His Name is Juan Der-Ful

by

Do you, at times, make impulsive decisions? I do. I made an impulsive decision earlier today I regret. In yesterday’s blog, La Flor* discovered a new main squeeze. His name is Juan. Like La Flor, Juan is an alt ego. I thought it would be a good idea if I invited La Flor and Juan to Carmen’s Pizzeria. It was a good idea because Carmen uses tacky plaid tablecloths, it’s small, and it’s mostly a take out business. Big Carmen and his son, little Carmen, who is bigger than Big Carmen are the cooks and waiters. I was sure La Flor would say no. She didn’t.  and, it is in Carmen’s Pizzeria where the following takes place.

We are sitting at one of six square tables. We’re the only people in Carmen’s other than Big Carmen and Little Carmen.

Juan said, “Nobody’s here.”

Big Carmen overheard Juan, and said, “Me and Little Carmen are here and use is here. So, what’s your problem? Use with the beautiful, tough, and edgy PI?”

Carmen has a way with the ladies.

La Flor puts a kiss on her palm and sends it off to Big Carmen. Big Carmen said, “If Gina was visiting her mother, I’d ask

Big Carmen said, “If Gina was visiting her mother, I’d ask use to come over. Not use, whoevers you are,” Big Carmen jabs a large flour covered forefinger toward Juan. Then he said,  “I’m talking to the beautiful, tough, and edgy PI.”

La Flor winked at Big Carmen. Then she said, “Now I know where Little Carmen gets his good looks.This table is perfect.”

Big Carmen turns toward Little Carmen, “The beautiful, tough, and edgy PI is one smart dame.”

Back at the table, La Flor said, “What are you doing Juan?”

“I was sitting down, La Flor.”

“Did you forget something?”

I know where this going. A fast ball catches the inside corner of the plate. Strike one. Juan’s young, naĂŻve, self-centered, typical male at that age. I said, “She wants you to help her with her chair.”

Juan looks at the chair, then he looks at me. He looks back at the chair, then he looks at La Flor. I can almost feel his brain trying to make a connection it never made. It’s painful to watch. La Flor cocks a hip and puts a hand on it. I whisper to Juan, “Pull her chair out and don’t forget to slide it in under her as she sits down.”

“Oh. Thanks, man,” said Juan.

La Flor and Juan slide their chairs to the corner of the table. They are holding hands. La Flor, in my opinion, overdressed for Carmen’s, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s La Flor. Juan is staring at her, I want to ask Big Carmen if he has if a bib for Juan, he’s drooling. Instead, I want to get to know this alt ego better. I said, “What is your last name Juan?

Before Juan can answer, La Flor jumped in, she said, “I already told you. Are you sure you’re not having short-term memory problems, Ray?”

“You told me Juan’s last name?” I said.

“Duh, yes I did. His name is Juan Der Ful.”

Juan nodded his head, “Yes I have a hyphenated last name. My mother’s name is DĂŒr and my father’s name is Ful so I’m Juan Der-Ful.”

“How did your parents chose the name Juan,” I asked.

La Flor squeezed Juan’s hand and said, “Do you mind if I tell him?”

Juan shrugs and said, “It’s okay.”

La Flor said, “When the nurse asked his mom what they wanted to name Juan, she said Won.”

“That makes sense.” I said.

“No, Ray. She said, Won.”

“Like the number,” I said.

“No, Ray. You are slow. Won, like winning a game.  It still works because Juan is Juan Der-Ful.”

Little Carmen who is six feet three inches tall, his dark grunge is spotted with flour. his chest and arms overdeveloped from lifting one-hundred-pound sacks of flour came over wearing his sauce and flour stained apron, “Whatchu guys want. How ya doin, beautiful, tough, and edgy PI? You free after? Maybe use and me we go dancing at the new hot alt ego dance club.”

La Flor gives Little Carmen an encouraging smile. Juan makes his first bad move, he gives off a slight scent of male testosterone.

Juan turns toward Little Carmen and is about to say something I fear he will regret until he visits an oral surgeon. Little Carmen spoke first, “Use better be giving me use order and not any crap about me asking the beautiful, tough, and edgy PI to go dancing after she dumps use for the night.”

Juan moved to male level two until he noticed the twelve-inch cutting knife in Little Carmen’s holding left hand. Instead, Juan said, “We haven’t seen menu’s.”

“That’s okay. Me and Big Carmen, we can make any pizza anybody wants, if they wants pizza. Do use wants pizza?” said Little Carmen waving the knife like he was conducting the symphony.

I saw it happen a couple of times before and it never worked out. Juan decides to go full throttle and impress La Flor. He said, “I’ll order for everyone.”

“I looked at La Flor. I know how picky she is about her pizza. And, she is not as picky as me. She rolled her eyes and slid her chair away from the corner of the table.

Juan said, “We want anchovies, lots of them. Don’t skimp. We want sausage baked into the crust. We want big black and green olives. I want you to spell La Flor with the olives. Instead of mozzarella can you use Velveeta.”

Juan sat back his chair, a sense of male pride sweeping over his body. His arms crossed over his chest.

Little Carmen bends over and puts his large, somewhat bent nose three inches from Juan’s face, and said, “The beautiful, tough, and edgy PI don’t like pizza like that. Whoever heard of pizza with Velveeta?”

Juan still being cool said, “Pizza Hut serves it.”

