Monday Monday

“Hey Mexican, are you going to be sitting on your lazy ass tomorrow too?”

I stared sadly at the two smiling children at the gentleman’s side. In front of me was yet another generation of ignorance and racism.

“What’s the matter beaner? No hablo Englishy?”

I caught myself smiling with a tilted head at the two children. They had grabbed their father’s arm and were having a good time. It was a good Sunday for them. Maybe their toothless father was taking out his aggression on someone else. I’ll be the whipping boy kids.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d like nothing more than to grab him by his sweat-stained sleeveless shirt, throw him into a wall, pound his chewing tobacco can against his head like a yo-yo, pull him around the parking lot by his sideburns and yank all of his eyelashes out. Then I remember that I’m a grown man who has learned that conflict shouldn’t be dealt with violence. That, and for some reason, I didn’t want to do anything to upset the kids. Probably two children who will make similar comments to me someday, but still, they were proud of their father. How often do they have that?

Tomorrow is being dubbed “A Day Without Immigrants.” Countless immigrants will stay home from work, close their stores and not spend any plata. This is being done in a move of solidarity to show the economic importance and economic power of imigrantes. Latino, Asian and African leaders have all come together to make a point.

I have heard the discussions in mi barrio and many of my vecinos are staying home from work tomorrow. This is one of the first times in their lives when they can taste freedom. They can actually taste it. Many of them believe this will make American policy-makers say, “Oh wow, they do make a difference!” I want them to have their smiles, so I stay silent.

Do I think that tomorrow will make a difference? No. I don’t. Tomorrow alone will not make a difference, BUT, it will make a point. Will some people lose their jobs tomorrow for not coming to work? Probably. But they’re making a point. After a while, after many points have been made, then people will start to listen.

Will there be a backlash? Maybe. Working USA vs. Immigrants. Maybe I worry too much, but as I stare at man spouting obscenities at me while his children look on, I realize that I really don’t. I’m afraid that many of the American policy-makers are only one college degree removed from this man. That and many of them have a silver spoon in their pocket. Not all, but many.

Then I remember. What would this world be like if people were afraid of repercussions? What would this world be like if people were afraid of standing up and saying, “I’m a human being! Treat me like one. Let me earn a living. I am not a criminal. Let me give my family a better life.”

I’m not a fan of this boycott, but it is the act of a people who are tired of being pushed up against the wall. I’m sure all of us have family members, hundreds of years ago maybe, who were pushed up against a wall. A wall of some kind. A wall because of their color, a wall because of their accent, a wall because of their religious beliefs. We all have a wall in our past.

I will not stand against a wall.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

New hobby...

These last three days have been muy dificil for me. Several of you may think that it’s very funny to see El Guapo go without cable television, but this is no laughing matter. Yes, I get 5 to 6 channels including two Spanish-speaking channels, but that doesn’t do it for me anymore. Sure, I enjoy watching tall Mexican women jump up and down unnecessarily just as much as the next guy, but I need a little diversity in my TV.

I stared at my reflection on the turned off TV knowing full well that I couldn’t deal with another episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air dubbed in Spanish. So I did what I haven’t done in years, I decided to read.

Now, since reading for me usually takes place on el bus, I quickly realized that I needed to do what I always do when looking for bathroom reading material: I borrowed my neighbor’s mail. No, “borrowing” your neighbor’s mail is not a crime. I always give it back after I’ve finished. Sure, it may be a couple of months later and wet from being on the bathroom floor, but you always get it back. Siempre.

For some reason Julio gets GQ magazine. I’ve never really read the magazine, but today was different. I actually needed something to do with my growing amount of free time. So, I grabbed the black and white Tom Cruise picture showing magazine out of his mail box and went back to my house.

