Tag Archives: Guys

Enter Stranger

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Halloween night 2010 was Kaima’s going away party.
To say I was a hot mess would not begin to cover how I was feeling.

I remember plenty from that night, including meeting a rather good-looking individual and being struck dumb by the way he said my name. “Kiki. Wow. That’s an interesting name. It’s nice to meet you, Kiki.” Beyond that, I remember him spending the rest of the evening talking to a brunette. Not that it mattered much, Kaima was leaving and my heart was broken.

As I struggled with the pain of losing him and moving on with my life (Enter A Certain Stubborn Bear), I forgot that moment when a stranger said my name.

Exit A Certain Stubborn Bear.

Enter fresh loss. And pain. Enter being BRAVE. Enter being alone. Enter YOLO.

And one day, while serving at church, Enter Stranger.

He said my name again. We might have talked for all of 5 minutes max, but I was again struck.
This time I went hunting for the Stranger on Facebook. To no avail. He was hidden from me and, apparently, lost forever.

Off and on I would remember to look for him at church, but that was more off than on and he again faded into a dim memory.

And then I decided to be Intentional this year.
And I decided to start dating.
And Facebook decided to send me an email, “Do you know these people?”

And there he was: The Stranger.

I thought about it, and finally decided to send him a message. I asked if he wanted to be friends. I mean, who WOULDN’T want to be friends with ME? However, he had never found me on Facebook and, let’s face it, I’m pretty easy to find so I had to check first.

Of course he wanted to be friends (he’s not an idiot).

 

Getting Hooked Up

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A Cuban musician friend had asked me how my timbales playing was going. I told him about meeting Ramoncito Ramos and that he’d offered to teach me if I didn’t live so far south. My friend proceeded to call over his band mate, a timbales player. He said the guy was a fantastic musician and asked if he would be willing to show me some things. The guy asked who I had been learning from and admitted that I didn’t have the best teacher. He agreed to teach me what he could and gave me his number and told me what days were good for him.

My Friend: Kikita, you know I love you and I just want you to succeed and be happy. You are amazing and I am so glad to know you. Just don’t forget me when you’re famous.

I was speechless. I was overwhelmed by the awesomeness of the moment.

I had confessed to this friend that I had the beginnings of a crush on one of the newer additions to our group. We are pretty close so I’ve confessed more than just new crushes to this friend. We have real talks about hopes and fears and everything in between. I had mentioned to him on more than one occasion that I was starting to worry about getting older and being nowhere near getting married and having a family. He has two sons that are the light of his life, but he admits that he wishes he wasn’t that far along yet and that I should enjoy my freedom and singlehood.

Later, I was basking in the sound of our little group of friends talking (because, is there anything better than the sound of Cuban men conversating? No, I don’t think so.) when my crush asked how many kids my friend had…

My Friend: I have two boys. They are trouble makers, but amazing and I adore them. What about you? Do you have kids?
My Crush: No, not yet. Hopefully, one day…
My Friend: No? You know, Kikita here doesn’t have any kids either, but she’d make a great mom. You two would have beautiful kids together.

I’m not sure which was worse, that he said it, or that the rest of our circle agreed with him so vocally.

I had no idea my dreams meant so much to my friend.

The Color of Pan Tostado

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Me: Abuela, I met a guy from Nicaragua.

Abuela: Oh si? What was he like? I don’t know any Nicaraguans. Did he look native? Asian?

Me: No, he looked like us! So white you wouldn’t know until he started talking in Spanish.

Abuela: I’m not white. I’m pan tostado [toast]. You’re white because you’re only half, but I’m not white.

Me: What are you talking about? You’re whiter than a ghost!

Abuela: No, I’m toast.

Me: Speaking of pan tostado… I met a Cuban guy, too.

Abuela: Oh si? White like you?

Me: No, he was the color of pan tostado just like Papi was! Plus, he’s from your hometown.

Abuela: I’m just as toasty as Papi was. Look at this color! It’s the color of toast. Maybe if you marry the Cuban, your children will have this nice color. My first three children got that pan tostado coloring. But Aunta (and your mother) was super white. Porcelain almost. My mother was pan tostado like me.

Me: I’ll let him know that we’re getting married and having pan tostado children.

Kikita’s Kryptonite

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Men in white suits.

*swoon*

Then again… “suit” isn’t really required…
Men wearing any form of white tend to have the same effect on me…

Sitting around wearing white, well, only half wearing white, or even half-dressed … in white… yeah…

But really a white suit is nothing without a
double-staircase… and a trumpet…

*purrrrrrrrr*

Dodger Stadium

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On Monday night, I had way too much energy and thought it would be great to go dancing, but couldn’t think of where to go on a Monday night so I went for a walk instead. Well, a walk interspersed with running so I was a hot and sweaty mess by the time I was finished.

