Here is a poem of mine....These are far and few in between these days...I hope you enjoy!

Things need to change, there is so much more out there in this world!
More then any one person can handle, more hurt then any boy or any girl.

We live our lives as though "I'm" the only one who matters anyway.
But those are the selfish thoughts that got us here today.

Everyone is concerned with what can I get, how can I get it.
Who can give it to me and how fast can I spend it.

We are a culture of selfish people and selfish acts,
But criticize others when they do the same, and those are the scary facts.

We involve ourselves in things we will never know of; from sports to wars
But my dear friend on your child's last exam, what was that score?

You can recite to me politics of lands I don't even know
And judge me 'cause I choose to be ignorant and I'm not afraid to let it show.

I'm not a scientist nor a scholar do I claim to be
But I want to know what happens here, in The Land of the Free.

As many people call it, but the concept I still don't understand
Cause every one I know is scared of Big Brother a.k.a The Man.

We can feel sorrow for the Jews Persecution back during the holocaust
But feel nothing for the lives that daily here are lost.

I'm not talking about in a distant land, far away
I'm talking about your block, your back yard and what happens day-to-day

Our country fights to provide homes, money and food for every one else
And leaves our citizens to fight and fend for themselves

Again, I tell you I'm no one special. Just telling what I see.
A country fighting for my rights to live in poverty.

I guess I should be happy to be employed with no college education,
Watching our country grow closer and closer to the times of a revolution!

I don't need to be learned to know what lies ahead.
I guess when the time comes I'll just hide under my bed.

I'm not prejudice and don't knock all white folks,
I mean there are plenty of them who are just like me--FLAT OUT BROKE!

Although, they can't relate to being looked at as though here they don't belong,
The seed of ignorance planted by parents that didn't know right from wrong.

I never qualify for being black and knowing their pain, 'cause I'm just too light.
And yet I suffer the same hardships, struggles and plight.

Criticized by all sides black and white cause I have a seperate language too
But as a Latina in New York this is what I go through.

I'm not asking you to understand me or even hear me out.
I'm just letting you know what's out there and what this country is all about!

WHO REALLY ENJOYS WORK!?!?

Do you work because you have to or becasue you want to? I would definitely have to say it's because I HAVE TO!
Do you like what you do, or is it just something to do until the right job/opportunity come along?

I don't know about you, but I HATE working! I don't mean I hate my current job, I really do mean that I HATE TO WORK. The word WORK is a far nastier 4-letter word to me then any swear or curse word I've heard (or used). Having to work, to me, is a far greater punishment that I've had to endure beyond my parents' wildest imaginations!

Now, please don't mistake me for just being lazy, because trust me I AM NOT! But, I am a restless soul. Dealing with people for 40-50 hours a week just because I'm paid to do so really irritates me. I'm personable, down to Earth, Hey, sometimes I'm even friendly. But the reality as I know it-PEOPLE BOTHER ME! I like to deal with people on my own terms. I like speaking to people when I want, about things that interest me and it just boils my bunnies the more I realize that people lack COMMON SENSE! Yet, at every job that I've had (and trust me there have been MANY) at some point some of the most "Book Smart" people are some of the most "Common Sense" dumb! From not being able to grasp basic computer functions (retrieving a document seems to be a biggie) or just the over all rationale that some of these professionals (I use the term loosely) really feel they deserve to be catered to. In which, I've come to realize I'm just not the type of person to cater to ANYONE!

I've worked as a recruiter for about 4-5 yrs, and from what I hear the time to be in recruitment was right before I got in back in 2001. Before, and even within those 5 yrs, I also worked retail. I still come back to the realization that I HATE WORKING! I've always wanted to work in Public Relations, but only because it would require me to write. For about the last year I've been trying to "find myself", whatever that means. I've been trying to find my niche. I've completely abandoned the recruitment and retail industries and have started over from scratch. I took a pay cut to take an entry level position for a company in the fashion industry, boy, was that a mistake. In a previous life I held receptionist positions for everything from Law Firms to Doctor's Offices, except I'm quick tempered and even quicker with my mouth! I've worked for newspaper publishers in a sales capacity. In one afternoon, I packed up my desk to never return again. I HATE to work! You know, actually that's not a fair statement. It's not that I hate to work it's that I HATE to HAVE TO work!!

