Archive for the 'hands off/he’s mine' Category

32 reasons I love The Brit

1. The dimples.

2. He was undeterred in his quest to have the Star Wars theme song played at our wedding.  The organist played it during communion.  (Thank God I’d made it clear that lightsabers had to be checked at the cathedral doors.)

3. The first time he made me dinner, he made Molten lava chocolate cake for dessert.  I rest my case.

4. He made me ricotta cheese pancakes and mimosas on valentine’s day morning last year after I’d arrived home from a 24 hour shift.  I NOW rest my case.  (No I don’t.)

5. He’s generous.

6. He’s on the board of a nonprofit that strives to achieve worldwide literacy which, and I still stand by this, makes him like Mother Teresa, only with a penis.  (And a lot sexier.)

7. The British accent.  (He says the word “garage” like “carriage” with a “g” instead of the “c” and it’s still cute.)

8. He’s entirely too reasonable.  Which can be annoying.  But it’s probably the main reason we argue very infrequently.  (We only argue about his reasonableness.)

9. He likes to snuggle.

10. Lazy is not in his lexicon.

11. He has a strong work ethic. (See #10.)

12. He’s honest.  (And thus he oftentimes honestly sticks his foot in his mouth.)  (Which can be entertaining.)

13. He doesn’t believe in compromise.  He believes in collaboration.  (He has a graph for that, ask him to draw it for you.)

14. Sometimes, when I’m on call at the hospital, he comes to have dinner with me.

15. He takes amazing pictures.

16. He loves throwing parties.

17. He loves to travel and keeps a list in his passport book of all the countries he’s been to (40 countries, all 7 continents).

18. When he travels, he tries the deep-fried battered beer larvae & the grilled sparrow on a stick from the street vendors.

19. He NEVER gets sick and swears that it’s because he eats shit stuff off the floor. (Or from street vendors in foreign countries.  Same difference.)

20. When he doesn’t know the lyrics to songs, he makes them up.  Case in point:  Elvis Costello’s Everyday I write the book becomes “Everyday I ride the bus.”

21. He’s a thoughtful gift-giver and loves orchestrating grand surprises.  (Exhibit A:  His Crazy Marriage Proposal.)

22. He loves my job and is genuinely interested in hearing about my work day.

23. He’s never upset when I’m late for something.  (Mostly because he’s always late.  But also because, as he says, he always has a million things to do while he waits for me.  See #10 again.)

24. He knows all the vendors in our little neighborhood on a first name basis.

25. He learned how to dance salsa when we started dating and then showed his moves in front of all our friends and family and a live Cuban salsa band at our wedding reception.

26. He can strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere, anytime about anything.  (Silence is not in his lexicon either.)

27. He loves a good quote and you can bet that for every major occasion he’s got a quote ready to recite.

28. He has a good relationship with his mum.

29.  He has a good relationship with my Mamacusa.

30. He admits his mistakes and apologizes.

31. That being said, he’s an unapologetic flatulator.

32. He’s a happy person, and his happiness is contagious.

Happy birthday, Dear Brit.  If and when we have kids, I’d be perfectly happy and proud if they’re all just like you.  Love you.


In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Pita

In an effort to lead as healthy a life as possible, The Love Muscle is giving up glutens and sugar, leaving the dirty work of wheat & sweet-eating to the rest of us.  It’s a hard job.  But somebody’s going to have to eat The Carbs.  Fully embracing my role, I began by attacking the bag of Kettle Corn in Mamacusa & TLM’s pantry this past weekend.  Across the kitchen counter from me, The Brit snacked on a stash of their Pita Chips. 

“You know, kettle corn’s not exactly healthy for you,” The Brit judged.

“Oh?  And those Pita Chips?”

“Well, I figure if they’re good enough for Jesus, they’re good enough for me.”

“Jesus ate Pita Chips?”

“Ok.  Maybe not Pita chips, but definitely Pita.”

“Not loaves and fishes?”

“Nope.  Pita.”

Someone should let the Pita People know about the marketing opportunity they’ve been missing.

Snippets of our happy day

5 months ago today…

I woke up, bright eyed and well rested, ready to get married. It was sunny and clear outside. And I had a zit on my right cheek. Sweet.

My mum-in-law-to-be brought my favorite chocolate covered biscuits to the salon where we were all getting our hair done. She once told me I was a good eater. I proved her quite correct once again.

Back at the hotel, my favorite Mexican Ho did my make-up for me. When she asked me what look I was going for, I told her to aim for: ‘cheap slut cleans up for a day to contractually obligate herself to one penis for the rest of her life.’ She used a lot of eyeliner. It totally worked.

I had one of my bridesmaids hand deliver a card to The Brit, who was getting ready in another room. I wrote some mushy stuff and then told him that his odds were good for getting lucky that night.

My something old: white gold & diamond earrings my grandmother gave me when I was two
My something new: my wedding gown, a gift from Mamacusa
My something borrowed: my friend LooLoo’s cathedral length veil
My something blue: the silver and multi-colored sapphire pendant that The Brit gave me for our second year anniversary

The Blue Angels were doing their annual airshow minutes before the ceremony started and did several fly-by’s right over the cathedral. All The Brits in attendance were impressed by our connections with the US Navy. (It was more fun to let them believe that rather than the truth, that it was Fleet Week.)

I got teary eyed right as we were all lining up to walk down the aisle and to help me keep it together, Little B looked me straight in the eyes and said: “Just think of SMEGMA.” Tears dried right up.

