Cosmetic Blogmentation

Inspired by a Refinery email I recently received, I decided to revive that old Tumblr account. Although, I don't consider myself a style blogger I would like a more stylish blog. After logging on I found I'd been streaming from HIA and GWWBL for months. So this weekend I am dusting off the cobwebs and starting all over. Hope you guys will come along. CLICK

Joshua Rules

Joshua Mateo
November 23rd, 2010
12:43 PM
8lbs 15oz

It's total deja vu as we walk the halls of the Four Seasons of hospitals to Room 108. Only 14 months ago we welcomed Emma and now so soon after our first boy, the first boy in our family in decades! I was completely overcome as I looked down into the hospital issued bassinet. As I slipped into my requisite duties as family photographer tears fell from my eyes. I'm not sure why? I suppose for my own reasons. Maybe it was because we would have to spend Thanksgiving in a hospital room drinking red wine from a plastic cups?! (Just kidding Karina.)

So here we are our little family laughing, regaling stories just as we would if we were sitting round our large mahogany table. Things are exactly the same but unlike any other Thanksgiving before because this year we get Joshy; our most special reason to be thankful.

Besides we'll have a real party tomorrow night when he comes home.

Bale me out

Nothing could bust me out of my subway coma but the sight of this! As we all crammed onto the F train heading downtown I practically fell into a man holding the latest issue of Esquire. This month my childhood crush graces the cover reminding me I have a reason to go to the theatre, for the first time in almost a year, as Christian will be starring opposite Mark Wahlberg in The Boxer. Although, Mr. Bale is best known for his disturbingly dead-on performance as a psychopathic yuppie serial killer in American Psycho. I first fell in love with him in 1994 when he was hand picked by Winona Ryder to play the ever romantic Laurie (Theodore Laurence) in Little Women.

While Christian has received much critical acclaim I feel he has never gotten his just deserts in the babe department and I think it's time we rectify this egregious oversight. I mean based on hair alone he takes the Sexiest Man title. (Come on People magazine!) But beyond the luscious locks, furled brow, perfect body (that he's able to manipulate like a Transformer) there is a sense of fire about him. It's magnetic. He just seems like a man...a real man.

I'M CRAZY BUT YOU LIKE IT

Shakira: a kindred spirit.
Sexy.
Complicated.
Tiny.
Imperfect.
Outspoken.
Latina.
Trouble-Maker.
Loca loca loca.

After being told by about a zillion people to check out this video because it is "SOO YOU!" I finally did. So thank you to all who made the comparison. I could not be more flattered.

Constants

There are some people we meet in our lives who are constants. They are the people who are there to remind you exactly who you are because we all get lost sometimes. They call you out on your shit and tell you how loved you are. You know no matter what happens, how long you are apart or away, priority at the moment or not they are a part of you and you are a part of them.

My constants gathered around me to celebrate my 28th birthday @ Travertine on Saturday apart for one. As we all gossiped about my missing link a cold wind whispered thru the room with the opening of the door and there he was; white daisies in hand and tail between legs. So now the table was complete-new friends and old and my Matty-my oldest friend in New York, my bad influence and my touch stone. I could not have felt more special when suddenly a tart bursting with sparklers heads my way followed by my dear friend David.

So thank you Karla, Corrine, Lindsay, Brendon, Jake, Matty, David, Catherine, Valerie and others gathered throughout the evening. Thank you for coming, for getting me drunk, for helping blow out the candles and wishing me a Happy Birthday. That's all I wanted.

What are we waiting for?

My friend called me last night from LA. He visits once a year and usually stays with a friend in a sprawling Spanish style in the hills. His friend is a lonely man, independently wealthy, late 40's, never married, no children and loves to chat up his house guests. So before my friend even put down his bags the stories began. But this time the tale was so sad my friend had no choice but to really listen.

"I dated this woman once a very long time ago. We had such a deep connection I always envisioned us coming back together at some point. I thought about her all the time. Whenever I met someone I would always compare. Every five years or so I would reach out to her. We would meet and pick up right where we left off. It's been a while since I spoke to her so I recently tried to find her. I tried facebook, linkedin, yellow pages, everything I could think off. Finally I read in trade pages that she had died...five years ago. She's gone and I never got to tell her how I really felt about her. I never told her she was the one."