It is very apparent to me that GQ magazine isn’t written for the Latino population. The closest it gets to appealing to us is having the very convenient cologne samples inside. You need to be careful to avoid the paper cuts, but those come in handy when you’re in a pinch. Oh si, I forgot to mention Oscar de La Hoya on the back inside cover seling Remy Martin. I once met Oscar. Si, he made a cute comment to me and I jabbed him in the jaw. Turns out I’m a much faster runner than he.

So I’m reading GQ… Wow….. Lots of pictures… Oh, here we go, an article about NBA basketball players’ and their fashion mistakes. I rather be shot. En serio. I rather be shot in the foot for a pizza than read this. People read this? Really? Come on.

Ok, let’s move on here. The 10 commandments of style. This could be good. Socks. Turns out that “generally, your socks should be a shade darker than your suit but not quite as dark as your shoes.” Oh look, it says your tie should only be “three inches at its widest point.” Do people really do this?

Wait! Que? This is saying that you should wear a crew neck undershirt? What kind of mierda is this? Crew neck? Mira, real men wear the tank top (beaters) undershirts. No exceptions. So you can see the undershirt through the shirt? Of course you can! That’s the point. It looks increible!

This is enough reading for one day. How dare they! Crew necks… Who wears crew necks? Oh, Julio does. That's good, take fashion advice from a guy who just got his cable shut off. Nice...

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Network TV...

Bob Barker. He is always smiling, but I’m not sure if he’s really happy or if that was the face his many surgeons put on his face. Today could very well be the worst day of his entire life, but no one would be any wiser. There he is, all 137 years of his stretched to the max skin in a tight pin stripe suit. I see him walking, but I think I see his lips mumbling something:

“Please let me die. Oh God, please let me die.”

CBS, let the man die.

I hate network television. I want cable. I need cable. My cable has been disconnected.

My neighbor recently lost his job and to cut expenses he decided to stop paying the cable bill. So, the cable company disconnected his service. My service. Our service. My block’s service.

Because of una persona, there are at least 7 families who now must watch re-runs of Moesha on the WB. I think I’ve done something to upset the hombre upstairs. No entiendo. I light candles every night.

Oh look, a big-breasted, cowboy hat wearing redhead from Tennessee is playing Plinko. Did you know that it was a Guatemalan that invented Plinko? His name was Ricardo Luca Christofferson (his padre was Swedish, but his mom was a full blooded Guatemalan). This, of course, is another story for another day.

My neighbor came over to my house this last Sunday asking if he could watch The Sopranos. He gave me some sob story about losing his job and I came up with a lame excuse about making tamales. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up. He must be wondering why none of his neighbors will allow him to watch cable at their homes.

Well if you didn’t lose your damn job this wouldn't be a problem, Julio. Should I be a little more sympathetic about his job loss? Yes, I should. Actually, I hope Julio finds another job tomorrow, but we’re talking about my cable television.

I won’t be able to see who Uncle Junior shoots next on HBO. I won’t be able to see how President McKinley’s assassination was an important part of American history on the History Channel. I won’t be able to see my favorite Trading Spaces on…..um…just kidding, El Guapo doesn’t watch that.

Why do all the contestants on The Price is Right always look back to see how much their friends think a wooden hammock costs? Is everyone in the audience a hammock expert? I’m glad you didn’t win Plinko. Take off that damn cowboy hat!

Every commercial during the Price is Right is for electric wheelchairs, life insurance and after-market denture products. I’m slowly beginning to realize that the mid-twenties, Guatemalan male population isn’t the target audience. On the other hand, I’m the exact target audience for The Sopranos. Yes. Young Guatemalan males are a very important part of the U.S. economy. Do you have any idea how much we spend on cologne? We are second only to Long Island teenagers.

Mira, por favor, everyone light a candle for Julio to find another job. Por favor light two candles if you can. Stop by your local grocery store, pharmacy, candle shop, etc. Please, I need mi cable television. Do this for El Guapo.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

The Awakening

I am writing to you from a strange place.

When I shower, it is with shampoo purple in color with French instructions. Should I lather and repeat? I don’t know. I don’t speak French. The French didn’t think that a Guatemalan would be staring at its miniscule bottle wondering what to do. I’m confused.