Bam, Little Carmen sticks the point of the knife into the tablecloth. “Big Carmen don’t use Velcheeta. And we don’t have lots of anchovies. Use gets four. No more.”

Big Carmen looks at La Flor, “Does the beautiful, tough, and edgy PI want her special pie with a glass of wine, on the house of course.”

Juan said, “I’ve had enough.”

Little Carmen turned back to Juan and said, “Use full already. That’ll be ten fifty. Thanks for coming. There’s the door.”

Juan looked at La Flor. La Flor was looking at Little Carmen.

I said, “Juan, it’s better if you leave. I’ll cover your tab.”
Today’s Lesson: A Little Carmen in the hand is worth two Juans in a bush (I know it’s not deep or profound. And, it doesn’t make much sense. It was the best I could do on a Saturday).

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

Random Thoughts Flying Toward Me

by

There are times when the unexpected is normal. Living with La Flor* not like anything I previously experienced. The abnormal is normal. The unexpected is expected. And, as far as La Flor is concerned, the world and all its inhabitants, including at ego inhabitants revolve around her. For La Flor, this is life as it is meant to be.

This morning, for example, I decided to break my routine and pass up on the oatmeal and Greek yogurt and opt for a perfectly toasted English muffin, with organic peanut butter spread over it, filling every crevice; Then I drizzled dark golden brown raw honey on it. My taste buds were salivating. I went a bit overboard and sprinkled flax seeds on top of each half. I placed them on my plate and set my plate on the table on the patio. I returned to the kitchen and took hold of my coffee pot. I poured a cup. My coffee was hot, dark, and gave off a caramelly sweet aroma trailed by a hint of smokiness. All was right in my world. La Flor was sleeping, or so I thought. I sat, my hand reached for my cup of coffee when my reverie was broken.

La Flor said from 4 feet behind me, “Ray, is your shampoo safe?”

I need to become more aware the signs of random thoughts flying toward me from La Flor’s cosmos.

“I haven’t given much thought as to whether or not my shampoo was safe, La Flor,” I said without turning around.

“You should,” she said, pulling a chair up next to me and taking my cup out of my hand.

I said, “There are so many other important things to worry about besides shampoo. There are cups in the cupboard.”

“Is that so?” She said and took hold of one-half of my English muffins. She looked at it, and said, “Next time leave the flaxseed off for me, Ray. They get caught in my teeth.”

“I’ll have to remember that, La Flor.”

She took a small bite, chewed for a second, then took a sip of my coffee.  After she swallowed, she said, “Coffee and an English muffin toasted to perfection with creamy peanut butter and raw honey is a great combo. You need to try it sometime.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “What about the shampoo?”
“Oh yah. You know when you’re washing your hair you’re just tossing chemicals on it. It’s not good for your skin or your hair.”

“Did you wash your hair today, La Flor.  It looks especially radiant.”

“Of course, I washed my hair.”

“Why are you complaining about my shampoo?”

“Do you think I would use your shampoo? The Target special.”

“I did not get it from Target.”

“Walmart?

“No.”

“Where did you purchase the plastic container of chemicals that can peel paint off a car?”

“I will tell you if you first tell me where you are getting your information.”

“Okay. My mystery writer friend and I stopped over at the natural food store. We were in the shampoo aisle when this guy took a look at me and fell in love on the spot. I have this effect on men.”

“My species can’t help themselves when you enter the room.”

“It’s a curse I live with,” said La Flor.This is new. What’s his name and what does he do?”

“What’s his name and what does he do?”

“He is a naturalist. His name is Juan.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Are you talking about Juan or being a naturalist?”

“Let’s stay with naturalist for the moment.”

“For sure, Ray. It means he naturally fell for me.  Of course, he couldn’t help but fall for La Flor the beautiful, tough, and edgy PI.”

“How does he wash his hair?” I don’t know why I asked this question. I think I have low blood sugar. She is now eating the other half of my muffin.

“You’re getting very personal, do you care to rephrase that?”

“Okay, does he wash his hair with chemicals?”

“No, Ray he buys it the Natural food store. This goes with his being a naturalist and falling for me naturally and the shampoo container says all natural. It’s like the perfecto stormo.”

“And, why are you listening to him?”

“He is 6 feet 2.  He has the most gorgeous brown eyes. And, I think I’m in love. And, he has money.”

“Sounds like he has all the right qualifications. And, all this happened over shampoo?”

“Go figure,” La Flor said.

“Can you tell me a bit more about Juan?”

“He is Juan der ful.”

And to think how peaceful my day started. I said, “I think I’ll make myself an English muffin, do you want anything?”

“A warm up on my coffee, if you don’t mind.”

Our best plans often get interrupted. Getting upset or angry over the interruption doesn’t recreate the ideal we wanted. Going with the current eliminates the anger, resentment, and often offers some pleasant surprises. 

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

What Is Life All About?

by

“What is life all about, Ray?”

I’m sitting at my desk trying to come up with a cute idea for today’s blog and La Flor* asks about the meaning of life. My head feels like it’s performing on the uneven parallel bars at the Olympics. I ask her for clarification, “Why are you asking me, La Flor*? Do I look like I’ve figured it out?”

“Not a chance. Who else is there to ask. I don’t see anyone else in the room with us, Ray.  Who do you think I was asking, if not you,” asked La Flor? A puzzled look on her face as she glances around the room.

