My Fourth Of July
I spent a glorious fourth of July out in Plainfield New Jersey in the care of two good friends of mine; my old neighbor friend Mr. Reality Show Reject and his betrothed, the large Puerto Rican mother of a man who I haven't given a nickname yet.
Funny story; they're both HIV positive.
Its very life affirming for me to spend time in their gentle care, and not because they are living with the HIV virus, but because they're a fully functioning domestic homosexual pair. Now when I say fully functioning--granted--I mean they function in their own special way.
The huge Puerto Rican Mamma is exactly that. He patterns himself after ghetto grannies who would yell out their windows to their grandkids below:
"HEY! DON'T YOU LEAVE THIS STREET WITH YOUR FRIENDS!"
Only difference between Puerto Rican Momma and real life ghetto grannies is that he yells out of his window to his two shitzus, that and they live in a respectable looking historic neighborhood and not in the Bronx.
The big Puerto Rican Momma is an ex-hooker, and he tried his best to convince me to become a hooker. The funny thing is I almost bought into it, until I realized I'm probably too Jewy to be a pro.
The pair cooked me and some neighborhood kids a lovely fourth of July barbecue, complete with deviled eggs and hot dogs (and queer jell-o shots of course), and I only had one pet peeve about the whole stay...
How important is background music to a get-together? I would say very much so, however, Big Ghetto Momma only had two choices as far as background music goes, and one of these choices is Reggaeton:
Now you have to understand something, I'm from Inglewood, respectively "the hood" in Southern California. My senses have been finely honed to detect any sort of danger in the air, and while I didn't hear Reggaeton growing up, I have enough street sense in me to realize that the above SOUND means you are about to get your face kicked into your mouth by a giant metal boot at any moment.
If you go to a party and they start playing this, then you aren't getting out alive.
This fucking crazy Ghetto Granny has this music BLARING at level 11 of the speaker system, and he's bouncing like a possessed Dominican.
That's not music, that's a trap!!
His second musical choice was Amy Winehouse:
Which isn't too bad, but by the 100th time that "Rehab" comes on following Reggaeton, you definitely will be ready to go to rehab.
(Trying playing both embedded youtube clips at the same time and in full blast volume for a perfect rendition of this experience)
Ultimately I left Plainfield and my friends in their slice of perfect paradise. They do give me hope that one day I will be able to be happy and settled in my own bizarre way.
Don't worry, I made sure not to use either of their toothbrushes.
Addendum: I'd also like to take this time to publicly apologize to Jase, not for outraging his boyfriend with my tasteless AIDS joke during Jase's birthday soiree, but for later texting him and saying I wished some of his friends would die of AIDS at the party.
I did not mean this, I was unfortunately drunk and embarrassed. Had I been sober and respectable I would have wished his friends died of more comical diseases, like herpes or typhoid.
Mike Glatze answers his critics. Let's start this right now: Over/under 5 years, I'll take 50 dollars on the under, self-strangulation, classic rope tied to the ceiling bit. Ante up now.
The NAACP publicly buried some nigge... Oh shit, I'm sorry! I misread!
To be fair, I did find a reggaeton mix that I like: here. Its infused with some hot arabic flavor, and I do admit the singer is pretty attractive for a minority.
Monday, July 09, 2007
My Fourth Of July