The books adorning the walls are not mine and most will never be read by me. Well, maybe that one over there. I may read that one. What book is that? The one with the man on the cover. The one with the man with the perfectly parted blonde hair. Si. What book is this?

Standing Firm by Dan Quayle

Dios mio…

My entire life has been spent looking for the woman that I searched for in my dreams. Finally, I find her when my eyes were open and now this.

Something must be wrong. She’s Latina. Latina’s don’t have Dan Quayle books. Well, she’s half Latina. Well, she’s Brasilian. A Brasileira. Her padre is English. She’s an English-Brazilian-American. This book must be her father’s.

To Linda: Dan Quayle

Maybe her mother’s name is Linda? Is this true? Is this happening? Am I dating a Republican? Brasilians aren’t supposed to be Republican!!! She’s even Brasilian from her mother’s side and that’s the side that counts.

Colin Powell: My American Journey

Estoy pisado…

Please don’t be signed. Please don’t be signed. Please don’t be signed.

I held the book in my trembling hands. Colin Powell. He’s not so bad. Actually, I like the hombre. I never really believed he was Republican. Colin stared at me with his calming eyes and my hands stopped shaking.

So, Mr. Powell, como estas?

Hello El Guapo. Fancy seeing you with this book.

Si, I’m a bit flustered myself. You’re a great man and all Mr. Powell, but I did not purchase you. I simply picked you up from a bookshelf.

Oh yes. This is Linda’s bookshelf. She’s a fine woman.

Mr. Powell, don’t think that I won’t throw your bespectacled face right out the window. Watch your tone.

No, no El Guapo. That is a compliment. You have landed yourself an intelligent, beautiful and confident woman. She dances too.

Yeah she does…Hombre, that girl can dance circles around me.

Yes, she’s half Brazilian you know.

Yes Mr. Powell. I am aware. What do you think about her having that Dan Quayle book over there?

El Guapo, listen to me. In life you will always find instances where you second guess your situation. It’s human nature to do so. Does it really bother you that Linda owns a Dan Quayle book? Hell, my wife has a thing for Sean Connery. Did it bother me when she dressed me up in a tuxedo and made me order martinis? Yes. Did it bother me when she made me call her Pussy Willow in bed? Yes. Am I glad that I have her by my side every single day? Yes. I’m the luckiest man in the world.

She makes you call her Pussy Willow in bed?

El Guapo! Pay attention! Focus on what’s important.

You’re right Mr. Powell. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.

My pleasure El Guapo. You’re a good man. By the way, you’re totally out of potato chips.

Joder…

I put Mr. Powell back on the bookshelf and I pick up the Dan Quayle book. So help me Wanda, if he starts talking to me I will just lose it. I put the book back. Waaaaay back. Here, let’s put a Stephen King book in front of him. He won’t mind.

So she has a Dan Quayle book. Who cares? At least she's not Argentinean. I have to draw the line somewhere.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Guatemalan Card Games

It has always been amazing to me how little the world knows about Guatemala. By now, most of you know that Guatemalans are the best looking people in the world. However, while a very important fact, this isn’t the only thing that we should be known for. From time to time, I will take try to introduce something within world culture that actually has origins in Guatemala.

Every single time you turn on the television it seems that there is a poker game. Texas Hold ‘Em. I have had many conversations with my countrymen about how most Americans truly believe this is their invention. They are wrong. The game has Guatemalan origin. Some snarky American, most likely a gun-toting, cowboy hat wearing, fake ostrich skin booted Texan swiped this from us. I understand that “Guatemalan Hold ‘Em” doesn’t sound as nice, but at least give us an asterisk.

In Guatemala, the game is simply called Segura-lo, or Hold ‘Em. It has the same principle as the game you see on TV, but ours, of course, is a much tougher game. You see, if a player thinks that you are bluffing about the cards you have, they can call you out on this.

