Voting for Obama, the Saint or Rockstar

Being a mother of five has made my home where everyone in the neighborhood gets together. I’ve seen all these kids grow up, beautiful children that have become independent women and dashing young men. I’ve fed them, wiped their tears, heard their brokenhearted stories as well “approving” their latest love affairs. Through it all, I’ve been honored to be their friends, yet they can still amaze the heck out of me…

We recently got into a political discussion which made me want to pull my hair. Most of us are democrats (pro-Hillary)  and because this is Texas which is a republican bastion, we have a fairly good amount pro-McCain. We also have some that are Pro-Obama and that is where the discussion came from. I asked them why Obama and not Clinton. The answers were varied in this young crowd:

1) He inspires me. Okay, Obama inspired you to what? Wash the car, pay your bills, get drunk, what? Nope, I didn’t get that one cleared. He’s just inspiring…

2) He gives me hope. How? If a politican gives you hope, we are in serious trouble. Because hope comes from within, aka a matter of faith. It is something personal, something that either is or is not because it isn’t tangible or measurable. But shouldn’t we be able to measure how good or how prepared a presidencial candidate is without matters of faith? Shouldn’t we be assured (not hope) that the person we put in charge of that red button is qualified for the most important job of the nation instead of having hope that he knows what he is doing??? Can someone pass me a Tylenol?

3) YouTube. Two of Danny’s friend who are voting for Obama explained to me that they were sold on Obama by YouTube. The ads are cool. It’s like being in a concert. Look at how many hits those downloads are getting…and then we also have the Obama girl. Forget the Tylenol, pass me the tequila.

4) Reason #4 blew me away…Obama used pot and “blow” which I just found out is coke. As you can see I’m not cool. But Obama is. Just lovely. A presidencial candidate which is cook cuz he used drugs. I can use drugs. Anyone can use drugs. It doesn’t matter. We can all be presidents. When I got sarcastic about it they explained to me that Obama used drugs because he had “an identity” problem. Well excuse me…don’t talk to me about identity. I’m a Puerto Rican. We are Hispanics, born USA citizens, but we don’t know if we are supposed to be Spanish or Anglo. From here or from there. Even more serious is the concept that you can escape your problems through drugs and that is okay. I take drugs seriously. This subject is not inspirational or hopeful or cool. Drugs almost destroyed my family.

Now this is the kicker. The same friends who raved about Obama without any reason whatsoever demonized Hillary because she’s: 1)ugly 2)old (heaven help me) 3) a bitch (I’m one too) 4) and a liar. When asked what Hillary had lied about – the number one reason was “about everything.”

I’m sure there are more savvy young voters out there. But I can not tell you the amount of young voters that have fallen for Obama “just because…”

Happy St. Valentine

 

Yesterday I posted the songs that I thought were the top sexiest songs ever. Today for young and not-so-young lovers I want to post a song in Spanish which makes me cry and smile. I have beautiful memories from this song. I danced to it. I would do the house chores while singing it, driving my kids nuts because I would sing it over and over. That’s how “catchy” it is.

So happy St. Valentine. May your loved ones give you a hug and a kiss, some chocolate, diamonds would be nice, too…

This one is especially for you, Mireya. Te quiero mucho, mi amiguita.

Romantic Mood

Naturally Valentine makes me all fuzzy and warm. So for those of you who have a lover and a sex life…I’m going to post what I believe are the sexiest songs of all times so that you can huh “get it on.” Now most of these are oldies, but IMO they are still the best.

1) Lets Get It On by Marvin Gaye

If that song doesn’t get you in the mood, there’s something seriously wrong with you. Get help! The way Marvin sang this song was just plain sex. Hear that song, look at his face, I tell you it’s better than viagra.

2) Closer by Nine Inch Nails

The first time I heard this song on the radio I almost crashed on LBJ. I couldn’t believe what they were singing. I was both, shocked and amused. But this song was so damn catchy and the beat so raw it made you want to find “an animal” of your own. Made me miss the men back home. Texas cowboys were tame by comparison…

3) Can’t Get Enough of Your Love - Barry White

Come on, that beat, that deep voice, those hips are a-movin’ ’nuff said.

4) Whole Lotta Love – Led Zeppelin

Best rock band EVAH. This song makes me melt in a puddle.

5. Try a Little Tenderness – Otis Redding version

Oh the 60’s…this song started slow, then built into a frenzy. It was great for dancing. You would slow dance with your “crush”, then shimmied and shaked your bootie beside him. It was not “approved” for socials at St. Anthony’s, the Catholic school I went to, but we always had it in parties at home. Several camaros and mustangs got a lot of action thanks to this song.

