domingo, abril 30, 2006

Reading: Luna's California Poppies

I just finished reading Luna’s California Poppies by Alma Luz Villanueva. I first got this book about a year or two ago. Had in on the shelf of “to be read” books. I had just started it and was about twenty pages along. L* reached a point where she was hungry for novels. Since she’d already finished everything by Graciela Limón, I offered her Luna. (This was before our return to Califas). L* loved it. Went on to tell me how great it was, and I then started resisting reading it. (like a pendeja. I do that some times, just resist reading books.) This one is complicated by the fact that I’ve read Alma Luz Villanueva’s La LLorona and Other Stories, which features some of the same characters. So, critically, I’ve worked through a particular reading of the characters, and I knew that this book might/would challenge that reading.

L* taught this book in her Ethnic Writers class last fall, and all the students really connected with it.

Anyway, I’ve finally been reading it in the tub these last couple of weeks and can’t praise it ENOUGH! First, If you’re at all interested in Chicana feminist constructions of the Divine, then this is the book for you! It’s structured as a diary, from young Luna, growing up on the poor side of San Francisco (1956-57), written to La Virgen de Guadalupe. The first entry:

Dear La Virgen,

Can you keep a secret or two like everything I write to you cause there’s no one else to write to or talk to but you. About how I feel I mean. How i really feel and all the weird stuff that happens in my life. Like don’t tell God or any thing cause its none of his bees wax, OK? I figure if I don’t pray to him he’ll kinda leave me alone and not punish me for the stupid things I have to do some times like steal stuff to eat like the phoney ham with El Diablo on it...

The epigraph to the book is from Gayl Jones’s Mosquito--in fact, now I think of it, it may be have been this epigraph that led me to Mosquito to begin with. Unless it was when I was researching the song “Delgadina.”


Mexicans, they’s supposed to be the cosmic race...And then I started thinking it must be nice to be a people that looks at each other and sees they own gods and ain’t have to look at other people’s gods.

Next this is a great book about writing, because Luna’s writing this journal just for herself and La Virgen, right? ‘cause she has no one else to talk to. But then, as she shares it with someone, she’s given the assignment to learn four vocabulary words each week, and then at the end of the week she writes them into a poem. And she’s got that magical childhood voice--in spite of the crap she’s been through--and I just found it really inspiring and it made me want to keep a journal and write poems.

Finally, it’s a fierce novel about resistance, because Luna finds a way, you know? Like rather than just feeling alienated from God The Father who Smites his enemies, she develops an image of La Virgen which is akin to her dead grandmother, Mamacita. Rather than accepting the stupid things a racist white teacher says to her, (“It’s against the law to pick California poppies because they’re the state flower”) she resists by eating the flowers so she can bring all their sunshine inside of herself.

I think this is a young adult novel, not because it’s written for young adults, but because it helps us reconnect to the young adult we once were.

sábado, abril 29, 2006

Irene Monroe on immigration

Irene Monroe is this Black lesbian theologian. Totally fierce. Trained with Peter Gomes (pronounced in one syllable like Gnomes, not in two like Gomez), an African American theologian, also gay, in that high-style ivy-league great books kind of way. Him, that is, not her. She's radical call-it-out fierce, and don't think you can hide any homophobic nonsense behind your gilded bible!

("Gilded bible" is going to end up in a poem. Came to me on my walk this morning when I smiled and nodded at a happy family walking in the opposite direction all dressed up like Sunday-best, and the Father asked if he could speak to me a moment, and I eyed the gilded bible in his hand and realized they're prob'ly missionaries, and so explained que "tengo prisa" and went on my way, tempted to phone L* and tell her not to answer the door if anyone knocks 'cause there's missionaries coming your way!)

Every six or eight months or so, I google her and read all her articles online and get all jazzed. This is the one I found today:

Standing Up for Immigration

As the country now finds itself in a battle over immigration reform, one particular disenfranchised community—African-Americans—has displayed troubling feelings on the issue, ranging from a disquieting silence to unabashed xenophobia. And although the struggles of being black, immigrant, and LGBT are not mutually exclusive, many African-American organizations and individuals, however, have veered off the road on this issue.

For example, where the NAACP has been outspoken in their advocacy for immigrant rights, the National Urban League, the Congressional Black Caucus, and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which aided in spearheading the civil rights movement of the 1960s, have not.