You then have to stand 10 feet away from the other players and hold a bowling ball-sized rock above your head. If you don’t win the hand, all the other players throw rocks at your face. The point is to get you to drop the rock and in turn, have to give them all of your money.

It’s a man’s card game that was pinked up for retired school teachers and now every popped collar West Virginian this side of Texas.

The first time I played this game with a group of American friends I was confused. Where are the throwing rocks? If I’m playing with a woman, can I throw a rock at her face? The rules in Guatemala don’t cover this because, as I’ve stated before, this is a game for hombres. Tough hombres.

Everyone was bluffing left and right and I couldn’t throw rocks at their faces. What was this all about?

Now, did I win any money? Si, mis amigos. I won a LOT of money. Without the fear of having rocks pelted off your face, the game is very easy for such a handsome Guatemalan like me. I don’t have to fear anyone destroying my face. It is, after all, my livelihood. Without this face, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.

So, do me a favor. The next time you find yourself playing this “Texas” Hold ‘Em. Pelt someone in the face with the glass jar of salsa if you think they’re bluffing. I promise that it will make the game more fun. If they ask why you just did that, tell the El Guapo sent you.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Extreme Sport

“Honey, put that back. You don’t want that.”

Huh?

“You don’t want this one. It’s no good.”

Shampoo. This is all I want right now. I’m out of shampoo and I need more. What could be bad about this shampoo?

Mi Linda, what’s the matter with this shampoo? Look at it: 88% more. Extreme Old Spice. You can’t beat this. It’s extreme.

“Honey, you don’t want to buy anything with an adjective in the title. Trust me.”

I take a moment to digest these words of wisdom and realize that I’ve been doing the exact opposite my entire life. I like adjectives. I mean, I REALLY like adjectives. It comes from being Latino. If it has the words super, great, gourmet, extreme, best we take it to heart. Any superlative makes us grab our wallet. You throw in some shiny colors and, Dios mio, we MUST have it.

This wasn’t just any old shampoo. This was Old Spice. It has to be bueno. I mean, it’s Old Spice. This was Old Spice Extreme Sport. That’s three adjectives AND the bottle was bright red and blue. The bottle said that it would take my “showering experience to the limit”. Now, I don’t really know what that means. Frankly, that statement scares me, but what in the holy name of Procter and Gamble is wrong with this?

Mi Linda, what’s the matter with this shampoo? It’s on sale. It’s shampoo. Who cares?

Oh…she cares.

I suddenly remember taking a shower at her house a few days earlier. I enjoy entering that phase in any relationship where showering is exciting. When you shower with me, certain body parts will be very clean. It’s my duty as a Guatemalan male to ensure this is so.

Anyway, it was time for shampoo and I reach for the bottle with the shiniest, most attention-getting color.

“Whoa.”

Yes?

“Um, honey, love, here, let me put what you need in your hand.”

Mi Linda is not cheap. She’s very likely one of the most giving people I have ever met, but she all of a sudden is rationing shampoo? Que pasa con eso?

You’re rationing shampoo.

“Baby, this is really expensive shampoo and you don’t need to use as much.”

The bottle was bright orange. The shampoo was bright orange. I know that the brand started with a “K”, but all my eyes see is champú fantástico! What is this? Cuba? Is it because I’m Guatemalan? I’m all of a sudden not good enough for your fancy orange shampoo? Why mujer? Why must you taunt me with your fancy bottles of shampoo? Why?

“Baby, this bottle is $50 a bottle.”

Stop. What did you say? You paid $50 for a bottle? Here, we can put the shampoo back in the bottle. See? Let’s just scrape this last little bit in there. I’m a man mi Linda. I’m a Guatemalan hombre. I don’t put $50 shampoo in my hair.

“Baby, you can use it. It will make your hair really shiny. Just don’t use as much.”

Have you seen my hair? It’s Guatemalan hair. It's Mayan, it's real and it’s fabulous. I don’t need $50 shampoo. I’ll just use this, Pantene, this is fine.