His story reminded me of a passage from the Paolo Coelho book I'm reading which says, "love doesn't ask many questions because if we stop to think we become fearful. It's an inexplicable fear; it's difficult even to describe it. Maybe it's the fear of being scorned, of not being accepted, or breaking the spell. It's ridiculous, but that's the way it is. That's why you don't ask-you act. You have to take risks to truly know love."

I have never feared love. I've only ever feared regret.

10 Ways You Know It's a Latino Baby Shower

1. First and foremost is the amazing white wicker chair decorated with faux flowers and ribbon which is coordinated to sex of child. It sits front and center poised for the countless photo ops as each child is perched on top for everyone to gush in concert.

2. There is a DJ. He (no or she we're Latinos) plays such classics as Mami Que Sera Lo Que Quiere El Negro, various bachata, cumbia, merengue, and salsa so loudly conversation with your neighbor is barely possible. Not one english language song is played nor may be requested.

3. You dance like it's prom night.

4. Drink options are always beer and wine: Corona and Sangria.

5. The cake is always Tres Leches. (Luckily my other sister and I have petitioned greatly against and have won one battle).

6. There is an after-party. The babies come. They gotta learn sometime.

7. The menu always includes some kind of arroz con...arroz con pollo, arroz con gandules, arroz con frijoles. It's even more delicious 2 AM post baby shower after party.

8. Not one woman wears flats. (Well maybe the mommy). Most footwear includes knee-high or thigh high boots.

9. Everyone cheats at the baby shower games.

10. The daddy is always happily wasted.

One of my favorite movies comes to life

It's a Sixteen Candles birthday for me this year. With one sister off on a surfing trip, another in desperate need of a baby shower this exact weekend since my nephew seems to want to join us early and a mother who recalls having me on the 4th of November rather than the 5th...I'm feeling very Samantha Baker. No, they didn't exactly forget but I'll have to share Karina's baby shower cake this year. Oh! And promptly return to the city Sunday to schlep all our belongings to the new apartment. Could I at least get the hilarious exchange student?! Where's my f*cking Long Duck Dong?!

So, before I begin my birthday weekend duties instead of having my usual fete of the century I'll take this one evening. I'll make a small toast with my nearest and dearest and maybe my Jake Ryan will appear heroically returning my panties? But wait...I don't wear panties. You know what, forget it.

took the words right out of my mouth

Do you remember this video?! It popped on screen mid-sprint at the gym today. I consider it an early birthday present.

You think he can move his forehead anymore?

"I work without interruption and if occasionally I happen to look a beautiful girl in the face, it's better to like beautiful girls than to be gay."

Sending Italian politics back to the stone ages, Silvio Berlusconi responds to allegations that he not only hosted an underage girl at one of his "brothels" but later intervened on her behalf as she faced theft charges in May.

I don't know what is most disturbing- a Prime Minister making blatantly homophobic remarks, the fact that he uses his political weight as payment for prostitutes (i mean he has plenty of money), the fact that a 17 year old girl would bed a 74 year old grandfather just to dodge some theft charges or that he blatantly flaunts these actions to a body of people who simply turn their heads.

Just when I was aching for Italy...CNN saves the day.

i did it and felt so good! you should do it too!

who cares what your politics are?! you should vote today because it is your civic duty. because it is your right as a citizen of this free nation. because it is a privilege millions of people around the world would die for. and they have.

it's 5:00 but still feels like morning

the first time i fell in love i was very young. i remember moments when i felt so in love i just wanted to say it out loud. i wanted to tell him. but i couldn't. i couldn't say the words, "i love you."

later i began saying it too often without even realizing i wasn't hearing it in return. if he was holding back i'll never know. he never told me.

