it), Fernando (a Latino straight off the boat) and Yi (a Korean store owner, seriously). Shit all we needed was a Jamaican and we could’ve started and finished demolishing Shea Stadium. Some onlookers even thought we were just regular city workers because c’mon if you see a bunch of minorities digging up soil you’d think the same. We planted our first tree in no time. Why? Well, as any immigrant or their children will tell you it's in our genes—word hard or you will not survive. So next time I need to get my hands dirty I’m calling Fernando.
I've been fighting the battle of the bulge since the second grade. And the mofo's been winning more often than not. It’s tough coming from a Latino family with all the delicious food my mom can whip up. As a child I was a plumper because I had extra helpings of her food not fast food…actually I probably didn’t have a Big Mac until my high school years. I was only in shape from 17 to 21 or so. Matter of fact I was kinds of diesel thanks to creatine and protein shakes (horrible way to create muscle). Well, I lost interest once my internships (career) became a priority. It got out of hand when I started dating the wife—you know what they say when you're happy and don't need to impress to get nalgas your gut expands. Well, I still want to impress the wife, of course, so in January I started doing Weight Watchers and so far I've lost 30 pounds. I know I got a long way to go but it’s a great start. Below are five things I noticed since I lost a Thanksgiving Day Turkey (to feed a Mormon family) from my body. 1. I don't sweat when I pick up a pencil or peel an orange (I keed of course, but I do sweat a lot…just not as much). 2. I have more energy...like a lot. 3. I attempted to wear Jim Jones (tight) jeans and they actually fit. 4. I'm addicted to 100 calorie snacks. But now I actually have one at a time. 5. My wife is practicing her Lorena Bobbit technique because the Boston Market girl flirted with yours truly. Pull, jerk and cut...right hun. Gulp!
To say New York City is full of interesting people would be the freakin’ understatement of the century. This weekend was evidence that New Yorkers aren’t just interesting but annoying, dumb, gentle, negative, and did I mention annoying. Below are some of the “characters” I encountered this weekend.
Mr. Chicken Wing He was a hefty guy at the doctor’s small office …with two buckets of KFC and a four-month-old baby. He proceeds to eat said fried chicken and feeds his baby some fried bird as well. Oh, and it’s 11AM.
Mrs. Nosey A Puerto Rican woman sitting in back of me in the doc’s office; she’s chatting on her cell phone. Her topic: The fat guy feeding fried chicken to his baby. She tells her friend in Spanish, “He must be at least 300 pounds…he looks like a whale…oh my Lord he’s feeding that baby fried chicken.” She spoke low enough so only the people in front of her could hear…I mean she didn’t want to cause a scene.
Chatty McGee She’s my dad’s home health aid on the weekends. My father had to be taken to the hospital because he was dehydrated (he’s good though). Well, on the way to the hospital Lizbeth (who would make Gilbert Godfried a joy to be around) asks me what “pipe” means in English. I respond, all the while concerned with about my father, and she says laughing, “In my country that’s a man’s genitals.” Great!
Dr. Happy The doctor assigned to my pops was the kindest physician I’ve ever met in an ER. Nice, informative and an overall sweetheart.
The Orderly I simply couldn’t understand her. She comes into my father’s room and talked gibberish. Then she proceeds to move him to another room. “TJKGJTFHJFJHGJG” is what she said.
The Shitter He was in the room next to my pop. He was coughing up a lung, reeking of urine and eventually feces. Turns out he shitted on himself and we had the luck of being there in the front row.
The Nasty Nurse After the nonsensical orderly moved my father into the same room where the shitter was only minutes ago I asked the nurse to move him. She coldly said, “No.” Think Little Britain USA (see below). My wife then proceeded to wish bodily harm on her.
The Clerk And to bring it home for the weekend we have the South American supermarket clerk with the lazy eyes. On Sunday, we hit up Key Food and my wife made a new friend. As the clerk began scanning our food she also began to chat my wife up about her poodle. “The poodle is so perrty, my uncle gonna have to pay for her to get operated. She perrty…and pregnant.” The customer behind us began clutching her fists because LES (Lazy Eyes) is taking her time. She finally finishes scanning all the food and then messes it up with a Key Food gift card. Once she fucks up she runs away to get her manager. Her pissed off manager comes over and fixes the register. The closer: As we’re leaving LES screams out to a fellow co-worker, “Pirullo…yo me voy a las ocho!”
I say this because ever since I saw Slumdog Millionaire a few months back, every time I see a young Indian couple I think of the movie. Perhaps it’s just an innocent image association thing my mind plays on me. The fairy tale-ending flick (with the ill Bollywood dance number closer) has infiltrated my mind the same way City of God did. Even though I would love to travel to Brazil, there’s something in my mind that says, “Watch out for those favelas! It ain’t like any barrio U.S.A!”
In retrospect, one of Slumdog’s goals was probably to provide a positive image for India and its people. If I think of Jamal and Latika dancing in the middle of a train platform every time I see an Indian couple is it that bad? Who knows what they think when they see me? Perhaps, they view me as a drug dealing illegal immigrant who doesn’t speak English. Hmmm…I’ll go with the dancing number.
I've been a professional journalist for almost a decade. I was a founding editor of two national consumer magazines—Scratch and Fuego. I’m presently the senior online editor for SITV.COM. I love comedy and love to travel. From Ecuador to Prague to St. Martin to etc. but Brooklyn will always be my heart. Places where my byline has appeared: NY Daily News, Vibe, Antenna, The Source, Latina, MiGente.com, Essence.com, SOHH.com, People.com, XXL, etc.