“That was my ex boyfriend’s shampoo.”

Was he allowed to use the fancy shampoo?

“No.”

Give me that damn thing.

And so the story goes. I marked my territory once again, but this time with shampoo.

If you see an extremely good looking Guatemalan (more good looking than your average Guatemalan) walking down the street with extremely shiny hair, please, do not be jealous.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

PS. I went back and got the Old Spice Extreme Sport. The shampoo is blue. I mean, come on. What is a simple Guatemalan to do?

I have

I have spent many days and countless nights wondering where you were.

I have stared into the night sky hoping that you were looking at the same stars.

I have walked by flowers without having someone to have them.

I have closed my eyes and wished there was someone to kiss me awake.

I have opened my eyes and wished they close for me to dream of you again.

I have prayed to everything and everyone I know for you to come into my life.

I have strolled the sidewalks alone with my hand feeling the need for yours.

I have wanted my heart to skip a beat without knowing why.

I have cried too many tears of loneliness while I waited for you.

And now,

Finally,

I have.

I have the woman who can make me laugh for hours on end.

I have the woman who makes me believe that kisses can be miracles.

I have the woman who can silence me with a simple glance.

I have the woman who fits me like a puzzle.

I have the woman who looks like an angel when she sleeps.

I have the woman who makes it ok by touching my hand.

I have the woman who is the firecracker of my life.

I have the woman who makes me wonder how I could have gone all these years without.

I have the woman who makes me need her every day going forward.

And now,

Finally,

Finalmente,

I have her.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Ciao

“Ok, Ciao. I’ll see you later.”

I’m sorry, what’s that you said?

"I said, see you later."

No, that foreign word before you said that. What was that?

“Ciao! That’s like ‘Bye’ in Italian.”

Yes, I’m aware of what it means. I am Guatemalan. I know everything. Why do you say it?

“Because just saying goodbye is soooo tacky.”

Hmmm. Si? Interesting. Remind me, Amy, where are you from again?

“Pittsburgh!”

Amy, listen to me. Please pay attention to the words that are coming out my mouth. Por favor. This is serious. Do not, under any circumstance utter the word “Ciao” again. You’re not allowed. Ever.

“What?”

Yes, you see, it is tacky for someone from Pittsburgh to say the word “Ciao”. You’re not allowed. I’m pulling the Latin card. It’s red, you’re out. Don’t talk. Don’t say a word. Shhhhh. Good girl.

Oh yeah, while we’re at it, you’re not allowed to call your apartment a “flat” either. You’re not British and I don’t care if you spent a semester in London. You’re from Pittsburgh. You’re not allowed. If you say “cheers” to me one more time instead of thank you, we’re going to have serious issues. You may get bitch slapped. Not by me, but I will find someone to do it. Trust me. That girl over there was giving you dirty looks. She'll do it in a second.

You’re from Pittsburgh damn it! Just live with it. When you’re drunk I’ve heard you say “Yins”. I know that saying “Ciao” makes you feel more exotic, cultured, sexy even. Listen to me say it: Ciao. Sexy right? Damn straight it is. I’m Guatemalan. I’m sexy anyway, but when I say that, it comes out even sexier. Now, when you say it, it makes me, those people all the way in the back of the restaurant, no further back, yes, them, and all the people sitting at the bar cringe. We all cringe. We know that you are from Pittsburgh and have no business saying these words. I know it’s not fair, but you’re not allowed.

“That’s crap. Who can say those words?”

Well, since I am the official spokesperson for the Latino community, I am able to give permission for someone to say these words. However, since it will be Antarctica in hell before you ever receive such permission, this will not be happening. Who can say Ciao? Anyone south of Texas with the exception of Belize and Costa Rica. I revoked their privileges long ago. Anyone from Portugal, Spain, and Italy. Any island in the Caribbean is allowed to say ciao, however, not any island dweller is allowed. Australians and people from New Zealand are not allowed to say it. Actually, if you come from an English speaking country you’re not allowed to say Ciao. I’ve heard you say it and frankly, it makes me cry. Not more than someone from Pittsburgh, Wisconsin, Iowa or Georgia, but it still makes me cry. I may be forgetting someone, so if you think of someone else just ask.