Just as I was getting home, my phone rang, “Oye, Cuquita [koo-kee-tah: little paper doll]!! Que bola?!? What are you doing tonight, baby? I just got into town! Let’s go to Floridita!

Damn it. Of course. I had forgotten the best place to go on a Monday night for dancing.
Plus, I hadn’t seen this buddy of mine since he had suggested I get up on stage and represent my Cuban roots so it was a double-bummer.

Being too ridiculously tired to dance (and mildly irritated at being called a pet name), I countered with a suggestion for going dancing on Tuesday. “Ok, Kikita linda, don’t worry. I know the best place! We can go tomorrow no problem!

After church group on Tuesday, I called him and canceled.
5 minutes later, I called back and told him I’d changed my mind.
In those 5 minutes, his ride had left, so if I still wanted to go, I had to pick him up, “But don’t worry, mi Cuquita, I am only 5 minutes away from esteven’s.

Ok, so I got the address, put it into my phone’s GPS and I was off.
Since this was just going dancing with a buddy and Not A Date, I texted another buddy and let him know I’d be there, “Ok, sexy, but I’m leaving at 11 so hurry!” (Apparently, my buddies had not received the message that if you are just an un-interested buddy, you should not be using terms of endearment.)

A buddy from church started sending me lines from a TV Show we both love which was messing with my GPS.
My dad was emailing me about some other thing which was also messing with my GPS.
My buddy who was already dancing was chatty which was ALSO messing with my GPS.

I missed my exit.
I was now lost in some part of Los Angeles that a beautiful blonde should probably not be lost.
I pulled over to get my GPS working.
I got back on the freeway.
People kept texting me.
My GPS crapped out again.
I looked up and I was at the gates of Dodger Stadium.
I’ve never been to Dodger Stadium.

I finally found my Visiting Buddy’s house, and we were off!

Visiting Buddy: I saw your boyfriend the other day! Well, your ex!
Me: Ummm… which one?
Me (to myself): Which of my exs would he even know?
Visiting Buddy: Do you remember Fulano’s dad?
Me: What the … why are you calling him my boyfriend?
Visiting Buddy: Didn’t he take you outside once and …
Me: OH. MAH. GOODNESS. YES!! He pulled out ‘CUBA’ and kept telling me to touch it. Damn, for an old man… Seriously, it was bigger than my forearm!
Visiting Buddy: HAHAHAHAHA!! Ay! Honey, that was the turn back there…

We missed three turns while talking about … “CUBA.”

Finally, we made it to esteven’s and my Dance Buddy bogarted me for two songs. He would have gone for three, but I felt bad double-dancing when I hadn’t seen my Visiting Buddy in so long. Dance Buddy left and I turned my attention back to my Visiting Buddy.
Since the place was pretty empty, people couldn’t help but stare at two Cubans doing their thing.
And I couldn’t believe how much I’d never known about him… like that he’d been a political prisoner, or part of the Cuban military, or that he was a Bounty Hunter in Vegas. UN.REAL.

On the ride back to his house (well, his brother’s house), I mentioned how much I LOVE cigars. His brother just happened to have some and would love to give me one, but “Come here, Cuquita, I want to show you something first.

The something required a hike.
Did I mention I was wearing 5″ platforms?
It turns out I am quite stubborn.
Bounty Hunter: I’ll carry you. Trust me, I can do it.
Me: Hell no. I want to do it myself.
And I did.
When we got to the top of the hill it was a breath-taking view of L.A., particularly … Dodger Stadium.

Bounty Hunter: Look, Kikita! Whenever my brother or I miss Cuba, we come up here and it reminds of being home.
Me: It really is beautiful. And I was just thinking to myself this morning… you know what I want to do tonight? See Dodger Stadium.
Bounty Hunter: Ay, Cuquita! You are too funny! Since we’re Cuban, I knew you would love to see a baseball stadium, but look at the moon! I bet no one has ever shown you the moon before either… isn’t it romaaantic?
Me: You’re right. I have NEVER seen the moon before. It’s SOOOO romantic.
Me (too myself): Cubans. Baseball. The man had a point… Uh oh. This buddy is about to make his move out of the “buddy” zone… shit, shit, SHIT!

Bounty Hunter the Visiting Buddy made his move and now his intentions were clear. Apparently, I had been On a Date and completely missed it.
After a brief interlude (VERY brief because there was no way I was going to let this Bounty Hunter get anywhere at the top of a hill in the middle of the night), I mentioned that it was a school night and I needed to go. Going down a hill in 5″ platforms is even MORE difficult than going up, so I finally gave in and let him carry me down.

When we got to the house, his brother was waiting for us.
Bounty Hunter: Hermano! This is the lovely Kikita, she’s Cuban like us and loves cigars. Can you hook her up?