**image taken from my favorite blog le love**

Most 'Played'

Most 'Played.' Nope, not talking about myself although I probably could take that title as well. I'm referring to the #1 song on my ipod, My Time by Minus the Bear. When Jake Snider sings the chorus, I thought he was saying, "I got you on my side." I absolutely loved that line. I just thought it was the sweetest lyric. But as it turns out he says, "I got you on my time" (hence the title) and the song is not about love but (whisper) S-E-X! I must say it was a disappointing discovery. Thinking Minus the Bear is going to be Minus a Jessica pretty soon. I need a new jammer. Suggestions?

Indian Summer Romance

If it shines like Spring and feels like Spring in the middle of October you are experiencing Indian Summer. After a few weeks of temperatures in the frigid 50's, terrible rain, changing leaves, and blistering winds suddenly mother nature offers a much needed respite. As wonderful as the moment is, we all know it won't last. Just like that little summer romance you knew would break your heart. So perhaps an Indian Summer Romance is the answer?

Do you suffer from FOMO?

One of my best friends Matty can always be counted on for some hilarious one-liners. Today was another classic. As we quickly played catch up outside of Cafe Gitane Matty jokes, "big night last night, huh?" "No!" I reply. "Yeah right!!" he laughs. "No seriously, I stayed in" I insist. "Well you don't suffer from FOMO," he says. "FOMO? What's FOMO?" I ask. "Fear of Missing Out" he explains.

While choosing my bed over the incessant siren song of Saturday night is not very common for me, I also am fully aware that it will all be there tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that. PLUS if you stay away long enough it eventually comes looking for you.

"Respect the Source"

When my sister was just a little baby girl she could not stand closed doors! If there was a closed door anywhere in our house Karla would find it, sit outside the door throwing an absolute tantrum until you opened it. Once allowed access to whatever it was you dare withhold from her she then promptly slammed the door in your face.

This prickly little princess grew up to be the kind of daredevil I watched surf a wave the height of a skyscraper in Costa Rica, the shy girl who thinks I'm the only one who knows how funny she is, the kind of sister who would probably punch you in the face if you looked at me cross eyed, the kind of tomboy who still plays rec soccer in the rain beloved by all her teammates, an eternal til the day she dies daddy's girl, the kind of woman who will marry on the beach barefoot and who I cannot wait to watch become a mother. She is my partner in crime, my better half, my whole heart.

Happy Birthday, Ku! I love you!
Thank god mom and dad found you behind that rock ;)

wherefore art thou?

While in Venice Simone told me the story of the Ponte die Sospiri which means Bridge of Sighs. He told me it got its name because long ago a fair maiden would wait atop the bridge for her love to return from sea. Daily she would stand looking out to port releasing sighs of longing and loneliness as audible as the fog is thick. Now, if you were to Wikipedia this Venetian bridge you will find a very different story. So whether it is the true story or a tale perpetuated by clever Italian men to get girls in bed, I don't know. But, to be honest, I don't care. I prefer the romance.

I often find myself atop my own metaphoric bridge. Waiting and sighing wondering if absence makes the heart grow fonder or if the old adage out of sight out of mind is true?

Emotional Cutter

This is my beautiful niece Jewel. Long and lean with a perfect skin tone and full head of spiral curls. We often style her hair in two pig tails which form round poofs atop her head. We find this to be completely adorable of course but while at school a little boy said her hair made her look like Mickey Mouse. Upset and determined Jewel came home that day and promptly cut both her ponytails right off! This was the result.


One day when Jewel is older we will tell her this story and laugh. For now we are grateful for the mental strength and strong will she appears to have at such a young age as the odds have been stacked heavily against her. Friday, September 10 her father was sentenced to 25 years in prison for the murder of her mother, my cousin Maria Hoppe. For months I had held this date in my mind in order to find some semblance of closure. On this date I had planned to finally face the man who took her, and most of all to speak on her behalf since I know if she could elect one person to do so it would have been me. But I was unable to attend at the final moment and so I slept..for the past three days.


With this day behind us all we can do as her family is turn our attention to her children and tell Maria's story in the hope that our experience will help potential future victims. One day, when I'm ready, I'll tell the full story.