Do I look sexy when I cry? Yes. It’s hot. Amazing really. I’m Guatemalan. Everything I do is sexy. This can not be helped.

Any other questions? No? Good. This is for your own good. I’m saving you from looking like an idiota in public. You may not like me right now, but you’ll thank me later. Trust me. I’m Guatemalan. I know best.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

The rally

Yesterday, there was a rally in DC (and other cities throughout the US) for immigrant rights.

I’ve written about this before. My opinion on this matter is known.

Many disagree with me and this is ok. I am not angry with them. I am not angry at the ignorant. The United States is great because we are all allowed to have an opinion.

I saw one of the most beautiful things in my life yesterday. I saw a man of Asian descent standing with his young wife and baby. In his hands he held a large pole with an American flag hanging over his shoulders. His whole world was within a hug’s reach and he incorporated an American flag within this world.

Look, I am the son of immigrants who came to this country for a better life. I am a US citizen and I’m allowed to say this.

If there is anyone that wants to hold the American flag with pride, then I welcome you.

If there is anyone who wants to take a test and learn about my country in order to become a citizen, then I welcome you.

If there is anyone who wants to make this country a better place, then I welcome you.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Any questions?

Ok, now, onto something that bothered me about yesterday. Unfortunately, it was cause by a couple of my Guatemalan hermanos. After the rally some of the younger people decided to walk down the middle of the street. Streets that were not closed off.

Now, I understand that it is not often you feel like a majority in downtown DC, but amigos, you don’t gain any friends by causing traffic jams. The idea is for you to get people to want you to be in this country. Making them sit in their gray Volvos when they’re late to pick up their dog from doggy day-care is not the way to make friends.

Just a thought.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Best Caucasian Invention EVER

This weekend I was invited by my gringo friend, Cabezón, to a gringo party. I can easily say that my life has forever been changed by this event.

It seems like I had led a sheltered life prior to my uncovering what very well may be the best kept secret of American Caucasians.

I was to meet Cabezón at Stetson’s at 8:30 for a tournament of some kind. Upon arriving, I saw the professionally typed “Private Party” sign and immediately knew that I was truly about to enter an exclusive engagement. Cabezón is good for these types of things. He’s kind of a big deal...

When I entered the upstairs area of the bar I scanned the crowd of pale faces looking for my friend, but he was nowhere to be found. Yes, I am definitely the only minority here. Oh wait, there’s an Indian girl over there. She will be my friend. In situations like these, I’ll grab any minority I can get. I will say that not one collar was popped, and frankly, in mi book, that's just a start to a good evening.

So, what game is this?

“Dude, this is a Flip Cup Tourney!”

When they call you “dude”, you know you’re in.

Flip Cup, how exactly does this work? I’m sorry, my friend was supposed to be here. He didn’t really explain this to me. Do you know him? He is my height, Irish-white, really, really big head. En serio, he must have the world’s strongest neck muscles to hold that thing up. It's like a bobble-head.

“No, I don’t know him, but I’ll totally show you how to play this game. Here (gives me a red plastic cup), this and beer is all you need.”

My new friend was very excited to teach me what seemed like an odd game.

“Ok, so everyone pours beer in up to the first indent in the cup. You say cheers to the person in front of you, put the beer down, then you have to flip the cup over. So you chug the beer, put the cup down small end first so that a part of it hangs over the edge, and you flip the cup to land on the other side. Then the next person on your team goes and the team to finish first wins.”

So, you drink the beer, and flip the cup over. I don’t understand.

“Dude, it’s much harder than it looks. Here let’s go.”

