The way not to be PC (Politically Correct)

Near the end of 1997, still in El Salvador, I was going through a severe depression. I had decided that by the beginning of 1998 I would leave to Mexico, finish my first attempt at a career in college, and thus lived the last months in complete alcoholism accompanied by Tommy and whatever people he could find that would tolerate both our behaviors.  Tommy found an odd group in Carrie, and Alyson, they were two nerdy girls who wanted to think of themselves as left-wing Salvadorian hippies in spite of being raised on privileged terms and in Carrie’s case with a father who was a renown member of the right-wing political party in El Salvador.

Tommy had developed some sort of hopeless crush on Carrie, and my pessimistic rambling seemed to be working some unexplainable charm on her (I’m guessing she had some serious daddy issues), for the most part I tried to keep off. Even though Carrie and Alyson worked tirelessly to portray liberal women, they’d been brought up conservatively and they weren’t usually allowed to have a car late at night, consequently they got Lexi (and contrary to what you might be thinking this was a male dude) to be the designated driver. Lexi was a very flamboyant homosexual; he was so gay in fact he made the “Fab Five” seem as manly as Mickey Rourke on steroids.

So our routine basically consisted of going out drinking at random bars, Tommy trying to get on Carrie’s good side, Me ignoring Carrie trying to avoid getting in a fight with Tommy, and then basically everyone wanting to go home except for me.  See when I got to drinking back then, I had to really get piss drunk and talk about my ex-girlfriend for hours in order to feel like heading back to my mom’s to sleep. Being that Carrie and Alyson were not allowed out too late, and Tommy would lose all interest in drinking once Carrie was dropped off, my only option to keep drinking and keep talking about my ex would be Lexi, I was fine with that, you know gay guys being supposedly good at listening and giving advice, besides I am very defined in my sexual preference and I believe we should all coexist regardless of our preferences, political or religious beliefs, I firmly believed in being PC.

Well anyway, Lexi would question me constantly on whether I would or not act on Carrie’s clear interest in me. I would tell him she wasn’t completely my type, that Tommy had a thing for her and that I was (corny as it may sound) still in love with Jessica (she was the girl who dumped me back then). I thought he was a very understanding individual, I mean how cool can someone be, listen to a drunk till early hours in the morning and all. I thought Lexi, gay or not, is really a good listener and a mellow dude.

After about a month and a half of repeating this routine, we went out only this time Carrie, Alyson and Lexi brought along the “Brain” (she was a very unnoticeable girl, who apparently was very smart but not particularly attractive other than being a female) So Carrie decided to take us to one of her cousin’s drink up, being a place where we would get free drinks, we all went to the beer barrel and began getting quite hammered, Lexi apparently decided to man up and began chuggin beer as well… Carrie was too busy talking to her cousin who she hadn’t seen in many years, Alyson was talking to Tommy, so I stayed with Lexi and the “Brain.” Since Lexi was driving he decided he’d start to look for everyone since he was feeling a bit drunk and didn’t want to risk us all being in an accident, so I was left alone with the brain. She began telling me how she could see me being so under evolved, some hundred years from a primate, so naturally I decided to retaliate.

-You know what the problem with being civilized is…- I said. She just looked at me puzzled and in my beer goggled drunkenness, I grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. I must say she didn’t kiss badly for an intellectual girl… So as we were making out Lexi made it back with Carrie, Tommy and Alyson… that’s when shit hit the fan…

Lexi began yelling and crying hysterically, yet somehow managed to yank the brain forcefully by her arm and pull her away yelling, “How could you? Why him out of all the guys you could make out with?” As Carrie’s, Alyson’s, Tommy’s and every stranger in the drink up including Carrie’s cousin jaws dropped to the ground, Lexi kept saying “You knew I had a thing for him… You knew that…” So In his emotional outburst Lexi had decided to step me out of a closet I never have intended to walk out of. Alyson and Carrie immediately went to speak to both Lexi and the brain. Tommy began to complain of why I had never told him of my nonexistent homosexuality. Of course I told him that if he of all people, thought I was gay he could go to hell as I threw a beer jug flying against a wall making an even bigger scene than Lexi…

To make a long story short we all got in Lexis’s car and of course I would be the last one to get dropped off… I was fairly sober by then. And Lexi was a drama queen so he decided to park a few blocks from my house and have what I can without a doubt tell you is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever partaken in.