I pondered her question. La Flor is serious. I can’t criticize her. I’ve had colleagues accuse me of being ADHD and that was one of their nicer compliments. I don’t know what prompted La Flor to ask me what life is all about.

I turned the question around and said, “What do you think life is all about, La Flor?”

La Flor looked at me, shrugged, and said, “I always do better in deep conversations with a glass of wine, crackers, and cheese. I know you don’t drink. I still can’t figure an Italian not drinking wine. This is one of the mysteries that Leflore, beautiful, tough, and edgy is trying to figure out. I’ll be right back.”

I’m trying to get used to La Flor slipping between the first and third person as if her conversation were normal. I’m still not used to it.

Five minutes later, La Flor places a glass half filled with Sauvignon Blanc,  a wedge of fresh buffalo mozzarella, and wheat crackers and the remainder of the bottle on my desk next to my laptop. I’m freaking out. What if she gets excited and knocks over her wine on my keyboard?

“Problemo, Ray?”

I do my guy thing showing nothing bothers me even when it really does. “No problemo, La Flor. I looked at her wheat crackers and tossed a bit of guy humor toward her, “Good thing you don’t have a gluten allergy,” I said.

“Ray, if we’re going to have a serious conversation about life back off and let me sip my wine, a few bites of my cheese and crackers and I’ll be ready. What would make you want to talk about glue? I don’t have a glue allergy I don’t use glue.”

I made a mental note about the tough part of the beautiful, tough, and edgy description. I’ve not seen it before. It fits.

La Flor took a sip of wine, another bite of mozzarella on a wheat cracker and then said,  “I’m trying to help you, Ray. I’ll keep it simple. Like you say, guy speak.”

“I can use all the help I can get,” I said.

“Life is like the perfect cup of coffee.”

“I hope Starbucks doesn’t steal that as a slogan. That’s pretty good, La Flor. What does it mean?”

“Am I being a little too deep for you, Ray?”

” I’m over my head in this conversation, La Flor.”

“The perfect cup of coffee has the right balance of boldness, a sassy flavor, and an aroma that makes you want to keep coming back for more,” La Flor said with a smug sense of self-satisfaction.

“I think I’m getting your point, La Flor. The perfect cup of coffee is like you.”

“I never thought of it that way, but there are striking similarities. And if I may continue
”

“Please do, La Flor. I’m interested in knowing more about what life is all about.”

La Flor poured more wine into her glass. She took another sip, and said, “When life is all wrong, it’s like a bad cup of coffee.”

“How’s so,” I said.

“Oh, Ray, you really need to get out more. You have to begin to have conversations with people who are interested in things other than the Boston Red Sox, the New England Patriots, Ohio State football, and good pizza venues.”

“I didn’t know there was more to life,” I said. I was worried she may be right. If she is, it will create an imbalance in my perfect world.

“No wonder, girls night out has become institutionalized. We need deep, intelligent, conversations free from football, baseball, and action-adventure flicks. It’s the kind of talk we can only get from each other.”

“Remind me if you would like to see the Spiderman movie with me this weekend?”

La Flor looked at me, then grabbed the bottle of wine to refill her glass. I wasn’t sure if I was the cause.

“You never explained to me how life going wrong is like a bad cup of coffee,” I said.

“Do I really. really need to explain to you what a bad cup of coffee tastes like?”

“I get your point. Did you get your question answered, La Flor?”

“What question, Ray?”

“What is life all about?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Ray.  Why would you want to know? Are you having an existential crisis?”

“Where did you pick up that term? And do you know what it means?”

“I was practicing my PI stuff over at the philosophy blog. They were having a heated discussion about an existential crisis. I walked in and told them to take it to the UN to solve the crises.”

“How did that work?

“La Flor, beautiful, tough, and edgy PI stopped the argument. They couldn’t speak. I think the group leader was hyperventilating. They stared at me with their mouths wide open. I bowed and left.”

“I’m impressed, La Flor.”

“I enjoyed our deep conversation.  A bit of a heads up for you, Ray.”

“What’s that, La Flor?”

“Deep conversations can be very boring. I think I would rather you talk about football. At least you know what you’re talking about, some of the time. Are you going to let me in your fantasy football league?”

“We have six weeks to think about it, La Flor”.

” Okay, in the meantime, I think I will text my alt ego friends to come on over and enjoy life with me. I’ll be happy we can spend time together. You don’t mind, do you, Ray?”alt ego friends to come on over and enjoy life with me. I’ll be happy we can spend time together. You don’t mind, do you, Ray?”

“You go girl.”

I like La Flor’s attitude, life is about living it, enjoying friends, filling the moments with love, happiness, and joy. La Flor grabs hold of life with both hands and won’t let go. I think I’ll do the same.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

,

I Need My Piece of Chocolate

by

“La Flor*, I think it’s time we had a frank discussion about chores in our house.”

“I don’t have time, Ray. My plate is full.”

“Help me, La Flor. What do you mean by, your plate is full?”

“Do you really want me to tell you everything I do? It will take some time.  I’ll cut to the chase, I need an administrative assistant.”

“You need an administrative assistant? Why?”

“If you followed me. Ray, you’d understand. I don’t know how much longer I can keep up my frantic pace. Please create one in for me?”

“Create one for you? Surely, you’re jesting?”

“I jest not. Make my administrative assistant about 6 feet 3 inches. A male with a six pack and I’m not talking beer.  He’ll need a good sense of humor to match mine. Thick dark hair so I can run my hands through it. He’ll look good in jeans or a tux. A personality that will jump at my beck and call. And, one who is going to escort me wherever I want to go, when I want to go.”