I obliged, cheered her and watched as she furiously drank the beer, slammed the cup down and tried to flip the cup over. I drank the beer while she and her tilted ever-so-slightly-to-the-left-woven hat successfully flipped the cup over.

“In your face bitch!”

I understand now. This beer is not to be savored. Bitch?

We go again and it turns out that flipping a cup over is a skill that comes easily to me. In fact, I was called a “one-flipper” for my ability to surgically flip an empty cup to its opposite side.

Dios I love gringos. They come up with any excuse to get drunk quickly. Cabezón once told me a game he and his friends in college played while watching pornography. It was called “Unnecessary Ball Shot.” A shot of beer was done every time there was, well, you get the picture.

At a Latino party, there is dancing. If you want to talk to a woman you simply ask her to dance. At a gringo party, you play a drinking game and hope that both you and your love interest get intoxicated enough to have what is sure to be horrible love-making.

I must say, that the person who came up with this game must have been a genius. I have learned that it is always the genius types who invent these games. They could be finding a cure to society’s plagues, but no, it is more importante to devise entertaining ways to drink cheap beer. If I was forced to drink Old Milwaukee on a regular basis, I too would want to find an entertaining way to do it.

Now, my Flip Cup team did not win the tournament due to an “interference” call on a successful flip, but I can say with confidence that I am the best Flip Cup player ever. Seriously, my skills in this game will likely become legendary amongst the fine residents of my city. I assure you that I will be attending more of these functions to further spread the legend of El Guapo.

Perhaps someone should put together a Flip Cup Olympics with money going to charity. I would love nothing more than this. Just don't let my incredible good looks intimidate you if we meet in the tournament. In the words of my new Indian friend, “I will fucking own you.”

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Science en la manana

And so it is.

I sat there staring at myself in the mirror this morning trying to get the sleep out of my eyes when it came into my peripheral vision.

Que diablo es eso?

Huh. My eyes weren’t focusing just yet, but there was something on my bathroom sink that wasn’t there the day before. This doesn’t make sense.

What is this azure box doing in my bathroom? I don’t get it.

It’s early and I’m easily confused, so I picked the mystery box in an attempt to make some sense of what was happening.

Biodegradable applicator

Biodegradable applicator? What in the name of Goya is this all about?

Being the curious Guatemalan that I am I decided that I had two choices:

1) Freak out.
2) Explore.

Luckily for me, I am Guatemalan. We are known for our calm, cool and collected manner. After all, I am El Guapo.

So, I peel the zipper-like cardboard box open to find 40 individually wrapped….well…..biodegradable applicators. Now, is 40 for just one month, or is this the result of a visit to Costco?

I unwrap one to see what the fuss is all about. There is a string. Interesante. I find myself twirling the applicator as fast as I can with the string. This is actually kind of fun. I wonder how far I could wing this across the room….

That’s pretty damn far. I wonder if there are competitions for this. I would seriously win them all. This is of course my first time winging an applicator across the room, but I seem to be a natural. I must seriously be good at everything. I take a moment and thank God once again for making me Guatemalan.

The string stays in the whole time? Very interesting. I decide to read the box for further instructions. I discover that this particular model, Regular, can hold 6-9 grams. No way. I bet it can hold way more.

But how? How can I prove this hypothesis? I rummaged through my kitchen to see if I had anything that measured in grams, but had to settle for something that measured in cups.

How many grams are in one third of a cup? Who cares? On with the experiment.

Wow. It’s like one of those toy dinosaurs that expand when you throw them in the tub. This is great! Do these things come in different colors, or is white all you get? The string stays in there the whole time? This is amazing.

The string seriously stays in the whole time?

I suddenly realize that I am face to face with mi abuelita as water drips from the applicator into the sink.

She stands there with an expressionless look on her face and I suddenly realize that I am holding onto a string attached to an applicator while mi abuelita stares at me. There is no way that I can explain this one. I laugh nervously..