6. I Want Your Sex – George Michaels

When George Michaels sang this song you would be compelled to move shoulders and hips, then the words would hit you, especially when he would whisper “I want your sex” and you’d be a gonner. It’s natural….let’s do it…sex is one on one…OMG!

7. Lets Stay Together – Al Green

This man had/has the sexiest voice. Pity he went all religious. He was the man. Love this song.

8. The Girl from Ipanema – Sergio Mendez

Sexy and slow, for those days you just wanna make love.

9. Leave Your Hat On – Joe Cocker

Best strippin’ song – I don’t care if your over-weight or shy this song gets you in the mood. I adored Cocker’s rugged voice so much I would have done him.

10. Bolery by Ravel

When the movie Ten came out this classic melody became a hit and everybody bought it for their bedroom.

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I live to serve, hope you have a good time in Valentine’s. Let me know.

10.

New Year Resolutions

Doncha’ just hate those people that make New Year resolutions? Come on, lets face it, most of those resolutions won’t come to pass. So pray tell me, why should I even make the effort to write a lot of mumbo jumbo which will depress me since I’m not going to keep ‘em.

Like most people, I’ve placed going on a diet at the beginning of the list, but then I glimpse a brownie or a piece of cake, which are my weakeness, and out goes resolution #1.  So on to #2 which is exercise, I hate it. Who the hell wants to sweat? Forget about the fact that people that go to the gym fall into three categories: a) the seriously-addicted muscle freak. These people go to Gold’s gym daily. They just can’t live without a gym. Rain, shine or snow, they are there, sweating, huffing and puffing, lifting weights, flexing those firm muscles. “Add 100 pounds more, I can lift it.” Yeah, though those muscle-bound, testosterone-laden freaks (or maybe not…) can bench press double their weight, but I betcha they don’t even mow their lawns because exercise is ONLY for the gym. Hee-haw! So if you’re a guy, you look like a hulk, and if you’re a gal–unless you bought your boobs at the nearest medical facility–your breasts have dissapeared. Now why would I want to do that? Heaven knows that gravity and time have taken cared of it.  I don’t need no help in that department, thank you very much. And since I’m not running to get me a set of cantalaupes ( Posh’s size) or melons, better known as Ana Nicole’s plush edition, I guess I will just have to live with my shrinking pancakes a la orange. Hey, at least my breasts are natural. Why sometimes they seem even happy, wiggling either North or South, happy as you please. The truth is just for once I’d want them to stand at attention, which if I am not mistaken, they did back in 1969. If I may say so, that was a pretty good year…

Okay, lets go back to the subject at hand, exercise type b: the posers, those are the ones that go to the gym to get a date. I guess Starbucks, Barnes & Noble and the supermarket has gotten competitive, cuz these people are not there for the exercise… Those women are out to hunt. They are in 100% full batallion make-up, shinny spandex,  the type that has a string running up their skinny ass, and tight, shortened T-shirt or a similar item which will make their cleavage look like the Teton’s twin. Forget about a vacation at Dyney, take your hormonal son to the gym. I took my youngest once to 24 Hour Fitness and he almost passed out.  He was in such a state of bliss that he didn’t even ask me if he could drive the car on the way back. The Dallas police appreciated the sentiment or maybe not cuz this family has supported the city of Dallas by tickets. The fuzz even sends me a mother’s day card, stating “we have not seen your sons recently. The fund is running low…” Now where was I? Oh yes, my baby’s post-gym trip. My poor darling remained catatonic, pale, sweaty AND silent (oh the joy) until we arrived home. Then in his angelic, squeaky, soprano voice stated that he wanted a membership to that same gym for his 14th birthday. I remember when this child used to ask me for the latest Tonka truck. He’s grown now, in college, making his way in the world, but I will always remember that day. You can sniff now. Christmas and New Years always makes me sentimental. The only thing I don’t miss is the ex, don’t get me started…

But no, even with the temptation to blast the past and talk about a man who decided that his mission in life was to savor as many women as he could (I will leave that to another day) I will not deter to finishing this subject, though at the moment I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. Hmm…class C at the gym: the hopelessly hopeful cuz this year I’m trimming my waist and thighs even if it kills me, the bewildered, the WTF is this friggin’ machine for? These are the people, me included, that once in a while feel guilty and buy a membership that they will not fully use. Oh, we may go the first week, huff and puff on the threadmill or the bycicle from hell, but we are not going daily. First of all, I’m busy and there are better things to do. Second, who the hell wants to go to a gym with the so called beautiful, slim people (doncha have a life, Twiggy?)  while you are hiding behind tent-like, floral sweatshirts and leggings. Incidentally, who ever invented low-rise pants committed a crime. I have a beef with designers, those idiots are not designing for real women. Sorry, but I’m not anorexic nor plan to be and if you’re trying to make me feel bad with clothes that don’t fit, then darling, Fat chance, I was married…