And while the Book of Leviticus is continuously misused by black ministers in their attacks on LGBT people, one passage illustrates how clerics should employ the text to guide them on the issue of immigration rights: “Don’t mistreat any foreigners who live in your land. Instead, treat them as well as you treat citizens and love them as much as you love yourself. Remember that you were once foreigners in a strange land.”


viernes, abril 28, 2006


You know that HR 4437 is a big topic right now. A proposed law which will make it a felony to be undocumented, to help someone who's undocumented.

Yesterday, at the school where I volunteer, a seven-year old told me that she heard about the Migra and getting sent back to Mexico, and she was worried and that also there are a couple of areas she wanted to warn me to stay away from.

This was the gist of what I understood in my pocha Spanish, and I called the team leader, who's fully bilingual over, to listen to what la niña was saying. The room grew silent as the team leader spoke softly in Spanish and all the other little girls's attention was riveted. You don't need to worry about this now, m'ija, she said. We'll talk to your mom when she comes for you. "Pero no tengo papeles," cried the seven year old. No, m'ija, it's ok. you don't to worry about this right now.

Just wanted to share with you a moment from a group of potential felons.

While I'm searching for the words...

While I'm searching for my own words to share with you, I wanted to mention a couple things. One is that I'm going through a transition in my life where I re-commit to who and what's important and try to find the faith to be comfortable within my own head, while having the courage to ask for help. (is that obfuscated enough?)

So last night I was flipping through an anthology culled from women's writing, putting together different images of spirituality. One piece included in the book is a short story by Helena Maria Viramontes called "The Moths." Now pretty much any Latina in academia (seems like) has a copy of Viramontes's The Moths and Other Stories and she has stories in there ("Cariboo Cafe" "Miss Clairol") that I read again and again. And yet it seems that I have never read "The Moths." I read it today and am truly grateful.

But because I need to end on a note of fierceness, I will share with you Becky Birtha's poem of fiercenss,


You read us the words
you have written about
Demeter, Hecate, Diana.
When we no longer want to listen
you say--
But your people have myths of their own.
Why don't you find them out?
Why don't you write them down?
Why don't you bring them
for us to read?

Yes, we know that
our great-great-grandmothers
remembered many truths.
We also know
how those ancestors were
separated and sold
severed by the middle passage
disease, death
and design
so no two
women who spoke the same language
came to the same place.

To talk in the old tongues
was forbidden.
To learn to write
To sing the old stories
forbidden even
to speak secrets in
the sacred voice of the drum.

We live out our lives
in languages with no names
for the Goddesses
of our great-grandmothers,
no characters in which to inscribe
their wisdom,
no verbs that encompass
their power,
no constructions that can contain
their rage.

Yes, we will find them out.
As we uncover and claim those words
we may never choose to write them down.
We will not be bringing them
to you.

jueves, abril 27, 2006

Securing our Writing

Pomegranate Queen has been doing some awesome stuff on her blog. First, she posted a fiction piece in progress and asked for feedback. Wow, talk about brave and inspiring!

I posted a comment but it got lost (this frequently happens to me with comments--which is why I often turn them into posts on my blog)

It went something like this:

Okay, I’m just loving the image of Securing our Writing. It reminds me of those signs on the bus with instructions on how to secure the frame of your (or someone else’s) wheelchair using the supplied belts. So we can all travel together and no one goes shooting off out of control.

PQ also has me thinking about online writing communities (not blogs). Where writerly folks post their stories (book chapters, etc) and the other writerly folks give feedback. I wish we WOC had our own--for posting critiquing, pushing each other to write more. I mean, if I spent as much time on my creative writing as I have blogging in the past year, I would have finished that novel I was thinking about!!!

An example of this is OWW, online writers workshop for science fiction/fantasy writing. Where I have not posted any creative writing because...why? I’m a chicken shit? I can tell the other writers are white folk who haven’t thought about a lot of things?

In the lit class I’m teaching we have Poetry Fridays, where we read poetry and also write our own poetry and share it. That’s been a pretty awesome experience for me and the students always say something that makes me think deep about what I’m doing.

Okay, so my pledge is that I too will post some NEW creative writing (not fifteen year-old stuff that I was already pretty confident about, like I did before) within the next seven days.

Y’all continue to inspire and push me.

lunes, abril 17, 2006

miércoles, abril 12, 2006

4 out of 5 gay academics watch Top Chef...