The box…it said that it could hold 6-9 grams…I thought it could hold more. I was just....um...you know...science...experiment...science...

Mi abuelita looked at me and sighed.

“That’s my measuring cup. Wash that out when you’re done.”

Mi abuelita walks away in her slippers simply shaking her head and murmuring something about my being crazy. Well, maybe she’s right. Science experiments shouldn’t be done this early in the morning.

I wonder what else is in my bathroom…

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Douchebageria

There I was taking the 54 bus down 14th street when I saw a group of about 10 of DC’s finest on the corner of 14th and U.

Ave Maria, what is going on in the newest, hippest, over-priced neighborhood of Washington DC? Living up to the “busy-body” title that mi madre has given me over the years, I got off the bus to see what could need 5 police officers on each corner.

Oh. Look at that. They’re handing out Jaywalking tickets. Well, not even tickets. They were Jaywalking WARNING tickets. Ten police officers in Washington, DC. Jaywalking. Turns out they’re all over the city. Handing out Jaywalking tickets.

Jaywalking tickets? Pedestrian safety? Mira, if you can’t figure out the difference between the white walking man and the flashing red don’t walk man then you deserve to be hit by a car.

Pedestrian safety? Gracias, no thanks. When it comes to figuring out how to cross the street I say it should be about survival of the fittest. So a couple of people get hit, that’s the price you pay. Crossing the street isn’t hard. You look one way, you look another, if it’s all clear you cross. Need me to repeat that? No.

This is the nation’s capitol. We’re not in Buenos Aires where they tango mercilessly across the streets.

I just find it interesting that these police officers are working what I call “fancy” neighborhoods. Why don’t they come to the ghetto? Try giving pedestrian safety tips to the transvestites on my block.

There was a man who was shot in the face because of a pizza blocks from my house. Why don’t the DC police hand out “Don’t shoot people in the face because of pizza” flyers? Seriously. I want to see this flyer:

DON’T SHOOT PEOPLE IN THE FACE BECAUSE OF PIZZA
WHY?

1. SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE FACE BECAUSE OF PIZZA IS ILLEGAL.
2. GET YOUR LAZY ASS A JOB AND WORK TWO POINT FIVE HOURS TO BUY SAID PIZZA.
3. SHOOTING PEOPLE FOR A PIZZA BAD. WORKING TWO POINT FIVE HOURS TO BUY A PIZZA IS GOOD.

This is a flyer that I would like to see.

Then again, using 10 police officers to hand out jaywalking tickets seems like a better idea than fighting crime. Maybe the residents of my neighborhood are happier knowing that they were reminded to look both ways while crack dealers roam the streets. Hell, the crack dealers will roam the streets with more voracity now that they know how to be safe while crossing the streets.

To quote the famous Guatemalan poet Walt Whitman:

“The amount of douchebaggery in this city never ceases to amaze me.”

Yes, Walt Whitman was Guatemalan.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Una cosa mas

There is no easy way for me to say this. I hate those yellow Lance Armstrong bracelets.

El Guapo, those bracelets show solidarity in the fight against cancer.

Solidarity? You don’t need yellow bracelets to show that you are united in the fight against cancer. I don’t like cancer. You don’t like cancer. No one likes cancer. Do we need to wear a bracelet to show others that we don’t like cancer? No.

Maybe what the world needs is a bracelet for every affliction. My buddy Pedro has herpes. I feel really bad for him when his bottom lip looks like a botched collagen injection. Maybe I should wear a raspberry-textured, pink bracelet to show Pedro and everyone else that I want to put an end to this affliction. I, El Guapo, am against herpes.

But El Guapo, Lance Armstrong is a courageous man who beat the odds.

Yes, Lance Armstrong beat the odds and fought off testicular cancer. He and Sheryl Crow did everythi….Que? What’s that? Oh, he wasn’t with Sheryl Crow when he had cancer? He was married? He left his wife for Sheryl Crow? Do you think she puts his picture away?

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo