What is a friend?

Is it someone who laughs with you when all you can do is laugh at yourself?  Is a friend someone who loves you unconditionally?  Is it someone who has been there since the beginning?  Does a friend remember your birthday or some other major event in your life?  Does he/she know your favorite color or food?  Does a friend go to the movies or a concert with you?  Does he/she call you just to say hi?  Does a friend, even if they don’t call you back right away, eventually call you back?

The word “friend” is often used too lightly in describing someone in our lives that should otherwise be ascribed acquaintance or someone who randomly pops in and out of our lives.  Friends are there for a reason or a season, right?  That statement begs the question: are you really my friend?

In my book, a friend is a person that knows me (or is trying to get to know me) without barriers.  She (or he) knows the real me, the girl that’s willing to let down her guard and be vulnerable.  But what makes a person deserving of that?  That person should be honest, genuine, trustworthy and loyal.  Handle yourself with the utmost authenticity.  Be honest about what you are looking for in a friend and if you cannot put effort into a friendship, don’t expect it in return. 

Over the years I have discovered that in order to have a friend, you have to be a friend.  Last year I was blessed to have a very special friend unexpectedly return to my life.  In my early 20s while I was attending community college, as I was soul-searching for the woman I wanted to become (sometimes in the wrong places), I met a girl named Melissa, who had ironically gone to the same high school as I did and inadvertently had many of the same friends.  It was the first day of some kind of science class (I think astronomy) that neither of us cared to be in.  I was the nerd sitting in the front of the lecture hall while she was the ever rebellious girl sitting as far back as she could in order to avoid calling any attention from the instructor.  She recognized me from school and began asking me questions.  Little did we know in that moment that we would eventually become the best of friends.  This girl was just like me – outspoken, witty, somewhat jaded, lost on the path of education and grasping at strings to hold on.  She asked if we could carpool together since we both lived with our parents who still lived near our old school.  Sure, why not, I thought.  Who knew that an hour in the car each day could develop into such an intense friendship?

Over the years we would do everything together. We laughed harder than I’ve ever laughed before.  Sometimes we had no idea why we were even laughing but it was a quality in a friendship that I cherished because it was the laughter that wiped away the sadness I was enduring at that time.  We traveled together, shared our love stories, had family dinners, rode on a glider together (boy was THAT an experience!), went to bars/clubs and restaurants, hung out with my niece and nephew, had booming parties at her first apartment, experienced our first (and only) ho-down in Hollister, and felt the pride at finally receiving our associate’s and bachelor’s degrees together.  Melissa was there with me through an abusive relationship (she helped me to let go and say goodbye).  She was there when the love of my life came to California to visit after years of a developing friendship and she held my hand when I had to say goodbye.  She was by my side when he broke my heart just a few weeks later.  She saw me through depression from all of the above situations.

In return, I was by her side during her difficult relationship and through her personal, emotional battle with childhood demons.  I stood by as she endured the difficult task of trying to get on the local police force.  I was there when her dream was shattered.  We picked each other up when no one else could.

Oddly enough, I was about to introduce Melissa to my dear friend Raul whom I had been telling her about for the last year.  He was the least judgmental and most loving person I had known, wise beyond his years (he was 28).  We were visiting her then-boyfriend at his work when we decided we’d stop by Raul’s house, which I used to do often.  Melissa insisted I call him before going over.  I didn’t understand.  I always just showed up.  So I called…

The phone rang, and rang.  A woman picked up.  I asked for Raul.  She said, “Raul se falleció.”  I didn’t understand.  “Is he OK?” I asked.  “No,” she said.  “He’s dead.”  I couldn’t speak.  I had no idea what to say.  What do you say to a mother who has just told you that her son (your best friend) has died?  His sister got on the phone as I was falling to the ground.  I don’t remember all that was said in the next moments.  Somehow Melissa got me to the hospital where he was being kept alive on life support until his family was ready to make the decision to let him go.  Raul had a brain aneurism which burst in the middle of the night while he was playing music.  He died doing the thing he loved most, an event he had predicted to me a few years earlier.  Melissa was there with me at Raul’s bedside, when I had no idea how to cope.  She watched me as I looked at his lifeless body, swollen face and shaved head.  She was there.  She took me to his memorial service, held my hand and cried with me.  She didn’t even know this person but as an extension of me, she loved him anyway.

Following graduation, we did some more traveling, both to Los Angeles and Puerto Rico.  We played hard in those years but eventually it started to take its toll on both of us.  Neither of us were following our dreams.  Well, we were both trying but somehow it wasn’t in God’s plan for us at the time.  We both began to self-destruct, an event that finally destroyed our friendship.  We were both guilty but neither of us willing to budge.  We stopped talking.  Completely.  We’d see each other in the mall parking lot and pretend like the other didn’t exist.  What an example of our immaturity!

Full Circle

Last summer, as I was happily living my life in Santa Monica, I turned out my laptop and opened Outlook as I so often do.  There it was.  An e-mail notification from LinkedIn that read, “Join my LinkedIn Network.”  It was from Melissa.  I was in shock.  I had no idea how much I missed her until that exact moment.  Without sharing the contents of the message I will tell you that she acknowledged her part in the demise of our friendship and apologized for her behavior.  I was totally blown away.  That’s how you know a person in genuinely sorry for something they have done: they take responsibility!  She did and I was so excited.  She’d obviously grown up as had I.  That was all it took and our friendship was right back on track where we had left it (without all the negativity).  For the record, in case you’re wondering, I apologized to her as well and acknowledge my shitty behavior which led to our abrupt goodbye.