-You know the heart knows no reason don’t you? – Said Lexi, still with his eyes somewhat teary. As bad as I felt for the Lexi I couldn’t help but be as blunt as possible.

-Well sorry as I can be for your fucking heart… I’m ONLY aroused by females. – I replied to Lexi. He in turn began crying, that’s when I felt remorse; maybe in someway I felt he was being treated as I’d been treated by Jessica… So I tapped his back and tried to say I’m sorry… when… Out of the blue, he possibly thought I’d changed my mind, was more drunk than I’d given him credit for… Or figured that was his only shot, and laid one on me straight in my mouth… Yep and just as I had opened it to start speaking an apologetic refusal of him. I must now say that I agree with some of my ex’s who have complained of how that three day beard gives them a cheek burn and I can also say a guy sticking their tongue down my throat just REALLY and I do mean REALLY doesn’t do it for me.

So Readers, if you’re liberal and tolerant don’t ever forget to emphasize your turn offs… You will regret not making it more than obvious what lengths you wont go to. I still believe in gay rights just none that imply they can attempt to clean my tonsils with their tongue. Till next week,

Enrique Pinto.

The Way Not To Have Your Friend’s Back

Most people in El Salvador during my late teens and early 20’s were going to “Mario’s” and staying over at beach houses enjoying a “healthy” social life and felt well-adjusted with their environment. Well, when it came to my closest acquaintances, I guess mainstream Salvadorian cool wouldn’t quite describe them. Bruno was definitely not the exception to this rule. Bruno was, for the most part, a whiney spineless worm, who had a luck that would sometimes completely overshadow even my own. I kid you not, he had a ceiling fan land on him at a bar (Tommy and myself complained about it and got free drinks for the whole night and Bruno got told to sit down and shut up), he bought an original “Red Hot Chili Peppers CD, that was blank (they took Simon and Grafunkel’s “Sounds of Silence” in the literal sense on this copy) and didn’t get a refund, he bought Marlboro Reds once and got Menthol Lights inside… And this goes on believe me.

Well, anyway, He was having an unusually crappier week in 1995, he’d gotten kicked out of a second school, his mom was going through some sort of separation with his step dad (who apparently loved Bruno more than his own mom) and Bertha (the only woman on earth, that for some reason unbeknownst to all of humanity called him precious) had dumped him and gone to her beach house with her new boyfriend. Naturally, Bruno wanted to go out drinking to whine and commiserate with the least empathic people on earth, Tommy and myself. Caught up on my own sack of crap, I declined his invitation and made a date with “Cinemax After Dark;” Tommy, on the other hand, wanted to go drinking so he decided to accompany him.

They got to MT”Beer” and were chugging down Pilsener (national pale lager brand) and the whole time Bruno was ranting his tiresome pathetic life to Tommy, who seemed by all means more concerned with his drinks and whatever was happening that week on Beavis and Butthead. As this continued on for several hours, Paul, one of many of Bertha’s ex-boyfriends walked in the bar and said hi to Bruno. At the mere reminder of the woman he had lost, and quite a handful beers, Bruno began to change… He started to finally grow some backbone and some much-needed manly courage. He began to suggest to Tommy that they had to kick Paul’s ass.

Even though Tommy loved the idea of kicking someone’s ass, especially someone as pathetic as any of Bertha’s boyfriends, he wasn’t keen on the idea.

-Come on Tommy let’s kick this guys ass- Said Bruno.

-Bruno I refuse to get in a fight over Bertha, she’s a slut, she’s butch and she has manlier hands and feet than you or me- replied Tommy (who till this very day is really hung up, as well as female breasts, with their hands and feet)

-We have to kick Paul’s ass, Tommy- whined Bruno.

-Aside the fact that like I said she’s manly, and there’s no way I’d feel pride in having people think I got in a fight over a manly woman, shouldn’t you want to beat her new boyfriend’ up instead of the guy that she ended up dumping for your miserable ass?- Continued Tommy.

