Okay I understand why many oppressed groups use “they tried to burry us, but they didn’t realize we were seeds”, however this was coined by Latinos, and more specifically Mexicans. This is very important because my people have been found in ditches. We have been buried by cartel, government, law enforcement very literally. Thousands of bodies have been found all across Mexico in mass graves, in ditches and random holes along highways and roads. The term is very literal and holds heavy metaphorical meaning too. Please leave it just to the Mexican community to use, out of respect for the specific struggle we have gone through.


In recognition of National Latinos Day, here’s a little Selena Q. Perez & Jennifer Lopez appreciation 😍🔥✨👑💕🙏🏽


This is part of a disturbing trend that has been picking up speed for the last few years. It’s one of the worst examples of cultural appropriation. You can’t just slap clothes on a skeleton statue and call it a “calaca”. There’s a specific style, feel, and coloration to art and deco for Dia De Los Muertos. What’s worse is that the work is even outsourced to China.

It upsets me because I actually care and am interested in my own culture. I have been trying to get more artwork and decorations and look into the history of the day more, but you can only get so much here in the U.S., even living within an hour and a half from the border. I want more, but I want it done right. I work retail and I’ve brought it to my bosses attention in the past, to no avail. Maybe y'all can help spread the word so companies can stop doing this.


     I don’t make goals that often, which will be the tagline for my future online dating profile, so who was I kidding when I planned on just going to work and coming home for the remainder of this month?

     Max, who recently went to court for a 2009 arrest for smuggling drugs across the boarder, invited me to join him and the boys after work for a drink at El Zacatecas. How could I not? Not only have I been wanting to go to this shady bikini bar ever since I moved to Venice ten years ago, but also it was a chance to hang out with Max, whose coke habit gives hope for a regrettable blow job behind the dumpster. I’d love to burry my nose in his belly as I gag.

     The armed doorman patted us down, which probably had something to do with Steve A’s one-line review on YELP: “three guys were shot here 3/27/14″. I also read that the place was slapped with a warning by state licensing officials for acts of “moral turpitude”. Turpitude, new word for me. Sounds pretty.

     The place was dark. We got a table against the wall. I thought that they’d just have dancers on stage, but I was wrong. Thick Latinas made their way to the floor, where all the boys pointed to me and chanted, “El! El! El!” I shook my finger no and yelled, “No tengo dinero,” hoping that’d stop her from sitting on me, but it didn’t.

     She used her legs to force mine shut, then sat on my lap and started gyrating. Face to face. Her hair tickled my neck and she smelt like mango.  

     “A mi me gusta verga,” I whispered.

     “No me importa,” she said then flipped over, put one leg on my shoulder, and started shaking her nalgas. She grabbed one of my hands and put it on her right breast and made me squeeze it. Jesus Christ, what’s with me and squeezing tits lately? What if all this time I was playing a trick on everyone and really wasn’t gay, but rather just doing it for attention? I wanted to tell her that her pounding was actually hurting my crotch, but I’m not a monster and realized she’s a working girl just doing her job, so I stuffed a $5 in her G-String, slapped her ass, and sent her on her way.

     I only had two beers, which was good, but Max kept trying to get me to do coke. He had it stored in a crinkled up $5 bill that he’d pull out every once in a while and put near my face. I hate it when people pressure me to do coke because I fucking LOVE LOVE LOVE coke, but know it’s no good for me. It’d lead to a night I could do when I was 24, but not 34. I was a strong girl and refused.

      “You’re not my friend anymore,” he said while peeing in the bushes. 

     “No seas pendejo,” I said. “Now where’s my flash light? I wanna peek at that verga.” 

     I was just joking, kind of, and got in my car and drove off.