Ok, this is not a scientific study, by any means.

But at lunch at the conference last weekend, we went out for sushi, and there we discovered that 4 out of 5 queer CSU faculty at the table are passionately interested in the Bravo show TOP CHEF. Clearly, we are part of their demographic.

The fifth member is a parent.

So, now, having just dragged my sorry behind home after another fun-filled day of meetings and classes, I need to go sit in the tub and hydrate so that I can have dinner and a glass of wine before the new Top Chef comes on at ten. At which point my baby will come home from her evening class.

Rep. Barbara Lee speaks for Me!

This is a very popular bumper sticker in the Bay Area.

As you may know, in September 2001, US Representative Barbara Lee was the only member of Congress to vote against giving the President the power to go to war.

First, our nation is in grieving, we're all mourning, we're angry; there are a range of emotions taking place. Myself personally, I am also grieving and I believe fully and firmly that the Congress of the United States is the only legislative body that can say, "Let's pause for a moment...and let's look at using some restraint before we rush to action." Because military action can lead to an escalation and spiral out of control. So, why I voted no, was one, the president already has the authority to execute a military action. He doesn't need Congress; under the War Powers Act he has that authority. But Congress is the people's house, and the Congress is responsible for providing checks and balances, and you cannot just allow the administration to run ahead with a strategy without reporting back and without having some oversight.

Barbara Lee opposed HR 4437 when it was in the House in December 2005:

Mr. Speaker, I rise today in strong opposition to this un-American attempt at so-called immigration reform.   At best, this legislation is unbalanced, harsh and unfair.

This bill criminalizes millions of hard-working people, simply for being undocumented.

It would turn local law enforcement into deputies of the Border Patrol, and innocent people will be needlessly scrutinized and jailed, and I can only imagine how this irresponsible provision will affect racial profiling of Latinos and other minorities.

This bill also ignores due process and would expand the government’s ability to keep non-citizens locked up behind bars if they cannot be deported to their native countries.  Jailed immigrants will lose their ability to appeal a deportation order.

Mr. Speaker, these are only a few reasons why this bill makes no sense for America.   

Let’s address the real issues of immigration reform that include a clear path to citizenship and common-sense protections for our borders.

We cannot and must not forget the undeniable history that we have as a nation of immigrants, and the contributions immigrants have had on our economy, our diversity, and our way of life.

This bill flies in the face of that history and should be rejected.

Why am I telling you this today? Well usually I’m kvetching about Dianne, whom I’m always writing letters telling her she’s wrong.

Today I got an email from Barbara Lee, updating me on the stands she’s taken. And it just made me happy. Gave me hope.

Anemic: your American Idol report

Now as you may know, I am a big Queen.

I mean, I'm big fan of Queen!

I love all things Freddie Mercury (queer Black British boy).
This morning my ears are ringing from podding Greatest Hits.

In fact, I couldn't wait to plug in this morning, because last night, on American Idol, it was Queen night. I've never seen such a pathetic collection of performances in my life. I would never have thought it. Even--or maybe especially--the allegedly rocking boys failed to please.

I would never have thought it possible that a trashy white boy like Bucky could do such a sorry job on "Fat Bottomed Girls (You Make the Rockin' World Go 'Round)". I think it must be the disjuncture between this bad boy song and the candy-ass image that is American Idol.

Thank god someone talked Catherine MacPhee out of performing Don't Stop Me Now! (I'm trying to imagine what could be more lame than a perky eighteen-year-old girl singing "I wanna make a supersonic man out of you."

(And what is it when you have little girls pretending to be hard rocking drag queens? It's not verisimilitude...what's the term I'm looking for?)

"Somebody to Love" was absolutely atrocious. I mean maybe if you were in a redneck bar after a couple of pitchers of beer it would have been bearable. Maybe.

Thank God for Paris. (the singer, not the city) I'm sure she was channeling Storm from the X-Men. The Show Must Go On, even if all the competition is dead. Even though she didn't get all the big favors from the guys in lighting that McPhee and Pickler got, she was stunning and hard rocking.

I've been fantasizing today about what song Mandisa shoulda coulda woulda done. Right now the top contenders are "I Want to Break Free" and "All Dead." I also think she could done some mean scatting to "Under Pressure."