The conversation went on and on…. Tommy got annoyed at Bruno in his typical demeanor, but nothing happened other than Bruno getting worked up till Paul had left the bar. So, as uneventful as things would seem, things were only bound to get worse…

A mob of younger teens walked in the bar, according to Tommy about 16 of them and, as common as it was in those days, they were being loud and were as heavily drunk as both of my friends. Bruno was now in a very uncharacteristically mad dog drunken state and began complaining about how loud and retarded the young mob was being. Tommy continued drinking and ignored both the mob and Bruno. As one of the younger dudes approached the bar where Bruno and Tommy where sitting on stools, he accidentally bumped his elbow with Bruno’s back and caused him to spill some of his drink. The young fellow apologized politely, but this had been on Bruno’s mind literally what spilled the wine… He was fed up, Bertha’s infidelity, his mother’s unrequited love, being expelled from two schools, every time he had gotten disrespected everything came crashing directly to his mind and in an act of spontaneous generation created what he so much needed… Balls…

-What the hell is wrong with you Idiots???- yelled Bruno

-I said I’m sorry, It was an accident- said the young dude, not exactly intimidated.

-I should kick your ass, you Moron!!!- continued Bruno

-Oh Really?- said the young dude, apparently unimpressed as the rest of the world would be by Bruno offering some redemption to his character. When the rest of the mob caught a glimpse at what was inevitably going to go down, they all stood up from their table. Lucky for Bruno, Tommy was there.  Bruno continued to threaten the young dude who by this time was ready for a fight… Tommy began to count how many adversaries were standing on the table and counted 16 in total. As Bruno threatened the young dude once more… One of the dudes on the table told him that he would have to get through all 16 of them if he decided to continue with his threat. Bruno was feeling incredibly brave and didn’t seem to care… When Tommy saw the guys from table begin to pick up their beer bottles… He knew he had to do something and quick… He knew he had to have his friend’s back… Naturally, being as quick thinking as he was he did the only possible thing a man can do when his friend is up against a mob and not backing down… Tommy started throwing as many punches as he could… Only not at the mob… But at Bruno. When the mob caught an eye of Tommy, they figured Bruno had learnt his lesson and decided to leave them alone.

Bruno lost all of his newly found courage and began to cry.

-How could you hit me Tommy?- cried Bruno

-Hey! What do you prefer me kicking your ass, or 16 guys with beer bottles?- explained Tommy, as he put ice on Bruno’s cheek. See, the way Tommy figured him kicking Bruno’s ass saved him from a far worse beating, he was probably right…

So Readers, If you’re gonna get in a bash with a numerical disadvantage, make sure you have someone who can take on as many as you wont be able to, and make sure that whoever is beside you to back you up… Will. Bruno is now married to Bertha (who still calls him precious) and ironically enough Tommy was his best man.

Till next week,

Enrique Pinto.

The way not to sneak out of your house, steal your car and go driving without a license.

In 1991 in Guatemala City, I was a 14 year-old boy, to whom puberty had not been kind. I was a fat kid that didn’t quite come off as cute, I was not really talented in sports, and I was in no way musically talented. (Even though I tried really hard to freestyle like the old school hip hop of the likes of NWA, Public Enemy; cause as we all know, nothing screams gangster like being an awkward middle class Latino in private schooling) Of course, I had little chance of being popular if not for all the wrong reasons, so I decided to take it street, I started spray-painting monuments all over the “Americas” avenue, and I began to chuck eggs at night assisted by my chauffeur Manuel. I made sure to brag about it and had managed to get quite a rep.

At this stage of my life, I was in love with the most captivating girl in school, she still has (from what I can gather from her facebook page) the most beautiful green eyes (they really were impressive, its like when they warn you not to stare into the sun, you shouldn’t stare into this girl’s eyes they will make you loose all ability to make coherent sentences), she was sweet, pretty and a very conservatively decent girl. Surprisingly enough, my “street” middleclass ways didn’t quite work their charm on this girl, or any other means of approach for that matter, but that’s a story for a different post. They did, however catch the attention of a different girl Lacey Hamlin, not as pretty, but she was attractive, kind of antonym for the blonde stereotype, she had naturally snappy remarks, was sort of an All-American bad girl, and was really for the most part the greatest and most clever kid to hang around with. She really dug my stories and she wanted to go on one of my egg-chucking adventures.

