I sat in a circle, clutching a piece of paper tinted with my love inspired words. “He took my hand and put it on his penis,” I read, eyes still on the page. Laughter erupted. I smiled. They laughed just where I wanted. I continued and, once finished, sat in silence while each member of the Latina Writers Workshop critiqued my new piece.
“Hilarious!” One commented.
“You have a knack for comedy!” Another complimented.
“I want to know what happens next!” The following exclaimed.
And then one said it. The five words I’ve heard since Love Trips blessed the pages of migente.com and finally sitv.com before landing on lovemionline.com, or what I like to call home.
“You’re the ‘Latina Carrie Bradshaw’!”
My face scrunched up as if she’d placed that same penis I wrote about right under my nose. I didn’t want that stinking penis and I sure as hell didn’t have the thrills of Carrie Bradshaw! Sure, I loved Sex and the City like every other woman in America. Sure, I related to Carrie more than any other character. I mean, I had two Mr. Big’s! But I wasn’t living in the Upper East Side in a cozy, rent stabilized apartment where you could see the tree lined streets from the window. I was living with my momma in a three bedroom, Section 8 apartment in Washington Heights where you could see (and hear) the hicks yell, “Oye tigere, que lo que!” from the window. And let’s not forget that I didn’t have three exciting girlfriends to take shots while trolling for men. The only shots my friends were taking were epidurals so their vagina’s wouldn’t burst into flames when crowning. The only males my friends were trolling were the drool covered babies that snacked on their breasts. Besides, being compared to another woman, fictional or not, made my eyes water with despair. It was a constant occurrence I experienced in my love life, so I wasn’t having it.
Kurt, my college addiction, openly compared me to Milady, wishing I had her round, plump Dominican behind and coquettish fresh-off-the-boat goody goody act. I didn’t understand her sexual appeal. I was the one with the normal shaped head and pretty, almond shaped eyes. And my nose beat her Ms. Piggy nose any day. But he still chose her.
And then there was Elijah. Elijah, whom despite the continuous text sex pleas, had received no visual or actual action from me since we’d broken up in 2005. I had yet to see him after four months of speaking to each other about seeing each other. I began to worry our reunion would never take place. Something I couldn’t bare. I needed to see him, feel if we still had it, but I didn’t want to risk another cancellation on Elijah’s part. The rejection masked in excuses would be too much for me. So what did I do? In that moment, I was very un-Carrie. Instead of turning to my female friends or nonexistent gay BFF for help, I turned to my very straight, very attractive Dominican coworker for help. I walked into his office, located right next to my classroom, and blurted,“I need male advice!”
Mr. G looked up from the pile of papers that covered his desk. His upper lip curved a little to the right as he smiled. The small gap between his two front teeth gave his face character, and his eyes, his eyes were so warm they sparkled. I stood there, secretly drooling over his essence, and almost forgot why I was there. Oh yeah, Elijah.
“My ex and I are trying to figure out if there’s still something between us. The problem is he lives in South Jersey.”
“Why is that a problem?’ Mr. G asked.
“We haven’t seen each other because of the distance,” I replied cautiously. I didn’t want to dispel the real reason it was a problem. Elijah had a child with his ex-girlfriend. Correction. Elijah had a child with the woman he left me for who was his ex-girlfriend when I met him. She also lived in South Jersey, and I was afraid his abrupt and constant cancellations of my visits were due to her. But I didn’t want to reveal those unfortunate events to Mr. G. What kind of pathetic, loser of a woman would he take me for?
“Why doesn’t he come visit you then?” he questioned, unconvinced.
“Well, I’ve tried but he’s canceled. One time it was because his baby momma had an emergency and he had to take care of the kid and the other time he just canceled, no excuse,” I paused. I revealed too much. Mr. G. would think I was a masochist with no self-respect, and he wouldn’t want to flirt with a woman like that! I looked forward to his flirtation; it made my workday!
“So what do you think?” I asked quickly. I had to get out of there before I continued to tarnish my image.
Mr. G looked at me thoughtfully before speaking. “There’s probably something going on in South Jersey he doesn’t want you to know about. He may still be with his ex…it’s just shady,” Mr. G finished.
I remained silent, smiled and thanked him for his advice before dragging my feet out the door and into my classroom. I sat in front of my desk and recalled every piece of advice I had given my friends in similar situations. But I couldn’t remember anyone I’d known being in this scenario. Not even Carrie Bradshaw, Queen of Sex and Bad Choices herself had ever had an ex-boyfriend cancel on her multiple times for mysterious reasons. Carrie had men falling at her feet, wanting her urine on them, reuniting with her, proposing marriage even after she cheated. There was only one moment when she was compared – when Mr. Big married the model.
So yes, it turns out I am the “Latina Carrie Bradshaw.” My Mr. Big was just hiding out in South Jersey. I’m the “Latina Carrie Bradshaw” with smaller boobies, dark hair and coco complexion. But I’m also good ol’ Sujeiry Gonzalez, author of Love Trips. The exuberant, petite, feisty, and loving Sujeiry Gonzalez who is still waiting for her published book, her movie deal and her Mr. Big to sweep her off her chankletas.