“Having a tough time finding a guy to fill this description?”

“It’s a tough world I face every day, Ray. I’d like to think one of your species might step up.”

“I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this, La Flor. How long have you been thinking about an administrative assistant?”

“Since the breakup. I’m not getting enough sleep with everything I have to do. You might think of picking up a bit of the slack.”

“What do you do, La Flor, besides giving me a difficult time? Do you think you could fold, sort, and deliver clothes after they come out of the dryer.”

“No can do, Ray. That is one the ten worst jobs in the world. It’s a big time stress producer. I’ll ruin my nails. The heat from the dryer will damage my skin. When I took this job as your alt ego, there was nothing said about folding, sorting, and delivering clothes from the dryer. No alt ego in her right mind would accept such a job. Notice I did not say “his” because we all know that male alt egos are often not in their right minds, so they might accept the job.”

“Just tell me a couple of the things you do that keep your plate full.”

“I’ll give you the biggee. I have to spend a google of time in front of the mirror making myself look beautiful, tough, and edgy. Remember, I am La Flor, PI.”

“You will not let me forget you are La Flor, PI. What else do you do?”

“I consult with my friend at the mystery writers blog.  We go out for coffee at Starbucks. They make a much better cup of coffee than you do, Ray.”

“That one hurt. How much time do you spend at Starbucks?”

“It depends. We might be there all day if there are any good looking, unattached guys hanging around. It’s a full-time job looking for the right guy. They are a rare find in your species.”

“How about cooking meals once or a week?”

“That is so old school, Ray. Have you heard of the code word restaurant?”

“What about vacuuming.”

“I prefer to get my exercise at the gym. You never know when I’ll need a good-looking guy to spot for me as I lift weights.”

“I suppose cutting the grass is out of the question?”

“Yes, it’s out of the question. So is sweeping the floor. So is cleaning the bathroom. Do you think the Queen of England does any of these things? And, do you think any of the first ladies have ever done any of these things? Case closed.”

“Are you comparing yourself to the Queen of England? Or, to the first ladies?”

“Oh no, I have so much more going for me.”

“Can you see how my plate is full?”

“I think I just entered a parallel universe.”

“I don’t have time to go there.”

“Where?”

“The parallel universe. I forgot to mention with everything I have to do, I don’t have time to waste in some parallel universe. Is that down by The Gap? Are we done? I’ve got something important to do.”

“What’s that, La Flor?”

“I need my piece of chocolate so my heart will be healthy. I’m going to take a box of chocolates and go to see my friend at the mystery writers blog. We will have chocolates, something to drink, and good conversation. I’d love Pasta tonight, ciao.”

“Ciao?”

Each day life fills us with surprises. Some we embrace with open arms, others embrace us whether we like it or not. Getting upset over life’s unpleasant surprises doesn’t help solve the problems they present. Identifying constructive ways to work through or around our problems is an emotionally healthy path to follow. 

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

Is There an Alt Ego PI Meetup?

by

I’m practicing my PI observation techniques. Ray is out on the patio watching the birds. He has a large glass of iced tea next to him. The glass is sweating. It’s south Texas. It’s summer. And, it’s hotter than hell. I’ve never been to hell, I have no intention of going there. But, if it’s anything like a town we passed through on a trip through west Texas, I want no part of it.

Ray’s lips are moving. He either talking to the birds or to himself. I’m wondering if I should go outside and see if he suffering from heatstroke. No, it’s too hot. I’ll keep an eye on him. If he slumps over, falls out of the chair, or starts dancing the salsa without salsa music, I’ll call 911. The paramedics are used to heat cases. Oh no, he’s getting up. He’s coming in. I don’t have time to move his laptop and delete this file…

“What are you doing with my laptop, La Flor*?”

“What laptop, Ray?”

“The one in front of you.”

“That’s a laptop? I thought it was a table ornament,” La Flor said, arranging my MacBook to align with the table edges.

“Were you trying to write a blog?” I asked.

“Who me?” La Flor said, pointing an index finger to her chest.

“Yes, you.”

“Are you serious, Ray?”

“I am serious. It is my personal computer.”

“I thought we shared everything in this household.”

“I don’t share your attitude, La Flor.”

“I’m willing to share it with you, it might help.”

“Let me see what you wrote.”

“They were random thoughts. I’ll delete the file,” La Flor said and opened the MacBook.

“No, you don’t,” I said and took a step toward the table.

“Yes, I do.” La Flor rapidly tapped keys as if she were a virtuoso pianist.  “Too late I deleted everything,” she said. A smirk smile on her face.

“Have you heard of the cloud?” I said giving La Flor my impression of a smirk smile.

La Flor walked to the window. She opened the plantation shutters. She gazed at the Texas summer sky. “It’s a perfectly clear day, not a cloud in the sky. I think you had too much sun.”

“I have the file on my iPhone. I retrieved it from the cloud,” I said.

“Did not. There are no clouds; you are not going to trick me,” said La Flor, her arms folded.

“Let me read it to you,” I said.

“It’s not fair. You make something up and put it in the blog. You don’t care about my feelings,” said La Flor doing a poor job of acting hurt.

“You trying out for the local theater group? Meeting a new set of friends might be a nice change,” I said.