And he did.

I stayed for another 20 minutes out of sheer politeness. One doesn’t accept such a fine gift without spending time visiting for a while, but once hands started to get a little more handsy, it was my cue.

Bounty Hunter: Can I see you tomorrow? Or when are you coming to Vegas? I can get you a free room, just let me know. Ay, Kikita! Do you have any idea how amazing you are?
Me: Thank you for everything. Especially the cigar… AND for showing me Dodger Stadium.
Me (to myself): Yeah… just a little. 😉

A few days later I would find out I had been given the Best. Cigar. Ever.
Dodger Stadium and a delicious cigar, what more could a girl ask for?

The Dentist

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I was at work translating a benefit summary (the list of medical/dental/vision procedures covered by one’s insurance) and I came across a word that I had NO IDEA how to say in Spanish.

Root Canal.

So I checked a few online translators, but I was fairly certain that “endodoncia” wasn’t quite specific enough for what I wanted.

I asked a Spanish-speaking co-worker. He didn’t know either.
I asked the people in our call center. They didn’t know.

I became determined to find out the word.

I remembered that O.D. Churroman had a cousin who was a dentist so she MUST know. Yet another reason to be bummed that he was still not speaking to me.

LIGHTBULB!

That one Colombian friend of mine that I casually blew off all of last year because I wanted to stay just friends! He was a dentist! Perfect!

I called.

(The following conversation took place in Spanish, but has been translated for the non-Spanish readers.)

The Dentist: Alo?
Me: Hey, chico! How are you?
The Dentist: Hey! Kikita la Cubanita! It’s been a while! Where have you been?
Me: I know! I’ve been working. Speaking of work, I have a question… how do you say “root canal” in Spanish?
The Dentist: Transamiento de conducto.
Me:  Perfect! Thank you so much!
The Dentist: When am I going to see you again?
Me: … soon!
The Dentist: Monday?
Me: I have plans.
The Dentist: Thursday?
Me: I have drums.
The Dentist: 2013?
Me: Sounds great!

When you love what you do, you’ll go that extra mile. 🙂

Terms of Endearment

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Him 1: Hey babes!!
Him 2: Hey sexy!!!! What are you up to?
Him 3: Hola, mi vida!
Him 4: How are you doing, honey?
Him 5: Sorry babe
Him 6: Que haces, mi amor?
Him 7: Hun, can I ask you a question?
Him 8: Good night, love.
Him 9: MAMITAAAA!
Him 10: Corazón…
Him 11: ‘Sup, hot stuff?
Him 12: Hello, Gorgeous!

No, this is not a complete list.

With everyone calling me their honey love babe, you’d think I get around… a LOT. And I don’t! (Although, I’m starting to think maybe I should…)

Each time someone who purports to be my friend calls me something like this, my first thought is: “Since when am I your [insert term of endearment here]?

Then I react to whatever word was and who it’s coming from…

Hot Stuff = What year are we in? Am I required to respond to this?
Gorgeous = True, but is this a Barbra Streisand movie? Or are you suggesting I have a big nose? (I do, but that’s not important right now)
Babes = More than one?
Sexy = I thought gays were the only one who used that when referring to a female they had never been … *ahem* … intimate with?
Mi Vida = Your life? Really? You might want to think about getting a new one…
Honey = Goes in tea and on bread.
Babe = Last time I checked, I was not a talking pig
Mi Amor = Did you fall in love with me during these past months that I hadn’t been talking to you?
Love = I’m sorry, are you British?
MAMITAAAA = No, I don’t have children. (And, NO, I do not want to have yours… and NO, I do not want to practice with you, either.)
Corazón = Why don’t you give your heart to someone who cares?
Hun = As in “Attila the…”?

I have a name. And I have a nickname. And nicknames for the nickname.

Must these fools persist to annoy me with “relationship-y” words when one (or both) of us has no desire for such status?

Granted, it would likely be far less annoying if it was just one or two fools participating in such behavior, but it seems to be a damned epidemic. Even those I did not consider to be so foolish have managed to irritate me with this nonsense.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being called any of the aforementioned terms of endearment under the right circumstances (with the exception of “Hot Stuff” which will probably always make me gag in a not good way); however, none of the current examples were presented under the right circumstances.

Look, kids, either we’re just friends or we’re not just friends. If we are not friends, then we should probably have a conversation about that during which I will bluntly explain why we should stick to friends. If we are just friends, then I have compiled a list of acceptable “friendly” terms of endearment for your future use that will not blur The Line:

Sunshine: because yes, I am bright and happy and warm… and it sounds even better when said with a hint of sarcasm
Homeslice: cracks me up every time
Homeskillet:  seriously, cracking up over here
Precious: because I love Lord of the Rings and you would know that if you were my friend

All other suggestions will be submitted to management for review.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.