Today is a new day.  I tell Melissa all the time how grateful I am to have her back in my life.  I feel totally blessed to share a friendship with a woman who gets me.  She understands who I am as a person and perpetuates all that I am.  This is the definition of a friend.  One who sees you through the ups and downs of life, who doesn’t hold expectations, can listen without judging, be there to lend a hand or an ear, be honest with their opinion and always express their gratitude.  I am eternally grateful to have my best friend back in my life and I never let an opportunity pass me by to tell her how much I love her and cherish our friendship.

My Sister's Keeper

Today I was lucky enough to share some laughter with my niece, nephew and sister. On the kids' final day of Spring Break week we went to the movies to see "17 Again." Funny as the movie is, I'm not going to critique the film or give you any inside info. What I am going to tell you is all about a movie trailer that unexpectedly struck a nerve in me. The sound of a familiar little girl's voice hit me as she began to tell the story: "Most babies are accidents. Not me. I was engineered. Born to save my sister's life." It was the voice of little Abigail Breslin (who's not so little anymore), the actress who played Olive Hoover, the endearing child at the center of the 2006 Oscar nominated film "Little Miss Sunshine." "My Sister's Keeper" is the story of a young girl who hires a big time lawyer and sues for emancipation from her parents who genetically conceived her in order to save the life of her sister who is dying from cancer. All I can say is I cannot wait for this one to hit the big screen because I'll be there with baited breath. This movie will drum up controversy around the world, from its story line of a child being conceived as a genetic match for the purposes of the survival of another human being, to a child sueing its parents to be allowed the right to keep charge of its own body. Sadly, there is a deep, underlying secret that little Anna is keeping from her family which seems to be tearing them apart. You'll have to watch to find out. Not only does the trailer tug at your heartstrings but the track playing in the background emphasizes the importance of life and miracles with its passionate lyrics and tender melody. "Life Is Beautiful," a song by British rock band Vega 4 (who sounds exactly like one of my favorite bands, Snow Patrol), brought out the emotionality of the film and lifted my spirit. From the director of "The Notebook," this one's gonna be a real tearjerker so bring along a box of tissues if you decide to see it. And if you do, I'll see you there: June 26, 2009. My Sister's Keeper Trailer Life is Beautiful by Vega 4 (from Grey's Anatomy) Life is beautiful We love until we die. When you run into my arms, We steal a perfect moment. Let the monsters see you smile, Let them see you smiling. Do I hold you too tightly? When will the hurt kick in? Life is beautiful, but it's complicated. We barely make it. We don't need to understand, There are miracles, miracles. Yeah, life is beautiful. Our hearts, they beat and break. When you run away from harm, Will you run back into my arms, Like you did when you were young? Will you come back to me? I will hold you tightly When the hurting kicks in. Life is beautiful, but it's complicated, we barely make it. We don't need to understand, There are miracles, miracles. Stand where you are. We let all these moments pass us by. It's amazing where I'm standing, There's a lot that we can give. This is ours just for a moment. There's a lot that we can give.

Singer Turned Soldier: Marcos Hernandez Joins the Marines

Several months ago while I was tooling around on Facebook as I often do, I noticed a status update from a dear friend, Marcos Hernandez, which struck me as odd. The update read: "Marcos Hernandez is hoping his 'friends' will let him know how they think B4 he goes off to basic training for the Marines." What? The Marines? This has got to be a joke. I genuinely believe it is so I continue on and never question him. A month or so later, I get a phone call from him telling me he's giving up his career and heading off to boot camp. This might sound fairly normal to you, especially in light of the quick demise of the economy resulting in people doing all sorts of drastic things in order to have a stable income, but in fact it's totally out of character for him. 


You see, Marcos Hernandez is a 27-year-old singer from Dallas, Texas, who became quite the phenomenon on radio across the country when his debut song "If You Were Mine" hit the charts in 2005. You might know the track from stations like Wild 94.9 in the Bay Area or KISS 106.1 in Dallas, among others. The song, by the way, was co-produced by my friend Eliot Sloan, lead singer for the alternative rock band Blessid Union of Souls. If the name sounds familiar it's because the band's single "I Believe" charted at #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1995. But back to Marcos... 


Now, not only was I in shock that he was giving up his musical career but also in a state of dismay that he was making a conscious choice to sign up for the military and volunteer himself to be sent into extreme danger should he be stationed in the Middle East. What is going on here? I'm super angry that someone with such promise is giving up his life as he knows it to follow his belief in protecting our country. Don't get me wrong. It's not to say that I feel that the men and women in the military don't have promise. It is exactly the opposite. They are so young and have so much life to live but so many aren't even making it out or back to their families. In Marcos' case, I am particularly disgusted with the fact that the state of the economy has declined so much in the last year that a talented musician who had every reason to believe his music would continue to climb the charts if given the chance, would lose faith in the system and walk away from it all for the security of a future in the Marines. Even though Marcos has only been at boot camp for a few weeks and is not currently in any immediate danger, I pray everyday that he doesn't get sent overseas. Please dear God, keep him safe during his service in the military and bring him home safely, no matter where he ends up. 