In order to initiate her on egg chucking I stole our car at 2am.  I went to pick Lacey at one of her friend’s house and all three of us went egg chucking (I had opened Pandora’s box). Lacey had found her calling; she became addicted to the adrenaline rush of people running after you cursing in the most aggravated way. We had some laughs, and then around 4 am, when we got back, she climbed a fence back into her friend’s bedroom and somehow managed to scrape her knee on the barbed wire. When everyone in school heard about it, news spread of our mischief and by the following week I had two of her friend’s Jennifer and Sarah wanting to go on another escapade. There was one problem, the night in question, my mom had given the keys to the car to Manuel, and since other than rapping the lyrics to “Straight Outta Compton” I really wasn’t that street, I couldn’t hotwire the car…

I had given up on our night out, but not Lacey, she said, “No problem homeboy, I’ll just have to steal my Dad’s car.” (Yes she apparently, sometimes forgot she was Caucasian and not really ghetto)

Later that night, around 11pm we all got picked up by Lacey on the street just outside our respective houses. She had bought about 48 eggs, two cans of spray paint, and a box of condoms all with the intention of aggravating the late night streetwalkers.

We went for a couple of rounds, and everything was going fine, when out of the blue, Lacey took a turn on Zone 4 in Guatemala to get back to the 7^th avenue and decided to dismiss one of the quintessential traffic laws (ALWAYS stop at a f-cking stop sign).

So legs and bodies swirled everywhere… I landed with my face between Lacey’s legs and not in a way she might find pleasant, considering she hit her head against the window frame and slit it, and I wasn’t Mark Walberg (who by that time was known as Markey Mark the New Kid’s on the Block “Bad Boy’s” younger brother)

As soon as I sat up and saw the car that had hit us, I told Lacey to drive off, but her dad’s car didn’t start… So we all got off the car and walked to the building directly in front of us, and as my Murphy’s Law of luck would have it, it was a funeral home. So imagine the scene four young teenagers completely covered in egg, interrupt your family members wake to ask for a phone… Lucky for us, A really kind woman took pity on us, she started disinfecting Lacey’s cut and told the police, that I wasn’t driving, they couldn’t take Lacey cause she was a U.S. citizen and a minor, and that her parents had been called and were on their way…

As Lacey, Jennifer and Sarah remained inside I went outside shortly to relate the facts to the cops (In spite of how Ice Cube had enraged me with his lyrics in “F-ck the Police” I was feeling very cooperative that night) I wasn’t nearly done retelling the incident when Lacey’s mom and dad arrived.  Let me tell you in contrast to Mrs. Hamlin being a very nice and apologetic woman, Mr. Hamlin wore a restrained anger reddened skin, in what looked like a six foot 230 lbs tall heavy built angry white trucker. I tried to be noble and remained there…  I was determined to see it through, even after Mrs. Hamlin began to tell me to go home… But as soon as Mr. Hamlin went to take a look at the car… As an idiotic genius I remembered a very important piece of information…. WTF is he going to think about the condoms given that I was the only male… Maybe he’ll think I’m some sort of deviant who really loves orgies and omelets… Needless to say I took the first cab I saw to my house…

I snuck back into my bedroom, and was for the most part clear… I felt bad for Lacey, but as the following weeks passed by and I didn’t get any trouble at home or school, I dismissed the whole incident and well, things went back to my normal…. Karma wouldn’t quite have it so, and karma is a bitch that way… It was just choosing its retribution. My father came back from work three weeks later and let me tell you he was kicking the living crap out of me, and rightfully so. My mind was was just wondering what on earth I had done this time, as my unathletic body just tried to dodge my dad’s fists. Apparently, he met Mr. Hamlin and told him that his daughter might know his son, and boy did he remember me…

So Readers, if you’re going to be doing stupid things take two things into consideration 1) Even when you’re clear, in the words of John Lennon “Instant Karma’s gonna to get you, gonna hit you straight in the face” and 2) Always, and I do mean always stop at the f-cking stop signs.  Lacey is now a proud mom, and she seems for the most part to be a well adjusted woman, I can’t help to think that somewhere inside a station wagon she must be hell on wheels though. After all, you can take the frog out of the pond, but you can never truly take the pond out of the frog.