Unfortunately though, I'm a 30 yr old Puerto Rican female born and raised in Brooklyn and not a 30 yr old Princess that has too much money that I'll never get to spend in my lifetime. I don't dislike what or who I am, I wouldn't trade my background for anything, it's made me who and what I am today. What I would change, though, is the mentality in my household and in my community. I'm sure many of you were brought up in pretty much the same fashion as I was. Our parents making us do well in school, pushing us to get good grades and excel in academics, so we can get what they call "good jobs". To my parents a good job is one that pays weekly/bi-weekly, has benefits and gives you vacation time on top of paid holidays. That's what they taught in my house, so I have a sister that is an Administrative Assistant for the Police Department and another sister that is a Police Officer. Then there is me, the black sheep of the family. At the moment my family is proud of me I work, get paid, have benefits and I don't ask them for money. WOO HOO-they did their jobs as parents. Yet, I'm still trying to find more. Something fullfilling, something that would make me personally happy, even if not rich. I've worked for money and in the end I still feel like an underpaid hooker, compromising my goals, morals and even sanity for X amount of dollars.

Let's also look at companies now-a-days. They want you to come in early be at your desk ready for work by 10 minutes to 9 AM. Be glued to your desk all day, skip lunch and then at 5:30, 6 and even 6:30 they are still handing out the work hand over fist. Although, when you ask them to fork over the money for your work in the same fashion the look on their faces is as if you've started to sprout another head right then and there. The owners of the company want you to treat THEIR business as if it were your own, but won't split the profits with you! Even though, the money is tainted with YOUR blood, sweat and Oh the tears!
And what do we do?? We have children and teach them the same things our parents taught us! Go to school, get good grades and when you're done get a good job. In 30-40 yrs, when you finally get to retire and your life is actually all yours to live; what do you think happens? You're sitting there wondering what are you supposed to do now? You sit there asking yourself "What If?"! I don't know about you, but in 30 yrs I don't want to ask myself 'What if I took a chance?' or 'How would it have been different if I had pursued MY goals, MY dreams, MY wants?'

For as long as I can remember I've always told my friends I never want to live my life with regrets. At the age of 30 there really aren't many things that I do regret, I have about 3:
#1-Losing my virginity at a very young age.
#2-Hurting and Jeopardizing some of my friends and friendships (Thankfully we've all grown and learned from that).
#3-Not taking school serious enough to finish.
And while the first two I can't change or take back, the last one doesn't have to be my reality. So while every one else for the next 30 yrs or so settles into their jobs and awaits their raises/bonuses/promotions I'll continue to strive for what makes me happy.

Yes, some will read this and still think "she's just lazy", but my reality is I'm not lazy, I'm just not happy nor am I easily appeased by having my employer dictate MY LIFE! Not when I come, Not when I go nor what I do. I don't intend to settle as I feel my family has done and I sure as hell won't take mediocrity in my life! I want it ALL and I want it on MY terms. I mean it is MY LIFE, right? You wouldn't settle in a marriage you're not happy in. And you take vows, stand up in front of family/friends and God for that. Why settle for a job when you only said "Yes, I'll take it" to one person, behind a closed door interview with no witnesses to a person you didn't even know?! For give me if the logic just escapes me, but I just HATE TO HAVE TO WORK or compromise what MAKES ME HAPPY.

Just so it's fair I'd thought I'd actually post my first blog here. You will be able to see where I started and where I've grown in comparison.