“I don’t do local theater. I don’t do church choirs. I don’t do sneak and peek cases if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“You should read my friend’s blog. It might help.

I offered La Flor a suggestion, “Is there a PI meetup? Maybe you’ll meet a male alt ego PI. Someone with the same interests.”

“Problemo, Ray.”

“What is the problemo, La Flor?”

“First, it’s a good thing we’re fluent in a foreign language. You never know who is listening.”

“Or, reading,” I added.

“I’m smarter, tougher, and edgier than any male alt ego PI. I didn’t want to toss my beauty in, it would be overkill.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“For me, no. For males, duh! You know your species.”

“It would be a chance in ten million, no make it twenty million, no make it beyond impossible.”

What?” I asked.

“Finding a male alt ego smarter, tougher, edgier than me. But, they will all act like they are. There is the problem.”

“I see your point.”

“Think about it, Ray. There’s got to be more to life than sitting in at a PI meetup with a bunch of guys trying to outdo the other with stories they’re making up. I might add, there’s more to life than sitting on a patio watching birds fly in and out five bird feeders and talking to them.”

“We’re running out of space, La Flor. You started today’s blog, why don’t you end it.”

“I thought you’d never ask, Ray.”

“I’m talking to women out there, all the beautiful, tough, edgy women like me, La Flor PI.  And of course, to all the men who want to meet the beautiful, tough, and edgy women like me, La Flor PI.”

“La Flor,” I said.

“Don’t interrupt me, Ray, I’m on a roll.”

Chase your dreams, girls.  Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not smart enough or worthy of good things happening to you.  Don’t settle for second best, third best, or fourth best. If it doesn’t happen right away, don’t quit. Don’t give up. When you give your best, what you give will be good for everyone.

“Are you going to edit this, Ray?”

“Not at all, La Flor. Your advice is good for everyone. It’s good for men and women, alt egos, and everyone in between. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, Ray.  Now let’s get bust loose.”

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

Please Don’t Take My Coffee

by

Sometimes the simple pleasures in life are the best pleasures; like sitting down at my breakfast bar enjoying a hot cup of dark roasted coffee. I like my coffee in a clear cup that way I enjoy the variants of the coffee’s colors. I smell the aroma of cocoa and the smokey scent as it wafts up to my nose. I anticipate my first sip the way a young child anticipates Christmas. As I’m bringing my cup to my lips, I hear…

“Ray,  Ray don’t take that sip. Hand me your cup, por favor,” said La Flor*.

I hand my cup to La Flor. She takes hold of it. Steps away from me and simultaneously grabs the coffee pot. She carries my cup and the pot of coffee to the door leading to the patio.

“What are you doing, La Flor? Leave my coffee alone. Don’t take it away from me. Why are you wearing sunglasses? The sun is barely up?”

“My sunglasses are a statement any time of day. The coffee’s mine, Ray. It’s all mine. Don’t dare follow me. I’m desperate. I need it all.”

“Please, La Flor don’t kid with me. I’ll get a caffeine headache. I’ll have the shakes by 9 a.m. I’ll be mean-tempered by 9:05 a.m. I won’t be able to finish my blog.”

“I’m saving your life.”

“You are not saving my life,” I said.

“Am too,” she said.

“Are not,” I said and wished I didn’t say it. When am I going to get out of third grade?

La Flor had one leg out the door, her butt pushing the door open. Her eyes darting between the patio and me. She said, “Am too.”

I had to break the cycle of silliness. I said, “How are you saving my life?”

“I’m saving you from someone who could be potentially dangerous if she didn’t have a lot of coffee this morning.”

“Do I know this person?” I asked.

“La Flor PI doesn’t want to answer that question.”

“Why are you talking in the third person?” I asked.

La Flor took a quick look around the kitchen, then said, “I only see you, Ray. Then, of course, there is me, whom I can’t see because I can’t hold a mirror, coffee cup, and coffee pot at the same time. I don’t see a third person. I don’t understand why you said I was talking in the third person.”

“You’re taking this too far, La Flor. Take my XBox. Take my iPad. But, please don’t take my coffee.”

“Too bad, Ray. It comes with the territory of living in the same quarters with La Flor, beautiful, tough, and edgy PI. Think of me as your personal security.”

“I don’t recall hiring you as a bodyguard. I don’t recall hiring you for anything. What time did you get in last night?”

“Let’s not change the subject, Ray.”

I knew I was on to something, I pushed on, “Let’s change the subject, La Flor. Did you get in?”

“Let’s put it this way, The time I got in is the time I got in. Does this make sense to you?”

“La Flor, do you think you are talking to one of your alt ego males?”

“It was worth a shot, Ray. They’re not too bright.”

“How much sleep did you get?”

“La Flor, beautiful, tough, and edgy PI, doesn’t sleep when she’s on the job.”

“Please quit with the third-person. It’s going to give me the hives. Did you just get home?”

“I’m home now. That should count for something. I was out having breakfast with my mystery writer blog friend. We wanted an early morning breakfast. I knew this day would be action-packed trying to keep you out of trouble. I chose a healthy breakfast instead of eating something you might make for me.”

“You don’t think oatmeal and Greek yogurt and fruit are healthy?”

“Oh, heavens no, Ray. And when you add walnuts and flaxseed to your Greek yogurt, it’s a turnoff.”

“May I ask where you had breakfast and what you ate?”

“Sure, we got breakfast tacos at Paco’s Taco food truck.”

