My Heritage

In case I’ve never mentioned my ethnic background here, my mom is white but my father was native american and puerto rican (he died in the 80’s.  Don’t feel bad, I don’t…). Well, my mom unearthed a pic of  the two of them from the 70’s!  I thought I would share… she says I have his eyes.

My mother and the sperm donor

… and here is a pic of my Mom, sister and I from a couple years ago. It was the only one I could find of the 3 of us, but you can see the family resemblence.

Mom, me and sistagirl

 

wax tailor

i haven’t search such intense, creative and wickedly fresh music to groove to since hearing Zero 7 for the first time all those years ago. first, i have to highlight how awesome blip.fm is (check me out!)… talk about a new wave of social networking! i’ve found it to be a cross between twitter and songerize, and have discovered some really fabulous artists in the process – wax tailor coming with a quick “oh yes i have to have that!” reaction. i’ve only downloaded one wax tailor album so far but i’m totally hooked.  the sound is trippy and melodic with hip hop, jazz and general quirkiness overtones.  i love it.

check:

(not really a video but just listen)

 

My first car

Here’s a little story about experiences with our first car.  Mine was, needless to say, memorable…

(Thanks Cecily for the inspiration!)

My first car was a 1990-something Chevy Beretta. It was the King of the Hydroplane… hated driving that thing when it rained. It’s got quite a history, including a rather embarrassing story that happened to me while I was in college. It was Halloween, and there was essentially a campus-wide party. I met a cute kid who said he was visiting his cousin from the military, and that he was 20 years old (I was drunk/high enough that I believed him). We dated a bit and one day I, very stupidly, let him borrow my car. Well, as I mentioned, the Beretta had a bit of a hydroplaning issue. It turns out that my new little boyfriend had skidded into another car while he was making a left turn, at what I can only assume was way too fast a speed. But that’s not the best part… no… that came when the owner of the car he hit called me to discuss insurance policies, and said “You know, your boyfriend looks awfully familiar. How did you say you met him?” I told her my side of the story to which she replied, “You might want to check on that. My daughter (who was in the car with her at the time) recognized him from her school”. Her HIGH SCHOOL. I was a junior in college and fucking MORTIFIED. Turns out he was a senior in high school and had only just turned 17 a few weeks ago (which, despite my humiliation, explained why he could screw like a house afire). That was the end of that relationship, but not the Beretta, which sustained enough damage to not be worth the repair. I drove that busted up vehicle for another 2 years or so, cursing under my breath every time I saw its bashed in quarter-panel. It got progressively worse, too… so bad I had it held together with tie wraps. The final straw came when I was flying down the highway and the hood somehow disengaged and slammed against my windshield, leaving me trying to navigate through the little gap it left between the dashboard. It was a miracle I never got seriously injured, at least… besides my pride!