I'm posting today about a topic that is very near and dear to us all, MUSIC. EVERYONE listens to some sort of music, although our tastes differ and what I may consider music, may not be the same as what you would consider music. Having said that, I have to address the topic of the "Spanish National Anthem". I read this morning about the lists of artists that are to be featured on the Spanish rendition of the National Anthem as well as I read about some of the comments about it being called by some as "The Illegal Alien Anthem". That is the issue I care to address. For anyone who actually feels and believes this to be true please do us all a favor and pick up a history book. While most of the Spanish speaking people in this country may come from countries other then this one, NOT ALL OF US DO!! AND, I don't mean my parents are immigrants and I was born here, I mean that PUERTO RICO is very much a part of THIS COUNTRY, which happens to be where my family is from. WE ARE LEGAL and we don't have to be born within the continental US to be legal. PUERTO RICANS are the ONLY ONES (other then Guam natives) that can be born in THEIR country, KEEP THEIR HERITAGE, CULTURE AND LANGUAGE AND STILL BE AMERICAN! Probably more then most Americans in the US. YES, WHITE PEOPLE EVEN YOU! The original Americans were Indians, NOT ANGLO. Light/fair skinned people came here with slaves and took over a country that wasn't theirs. They weren't here with the land. It was done for freedoms that you weren't getting in your own countries. Yet, you all came here to establish a "FREEDOM" based government for yourselves and now try to frown upon others that are just following in your footsteps, as you showed them. On top of that, YOU brought most of us here against our will and are now trying to fight to keep us out. GET OFF THE HIGH HORSE!! Instead of sticking your nose up in the air or into someone else's business (as most Americans do) why not put it in a book. If you're going to try to defend your country's rights so adamantly, you should at least know where%

I can remember being 12 years old and having to start riding public transportation to and from school. I opted for the train, of course there was a bus right by the train station that dropped me off in front of the school, but I've never really liked buses. I would get sick on them from the exhaust, the stop and go traffic, I'm just not a bus rider. But a train?! Give me a MetroCard and stand back. If there's a train station within a mile of anywhere I need to get to, trust me I can get there.

Since moving out to the suburbs, the sticks as I like to call it, I don't really get to ride the NYC Transit much these days, although I take the train everyday for work it's not NYC Transit. My ride now is more comfortable, LIRR does have cushioned seats, great a/c and heat (usually) and a bathroom. I am a Potty Princess, so I need the last feature the most often. My commute is roughly about the same amount of time as if I were still living in Brooklyn but the sights, the sounds and the smells on LIRR can not compare with that on the NYCT; Good or bad!

As you can tell by this point, I was recently on the train, 34th Street Station to be exact. I was on the platform for a little while waiting for my friend to meet me. While I was there I came to several conclusions...For starters: In the dead of winter when it feels like it's 20 below outside, I want to be at the 34th Street station on the N/R train platform to be exact. I assure you, no matter what it feels like up on the street, down there you will be nice and warm, out of the wind's way, away from the elements and whatever Mother Nature is giving back to us. On the N/R platform you are safe, from the weather that is. Now, from May till late September/early October it's the last place you want to be.

Next thing I noticed; Name a train station, any one out of NYC's over 200 some odd stations, and I promise if you sit there long enough SOME THING will happen! You can sit in the mezzanine or you can sit on the platform (much more fun) and you will see something. Now, I'm not going to say that you will enjoy or like what you see, but I can tell you, you won't be bored.

In 20 minutes on the platform I saw a small Mexican woman try to catch an N train that was in the process of closing the doors, because we all know that waiting the God forsaken 10 minutes in rush hour for another train is just too much to ask. She reaches for the doors that are about to close and proceeds to try and pry the doors back open. This woman is 4'10" a solid 140 lbs with bags in her hands and she's really trying to wrestle a machine, a beast, engineered out of several tons of steel. Of course her hands are in so the fight is hers, she refuses to give up. Here is a question...Am I the only New Yorker that knows if you put your foot firmly on the train and hold the doors open with your foot up against the spot where the doors retreat to when the doors are open, the conductor automatically reopens the doors because a light goes on in his booth stating the doors are jammed? Eventually La Bruta made it on the train, but it wasn't due to her brute strength nor was it her quick thinking that did it for her. It was because of the 50-100 other people that couldn't wait for the next train, that coincidently showed up 2.5 minutes later.