I want to be clear: I support the troops 100%. I believe that what they are doing is honorable and brave and I am proud of my friend for making such a difficult and selfless decision. God bless you Marcos, and those who have chosen the same path as you. 


For more info on Marcos: http://www.marcosonline.com Marcos Hernandez If You Were Mine

Discovery of The Fray

Act I

It was early 2006 when I flipped on the radio to discover that distinctive voice singing along to the piano…

I never knew
I never knew that everything was falling through
That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue
To turn and run when all I needed was the truth
But that's how it's got to be
It's coming down to nothing more than apathy
I'd rather run the other way than stay and see
The smoke and who's still standing when it clears

Everyone knows I'm in
Over my head
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She's on your mind
She's on your mind

Let's rearrange
I wish you were a stranger I could disengage
Just say that we agree and then never change
Soften a bit until we all just get along
But that's disregard
Find another friend and you discard
As you lose the argument in a cable car
Hanging above as the canyon comes between

Those words struck a cord as if Isaac knew exactly what was happening in my life at that very moment.  I was in the final stages of my relationship with the band I was managing, whom I’d been working with for two very long, intense years.  The feelings that bubbled up inside me as the lyrics pierced my heart were so powerful they moved me to action.  It was time to start making some changes in my life.

I was in the midst of a 6-month long distance relationship which would continue to the year and a half mark, and see me through the end of my working relationships (and some friendships) with the band and a move to Santa Monica.  Not to mention, a pretty major bump in the road with my family.  The Fray changed the way I saw myself and gave me a new view on those around me.  The spiritual lyrics and the sound of Isaac’s fingers as they caressed the ivories was enough to push them up to the top spot on my band list.  But I digressed.

Just a month or so later, I was listening to Mix 106.5 when that very song was playing.  As it came to an end the DJ informed listeners that the 106^th caller would win tickets to the Midday Mixer with the band later in the week.  If you know me, then you know that I don’t typically call radio stations.  It’s not my thing.  I work in radio and am not a crazed fan (other than my Menudo experiences which pretty much ruled my childhood) so calling a radio station to win tickets to a show???  Out of the question!  But The Fray captured my attention (and my heart) so intently that I picked up the phone and started dialing.  I don’t know how many times I got a busy signal (it seemed like a hundred – hey, that’s a Fray song) but I was so persistent that I just kept dialing and eventually got through.  What luck.  I was the 106^th caller!

So there I was with my sister on a weekday afternoon ready to rock it out.  I was still managing the band so I worked from home but my sister had to take a long lunch from work at the museum to go to a local bar in downtown.  There we were, waiting outside the Agenda Lounge having no idea what to expect or how many people we’d be competing against to get a seat close enough to actually see the band as they performed.

We got upstairs and somehow managed to seat ourselves on two ottomans placed directly in front of the stage.  We could “reach out and touch someone.”  There must have been 30 – 40 people in the room.  I was so excited.  The boys walked into the room as if they were just your average person and stepped up onto the stage.  As they stood there getting themselves settled in with their instruments, they began talking to us.  It was as if they were just hanging with a bunch of friends.  They were more humble than any other artist I’ve ever met (trust me, I’ve met my fair share).  They started playing and as I heard Isaac belt out those familiar lyrics, I wanted to cry.  I couldn’t believe how blessed I felt.  In between songs (they sang about 5 or 6) they chatted it up with us, talking specifically to me and my sister.  They asked us what we did for a living and when I told them I managed a rock band from Austin, they asked me the name of the band and offered me the chance for a quick plug.  It was a very cool moment.  They were just getting their start in the public eye and they were willing to share the stage (so to speak) with a band nobody had ever heard of.  Pretty amazing!

After the mini-concert was over, we had the opportunity to step onto the other side of the room where the band was waiting to sign autographs.  We got our 8x10 photos and walked over to say hello.  Of course, they started talking to us again, asking us about our jobs.  They really wanted to get to know their fans.  Pretty cool!

Act II

Cut to one year later…  I’m living in LA and The Fray is coming to town to perform at the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard.  Here’s a show I can’t miss!  My best friend Angel is working as a nanny for a family in Beverly Hills.  The dad, Dave, is a VP at Ticketmaster and always talking about how he can get tickets to any show.  So I make a special request for Angel to get tix to the show.  She talks to Dave who says he can get them.  I give him the date/place of the show and he eventually tells us that we can pick our tickets up at Will Call the night of the show.

Here we are, two nannies who most days can be found in a t-shirt, yoga pants and sneakers thanks to our very casual jobs.  We’re so excited to be getting all gussied up and hitting the town to see MY favorite band.  We manage to get to Sunset without too much traffic and pay the ridiculously high cost of parking in West Hollywood a block away from HOB.  We walk to the venue and see the long line of people twisting around the corner and down the block.  Whew, thank God we don’t have to stand in THAT line!  We’re so lucky.

We walk down the steep decline to get to the Will Call office and are greeted by the woman inside.  Angel gives the woman her I.D. and tells her we’re here to pick up our tix being held by David at Ticketmaster.  She scurries through the box of envelopes and quickly looks at us like we’re Medusas with snakes growing out our heads.  What’s the problem?  “I’m sorry ladies but I don’t have any tickets for you,” she says.  WTF?  After some investigation, we discover that Dave got us tix for last night’s show.  What in hell are we going to do now?