And yes, I did see the blurb in the gay press about Mandisa's allegedly anti-gay beliefs, but I'm not buying it. I think it's just a racist ploy. Some kind of Clay Aiken backlash.

Most famous Latina mom

Sylvia Guerrero, the mother of slain transgender teen Gwen Araujo, will be played by Mercedes Ruehl in the Lifetime movie The Gwen Araujo Story

I am not sure how I expected to feel at this point. When my daughter Gwen, a transgender teenager, was brutally murdered on Oct. 4, 2002, I was sure that I would never feel whole again. Looking back, I didn't yet know exactly what "transgender" meant or how to fully embrace my child's identity. But I knew one thing: I wanted justice for my child.

More on Sylvia Guerrero here

OK, so for the past few days I've been drafting a letter to Lifetime (and a post to y'all) about how dare they cast a non-Latina in the role of the most fabulous Latina mother ever. Then, of course I start checking the info on Mercedes Reuhl and find that she is described as being "of Irish and Cuban extraction."

From Latinos Icognitos:

Merecedes Ruehl can trace her roots back through her Cuban grandfather who immigrated from Zalto, Spain. She also has German and Irish heritage.

...But that doesn't make him her Spanish grandfather? Now I'm confused...
(Maybe they're erasing her Cuban grandmother in this narrative?)

And what did you do...

I feel like historically we are in an amazing time. The Immigrants Rights rallies. And yet, here I am writing about television...

viernes, abril 07, 2006


Nubian has the most amazing post on why HR 4437 is a queer issue

for many folks, seeking asylum is seen as a last resort since it has its consequences. gaining political asylum, does not automatically gaurantee that you will become a u.s. citizen; you are not allowed to travel back to your home country for five years, which means leaving behind relatives and friends for that extended period of time; and because there are little public services that help with the financial aspects of starting a new life here in amerikkka, political asylum is unimaginably hard to receieve--even moreso for people who seek it on the basis of their sexual identity.

in order to prohibit asylum seekers from refuge here in the u.s., our lovely government has propositioned to enact hr 4437 (The Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act of 2005) under the guise of fighting terrorism and protecting our country.


hr 4437 is not only anti-immigrant, it is anti-queer and criminalizes homosexuals from other oppressive societies abroad which persecute gays and lesbians.

some of the provisions that will directly affect queer immigrants:
"Unlawful presence" would now be considered a crime and a felony, meaning that undocumented immigrants may have to serve jail time and would be barred from future legal status and from re-entry into the country.

More from Nubian

jueves, abril 06, 2006

Top Chef

Have you seen this show? It’s like Project Runway meets the Food network! Fun! Engrossing. Way too much personal drama (Bravo likes to go there: witness BlowOut) but some priceless moments.

The challenges are really imaginative and fun. Some of the contestants are just too stuck up to have fun with it. You want me to what? They did one cocktail party at Mr. S (a leather fetish shop in SoMa).

It was kind of sweet seeing some people looking at the toys saying “what do they do with that?”, and oh mi god, crazy miguel wearing this tam-o-shanter with a shaggy red wig?!

At the other end of the spectrum, they did a lunch for the boys and girls clubs of san francisco. And suddenly the queer white woman who had no trouble feeding the cocktail party guests cookies on her neck was suddenly all “this is so beneath me! I’m not going to pander to their low tastes!”

There are some fabulous people here! Miguel is one of my favorites, as is Dave. Stupid Harold should be slapped for saying he wanted to “educate” the people in the Mission by serving them seared tuna. Stupid Stephen should be slapped just because it would give me so much pleasure . (What is a sommalier doing in this competition?)

It’s as messy as most other reality shows: i.e. all the Black people have already been eliminated, with the guy being framed by the narrative of uncontrollable heterosexuality. In fact on the show where Lisa, the African American woman was eliminated, it was a choice between her and the white guy, which of course was no choice at all.

I hope granola girl gets booted out again.

martes, abril 04, 2006

Las Chamacas

So at GirlStart today the girls received letters from their penpals (who are adult volunteers in the area). Esperanza (not her real name) had forgotten that she had a penpal, and was wary about having received so chummy a letter from a stranger.

Her reply read something like this

Dear Aimee,

I don’t know you. You are not my friend. I don’t know you.


Picture GirlStart volunteers falling over themselves with laughter. Our group leader, Guadalupe (not her real name) helped Esperanza to remember that she had previously written a letter to her penpal Aimee. Esperanza was thus persuaded to write a different letter on a more positive note.