What else I noticed: When I stand some where, any where, I try to stand out of the way of free flowing traffic. I will try to find something that is immovable, like a tree, or something firmly constructed into the surroundings (lamp posts, pay phones, etc). Again, I think I may truly be the only New Yorker that knows when you exit or enter anything (trains included) standing directly on the other side of that threshold is blocking traffic! When you go up or down stairs/escalators there are other people lookin to use them as well. I'm leaning up against the pillar on the platform I saw a group of 4 women exit one train and were transferring for another, except they moved away from the edge of platform and stood right in front of the stairs. You know the stairs that everyone needs to use to go up from the platform, the stairs that everyone is trying to make their way towards. Me, being the rude bytch I'm accused of being, wanted to just yell at them "Move Bytch, get out the way, Bytch get out the way"! But truth is, they weren't in my way, they were just in THE way. I left well enough alone and continued to people watch and observe as they got pushed and shoved as people were trying to board and deboard the train. I turned my attention elsewhere.

I saw a mother almost chew her own daughter's head off for not boarding the train to go home, after the mother was already on the train herself. The daughter's reply: "I didn't know that was the train to go home." Me being her mother, I would have kept my ass on the train and let her figure it out. Now, before you go and call BCW A-I'm not a mother; B-This girl was at least 15 yrs old. I'm sure she knows what train goes to her house. Find the conductor and ask "What stop can I catch ___to get to ___?" Better yet, hop your ass on the train, find the map and work from there! Meanwhile, the mother, tired from working all week, carrying bags in her hands and now frustrated at her daughter missed the train that she was already on. I'm sure if you ask this same 15 yr old for directions to get to her boyfriend's house (in a few months if she doesn't have one now) she will be able to tell you the train to take, the stop to transfer at, the car she needs to be in, the door that leaves her the closest to the exit and how many paces due south to walk to get there! I know this because at the age of 15 if I wanted to go any where I needed to know how to get there, unless I wanted my mother as my personal escort to and from. Shortly after this incident my friend showed up. My people watching adventure on 34th Street had come to an end.

At the end of my evening, it was back to my trains, where this story began and was being written. Unfortunately, LIRR is not like NYCT so if you miss your train you're screwed for at least a good 30-40 minutes depending on the line you take. I caught my train, found a seat next to the window and pulled out my trusted pencil and notebook. My hands were writing away furiously trying to catch up with my thoughts. A gentleman sits across from me and begins to watch me work my pencil, line after line, page after page, as he drinks his Budweiser's (LIRR allows that with out the brown bag). A Middle Eastern woman sits next to me, she came close enough to sit on my lap. She asks the gentleman a question in regard to Peak LIRR travel time, to which he doesn't know the exact answer and answers in a round-about sort of way. I spoke up at this point to answer her question, seeing how I know the exact time. That was my chair mates opportunity to ask if I was writing in a journal, to which I answered "Not really, a blog." His response: "I see your hands moving and the pages just turning I can see your creativity in the way you just write non-stop." Okay, I fed into the conversation, but who doesn't enjoy a compliment. As I balanced my writing with my conversation I cam to another great observation; As much as I love NYCT, LIRR definitely has friendlier riders. I've had more pleasant, meaningful, thought provoking conversations with strangers on the LIRR then I've ever had with any stranger on the NYCT. Would that fact alone make me change my preference as to which transit system I would rather ride daily, probably not. Now, the fact that the LIRR has a bar car or the fact that there is an actual bartender on the platform just might. Then again, I'm a Brooklyn girl to the bone, we know how to make every car on the train a bar car!

You would think being a female I would have the sick obsession that most women have with shoes, except I don't. Give me a pair of timberlands or nike uptowns and I'm the happiest woman around. Let me roam the street in Jeans, Timbos and you have yourself a happy camper! Yes, because I am a girl, I have caved on more then one occasion and bought several pairs of shoes that aren't my norm. They have always been my style and match my personality, but definitely not my norm.

Ever since I turned 30 I have jumped on the new kick of wanting to look my age, although I'm not quite sure what that "look" is. I have since gotten rid of almost all my old sneakers (replaced w/new ones) and have been on the hunt to find shoes in the 3 colors I wear the most; Black, brown and red. These are the 3 colors shoes that I can work into every outfit. These are the 3 colors that for any regular female are a staple in foot wear, except I'm everything but regular. My want for these shoes aren't "just because", they each serve a purpose. I have endless amounts of purses (Ok-so I'm not that irregular either) and can match each of these shoes with every bag I own. Now, while that is true that's not the reason I want these shoes. I want them becasue I feel at the age of 30 I should HAVE them! I should know how, where and when to use them and I sure as hell should know how to walk in them!!