"a little bit of privacy in which to practice love"

it all begins about three days to the date. you barely enter consciousness before your mind begins gripping for an answer. your eyes are not even open yet and all you can think is "what day is it? what day is it?!!" this time it's only wed, then thurs but finally the day comes and your holiday is over. your time together is up.

nauseous and sandy eyed you drag yourself out of bed and head to the airport. you stare out the window the entire ride. as miserable as the task is you enjoy those final snapshots of the italian countryside willing yourself to remember every detail. once we arrive, we march in silence through check in and towards security not out of anger but anxiety. as we walk up to the partitioned area he takes my hand and I feel the nerves on his palms. uncontrollably and without a sound tears begin to fall from my eyes. we say a very long goodbye and he stays until i disappear into the gate. my eyes fill in an instant once again.

What is real life anyway?

I left New York August 5th under the most extreme circumstances; having moved apartments just two days prior from Soho to New Jersey to the East Village. This all because weekend moves are prohibited by our new pain-in-the-ass property management, an unfortunate fact since our other pain-in-the-ass property manager was a huge reason we moved from Soho. The move seemed cursed from start to finish, with no trucks, no movers since the whole of New York city was also moving that same weekend. But, with the help of indispensable friends and family, we crammed my most precious possessions into the most expensive 100 square feet you'll ever see. I barely had time to settle in but those three glorious nights spent in my unusually firm but wonderfully free new bed (gift from Papi) were enough to keep me looking forward to my return.

The day I quit New York I literally accomplished a million things with visits to the tailor, salon, gym, 30 emails sent, bills paid, appointments scheduled, deadlines complete and two closets perfectly organized according to color and style. By the time I collapsed into a taxi I could not wait to spend 6+ hours crammed into coach with small child kicking the back of my chair and Jehovah's Witness telling me about the end of the world beside me. Not a great conversation to have while on an airplane. It seemed this hectic state was the condition of my life in New York. Under deadline or not, moving or not-I was constantly running from meetings to drinks or dinner, to spin class, to the market or to the post. Always 15 minutes late (which I will confess is hereditary not necessarily a New York thing although it doesn't help) always in a slightly panicked state, perpetually tired and constantly connected via Blackberry.

But, for now, I am in blissful asylum from the rat race, sitting poolside under umbrella on the most beautiful island in the world with nothing to do but go for long runs, muse, make love, play photographer, swim in the Mediterranean, sip wine and consume exorbitant amounts of gelato. All that noise is a distant memory which comes to me only in the form of an occasional flashback. One hits me suddenly as we nap like kittens intertwined on one lounge chair. Needing comfort I say to him, "this isn't real life you know." “What is real life?” he replies. “Real life is what you make it.” And then he kissed me.

underestimated

only when i lost her
did i finally understand

only when I lost her for good
could i let her see the real man

and when i thought she would run
she stood and held a mirror to my face

and when i thought there was nothing i could say
she made me speak

and when i thought she would never understand
she found me

and when i thought she could never love me again
she kissed me

and when i thought she would never see me again
she said farewell my love, i'll see you next week

loves it

you can't fuck me
because i'm already fucked

you can't find me
because i'm already lost

you can't teach me
because i'm already gone

but if you love me
i will fall into your arms

-Tonya's monologue on Hung

sleeping habits

When I was a little girl I used to hate to sleep alone. I would ask my sister if I could sleep in bed with her to which she would always say no. So when she fell asleep I would sneak in bed with her and touch the tip of my toe on her leg. I would do it ever so gently so as to not wake her but this was the only way I could fall asleep. If we were touching, I was sure she was there.

I never got quite used to sleeping alone. These days I sleep on one side of the bed. I stack pillows on the other side and remain on my side all night although there is no one there to make room for. I suppose I'm waiting for him.

It's been nice to get a few good nights sleep lately.

FIFA 2010: from Sydney to Ibiza

For the past few weeks the World Cup has absolutely taken over. An excuse to gather together, take sides, shout at the television, start drinking at 10:00 A.M. and celebrate several times a week. Although I was pretty ambivalent to the result, which suited the vibe at the Kingswood nicely, I later found myself totally sober at the craziest Spanish party in the city! Viva Espana!