We immediately call Dave who says he’s going to call the band’s manager, Jason Ienner.  He can’t get a hold of him but he’ll keep trying.  Are you frigging kidding me?  Is this really happening?  Angel and I always seem to have the best of luck together so we decide to go to the back of HOB where there’s a VIP entrance into the Foundation Room, a private bar upstairs that leads to the band’s dressing room and the VIP viewing section.  There’s a guy standing guard at a podium.  We explain our situation and he tells us to stick around and maybe we’ll see the band or manager and get inside.  After about 20 minutes of schmoozing with the guy, he eventually cedes to our charm and give us hot pink, glittery VIP wrist bands.  “Cool,” I’m thinking, “my favorite color!”  We immediately head upstairs and order a drink at the bar.  The bartender gives us a free chocolate martini that someone didn’t want.  Well, I guess it’s our lucky night after all!

Angel and I start walking around, on the hunt for one Jason Ienner.  The band has posted flyers all over the place that say “Wanted: Jason Ienner” with his mug shot as if he’s a criminal on the loose.  Cool, we now know who we’re looking for.  Thanks guys!  We manage to go into a back room where, low and behold, The Fray is hanging out.  We see Joe King (guitar/vocals) and Dave Welsh (guitar) standing there looking at us like we’re a couple of crazed fans.  Hmm, are we stalking The Fray?  We ask where Jason Ienner is and they tell us that he’ll be there shortly.  We tell them our story and they just look at us like, “Seriously?”

Eventually Jason arrives and we proceed to explain our little situation.  He says, “Come with me” and walks us directly into the VIP section which is a balcony overlooking the stage.  This is awesome!  We get to hang out there the whole night.  The mother of the drummer for the opening band Augustana (their performance really impressed me) offers us a seat at her table and we end up chatting with her.  When the opener finishes their set, the drummer comes up to visit his mom so we get introduced.  Can’t remember his name though.

The Fray hits the stage and as usual, I’m totally blown away.  The house is packed and the fans are screaming.  I’m just singing away.  They play all their hits and then, they do something that completely takes my breath away.  I hear the piano start and then his voice…

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?

Oh my God, it’s the Beatles!!!  That’s enough for me.  I’m thoroughly taken aback.  These guys can do it all.

As the band continues to jam, Augustana drummer boy’s mother tells us that John Mayer and Natasha Bedingfield are upstairs so we start scoping out the place until I notice Mayer’s afro (it was before his Jennifer Aniston days, prior to “hotness”).  Ahh, John Mayer.  What do ya know?  A few minutes later he’s called to the stage where he jams on a few songs with the band.  Pretty amazing night!  My second time meeting The Fray.  This is becoming a habit.

Act III

I receive an email from The Fray’s fan list (did you really think I wouldn’t be signed up for it?) notifying me that the band will be performing on Jimmy Kimmel Live in Hollywood during the week and here’s how you can get tickets.  I begin obsessing because now that I’m living in LA I’m not going to miss my chance to check out my favorite band on a late night talk show.  I get my confirmation email that I have two tickets to the show.  After one friend backing out at the last minute due to a huge and rare rainstorm that has hit the Southland with ferociousness, I ask Angel if she would care to join me since she’s got the day off from work.  She decides to go and luck takes over from there.

We get out to Hollywood and park at the Hollywood Highland Complex which is across the street from the studio where Jimmy Kimmel is filmed.  It’s starting to sprinkle but we figure “it’s just a few raindrops” so we leave the umbrella in the car.  We haven’t eaten so we start hiking it East on Hollywood Blvd. to the McDonalds so we can get something to go.  As soon as we get our food it starts raining buckets.  We run as fast as we can down to the studio and notice a small line is already formed.  But it’s raining and these smart ones left their umbrella in the car.  A whole lot of good it does us there.  So we wait under the awning next door at El Capitan Theater while we eat our food.  After demolishing our fries we get into line and the rain starts coming down even harder.  The studio audience coordinator brings us an umbrella to huddle under.

When we finally get out of the rain and into the studio, they put us in a holding room to show us a video about the show.  The studio where the main part of the show is filmed is downstairs but we can see behind us the Pontiac Garage stage where the band will perform at the end of the show.  Are we going to be separated?  Is everyone seeing the show?  What’s going on?  All these questions running through my head.  So Angel pulls aside another audience coordinator and asks him if we’re going to be able to see the band perform because that’s what we came for.  He tells her, “Don’t worry about it.  I gotcha!”  She tells him, “You don’t understand.  My friend is the biggest The Fray fan and she needs to see them up close.  She’s not a stalker or anything.”  He tells her again that he’s got it covered.

When it’s time to go in, they seat us like we’re at a restaurant.  “How many in your party?” then direct you to a seat.  The guy sees us and immediately takes us to these seats that are in the front row of the back section and puts us in the aisle seats.  They have the best access to the exit.  When the show is over he immediately releases us so we can head for the stage.  But people start pushing past us and we get stuck in the crowd.  The guy leads us to this side area but it’s not a good spot so he grabs us and drags us to the front.  He puts us right smack in front of the stage so yet again, I can reach out and touch the band.  Jimmy Kimmel introduces The Fray and they step onto the stage.  Isaac and Joe look over and see me and Angel and start whispering to one another.  I think they recognize us from previous shows.  Oh God, I AM a stalker.  They start talking to the audience as they’re getting set up and it’s as it was before.  They are still down to earth, humble guys from a band that happened to grasp success in their hands early on.