Till next week,

Enrique Pinto.

The way not to spend New Year’s

Most plans for celebrating the beginning of the year consist of going to a party,  and let’s face it, it’s probably the one party a year that almost always guarantees they’ll be lots of alcohol, and likewise, drunken people celebrating the ending of one more miserable year of their existence. Well, when Tommy (the salvadorian embodyment of being short and angry) was planning out his new year’s, he was carrying the mother of all teen angst moral hangovers. He had literally managed to pist-off everybody in a club, staff , friends and the girl he claimed to love, but that’s a story for a different post.  So, subsequently he decided he would give up drinking altogether for the whole of 1998, and what better way to get strength to give up drinking than to go to Panajachel. (Beautiful Guatemalan town, in the shore of lake Atitlan, with lots of hippie Europeans and Americans taking a break from life selling bead necklaces lots of weed, and unfortunately, Salvadorians’  Mardi Gras town without the breast flashing or the jazz) This already would be foreseen as a formula for disaster, you see, Tommy was very well known for having a berserk drunken rage, its like alcohol was to Tommy’s anger, what spinach was to Popeye’s strength.

Tommy called up Mick to join him on this escapade. Mick, in contrast to Tommy was a fairly harmless drunk. (aside from having bladder control when sleeping under the influence, and feeling some inexplicable need to strip down to his boxers) He was open friendly, he would, however, harass the ladies no matter their size, race or religion, if they were next to him while he was drunk, he’d hit on them. When Mick got called by Tommy, he said: “Sure I’ll go Tommy, but you got to promise, no fights, and you’ll be docile when drinking.”  Tommy disgustedly agreed and they set up for leaving on December 31^st at 4am.

They got on the cheap third world buses (a Cuban friend put it best when he described their aroma as the fragrance of chicken poop and breast milk) They stopped in a lot of different towns filling up for drinks and continued on with their journey. Things hadn’t gone so bad yet, they were rathered buzzed and they had neither gotten in a fight or  had Mick remove his clothes.  They arrived uneventfully, at Panajachel at around 3pm. They reached their accommodation “La Posada San Francisco,” a place that wouldn’t really get a star rating, its suffice to say that their presidential suite had a window overlooking their beautiful pig barrack and had an actual working toilet inside the room.

They decided they’d enjoy some drinks at a local bar before deciding what to do with their time, so, they were sitting on the road side tables and ordered a couple of Gallos (a very rich pale lager beer) and began drinking. They were by now quite drunk, and everything seemed fine… Suddenly, they saw a jeep wrangler with its top off, cruising by with one of its occupants wearing an Eva Longoria L’Oreal long black wavy hair flirting with the wind. Mick naturally responded to the teasing hair and yelled: “Mamasita!!!”  Under normal circumstances, (normal being you’re a construction worker and you just spotted fine legs walking by with a mini-skirt) this comment can go either way from a dirty look to a smile. Sadly for Mick this went way worse… The Wranglers tires screeched…. And four angry latino men (one with what I can only imagine as being the sexiest long hair any male has ever managed to grow) came out and walked straight to Mick and Tommy.

-What’s your problem? ?? You like Men, you queer!!! – yelled the angry dude with long shiny hair. I’m guessing they were all rather bulky, since Tommy remained silent and he usually lives for crap like this.

-You wanna start something…- Continued the long haired latino. Mick in a moment of drunken creativity decided to pull his hand to his back simulating he was reaching for a gun. It was a rather clever move…

-What are you reaching for? -said Mr. L’oreal, as he pulled out a gun.

-My wallet Dude what else would I be reaching for? -exclaimed Mick in a tone of sad resignation.  Before Tommy could react, fists were flying all over their faces and they were knocked to the ground taking a massive pounding. All Mick could do was utter: “Please have mercy, I only thought you had sexy hair.” One last fist flew on his face.

