Unexpected Encounters. Where do I begin? Well I found one, not with quite the qualifications I had created.  This one is from closer to the border than to Cuba. Still, it was, for me at least, divine. I want to hold the details to myself this time because I’m still using them to keep me hot and dripping wet. I’m not exactly sure how it was for him. And I am still on the fence as to whether or not I care. This was my second trip to Chicago. I was there October the 10-15th, dancing even more the second time every chance I got. I had a car this time so moved around pretty easily–was on the southside quite a bit–just like Harlem, I fell in love with it. But back to the bass. One night when he was buzzed he said, “I’m gonna…so good, I’ll make you fall in love with me.” I was thinking, funny mutherfucker don’t even know. Perhaps it’s because he plays a very large instrument that he is an expert at physical response. I can’t seem to seperate myself from his touch. These were the most decisive hands I have ever encountered. I don’t know how decisive his person is, but the hands were surer than any I could ever imagine. I knew that he knew that the most miniscule brush was intentional and I knew too how he wanted me to respond to it. Quietly I responded (and subtly as always) but burning inside, burning inside. A week later, burning inside still. I had, for the first time in my life, to hold in my enthusiasm because I thought I would burst with excitement at any moment. Nothing makes a salsera happier than a salsero.

It’s been awhile, too long. Just a quick update for the few (I know how few from the ratings). I’m still living in my very-first-apartment-alone-in-downtown-Atlanta, who-hoo. Thing is, I don’t have very many guests. I still am surprised that I haven’t ‘gone wild’ here and I’m not really sure what to make of that. Lately, I have been quite pensive. Just thinking about how I want things to be and where I want to be in relation to it/them. Work is amazing, I’ve been given a lot of responsibility but I’ve decided to maybe not talk about work so much here. I’ll only say that it’s good to make a living as an activist. I went to Chicago several weeks ago for the very first time. I was with some friends who organize in the community around solidarity work with Mexico and the many indigenous (and other) struggles there. My first stint in Chicago was at the end of September. I worked during the day constantly. Didn’t really get to see the city; but at night after 8pm, I was out on the town (even though I didn’t have a car) salsa dancing of course. The salsa scene in Chicago, as one can imagine, is WAY better than in Atlanta. There’s a huge Caribbean community there, namely Puerto Ricans. I even got a chance to visit Humboldt Park which is this wonderful community of resistance that has been around for quite awhile and meet with some people about the struggles there with gentrification and white folks moving in fucking shit up as usual.

I had the opportunity to go to a few dance places. La Rumba was one of them, which I recommend. Also Buzz is pretty cool. My favorite thing about dancing outside of Atlanta is anonymity. I guess I was in Chicago during the last few days of summer because the weather was very warm. I was dressed mostly in little t-shirts and a light sweater at night. We had a few parties at the house where I was staying and I even met someone I now have a little crush on. Me, him and another girl went to this underground cafe/art gallery called Connect4 at had an amazing time. There were great poets, spoken word artists, rappers who were very radical, had revolutionary ideas and the art around the place was very consious—of course there was a constant fog of marijuana smoke downstairs. It was tons of fun. I got to see many different neighborhoods in Chicago and learn about some of the challenges to community work as well as some initiatives that people have been a part of for many years. I was impressed and amazed at how much like New York it was. I didn’t get to visit the southside but I was in Humboldt Park and also Little Village and Albany Park. Little Village is a mostly Mexican community that is the largest in the midwest. Many of the local businesses and community centers are owned and operated by people within the community so there is quite a sense of neighborhood there and you can live comfortably without leaving the neighborhood. I was working with a group in that town who does outreach and organizing around environmental racism/justice. Albany Park was the area I stayed in. It is so diverse ethnically and culturally. On the corner where I lived, these Hindu guys would sit on the floor on the corner ALL DAY long, just chatting away. Most of them were over 45 and I had no idea what they were doing but it was so strange to see. There’s a huge Korean, Indian, Chinese, and a huge Mexican and Guatemalan community there too. Not to mention others–it’s great to drive down W Lawrence Avenue and see restaurants from countries all over the world in such a small area. I ate food from Bangladesh! Who woulda thought?

My goal, other than work, was to find me a nice Boricua, preferrably black, and exploit and take advantage of him sexually. But nothing happened and I was quite disappointed because I don’t know where the hell to find them in ATL. And believe me there are some sexy ass Boricuas in Chicago. But this was only my first trip.

My second trip to Chicago was something else…see next post.

Taking a piss when no one is in the house and not flushing. Putting my cell on vibrate and calling myself repeatedly from my home phone. Stealing pencils from the side pockets of my unknowing peers on campus. Farting in a crowded elevator where I’m the only woman. Giving my mock-speech of when I win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Crouching behind my couch with my hairdryer in hand like I’m in the jungles of Panama leading a village of campesinos in a revolutionary war. Wiping my slimy boogers on my jeans. Putting boogers around the house in unsuspected places. Screaming out the names of former presidents when I’m masturbating. Screaming names of past lovers when having sex with people that suck. Cheap thrills get us through life.

This year I will dedicate myself to becoming a wonderful follower. Follower as in dancer: salsa, mambo, merengue, bachata (although this dance might not happen), and son (if I can find somewhere that plays son music in this city). Having control of your body gets in the way of being a good follower. Maria Torres, the beautiful and ridiculously amazing salsa teacher/dance professional (and wife of legendary dancer/teacher Eddie Torres) said to me “you  want to be like mantequilla” (butter) “always melting, melting all the time.” I don’t melt. I’m a cold sonofabitch. I like leading the dance, because I love the way a man’s body moves to salsa/mambo and I feel most natural imitating my father’s dance style. But I can’t lead. I have found, though, that I am mantequilla when I blush. Things that make me blush are always subtle but the people that make me blush (always people) know that they are making me blush. That’s when I’m mantequilla. If they take me at that moment, I’m mantequilla. Sometimes during a dance, if I blush, I become mantequilla. But save for a few dancers who always make me blush this is rare. So I’m working on being like mantequilla all the time. I’ve made progress–this is good. Mantequilla is important. You have to be like you are always about to have an orgasm–but surprised that you are having it. I don’t want to be great. I don’t want to be the best. I only want for a lead after or during a dance to feel like they were dancing alone, like there was no effort and like I did everything they wanted me to do with my form and never left their space. I want them to feel like mantequilla. I’d like to leave puddles of mantequilla  all over the hardwood dance floors.