They start playing “You Found Me,” their first single off their second album and I start singing like there’s no one else in the room.  I notice the camera guys are all over me and Angel like white on rice (what does that phrase mean anyway?) and I’m embarrassed because this is being televised on national TV.  I try not to look at the cameras but you can’t help but to notice they’re there, especially when you’re camera shy like me.  Angel smacks me hard on the arm to tell me the camera’s on us so I turn to look and have that George W. Bush deer caught in the headlights look.  Oh Lord, thanks a lot Angel!  The show was phenomenal as always.  When it was over, the boys came off the stage to shake our hands and say hello.  Yet another day in the life of Patricia accidentally stalks The Fray.  Really, I’m with the band.

Act IV

To Be Determined in August when I see them again at Shoreline Amphitheatre.

At the Jimmy Kimmel Show in Hollywood:

Obsession With A Culture

First Contact 

It began in 1983 after the long trek home from school, following closely behind my older sister Gina, to our small one story house in a middle class neighborhood of San Jose, California.

We were what they called “latch key kids” which at the time was normal. In the 80s it was somewhat normal to have a dual income household. The kids would have to walk home from school by themselves and stay in the house for the next few hours while they waited for their parents to come home from work. We’d always call Mom at work as soon as we got home. I don’t know how she never got in trouble because it never turned out to be just one call. Usually Gina and I would end up in an argument and there would be phone call after phone call to her complaining about each other. Ahh, to be a child again.

I’d just developed my first crush on a boy, Scott, a year older than myself, whose long blonde bowl-cut hair, the latest 80s style, covered his face. He looked like Ricky Schroeder from my favorite TV show Silver Spoons, who was, at that time, the object of all the girls’ affection. I was young and impressionable, still a small child at the age of eight. As soon as I arrived home from school and finished my chores for the week I quickly flipped on the television set (you actually had to get off the couch and walk to the TV set to turn it on in those days). I switched the channels until I found Silver Spoons. The show was about a millionaire father, Edward Stratton, III, who lives in a mansion with a train running through the middle. He discovers he has a son, Ricky Stratton and tries to make up for lost time by spoiling him with lots of toys and video games a boy (or man) could dream of.

On this episode, Ricky promises Consuelo, a girl he’s trying to impress, that her favorite music group, the Puerto Rican pop sensation Menudo, whom she loves is going to be singing at his birthday party. In fact, he’s never met this guys and has no such plans. Ricky pretends to be a room service waiter at the hotel that Menudo is staying at in order to meet the guys and convince them to come to his party. When the guys find out there will be video games they agree to go to Ricky’s party and sing their hit song, “Gotta Get On Movin.” Watching those five unusual looking teens singing and dancing their awkward dance moves was my first experience with the Puerto Rican culture and the very event that would lead me down an unexpected path into the arms of several Puerto Rican men and a life of music. 

Phase 2 

It wouldn’t be until two years later that I would find myself making contact with the Puerto Rican world yet again. I was 10 years old and in the sixth grade. My parents had put me in school a year early so I was a year younger than the rest of the kids in my class. One day while I was at school I met a handsome, dark haired and dark eyed boy, Kenny. He didn’t look like any of the other boys in school and he certainly didn’t act like them either. He had mostly female friends (who usually had a crush on him) and he always walked around in tight biker shorts looking like he was ready to hop on his bike at any moment and go for an 8-mile ride. He would become a casual friend in my junior high school years but it wasn’t until high school and then later in life that we forged a bond and developed a real friendship. Kenny was also Puerto Rican. 

Calling Me Home 

In 1987, as an eighth grader, I would enroll in my first Spanish-language class as a part of my middle school curriculum. I found myself becoming interested in the culture and then soon enough I was actually becoming good at this foreign language they call Spanish (except for “napkin,” the one word on a vocabulary test that I didn’t know so I wrote in English and placed the accent on the “I” like so: “napkin.” Somehow the teacher missed that one). During the school year I would practice and develop my skills at speaking this new intriguing language.

As a tool to help us better absorb the vocabulary, our teacher Ms. Pereirra would bring in the lyrics to different songs and we’d listen to the song and read or sing along as the music would play. We learned “Happy Birthday” (Cumpleaños Feliz) and Ritchie Valens’ “La Bamba.” For the first time I was finding something I loved and I was developing a strong passion for a new culture and the very thing that would take over my life for the next twenty years: Latin music.

It was 1988 and I was entering a new phase of life, becoming a freshman in high school. I was back to the low end of the totem pole but my sister was in her senior year and we would share one semester together in the same school. I reacquainted myself with a friend from elementary and junior high school, Georgina. She was different from the girls I usually spent my time with. She came from a multi-cultural home. Her dad was Greek and spoke with a heavy accent and her mother was Mexican who melded her own culture with the American way. We quickly became best friends, spending many days after school together, walking to the grocery store to buy our favorite pastry with the spare change we could dig up from the couch and our parents’ pockets. Some days I would even eat dinner over at Georgina’s house. This is where I had my first real Mexican dish – Chicken mole. Who knew chocolate would taste so good on chicken? It was delicious. Soon my hunger for the Latin culture grew more intense.

It was that year that Georgina introduced Menudo back into my life. She shared with me the group’s English language LP (yes, I’m old enough to admit that I listened to actual records!), “Sons of Rock.” It would become part of my life for the next 15 years, running in my blood.