They got themselves together and probably trying to avoid encountering their pouncers again, they took a boat ride to San Pedro. Upon their arrival to San Pedro, they went looking for their renowned “Space Cakes.” (marijuana infused chocolate brownies) They spotted a store and began eating some while chugging some more beers. (to anyone with common sense, you’d expect feeling the drug effect after digestion has occurred, clearly not the case with Mick or  Tommy) Since they didn’t quite feel the buzz they began eating some more, and then some.

They took the boat ride back to Panajachel by this time it was 6pm and it was dusk. They were walking down the road, and they’d managed to get a French and Swiss girl to accompany them.  Inadvertently, Tommy began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

-Mick…  Mick… I think my brain is freezing man…-exclaimed Tommy as he began walking with both his hands on his big head, trying to reach for some body warmth to his skull.

More concerned with their female company Mick replied –Shut up Tommy, relax man.

-No Mick… Mick… I’m serious I think my brain is freezing- Continued Tommy with both his hands on his head as he walked. Mick trying to comfort Tommy put his baseball cap on his head, and told him that should keep him warm…

Without warning the buzz began to settle on Mick… All of this in the midst of now the beginning of the night. And as traditional, throughout the holyday season on Guatemala, firecrackers and fireworks started sounding everywhere. Mick’s look turned from comfort to panic and he grabbed Tommy’s hand. Mick began shaking in a high frantic paranoia state.

-They’re trying to kill us… Tommy run…- yelled Mick (probably having some sort of flashback from the salvadorian civil war, which he never really lived being brought up a privileged kid) and pressured Tommy to run beside him by yanking on the hand he didn’t have on his head. They ran together side by side holding hands all the time with Mick screaming like a female being sexually assaulted (Tommy still had one hand to his skull, you know preventing brain freeze and all) throughout the main street of Panajachel. I’m guessing the foreigners probably didn’t think much of it, but the native indigenous people probably began to wonder how on earth they had been conquered by the western civilization upon seeing those two running around like a frantic and crazed gay couple holding hands. Their european accompanyants, somehow lost interest and left them.

You would think things couldn’t get any worse, but not when it came to these two morons. Once they managed to stop and catch their breath. Mick reached for help to a nearby crowd.

– Help us, please they’re trying to kill us- said Mick (still holding Tommy’s hand) to, as fate would have it their pouncers. Needless to say Mr. L’Oreal’s crew was now drunk and decided to relive the bashing they had done earlier that day.

As they lay on the floor beaten for a second time. Tommy began feeling sick and uttered: “Mick… Mick… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Mick after having killed a heavy doze of brain cells replied “go to the bathroom…. Bathroom… bathroom.”

So readers, When you plan out your holidays, and if you feel the need to experiment with drugs, make sure you take someone with you  who has a working brain to take care of the dangers that you are bound to encounter while under the influence. As a note Tommy didn’t make it to the bathroom, but he did manage to stay clean and sober for the whole of 1998.

Till next week,

Enrique Pinto.

The way not to get noticed by the girl you like and are too scared to talk to Part 1

After breaking up with my first “serious” relationship, after being cheated on, dumped and literally been robbed of all the remnant of my self-esteem; I decided to flee my home country (El Salvador) and go to Mexico.  Of course all I knew from Mexico was “they seem to  have really hot, passionate and slutty  women” (as portrayed by their soap operas). Much to my dismay, The ratio of hot, passionate slutty women was not the same in my university as it was on those lying fictionalized TV portrayals.  Consequently, I began to mope and shelter the idea that I would never find another member of the opposite sex to disrespect me again… Alas!!! I was wrong.

Being the total lack of common sense and social intelligence that I am, I had to fall for the least likely prospect for someone In my social ranking. I fell for a quiet girl who was a member of a mexican province project equivalent of the spice girls. And if any spice girl she would’ve  been, she’d have been Baby Spice, yeah pretty much cute as button, very girly and in a sweet and pretty way very intimidating for an awkward misfit such as myself.  Of course I never grew the cojones to talk to her and be straight which would have robbed me of having anything to post.  No, my routine basically consisted of staring at her droopy eyed and remaining silent for weeks. Finally, one of my female class mates who had taken pity of my sad ways,  noticed I liked this girl and in one of our lunch breaks pointed her house to me. Quite surprisingly enough, her house was even cute. In the middle of Morelian suburbs was a squared little dollhouse with picket fence and blue roof tiles that seemed to be the perfect environment for this latina Baby Spice. By this time, my infatuation had grown and at nights I would work some excuse to drive by that house and stare at its windows.