My boyfriend often accuses me of being a typical female and shopping like one, I totally disagree. I know what I want before even stepping foot into a store. Perfect example-Recently, while out on a shopping excursion with the B/F, I mentioned to my cousin (she was with us) that I wanted a pair of red shoes. Red heels that I could actually walk in, not the ones you see at a strip club. A pair that I could wear to work or to a club, a pair that I could wear with slacks or with jeans. As the boyfriend shopped for sneakers and tried on his new Nikes, I proceeded to the ladies shoe department. No sooner do I begin to make my way up and down the sea of shoes at Macy's Roosevelt Field, when right at one of the tables in the aisles I see them! The are red leather half rise pointy toed heels, with a heel that is about 2 inches high. I looked at my cousin and proclaimed "I FOUND THEM"! The display was a size 6, I attempted to squeeze my size 6 1/2 into it, and did! You could see my little pudgy foot spilling out from all sorts of angles so the 6 was a no go. I asked the sales girl for any other sizes of course the display was the last one in that style. At this point my boyfriend was headed right towards me, so standing on the mile long line was out of the question, on top of the fact that he too was empty handed. He informed me that the sneakers he wanted didn't fit and the size he needed was in Macy's Queens Center. We looked at each other and yelled out "Queens Center here we come!", and I thought I shopped like a girl!

In Queens it was the same ordeal, he hit the men's department I hit the lady's. A sales associate had his shoes to the side, my shoes were no where to be found. We drove home, him with new Nikes in hand and me with Red pumps on the brain. I could not let the sheos get away, so I hit two more Macy's that night. Still in the end I came home short and empty handed. I bought a pair of Nikes, but they weren't my red pumps. However, I'm persistent, and the shoes I wanted were designed by Jessica Simpson (NO, I'm not a fan). That right there makes my life easier. I got to work on Monday, went to the internet, did a search and there they were!! I found them on Nordstroms.com with pages and pages of shoes designed by the ditzy tart. I immediately signed up for an online account with Nords checked for my size and punched in my credit card info so fast I caught a cramp. Five days later my shoes were at home waiting for me, like the good little girls they are. I ripped open the packaging, kicked off my Nikes and shoved my foot in them. Damn! Still too small. A little pissed off at this point I threw the bytches back into the box and went out, screw it I'll deal with them later.

Monday rolled around again and this time I called Customer Service. The bubbly blonde (YES, you can tell over the phone) was ever so chipper and always read to serve. She asked me the problem, I relayed the story and asked for a size 7. Not as bubbly at this point she told me the shoes were sold out, but could search the stores nationally, if I wanted her to do so. As much as I wanted to yell out "What do you think Bytch?" I kept my composure and said "Would you please?". She told me she found one pair out in California, did I want them shipped. Composure be damned, the Brooklynite in me yelled out "Hell Yeah!" She immediately got a sales associate from that location on the line and had him ship out the shoes. He needed to call me back for the credit card information before shipping them out. Allen was very thorough and pleasant. God, I love my fags (YES, you can tell that too).

Last week my size 7, Jessica Simpson, red pointy toed shoes arrived! The next day I wore them to work. I wore them with an outfit that I put together in my head the day I saw the shoes. An outfit that if no one else liked it, I really didn't care; I LIKED IT! Walking around all up and all down I felt like a hot, stylish 30 year old woman! I realized why women had that sick obsession, I realized shoes really DO make the outfit. I also realized that the "look" of a 30 year old is one where your comfortable in your own skin. The look of confidence when you walk into a room and know you belong. The look of a 30 year old is hunting down the perfect pair of shoes and realizing that you need them in every color!

I am what most gay people would call a FAG HAG. I've been in the gay scene (a.k.a. THE LIFE) all my life. Probably before I even knew what The Life was. As the youngest of 7 girls, you learn at the lightening speed of your older sisters and my two eldest sisters are lesbian. Now, while any straight person sees Gay (male or female) as just gay, there is just so much more to it then just that! Seeing how I am a bisexual female with lesbian sisters you would think that I would know predominantly gay women...SOOOO NOT the case! I would say that out of the very few friends that I have and hang out with about 85% are gay or bisexual; more then half are gay men.