But I liked the first one best. (doubtless for the same reason that in my favorite foto of myself I am four years old, wearing pigtails and a big scowl.)

In between gasps of laughter I gave a GirlStart affirmation: Wow, Espy, you really express yourself well in writing!

B-ware the Birds

Fabulosa Mujer wrote about flamingo and territorial geese in Lincoln Heights.

I was walking around Lake Merritt on Saturday, and saw these two white girls trying to pet a goose. I hurried away, in case un fracaso was to follow. My friend bendypalm is famous for a brawl she got into with a swan, where she ended up with a black eye.

"That wasn't a brawl" bendypalm insists. Yeah, more like an ass-whupping. B-ware the Birds.

domingo, abril 02, 2006

The Girls at GirlStart

The funny thing is I went to GirlStart right after the conference. Usually I go on Tuesdays, which is a day I don’t teach. So I wear jeans, tennis shoes, sweaters or sweatshirts. Sometimes I don’t even wear makeup. I couldn’t go this Tuesday because I had a meeting, so I made arrangements to go on Thursday instead. So I get there directly from the conference, in makeup, tights, fierce boots, a skirt and blouse, and the chalchihute necklace that I wear when I need a little extra spiritual protection.

The girls were very polite, in that they didn’t say “wow, ktrion, you look like a whole 'nother person when you clean up!” But they were fascinated by the clothes, the tights, et cetera.

They were making posters for the program that day, which featured 1) a self portrait, 2) “Me gusta…” and 3) a list of the activities they like.

At first, they were all focused on the self-portrait, and a bunch of them weren’t really of themselves but of some kind of archetypal girl, looking like Arthur’s sister. (but without the animal ears) Light brown hair in a flip.

Then there were a bunch of girls who seemed inspired by BRATZ dolls, but also with a kind of artistic eye. So, instead of drawing a flip hairdo, they would just draw two long curly hairs coming out of the top of the head.

They’re really little perfectionists, too, and so sometimes they’re hesitant to do their work for fear it won’t be as good as the next girls. But they also trade off, so if Xochitl likes the way Diamante draws feet on her picture, she’ll ask Diamante to draw in the feet on hers. (not their real names)

One girl in particular, her self portrait was all about the eyes, which took up more than 1/4 of the face. Detailed eyelids, irises, etc.

But no one was putting in the activities they liked! They were too into the drawing and coloring. So I started counting when someone wrote an activity. “Mira, Libradrita tiene dos actividades!” The next thing you know, the numbers are surging, seis, siete, doce, diesiseis!“

It was a great success!

sábado, abril 01, 2006

Performance: "La Karla"

La Karla
See Production Notes, Copyright, and Notice (below)

[KARLA is a tall Chicana in her twenties, dressed in Wrangler jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved cowboy shirt. Her hair is long and worn in a single braid. Deep down, she's just a girl from the ranch. Her manner is humorous; she's amused (sometimes a little embarrassed) both at being the "dyke on parade" and at having gotten herself into that position. She should definitely not be played as pleading the case for lesbianism.]

The first time I fell in love, I was twelve years old. When I was twelve, I was five feet, five inches tall. And you know, in Northern New Mexico, being five-five makes you taller than like two-thirds of the population. And so I fell for the only person in my grade taller 'n me, who just happened to be my best friend, Marisela. Me, her, and three guys from the Valley were taller than the whole school. And we did everything together. We shared books an' we shared eyeliner. She used to do my hair, and I'd do her nails, and we did each other's makeup. Eeee, we were all glamorous--or so we thought! Now I think of it, we useta put the lipstick on real red and wet like in the magazines, so you know we musta looked like a couple of real putas.

Well, by the time we were in high school, Mari's problems always seemed to involve boys. I wasn't so much interested in guys, you know? pero, I figured I was only fifteen--a year younger than everybody--so prob'ly I just hadn't grown into it yet.

Except that Mari was even younger than me, and !Ay Dios! did that girl have boyfriends!

For the life of me, I couldn't understand it. I mean, what was all the fuss about? why would you cancel a date with your best friend to be with some guy? Pero, what the hell, I give it my best shot. I figured, if everyone and her dog was ready to change her whole life because of some guy, well then, I just wasn't trying hard enough. So I tried. I did. I changed my plans for guys, I changed my styles for guys. And the whole time I was thinking that really, everybody else felt the same as me, deep down. I mean, we changed boyfriends every couple of months, but your best friends were always your best friends. Because we really cared for women, you know?