It’s always wise to assume that things can and will get more f–ked up, and in my case they did… Just a single month after meeting the girl in question, I drove by at 5 am returning from a class mates flat, and as I stared at a bedroom window from the dollhouse (note to all misfits, while stalking keep your eyes on the motherf–king  road) I felt an abrupt bump on my front right wheel and heard a rather mute high-pitched growl. I had run over some french poodle. Before having to deal with an angry dog owner or some PETA freak, I decided to do what any reasonable (well reasonable under the circumstances) human being would do, dispose of the body and flee the crime scene.  I took the body of the dog and threw it some 20 km outside of town and never spoke of the incident again.

As Karma, God’s unbridled hatred against those who hurt all living things and my fate would have it, the dog I had accidentally assassinated would, of course, happen to be Baby spice’s poodle. As if the remorse of being an accidental homicidal driver wasn’t enough and my chances with Baby Spice not adverse enough I had to run over her 14-year-old poodle.  My friends (who had no idea of my canine encounter) suggested I should capitalize on the situation give the girl a puppy and get on her good side.  Seemed simple enough so I decided to buy the cutest (Disney’s lady and the tramp had nothing on this young bitch) female cocker spaniel.  Since I didn’t quite feel morally able To take credit, I decided I’d send the puppy with a cab driver and a note signed by a secret admirer. For a couple of days I felt the guilt off, and was making peace with the fact that I would always have to remain that a secret admirer.

One week had gone by, and she began telling one of my friends how she got so sad that She had to give Sophie (that what she named the cocker spaniel) away, but she said she was very excited about having a secret admirer. Guilt was back… Stupid dog apparently had chewed on her mom’s fancy high heels, Yeah even if you’re cute you can’t mess with women’s shoes, even I have enough common sense to figure that one out. So I decided to keep on playing the secret admirer.  For the mexican Flag day I decided to redecorate her whole picket fence with red, green and white ribbons completely wrapped around with a nice bow on the mailbox. (somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 yards worth) at 5am. I also left a note from a secret admirer. Of course she talked to my friends about it, and apparently she thought it was nice but her father was slightly upset of having to take about an hour to dispose of the ribbons and stopping their house from looking like a NY 5 de Mayo motive cantina.  The guilt of course settled back.

So with my guilt back I decided to keep on being a hopeless romantic (hopeless being the key word here) Kept looking for random oportunities to give her stuffed animals, key chains, basically crap I could get that looked cute and were under 5 dollars… Of course always signed by a secret admirer and delivered from 4 to 5 am.  This went on for days… Finally I had gotten fed up and was literally sleep deprived from so many early morning deliveries, I was like the shit shift UPS man for my sick and twisted mind´s guilt. It was time to lay it all on the line… I had to tell her I was done playing the secret admirer and what better time to do it than six months down the line with her birthday coming up.

I thought of the way to execute my last gesture, I would dress up in a chicken suit give her a cake and give her my final note explaining that I had to leave the country and there was now no point in me revealing my identity… Romantic, pathetic and a valid enough excuse. I should have thought of saying I’m a leper but my imagination at the time was rather limited. So Indeed, I arrived at her house got off a cab with the chicken suit on and a chocolate cake and my note.  I rang the doorbell she came out smile and surprised look in her face, I handed her the note and the chocolate cake. She then came close to me and hugged me. Before I could feel uncomfortable she pulled my chiken head and left my face exposed…. Awkward silence… Then she obviously asked me why I hadn’t told her… Another awkward silence… And then as if the tell-tale heart version of a Jim Carey movie I just blurted out “Cause I killed your dog….” Well guess you guys can fill in the blanks from there.  She did switch college shortly after.

So readers, (by now only probably my mom) When you see a pretty and intimidating woman, who you believe to be out of your league do yourself a favor and like yanking a band-aid in one pull.. Go to them and ask them out straight away, let the rejection be immediate so the healing can come from your next fixation… Till next week.

Your friend from thewaynotto,

Enrique Pinto