“I think I am catching on, La Flor. Let me guess, Paco’s Taco food truck happened to be in front of the alt ego bar. Is this a correct assumption?”

“You’re on fire. You didn’t need your coffee. I’m going to sit on the patio. I have a headache, my eyes feel swollen, and my tongue tastes terrible. Please don’t play music.”

“Are you hungover?”

“I like to experience all life has to offer.”

“Enjoy the coffee and peace, La Flor. I’m headed for Starbucks.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

One thing we share in common is imperfections. Recognizing my imperfections helps me to accept La Flor in her imperfections. She didn’t need a lecture or to feel shame for her long night or hangover. She was being who she is and figuring her way through her alt ego life in much the same way as I am figuring my way through life. We all need more understanding and lot less criticism.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

 

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

by

I open the door to La Flor’s room. She’s lying on her bed in a fetal position, her pillow covering her head. Her iPad blaring blues music.

“La Flor* what’s wrong?” I said.

Her muffled voice said, “I don’t want to talk, Ray. Leave me alone go away.”

“No, I am not going to leave you alone until you talk to me. I want to know what’s wrong. You are not a blues music kind of girl. You walk and talk with the beat of life kind of girl. Now get out of the fetal position and let’s go into the kitchen and have some coffee and talk about whatever is bothering you.”

Grudgingly, Flor untangled herself from her fetal position and sat up on the edge of the bed.

I took a look at her and said, “I think you should go to the bathroom and freshen up a bit.”

“Do I look that bad?” La Flor’s eyes raised to meet mine.

“Yes,” I answered. I knew right away, I said the wrong thing. It’s a species thing. I got to work on it.

“Are you going to put that in the blog? I don’t want my readers thinking I had a bad look.”

“Too late, it’s already in,” another male faux pax.

La Flor rose from the bed, went to the bathroom, turned to me, and said, “Is there any ice cream left? What about the chocolate cake? I think there were couple Fudgsicles left.”

“You cleaned up the ice cream. You licked the crumbs from the one-third of chocolate cake that was left until the plate. The Fudgsicles sticks have no chocolate stain on them.”

“Can you send out for pizza?”

“You can’t eat your way through this.”

“I can try.”

“Do you know how much weight you will gain if you keep this up?”

“If you’re good friend, you will write that no matter how much I eat I don’t gain an ounce.”

“I’m a good friend, but not that good of a friend. You’ve got to get control of yourself. Now go freshen up and we’ll talk.”

“10 minutes later I knocked on the bathroom door, “La Flor you have to come out of the bathroom.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to face the world.”

“I don’t have anything to live for.”

“Coffee and a snack are ready for you.”

The bathroom door opened. La Flor stepped out. I gave her a smile. She walked past me into the kitchen.

We sat at the table.  La Flor and I both have filled coffee mugs in front of us.

“Where is my snack?” she said.

I walked to the refrigerator and brought out a small bowl of blackberries and strawberries.

La Flor stared at them, then said, “At least you could have had chocolate covered strawberries and chocolate covered blackberries.” She got up, went to the cupboard and pulled out a jar of peanut butter.

I said, “Okay La Flor, spill the beans what is it, I have a feeling it is guy trouble.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, I could hardly tell anything was bothering you.”

“I do hold my feelings well.”

“Yeah, it was a wild guess on my part,” I said.

“I got an email from Jack.”

“And, what did Jack say?”

“He said he was thinking of getting a court order to have me cease-and-desist from stalking him.”

“Were you stalking him?”

“No, I was not stalking him. He mistook my 300 texts a day as stalking.  And, only 100 texts each day were selfies so he wouldn’t forget me.”

“It appears that your relationship is over. Look in the mirror, you are Leflore, beautiful, tough, and edgy, PI.”

La Flor pulled the teaspoon full of peanut butter away from her lips and smiled. She said, “Ray, you are right. He’s getting to be old-school. I’ve got to set my sights higher. He probably goes to bed at 9 o’clock. My day is just beginning at that time.”

“You’re a night owl.”

“That’s when the action starts, Ray.” La Flor looked over to the trash basket and said, “Did you eat all the cake and ice cream? You didn’t save me a Fudgsicle? I have a suggestion for you.”

“What is it, La Flor?”

“When you go to the Y, spend two hours at full speed. Maybe you can cut half of those calories off.”

“Maybe so La Flor, maybe so.  What are you going to do?”

“I’m texting my friend at the mystery writers blog and seeing if she wants to go out with me tonight. There’re lots of fish in the ocean.”

May the good Lord have mercy on the male alt ego species.

We all have down times. We all slip into depression. That’s where friends count. A friend who will be there with us. A friend who will not judge us. A friend who will listen quietly. And, a friend who will help lift us out of the darkness and into the sunlight.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

I Will Never Understand Your Species

by

“Ray, I’ve come up with a great idea for your blog today.”

“This ought to be good, La Flor*.  Last time you suggested a blog topic, you wanted me to write about the health benefits of wearing Christian Louboutin high heels. All I could think about were the impending lawsuits.”

“Start thinking about an attitude shift, Ray. Your blogs need to be edgy. They’re not. Your blogs should be groundbreaking. They’re not. Your blogs need to focus on the alt ego market share. They don’t.”

“Thanks for the blog critique, La Flor. The alt ego market is virtually untapped.”

“Now you’re thinking.”

“Okay, La Flor, I’m game, what is your idea for today’s blog?”