One day at school Georgina announced to me, “Menudo is going to be at the record store on the East side signing autographs.” Ricky, Sergio, Ruben, Ray, Angelo and Robert were all going to be there. These were completely different members of the group than the first time I had seen them on Silver Spoons. You see, the whole basis of Menudo was that each time a band member turned 16 or started to get too big, too tall, or his voice started to change he had to leave the group, to be replaced by a newer, younger, cuter boy. Robert was in training mode because he was replacing Ricky (later to become famous to the rest of the world – THE Ricky Martin) who was getting ready to retire based on the Menudo rules.

I don’t remember why I couldn’t go to the autograph signing but I was heartbroken. These boys were adorable and they gave me something to live for. I couldn’t get enough of them. I listened to their music, taped their interviews on the radio (yes, I did say “tape”), joined fan clubs and began exchanging letters with pen pals, all young girls who were fanatics just like I was.

Then Georgina announced that she was going to the concert at Cow Palace in San Francisco. Indeed I HAD to go too. The next thing I knew my sister and I were in her car on the 101 freeway headed north to the concert to see Menudo. Being four years old than me, Gina could drive and she had a car of her own so we didn’t need a chaperone. I don’t know how my parents ever let us get away with the things we did. Driving up to SF, 60 miles away, on a Saturday evening by ourselves and then come home late at night was a pretty bold thing to do for two teenagers. Especially at a time when there was no such thing as a cell phone. But we did it anyway.

I remember the Sons of Rock concert just like it was yesterday. I had a secret crush on Ruben but as I heard Angelo sing “You Got Potential” and watched him dance on stage my heart fluttered. It was as if he was singing directly to me, the only girl in the room. Me, of course, and the thousands of other girls screaming at the top of their lungs and jumping up and down with signs in their hands saying, “I love you, Ruben” or “Menudo, you are the Sons of Rock.” That event was such a pivotal moment in my life, one that would lead me to a future with bands. I still have the quarter page flyer with a photo of the five Puerto Rican boys that would change my life and my first Menudo concert ticket which read: Menudo, Cover Girls and TKA Cow Palace Saturday, November 5, 1988.

After the concert was over, Georgina, my sister and I rushed to the side of the stage where somehow we managed to convince the security guy to tell us what hotel the group was staying in. After little debate we agreed to go to the Choice Hotel and find the boys’ rooms. It was in this moment that I would meet Menudo for the first time and my life would be Menudofied forever. I don’t remember the details of how it happened but somehow the group’s choreographer Joselo would bring the boys out into the hallway. We would meet Angelo, Ricky (thee Ricky Martin), Ruben and Sergio. We managed to take photos with Angelo and Ricky, me with my short curly hair and my silver rail road tracks covering my teeth and my sister with her giant hair and huge white hoop hearings. It’s a day I’ll never forget. To be continued…

The Task of Looking for a Job in a Recession

This week marks a month and a half since I moved back from LA and have been on the hunt for a job. This has been no easy task to complete considering the economy has done nothing but spiral down from the time I arrived. I believe we are not in a recession but in a depression. More and more people that I know have been laid off from their jobs, are losing their homes and feeling hopeless. I DO NOT feel hopeless. I feel empowered to do something drastic to change my situation.

Prior to moving back to SJ, my sister was laid off from her job as an Executive Assistant. It's now been three months of no work for her. Just after I returned, my father was laid off from his job as a Director of Sales for a high-tech start up. It's now been a month of no work. Last week, at my niece's birthday party, I got to see some old friends from high school who are now married with kids. The wife was laid off from her job and the husband has been given fair warning that he doesn't have much longer left before his job comes to an end. These are all huge signs of a major downturn. 

After much brainstorming over ideas on how to gain media attention and hopefully get a job (stand outside at a major intersection during rush hour traffic holding a giant sign with my resume, same idea only with the huge arrow you see directing people to view new homes or hit the local Quiznos, or maybe I should write a press release - I was a publicist - about how 75% of one nuclear family has been hit by unemployment). True, I didn't get laid off. Leaving my two part time jobs in Santa Monica was 100% my choice but I really didn't have much of a choice since I couldn't realistically continue to pay my bills without incurring more debt. Sound like a good option to you? Me neither!

Ever get an e-mail calling you to action regarding a protest or encouraging you to sign a petition? I believe it's time to put together an e-mail rounding the troops of unemployeds and gathering on a local street corner in your city to protest this economy. Are you in? I think it's about time we start a revolution. I'm an able-bodied citizen willing and wanting to work. I have a life to live. I want to earn money so I can pay my bills and get out there in the world and travel. How about you? What's your plan? Let's do this!!!

My first time in NYC

Welcome to my blog and thanks for joining me. After a crazy few years of living in Santa Monica, I have finally settled back into Northern California and am ready to start talking about what an amazing life I've been blessed to live. I've got more than my fair share of stories of life on the road with a band, having fallen in love with musicians, losing the best friend I ever had in 1999, the birth of my niece and nephew which changed my world completely and trying to get back to a "normal" life in San Jose. But first up...

For my birthday in January of this year, it was my dream to go to New York City with my friend "A". Since we both had enough mileage to get a free ticket (on different airlines) and we had a place to sleep (one of my dear friends Carlos moved to NYC three years ago) we decided it would be the best present for me. So off we went on different planes, arriving at the same time to JFK at 6am after barely any sleep and hyped up at our adventures to come. We had no idea where we were or what we were in for other than the fact that we were about to freeze our asses off in 40 degree weather (if we were lucky).