I had sex with guys, too, of course. I mean, in the winter there's only one theater in town: it's not like there was a whole lot else to do. It was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, but the earth didn't exactly move, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, you know what I mean.
Anyway, with Mari, it finally hit me one day, clear out of the blue.

(Con gusto)
The girl was he-te-ro-sex-u-al. Well, it had me thinking a while, I can tell you. It sure explained a lot of things. I mean, the way she felt about guys, was, well, the way I felt about her!

You know?--I'd do anything for her; I'd be wrecked if I thought she was mad at me; I'd get jealous if she didn't call me--

(with humor)
and that's the way she felt about guys!

Now, see, the way I'm telling it, it all sounds real simple. At the time, though, it was pretty much of a mess. Because, after I figured out that she was a heterosexual, it was like another year before I realized that the only reason I noticed that she was was because I wasn't. Heterosexual, I mean. And then maybe another two years before I thought, "you know, that prob'ly makes me a dyke."

No, prob'ly longer than that, 'cause I always thought being a lesbian meant you were a middle-aged Anglo. With a bad haircut.

(Defensive but laughing)
Well, I mean, the only women I ever knew were lesbians generally fit that description.

Now, when I'm talking about time here, I'm not counting all the different guys I went through, thinking, maybe I just hadn't met the right one. So, then add a couple more years to get out of northern New Mexico, because, much as I love la tierra encantada, it's not exactly la tierra prometida para las jotas, you know? And when you're just coming out, you need lots of folks telling you it's okay to be, you know, queer. What you don't need is the familia freaking out, or telling you it's just a phase, or even that it's a sin. I mean, you've already gone through that shit; you don't need somebody else throwing it at you all over again.

(Realizing she's forgotten an important point)
And, of course, you wanna be around a lot of other dykes.

I prob'ly could've moved to Albuquerque instead of to Denver, but girl! everybody in small town New Mexico moves to 'Burque. So it wouldn't really be like getting away, you know? More like living with your madrina instead of with your ma: Everybody still knows your business. So for me, Denver's a lot better. And the first time I walked into a lesbian bar, there weren't any of those middle-aged Anglo women with bad haircuts.

Well, hardly any. Of course, there weren't so many big-haired Chicanas, either, but it depends on the bar. One time, I walked into the Metro and there was this little drag queen--and girl! his hair was big! I mean, it was huge! I mean, it was up to here!

(Indicates an impossible height)
And the makeup! !Ay Dios! if I wore that much eyeliner when I was seventeen--Eeee! you know, I prob'ly did!--it's a wonder mi gramita could keep a straight face.

(Returning to her earlier point)
Anyway, being around those other dykes is really important. Because it was one thing for me to say, hey, I really like being around women more than around men--that's actually no big deal. Everybody feels that way--But it's something else when you feel your body tingling all over from just being around somebody. Because, you know, hanging out with your friends is really great. Pero, sometimes, you get that empty feeling in your arms, and you just need to hold a woman close. And feel the shape of her body.

(She closes her eyes)
And put your face against her neck. And smell her skin. And smell her hair. And you just want to kiss her till she can't breathe no more.

[Long pause. KARLA opens her eyes and comes back, obviously embarrassed at having gotten carried away]

I haveta say, though, I'm glad to be alive today. In this day and age, I mean. I keep thinking of what it was like twenty-thirty years ago. I mean, my tio Eloy says he had a prima who was a lesbian: a real macha who worked in construction and supported her wife. But that was back in L.A. What if you were in someplace like Anton Chico, or Trujillo, or Espanola? And what if you actually did manage to find the only other lesbian in town and you two did not hit it off? Can you imagine? I mean, unless you move away to Los Angeles or someplace, you'd either have to make the best of it or take your chances on straight women. And me, personally? I'd rather take a bath in chile colorado than take my chances on straight women.

Which is pretty funny, when you think about it. Because then there are these women like my damn cousin Josie. Every time we see each other at a family party or something, she looks at me like, !Ay! that nasty jota Karla is going to put the moves on me! And I wonder, What is she thinking? Next time, I'm just gonna tell her,

(With attitude)
Josie, if you were the last woman on earth, I'd be celibate.

[Black out]