“La Flor, PI is on duty 24/7.”

“I get that. That’s your idea?”

“No, that is not my idea. But, because I am on duty 24/7 I found the dirt on your species that is going to make you World famous.”

“I have no desire to be world-famous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“If we keep going, I’ll have my blog. You have dirt on my species that no one knows about? Do you know what you’re talking about?”

“Ellen and Oprah will be all over it. Movies will be on Oxygen. You’ll need an agent. I have an alt ego friend who’ll do me a fav and take you on”

“Fav?”

“You’ve got to start thinking and talking Hollywood, Ray.”

“Okay, I’ll think Hollywood, if it will help us get to the end.”

“When we went to the Y today to work out, I discovered something about your species that no one knows now but me.”

“Are you sure This is going to be new and groundbreaking?”

“I made videos with my iPhone to show on E!”

“I didn’t buy you an iPhone, where did you get it?”

“One of my friends at another blog understands how tight you are with money. She had her creator write me in a blog and give me an iPhone.”

“Wait a minute, you were written in the blog without my permission.”

“No, they had your permission, I signed your name to the permission slip.”

“You forged my name, then took photos of my species. I hope you didn’t go into the locker room.”

“What kind of beautiful, tough, and edgy private investigator do you think I am?”

“I plead the 5th Amendment.”

“I didn’t go in the men’s locker room. But, I did observe eight of your species for 20 minutes. And, when I give you this information it’s strictly on the QT.”

“I can hardly wait,” I said, trying to keep myself from dozing off.

“All eight of the members of your species were lifting weights.”

“That’s not unusual at the Y. I don’t consider that groundbreaking or earth shattering.”

“Do you know what they were doing while they were lifting weights?”

“I have no idea. I was busy on the elliptical machine. And, BTW watching ESPN.”

“Your species is narcissistic. Each of the men, while they were lifting weights, was staring at themselves in the mirror and watching their muscles go up and down. I don’t understand your species. Do they think that that turns women on?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask your species.”

“Oh, for heaven sakes, Ray. No, it doesn’t turn us on.”

“Give my species a bit of a break, La Flor. There are few things in life we truly enjoy. Football, Fantasy Football, the NFL draft, waiting for football season, and watching our muscles while we lift weights at the gym.”

“I will never understand your species.”

“Don’t even try La Flor. It’s a mystery, even to me; and, I’m one of the species.”

Trying to understand why someone does something is a natural human phenomenon. Yet, it often results in faulty conclusions, incorrect judgments, and inaccurate responses. Even where the relationship is trusting, open, and honest, both parties may never fully understand the why of behavior. If it causes problems, resolve not to do it again, ask forgiveness, reconcile, and move on.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

I’ll Have a Margarita

by

“I am bored Ray. Let’s do something other than blog, blog, blog.”

‘What do you suggest, La Flor*? You got your start because of a blog and now you’re turning your back on it? It smacks of being a bit ungrateful, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. You don’t listen to the same song all the time, do you? I am so tired of you playing the same songs every morning over and over again. I’ve memorized all of them.

“I like those songs. Besides, you don’t sound like George Strait.”

“It’s the same food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Today’s Friday, and I already know what you’re going to cook for Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. How about the time you leave for the Y? Shall I continue?”

“Stop. I get your point. What do you suggest we do to break the routine?”

“Let’s go to the Riverwalk. You can order your iced tea. I’ll get a margarita. And, we will people watch and make snap judgments.”

“A Margarita?” I asked.

“What other kinds of drink do you suggest for a beautiful, tough, and edgy PI on the San Antonio Riverwalk?”

“How about ice water with lemon?”

30 minutes later we were sitting under red, white, and green umbrella at a table next to the San Antonio River on the Riverwalk. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments.

A mariachi band was playing close by. I like mariachi music. There’s something about it that will never make the top of the charts, yet, it tugs at the heartstrings – especially when you’re writing a blog. When the song ended, the leader of the mariachi band came over. He took off his sombrero and bow, then said, “Senor, would you like us to play a haunting romantic melody for the señorita and you?”

I was about to say no, when La Flor said, “Perfecto.”

I wondered where La Flor was picking up her knowledge of the Spanish language. Within seconds, a trumpet player, a violin player, and a guitar player who doubled as a vocalist surrounded us. We were the center of attention on the Riverwalk. I wanted to crawl under the table. La Flor moved her chair closer to me. I looked at her and said, “You’re embarrassing me.”

She grabbed hold of my arm. I removed it. She grabbed hold of it again. With my other hand, I reached into my pants pulled out a $20 and asked the leader to move on. A wave of the sombrero, a bow, and thankfully La Flor released my arm to applaud.

“You are not my girlfriend,” I said.

She said, “I’m a girl, right?”

“Right,” I answered, too blind to see the sixteen-wheeler approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.

“I’m your friend, right?” she said.

“Right,” I answered and switched metaphors. ‘Houston, Houston,” my mind screamed, ‘I have a problem.’ Only problem, NASA isn’t reading my mind.

I fell head first into the fifth-grade trap.

La Flor said, “Then I’m your girlfriend.”

“What about Jack Reacher?” I asked.

“What Jack doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said.

“How many margaritas have you had?” I asked.

“Not to worry, Ray. The chips and salsa absorb the Marguerite.”

“What are you talking about?”