We waited outside the terminal in the freezing cold for our car service to pick us up, both layered in clothes, scarves, hats, gloves and snow boots. Oh my! By the time our car arrived and we got out of Queens (turns out, for those of you that don't know anything about NYC, JFK is in Jamaica, Queens, where my mother was born. Who knew?) and got through morning rush hour traffic, we arrived in the financial district around 8:30 but drove in circles because the streets were all blocked off and the driver couldn't figure out how to get us onto the street we needed to be on. We FINALLY arrived and went into Carlos' complex and met the concierge who was expecting us. He directed us to the Mezzanine level where we waited in a room for Carlos to arrive. He was off training... if you don't know, he is Carlos Santos, host of ESL (Entertainment As A Second Language) with Carlos Santos on MTVTr3s, the bilingual network that was created by the MTV Networks in 2006. We waited in that cold room decorated in ugly brown and gold hues, that literally looked like someone threw up butterflies all over it, until Carlos finally showed up. We were so excited to see him but really, all we wanted was breakfast and a cup of coffee. He took us up to his apartment where we unloaded our luggage (with 2 suitcases, 2 carry-ons and 2 purses and plans to stay for a week, it looked like we were moving in!) and we got a brief tour of his 3 bedroom apartment. Our "room" was a small cut out that looked like a cubby hole. We were laughing already!!! Carlos had to get ready to go to work so he directed us to a small breakfast place up the street where we could grab some grub and caffeine and then we went back to his place to take a hot shower and get ready to go walking in the cold.

Just to give you a little background on me and A, we don't do cold or public transportation. So what the hell were we doing in New York City in the middle of January??? Well, we were about to find out!

Our first day we walked from the apartment to the New York Stock Exchange, to Trinity Church, to Sea Port, got to see the World Financial Center and Ground Zero which I'm sorry to say, didn't have the impact I thought it would. We had lunch at a noodle house then went to Century 21 Department store but left almost as soon as we got in after seeing the crowds of people storming the racks for the latest finds and sweating bullets from the heater blasting at full speed. Note to self: Remember that when it's freezing cold outside, you'll be sweating your balls off inside if you don't dress in layers. What an amazing day we had! We were supposed to go to dinner with Carlos and his friend Ray but by the time they got back to the apartment we were in our PJs and eating Chinese food, ready to hit the hay in our oh so cozy looking blow up mattress.

Our first night of sleep in NYC didn't exactly go as planned. It was so cold in the apartment because there was no central heating. Each roommate (there were 3 total) had his/her own space heater in their rooms so that left us with ... you guessed it... nothing! While Carlos was out to dinner, we blasted his room heater in hopes that the warm air would move out into our cubby hole and warm us up as we were going to sleep. We were dressed in layers. I had on leggings and PJ pants, a tank, long sleeve top, hoodie sweatshirt and fuzzy socks and we had a sheet and two blankets, and we were still freezing our asses off. Oy vey, this was going to be a long night. Time to cuddle! I even put my hood on and eventually a beanie underneath. We finally managed to fall asleep but 3 hours into the night I awoke to A yelling, "P! P! The mattress is flat and we're on the hard floor." I could have screamed! So I got off the mattress and A connected the electric air pump thingy and off it went... "Vrmmmm" It sounded like a small lawn mower in the middle of the night. It was full and I was ready to go back to sleep. Our luck ran out in another 3 hours. I awoke again to A: "P! P! Wake up. The mattress is flat again." I could have cared less. All I wanted was to sleep. So I didn't budge. I told her that if she wanted to fill it up again she'd have to do it with me on it. And she did. Eventually it deflated again but this time A didn't bother filling it up. She got up and lay on a couch that was half her size and waited until I woke up. What a night!

That morning we were surprised that nobody had heard the lawn mower.. er, pump, going in the middle of the night. We ragged on Carlos so much about his hospitality that eventually I think we made him feel like complete crap. We also had a minor obstacle when the toilet wouldn't flush. We tried the plunger but that didn't do the trick. Carlos was gone at work again so before we left for the day, we made a pit stop in the complex gym and used the bathroom there. We also used the last of the toilet paper so we decided to "borrow" a roll from the gym until we could get to the store to buy a pack.

That night, which was my birthday, Carlos and Ray were taking us to dinner at a sports bar around the corner. Carlos asked Ray to go ahead with us so he could run to the store and get a new mattress. He didn't show up for an hour and a half. When he did, we had already started drinking and taking shots with Ray. Because we knew the drinks would cost a small fortune, we broughts flasks with us filled with Malibu Rum and we ordered soda. It did the trick and cost us a lot less! Well, it didn't cost us anyway because Ray and Carlos were kind enough to foot the bill as a gift to me for my birthday. What generous guys!!! Upon our return to the apartment, we discovered that Carlos had set up the new mattress with sheets and all and there was a special surprise waiting for us... our own space heater! Carlos... what a guy!!! We were so happy!