My best friend that I have known for about 16 years is a gay man and I would have it no other way. He has been the one constant and support that is my rock in life. When I'm having issues and drama and drama and issues he's still the same. I wouldn't trade him for all the money in the world. It was through him and because of him that I've learned to accept my sexuality, to embrace everything about me, even the parts of me that I still don't understand. So, to me, it's no wonder that whenever I see any other gay guy in the street I just want to run up to them, give them a big hug and say "I'm your biggest fan!" or "Can I be your new best friend?"; even though no one will ever take the place of my current best friend.

Having said that; it's no wonder when you walk through any major department store through any cosmetics department every counter has at least one gay man working there. It's not because they are gay, funny or personable-even though they are. It's because they invite you 'in'; in to their minds and their perception of the world. When you ask a gay man "How does this look?" watch out mama, because he will tell you. When you ask a Fag to go shopping with you, he will. Then he will dress you up like a life sized Barbie doll that he has always wanted, one he wasn't bought as a child because he was a boy and boys don't play with dolls, except, gay boys do.

And when you ask a Fag about men-Girl, listen up!! He's not only speaking from his experiences with them, he's also speaking AS ONE. The fact that he is still a male seems to be an aspect that just about everyone seems to forget, sometimes even them. I've never really been drawn to the all out super feminine gay man, mainly because I'm a little rough around the edges myself and tend to be a bit too crass for them. But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't listen to what he has to say on his species. Their advice is better then any Dear Abby article I've ever read. By the same token, I'm not drawn to the "Homothugs" either. YOU know the type. The ones that wear Du Rags and Jordans to be more boys then straight boys, but are big ol' girls behind a car door or bed room door. The ones that love nothing more then to have a big ol' dyck in their mouths, along with a few other holes we won't mention at the moment. The type of Fag that I am drawn to is the Fag that is comfortable in his own flawless skin. The one that knows he likes boys and that can give me a tip or two on how to make my man love me more for my bedroom skills then my kitchen ones. Give me the Fag that is "OUT" to the world, even if not to his family. Give me the fag that can blow out my hair better then I can. You show me that Fag and I will be the Eternal Happy Grace to his confident overly immaculate Will any day!!

The first time I posted a blog, truth be told, I had no idea what I was doing or that there is an actual term for posting my ideas/opinions. There I was reading an article on AOL Music about the "Spanish National Anthem", for all that don't know The National Anthem in Spanish by Spanish Artists. What was discussed in the article I took so personal I had to share my two cents, even if no one saw it or read it-I felt better speaking my peace.

Since then I've tried to 'blog' and find it to be very difficult. I consider myself a writer at heart. I would love nothing more then to be able to quit my job, write full time and get paid for it. But to 'blog'! To just post thoughts and opinions of mine in a forum that may or may not be seen. To me the concept is a little foreign, yes even now. I am blogging, but this took thought, preparation, a rough draft, editing and then finally being posted. I've tried to sit on MySpace and post. I sat there and looked at my blank post box, and realized I just can't post. I can't just ramble on for no apparent reason, although most of my really close friends will find this impossible to believe. But, I just don't want to bytch and moan, another hard to believe fact my friends will find humorous. I don't want to brag about the events going on in my life that almost no one else wants to know about. I want my blog to mean something, I want my words to touch people, I want to create a little corner where everyone knows that if you have some thing to say then I want to know! Don't get me wrong though, I want to know what you have to say about What I'm Writing About...LOL

So for all the bloggers out there that just post for the sake of posting, I tip my hat to you! I feel that is the equivalent of writing my deepest, most personal feelings, goals, dreams and desires in my diary... Then leaving it open so anyone can read it. I already have that person in my life- that loves to look through old diaries to see what I used to do, even though he was on every other page. I do respect you guys (& gals) cause you give me a new level of comfort in my writing that I strive to reach.

Hopefully this is my first step towards that level.