Love Trips: Booger Loving

When I was younger, I used to take my index finger, stick it in my nostril, give it a little wiggle, and go digging for gold. Once I got a good chunk of hard boogie, I would (brace yourselves) stick it in my mouth, chew and swallow.

All together now…eeeew!

I don’t remember where or why I picked up the yucky habit of picking the green and eating it like it was a Caesar Salad, but I do know I wasn’t willing to give it up. Maybe I felt the need to conquer those hard boogies. They were so uncomfortable and difficult to blow out into a tissue, so perhaps I thought: why not give it a go the caveman way? Soon, I became an addict. I transformed into those scrawny, skinny dudes who will suck your dick for some cash for crack.  Not even all-powerful mami could coerce me to quit.  She tried, dabbing my fingernails in garlic and threatening me with chankletasos, but I was obsessed!  Read more.

Love Trips: Just Can't Cut It

A man can cut a woman off just like that if he is no longer interested. He won’t respond to her texts and voicemails, or respond weeks later as if the only source of communication is Morse code. And forget about going on dates! If a man just isn’t that into you, he will forget he even committed to taking you out for drinks that Saturday night. As you sit by your window watching cars fly by and waiting for that damn phone to ring, he’s ogling girls at a teta bar, or worse; watching TV with his hands in his pants without a care in the world. Read the rest of Love Trips: Just Can't Cut It!

Love Trips: Dodge Kiss

I have never been good at sports. I was the 90-pound girl who was picked last. The girl whose long, bony arms would bruise for days after an instructional volleyball scrimmage. And did I mention I cried for half a period when it was my turn to swing off the second story balcony of The Cage and into the bright yellow cargo net in front of me?

Yeah, sports are definitely not my forte. But even still, I found a way to semi-master the violent art of dodge ball. Ok, I was picked third to last; but still, it was an improvement! I excelled averagely at this active sport because a) little people are feisty, b) little people are fast and c) it was the only way I could hit the girls that annoyed me without getting jumped after school. All was fair in volleyball, much like love and war, and till this day I take my quick, dodging tactics everywhere I go, including first dates. Read more of Love Trips: Dodge Kiss!

Love Trips: My Baby Suitor

If I were an inanimate object, I'd be a coloring book. I'd rest my back on hardwood floors; pages open, waiting to be filled. Suddenly, two sets of elbows pin me down. I meet eye to eye with a sharp, colored pencil and scream, "On guard!" Then there's childlike laughter. I relax a little, knowing they will play with me and love me, even if just for a moment. I will be filled with bright blues, greens and reds, even if it’s outside the line. Because you can't expect much from children. Read more of Love Trips: My Baby Suitor.

Love Trips: No More Tears

I don't remember crying as a teenager. I don't remember a time when teardrops streamed down my cheeks. I didn't cry at graduation or even when I left home for college. The sadness was indeed felt, as was the moisture in my eyes, but I produced nada.

Then I met Kurt. I fell in lust with Kurt and was convinced he was it. This bad boy on campus didn't want anything serious with me. I was a virgin - an innocent little, skinny girl lacking in the ass and boobs department. At least, that’s what he’ d say. But I was still convinced he was it. So I wrote him a letter. Pen to paper, I scribbled down my feelings frantically and repeatedly. The words in cursive revealed I wanted him to be my first, and with that realization I sobbed. Read more of Love Trips: No More Tears.

Love Trips: Bad Girl?

I've never been the bad girl, the sucia, the sneaky sneak, the master manipulator, la otra. That chica who scoots down in the leathery seat of a cab as she does a quick peep-my-man drive-by. He flinches when a girl struts past and there she goes! Cab door swings open and she is flying. Up, up and away into the air like a possessed, badass villain or - depending on whom you're speaking to - a glorious, female superhero. And how about the female who answers her phone while her hips are in motion? She swerves on top of a naked man who isn’t her man and, just like that, whispers, “I love you” to her real man through the phone.

No. Definitely not me. Read more of Love Trips: Bad Girl?