The rest of the trip was quite the adventure. We only rode the subway a handful of times, most with Carlos but twice by ourselves. It was rather frightening. Neither of us are good with direction. Even when we ask for help, the second we've turned our backs, we're lost again. We've already screwed up the directions. It's rather pitiful actually. The first time Carlos took us on the subway he tried to lose us to see what our reaction would be. Neither one of us took to that well. We walked all over NYC. We saw the New York Stock Exchange, walked to China Town, SOHO, NOHO, Greenwich Village then to Little Italy where we ate lunch (turns out, I can make better pasta than what I ate there) and had the best canoli I've ever eaten. We saw NYU, Central Park, Columbus Circle, Bryant Park, the NY City Public Library, Rockefeller Plaza, NBC, St. Patrick's Cathedral (powerful spiritual experience), Times Square, the MTV Store and we even went into the MTV building where Carlos works so we could get out of the cold and chat with my dear friend Cesar who I hadn't seen in 15 years. We chatted it up, goofed off and took some pictures. I had to go to the bathroom so bad but Carlos had no idea where the women's restroom was. In his defense, they had just moved into a new building. So off A and I went into the men's bathroom. As I'm finishing up and coming out of the stall, Cesar comes in and starts peeing at the urinal. Gotta love a confident man!

Back to our adventures though. The best experience I had on our trip was, by far, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. I've never done anything like it in my life. My mother swore up and down that I'd never be able to walk across that bridge because I have a fear of heights but I was determined to do it and I did. We got lucky that it was a 40 degree day on the day we decided to face our fears.  It was the most beautiful vision I'd seen... looking across the bridge from Manhattan to Brooklyn and then back at the city from the other side.

There were bridges all around us. It was gorgeous. We thought we'd be the only fools out on a cold day in January but there were tourists everywhere and some locals running or cycling the bridge. When we got to Brooklyn, as usual, we got lost immediately even though we had pretty concise directions from two different people. We asked a woman pushing a stroller in the park how to get to Grimaldi's Pizzeria and she told us the way but guess what? We still managed to walk in a giant circle and get lost. Eventually we found the place and went inside. The pizza was good but not the best which surprised me because I'd been told that this is the best place to get pizza in NYC. On our trip we also managed to eat a knish, a hot dog and a pretzel off the carts which were all delicious. And oh yes, Dean and DeLuca has a yummy soy hot chocolate. But what's up with NYC not having fruits or vegetables??? We looked everywhere and were unable to find avocado, broccoli, string beans, bell peppers, berries, bananas, oranges, etc. I was missing California!

The one day we took the subway by ourselves, Carlos was so worried about our abilities on public transportation that he walked us to the station, took us over to the machine to buy our metro card and then walked us to the turn style where he set us free. We knew where we were headed but when he asked, "Which direction are you going in?" we each pointed in the opposite direction. You could see the look of despair on his face. We broke out in hysterics as he took our pictures heading onto the train. Luckily, as we got on, one of his roommates, Jennifer, the sweetest girl, was getting on the same train and going to the same stop as us. God knew we couldn't handle it on our own yet so he sent us a little angel in the disguise of an Irish accent. Heading home was a whole different ballgame...

On our only trek by ourselves via the subway, we did the unthinkable for directionally, memory-challenged girls from California. We left from Grand Central Station! What a dumb idea for our first, and only, subway venture completely alone. We were totally overwhelmed from the moment we stepped inside this ginormous terminal. There were letters, numbers and arrows posted everywhere directing us to go here or there, left or right, up or down. We were CONFUSED to say the least. There were ticketing windows all along the side walls. The place looked like a Vegas casino (without the alcohol which I coulda used to calm my nerves)! We found the giant information booth in the center and went to the window for help. "Hi, we're from California and we're lost. We're trying to get back to Wall Street and my friend Carlos told us to take the 1,2 or the 4,5. Is that right?" That's how I began the conversation. The man directed us behind him to take one of them (I still can't remember which one cuz it was all a fog). As soon as we stepped around the booth we were immediately lost again. There were too many signs and so many different places to go but I finally saw an escalator and I remembered the guy telling us to go downstairs so off we went. As soon as we got down there, there were more signs, numbers and arrows. Ay, ay, ay... you're killing me here NY. What now? So we found another info booth and told the guy again, "We're from California and we're lost." He told us where to go and again, as we stepped around the corner, big surprise... we're lost! I know you're shocked. The two of us paced back and forth, each in opposite directions, not knowing where to go. I could just picture us as a couple of cartoon characters looking like complete morons racing back and forth. We're from California. That's our excuse. We notice this guy leaning against the wall of the booth where we had just asked for help, standing there shaking his head at us. Obviously he could tell we were tourists but he just laughed... didn't have any pity on us. Man, oh, man. This time, he got us to the train we needed to take and off we went. What an adventure!

On our final night in NYC we went to dinner with the boys at a delicious and very inexpensive Thai restaurant Spice in Union Square. We had a lovely meal and then walked over to check out the federal deficit wall where you watch the numbers digitally increasing per second. It's amazing to see it in person. Off to the subway we went where we said our goodbyes to Ray at his stop and then home to Wall Street. We played cards with Carlos for a little while and got our stuff organized to head home at 4am when the driver was scheduled to pick us up and take us to the airport. We had planned to go to bed but by the time we laid down we just kept thinking how much more difficult it would be to get out the door the next morning if we fell asleep for a couple of hours so we made our way downstairs to the vending machine, bought a couple of cokes to caffeinate ourselves and stayed up playing cards until it was time to go. Ah... I'm gonna miss NYC!