My bridesmaids walked down the aisle to “Gabriel’s Oboe” and I followed to the tune of “The Falls” (two beautiful pieces of music from the motion picture “The Mission”). The Brit had tried his best (months before the wedding) to get the cathedral organist to play the Star Wars Theme song (seriously) but was politely and abruptly turned down. Apparently Episcopalians aren’t big fans of The Force.

I was given away by my Mamacusa, my Daddio and my Abuelito.

No one spoke now…they all held their peace.

The Brit and I, eyes locked, were able to get through our vows without weeping like idiots.

When we were kneeling down at the altar for communion, the organist started subtly and verrrrry slowly playing what sounded to me like a familiar tune. The Brit leaned into me and excitedly, like a child opening the gift he always wanted on Christmas morning, whispered in my ear, “OH MY GOD!!! HE’S PLAYING STAR WARS!!” Indeed he was. (The organist threw it in there as a last minute surprise for us.) Little giggles erupted throughout the church as people began to recognize the score. The Force was with us afterall!

The church bells rang as we recessed out.  It felt very official. 

At the reception hall, during the cocktail hour, my Abuelito was so excited about the live Cuban band playing that he kissed the Cuban drummer smack dab in the middle of his bald head. Totally acceptable amongst paisanos, I guess.

There was an open bar and our signature cocktails were The Cuban Mojito and The British Pimm’s Cup. I’d made gallons of mojito mix for the bartenders the day before the wedding so they wouldn’t have to mull all that mint. Note to self: next time let them mull their own damn mint.

We had a pub-style quiz during the dinner hour where people had to answer questions about The Brit and me…some of them so obscure that everyone HAD to talk to each other to get the answers. One of the questions was “LCB has always been affectionately referred to as ‘la culona.’ What does ‘culona’ mean?” The cat is out of the bag. (Or, rather, the ass is out of the bag.)

We cut our wedding cake with a sword…the same sword The Brit’s parents used to cut their wedding cake.

There were three cake flavors:  Shortcake with Mango-Passion Fruit Cream and Red Currants, Red Velvet Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting and Fresh Blueberries, and Rich Chocolate Spongue Cake with Light and Dark Chocolate Mousse. (Otherwise known as Yum, yum and YUM.)

For our first dance, I changed into a silk, red, ruffled salsa dress (a gift from Dochechka).

Our first dance was less a demonstration of our dancing skills than it was of our stand-up comedic skills. But it was fun!

The joy of having all of my favorite people in the same place at the same time to celebrate with The Brit and me is indescribable and is what I will cherish most about our day. That and the whole getting married part.  And the mojitos. And the chocolate.

As the maid of honor, Dochechka gave a speech (as did each of our mothers and The Brit’s brother) that was just up my alley: heavy on the humor and easy on the sentimental. She’d clearly been taking note of all my jokes about ‘gettin’ hitched’ and ‘becoming an honest woman’ because she finished the speech with the following words:

“When LCG called me to tell me about her engagement, she said that her wedding day would be the day she’d finally ‘contractually obligate herself to one penis.’ I think I speak for everyone here when I say…we just hope it’s The Brit’s!”

It’s been 5 months and so far so good!

(Click on the photo collage for the link to the flickr photo album.)


Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you my engineer boyfriend

It truly baffles the mind that The Brit, who is presumably familiar with the laws of physics, doesn’t seem to comprehend that a hot pizza, when carried like a book under one arm, will react thusly to the forces of gravity:

The hidden truth behind the NC-17 rating

Me: So, remind me…why did we just stay up til 1:30 AM to watch this movie?

The Brit: I don’t know. Because it was an Ang Lee film.

Me: Ang Lee?

The Brit: He made Brokeback Mountain.

Me: Oh, right.

The Brit: Plus I was curious…I’d heard that the sex scenes in this movie were so explicit that the lead actress got banned from ever making another movie in China again.

Me: Seriously? Why? I mean, sure, there was sex. But they didn’t even show anyone’s bits. What exactly deserved the NC-17 rating?

The Brit: Not sure. Probably the fact that she had hairy armpits.

Me: You’re likely right.  Though her horrible taste in men might have had something to do with it too.

I might have worded it differently is all I’m sayin’

Me: I just want you to know that I will blame you entirely if we don’t get that apartment.

The Brit: Why?

Me: Because you just told our potential landlord1 that you once took hip hop dance classes from a…how did you say it? “A flaming gay, extremely obese, black guy?”

The Brit: Yeah? And? I was just making conversation. I think it makes me sound more well-rounded!

Me: Or, alternatively, it makes you sound like a closet gay guy who’s prejudice against the openly gay, African American, corpulent male dance instructors of San Francisco.

1.  We thought about buying a place.  Then we looked at our money, and then at the housing market in SF, and had a good chuckle about it.  So we’ll be renting, then. 

In which he reveals that it’s not just the Spanish language he has an issue with

We’ve already established that The Brit hasn’t gotten very far in his Spanish language lessons. But this weekend, as we were preparing the finishing touches on the desserts for our holiday party, I discovered that his English is struggling as well. We were listening to an 80’s compilation and Elvis Costello’s “Every day I write the book” came up.*

I give you The Brit’s version: “Every day…Every day…Every day I ride the bus…”

* Check out this video, by the way…I love the sort of epileptic moonwalk Elvis Costello attempts immediately before the second verse. I’m caught somewhere between wanting to dance right along with him and wanting to prescribe him some Carbamazepime.


The madness featured here is mine and mine alone. It does not, in any way, reflect the madness of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family, or my colorful friends. The privacy of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family and colorful friends is sacred & deeply respected, so no names. All words Copyright © la cubana gringa, no method, just madness 2006-2010. All comments © their authors. Don't steal; it's not nice. (And my Grandfather knows people.)

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