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The Gringo’s email was to the point...sort of. He said he had a "friend" who was perfect for me and wanted to know if I’d be interested in going on a date. I reread the email, trying to decipher if he was the actual “friend” but soon shrugged off the confusion. Instead of analyzing his email, I decided to just go along with the game.
I began composing my response. “It should be charming. Tell your friend that I'm single and ready to mingle.” Short, sweet, and definitely to the point.
The gringo from my baraja reading appeared at the Lovemionline Sex Toy Auction over the weekend. He stood by the entrance looking cool with a trench coat and a long, gray scarf. Seconds later, he walked over to my friend Irene, who introduced us. I didn't think much of our brief exchange and soon ran on stage to host the event.
The barajas were spread out in front of Norma and she was actually revealing good things! I shook my head in disbelief as she promised triumph in career and love. In the past, I was always told that I needed to cut off a chicken’s head or bathe in honey to release the negative blockage, but not this time.
"There's a white man…you haven’t met him yet," she said while staring at the cards.
"Really?" I asked curiously.
"He will treat you right. But it will be up to you if you want to pursue it.”
I nodded and waited for the rest.
I used to be obsessed with psychics. Tarot readers, palm readers, crystal balls—you name it, and I paid someone to work their magic. Why was I so obsessed with knowing my future? I blame it on my fear of abandonment. Whenever I really liked a guy, I was terrified to lose them. The first man I ever loved abandoned me, so why wouldn’t the rest follow in papi’s footsteps? It was a reasonable expectation.
My friend Julie called me yesterday and told me she was pregnant. In all her wedded and baby bump bliss, she also urged me to “Get myself out there!” and try online dating. You see, Julie met her husband on the Internet and has become the equivalent of a pushy abuela who won't stop worrying about my single status. I told her about Scorpio, hoping she’d back off, but like most of my friends she begged me to ignore his email.
It was a low-key Saturday night. I was home, tired from the workweek and shaking my bonbon the weekend before at LQ’s. I may be an empowered 31-year-old, but I can't party like a rockstar any more! I lay in bed, flipping through channels, when my phone beeped indicating I had a text message. Maybe it was Mr. Alcohol, I thought. He had stuck to the 3-day rule and then some. I looked at my Blackberry screen. Nope, it wasn’t Mr. Alcohol.
Sometimes I wish I were still 22. That way I could get with a cute 23-year-old without a second thought. The cutie in question was none other than Mr. Alcohol. After planting a smackeroo on his lips at LQs, he continued to dazzle me with his smile and good looks. It was his birthday celebration and that's how I found out that he had just turned a tender 23.
"How old are you?" He asked. I looked up at him and hesitated. Should I divulge my actual age or lie?
I went the honest route. "I'm 31," I answered proudly.
So off I went to LQ’s in search of some fun and entertainment.
After the holidays, people usually put on a few pounds. All that turkey, pernil and coquito has to go somewhere! This is great for me since I'm of the opinion that my booty needs a little more padding. More padding usually means I receive much more attention from my flavor of choice—Latinos!
Tomorrow ushers in a new year and my romantic life has already started off with a bang. And by bang I mean an explosion of weirdness. To start off with, a bald, 50-something year old man totally hit on me while I was visiting my aunt in the ICU. As doctors were running numerous tests on my tia, he turned to me and said, "You look good! Real good!" What a sin verguenza!
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