La floor didn’t answer me. She took one more sip of her margarita and said, with the littlest voice I’ve heard in years, “Ray, I’m so happy you are the designated driver. La Flor PI is taking the rest of the day off. Can we go home?” Burp

We went to the Riverwalk with the intention of making snap judgments on other people. All in good fun. Not intending any harm. We didn’t make any snap judgments. There may have been many snap judgments made about us and deservedly so. I have no intention of making any towards La Flor. She’s sleeping so I can tell you she has a heart of gold and her rough edges, at times, obscure the wonderful person she is. That is true of all of us. Our rough edges often hide our genuine goodness.

* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a  single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI.  It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.

 

 

You Can’t Keep Your Feelings Bottled

by

“Why are we here, La Flor? I’m only going along with this to keep you happy. A happy character is a contented character.”

“If our relationship is going to work, Ray. We need counseling.”

“What relationship?”

“Why are men afraid of relationship counseling? Don’t be afraid of letting it go, Ray.”

“Letting what go?”

“Your feelings. You can’t keep them bottled inside.”

“BTW, men are not afraid of relationship counseling. It’s just, just that it conflicts with ESPN, the Comedy Channel, fantasy football, and wondering what’s for dinner. Besides, I’m not afraid of counseling. I just don’t need it because there is no relationship between the two of us.”

“There is the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You’re in denial.”

“About what?”

“Our relationship.”

“What relationship?”

We’re going in circles, Ray. Can we change the subject?

“Okay, what is the name of the psychologist? Is it a male or female? Why didn’t I get a voice in the matter?”

“He is very famous. He comes highly recommended. I thought having a male psychologist would make you feel more comfortable.”

“Who recommended this psychologist?”

“My mystery writer girlfriend. She used him in one of her mysteries to break a cold case,” said La Flor paying more attention to her emery board than to me.

“La Flor, let me see if I have this straight. I’m going to counseling with a fictitious character I created because she thinks she and I have a relationship problem?”

“Right.”

“I’m not finished. Your good friend, who writes a mystery writers blog, whom I’m never met, recommended a psychologist she uses in her blog to solve cold cases.”

“Right.”

“I have more. I believe the mystery writer is the alt ego of a real person and is a created character like you.”

“You’re on fire, Ray.”

“What am I, a real person, doing going to counseling with a fictitious psychologist suggested by a fictitious blog writer and character I created over relationship problems?”

“He can help, Ray. He’s a very, very famous psychiatrist.”

“And, whom might he be?”

“Dr. Joe Brothers. He’s Joyce Brothers twin brother. He married Dr. Phil’s sister. Sounds strange, right.”

“I’m having a difficult time following you, La Flor. Are you sure about your facts?”

“You’re confusing Dr. Joe Brothers with Sigmund Fraud. Check that, Dr. Phil. That’s it, you’re confusing Dr. Brothers with Dr. Phil.”

“You did say Sigmund Fraud, not Freud? Does Joe have a mustache?”

“Yes, Sigmund Fraud was the famous one, the other one stole all his ideas. As for Dr. Joe, he did have a mustache, just like Dr. Phil, but he went to an alt ego dermatologist from Dr. Oz’s blog and had it lasered off. The dermatologist worked the laser like LeBron James works a basketball.”

“He must be good.”

“The best in the blogosphere. Be quiet, here he comes.”

Dr. Joe Brothers ignored me and walked over to La Flor. She rose to greet him. They hug. He said, “La Flor, how delicious to see you again.” Kiss, kiss on each cheek.

I said, “La Flor, is this the Dr. Joe Brothers you were telling me about?”

Brothers looked at me without turning his head, nice trick the way he moved his eyes so the one blue iris and one green iris rested in the corners of his eyes. From the way he kept his face toward La Flor, I was sure he had a crush on her. He mumbled something about my nose and ears I didn’t catch. He should talk, he’s got at least three-quarters of an inch on me if we’re measuring noses. He took La Flor by the hand and ushered her into his office, I trailed behind.

Brothers had an iPad he pretended to type notes on. I know he pretended because Siri kept saying “Please change your settings if you want to access this site.”

He turned the iPad over and said to me, “May I call you Way?”

He attempted to sound like he was from some European country. But you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the boy.

“My name is Ray, not Way.”

“Are you making fun of my wisp?”

I turned to La Flor and said, “Why are we here? This isn’t real. He’s not real. He’s a character like you.”

“Way,” Dr. Brothers said, “Have you considered that we are weal and you are not weal?”

“What do you mean by weal?” I said, irritated.

“It’s this way, Way. What’s weal is weal.”

If I didn’t think he was real, what was I doing here? Had I lost my grip on reality? It’s all La Flor’s doing.

He turned to La Flor and said, “Ways denial is wery deep.

“I’m going to rewrite the whole thing,” I said.

He turned to La Flor, “Darling, I thought you said it was your blog?”

“Matter of time, but don’t call me darling, one man has my heart.”

“Is it Way?”

“No, it’s Jack Reacher.”

“I thought we left that two blogs ago,” I said

“A girl can dream can’t she right? Can’t she?”

Every now and then our relationships hit a bump in the road. Small bumps may seem like mountains. When both parties have the courage to step back and acknowledge their relationship is worth the effort to save it; it is the first step to smoothing out the bump, growing closer, and becoming stronger as a couple. It takes two, it always takes two to make it work. When both express their feelings in an open, honest and non-threatening way, breakthroughs happen.

 

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