enrique fuentes: Queen of the Downtown Fur

Dysfunctional Theatre Reviews: Enrique Fuentes talks Hobbit Fashion and Baby Girl Talk

2005-10-21T02:38:00.000-07:00

Oh honeys I want you to know that nothing ever looks good in the mid-section unless accessorized. Look at me for example. Mama’s mid-riff could use less Frapuccino on the handles and more Valentino around the waist. Now do me a favor. Go to Valentino, then click on womens, then accessories and take a look at that Oriental Mask Python Belt. Now you’re talking Middle Earth Fashionistas! Fall down with me now, it’s fall fashion, and I’m tall enough to tell it!

Now get close enough to hear me whisper because mama is only going to tell you once. Hobbiton is a faboo-fashoo place… Yes! Laugh and roar! Why? It’s in the mid-riff of Middle Earth with a flair of Hobbits and wizardy fashion sense… And it’s in Central California, right in the middle of a darling production at the BCT Theatre.

What can be better my little chile peppers than a female Gandalf! No! Yes! Now run to me because it’s true! I wish I could just slap your hands and take you there, but let me tell you… I drove all the way from fashionable Los Angeles, right on the Melrose skip-to-my-loo flashy pants jet set to tell you! This girl’s a rich delight and sneers and the little dwarves that are more like childish orphans of wal-mart vixens than anything delightful. Oh dwarves, I despise them, and they are poorly dressed! But that Gandalf! She tickled me with her slender, I-love-Victoria’s look. Of course if I had my way I would have put her in a ribbed sweatervest turtleneck complete with a modern Stetson ala a dashing red.

Enough of that lovely lady who hates to be called "Mister". I would have showed every dwarf my heels and then some for such disrespect. Of course the handsome Bilbo Baggins was the most creative and wonderfully bright Bilbo you will ever see. This child actor was only annoying when he threw a childish un-Bilbo-like tantrum. Mama was reading to ring the bell and call the school marm for such behavior. Naughty! Now, Bilbo’s journey was dashing. He pranced into a new-found glorious look at that most terribly misfit ring-hungry creature, Gollum. If you didn’t know, honeys, Gollum is much sexier as a two-piece frog-hopping, crawling, snarling, electric blue and female “How-do-you-do” counterpart. The gameshow between Bilbo and the Gollums was witty and the child actor was simply masterful in his rendering of the Gollums into bumbling fools of trollville.

Oh dance with me because there is a dance number! Shout it! Why, because you deserve to! Yes, the production of The Hobbit featured a Goblin-elf dancing stand-off that would have made Peter Jackson dance and snap. Oh yes he would babies, don’t deny it!

If that wasn’t enough, there were fashion-less trolls with slinky babydolls, a deep Smaug-voice for you and you and you to make-believe, and a darling little girl-and-boy team who search the audience for Bilbo… oh honeys, over here! I’ve seen him! And I’ve seen the play, and I want all of you to go watch it right now! Now run to me and let me hold you because you love Hobbits just like mama Ricky does!

An interview with Enrique on the H-word

2005-10-14T03:05:00.000-07:00

Oh honeys I was in a very fun interview the other day with Flower in the Dale who asked me questions for a big collegiate report she is working on. I did my best to help her understand what makes Baby Ricky wear such great fashion on those crazy lazy Hollywood streets. Oh fashoo! Oh faboo! Talk to me now! Enjoy!

Flower: What is your age?

Enrique: Not telling. I use only the best creams to keep my eternal Happy Days youth. Where are you my dreamboat Fonzie?! Jajaja! I’m under 29, honey.

Flower: How old were you when you decided that your sexual preference was homosexuality, or that you were attracted to members of the same sex?

Enrique Fuentes: I’m not sure I would even use the term homosexual to describe the Queen of the Downtown Fur. I’ve never been fond of typecasting. Just think of all those John Wayne movies. All those cowboy films never would have landed that Pilgrim a role on Melrose Place or Friends. Once you typecast, then you leave room for people stereotyping you and I don’t want anyone judging me for mixing Nordstroms shoes with a May Co. blouse. I’m just another human being, plain and simple. I will say that at a very young age I had a strange attraction to Jean Luc Piccard of the Starship Enterprise…

Flower: From your perpective and life experience, do you consider homosexuality to occur because of society influences or because of natural circumstances?

Enrique Fuentes: What girl doesn’t want to be 100% natural? We only
enhance who we are to be accepted. Now run to me and
shout because you love me!

Flower: Can you recall any incidents or influences in your life that may have influenced you in your sexual preference?

Enrique Fuentes: Yes, I distinctly recollect the day I was born as one filled with ovarian, womb and vaginal trauma. Now, if you want to go back from whence you came then shake it like you mean it. As for Baby Ricky, I would rather hit a high-rise dance floor with great heels, a knock-out wig, and my arms around Paulo and Rico... shout it!

Flower: Do you believe that homosexuality differs according to gender, and if so how does it differ?

Enrique Fuentes: Oh honey, everyone’s different. I was once in a fashion bazaar and saw three women trying on three different Versace prints and none of them were a hit. Well, not until they put on pumps and wrapped their necks in some great tiger print scarves. See, it’s all in the accessories. Whether male or female, we have the freedom to choose, now don’t we, sister? Jajaja! OK, you want a serious answer so mama Ricky is going to tone down just a little. Let me explain: Boys come in all shapes and sizes with a full platter of personalities: flaunt it like they got it and if they’re like me and lucky, they become fashion experts and drama queens. Girls are just girls, and I just want to be one.

Flower: Are you open to the general public in regards to being homosexual?

Enrique Fuentes: I have a public blog that is part of thebuzzblogs.com where I talk a lot about what many people might call ‘issues’. That’s just hoochie talk! I write about me and if people in their love to hate want to label me that dirty “H” name, then they’re just missing a great personality, a perfect salsa dancer, a girl who won’t kiss and tell, and a Hollywood vixen who loves all men in tight pants.

Flower: Do you experience discrimination from the general population due to your sexual preference?

Enrique Fuentes: I’m like everyone, honey. I don’t want to be stopped at the market for my Valentino handbag unless it’s you saying, “Oh my god, Baby Ricky let me love you for two seconds!”

Flower: What about discrimination within the workplace?

Enrique Fuentes: In Hollywood?? Oh Pshhaw darling! Pshhaw!

Flower: If homosexuality is a natural condition do you feel there is something a person can do to change their sexual preference?

Enrique Fuentes: I’d like to think Sean Connery, Angelina Jolie and Enrique Fuentes can change the way you share make-up tips on a regular basis honey.

Flower: If homesexuality is a nurtured condition do you feel there is something a person can do to change their sexual preference?

Enrique Fuentes: Oh honey I have to get to the post office with this one and deliver you an airmail kiss! Mua! I just say flaunt it if you got it… be who you are! And only change with fashion! Now shout!

The hoochie movie version of my life story, UNCOVERED!

2005-10-12T02:14:00.000-07:00

Oh honeys, how long have you known me to be Hollywood undercover? No, not under covers. Although that’s one of my favorite areas of research for the rich and famous… a little under cover sauciness is to die for! Now mama won’t kiss and tell unless you buy her faboo book when it comes out. Not taboo honeys, but faboo, fashoo, and all that ya-ya with a booty shake. Delish! Now sit for a moment because I have a story to tell!

Let me just talk to you about my name in neon. Will it ever happen? Maybe with my book, yes, how could it not? Think about my novel, Queen Me! For the movie version I did a little undercover research. I know you all think I have a connection to Elijah Wood, and I do, and we haven’t danced, no not yet my little Bakersfield hoochies. So let me tell you who would be in the movie version of Baby Ricky’s tight pants novel—oh yes, on the big Tinseltown screen!

1. Neneng Tea played by none other than Lucy Liu. Oh this sheik baby kitty needs to slink through the story in nothing but fashion and a giggle!
2. Paulo played by Ashton Kutcher. Oh honey, to die for! Hold me now! Such a pretty light-skinned Latino boy he could be…
3. Alberto played by Colin Farrell. He’s the ugliest boy I can imagine to play such a hateful bitch! Oh!
4. Rico the Paparazzi played by John Leguizamo. Go Chi Chi R! Snap me again!
5. Kay Kay Jones played by Julia Louise Dreyfus. Why not? She has the hair!
6. Honey Baby B played by Rachel True—why? Oh don’t you know it! Show me your hair and your baby girl stare!
7. Elijah Wood: Himself
8. Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Hoochies played by none other than Freddie Prinze Jr. Now don’t second guess me, because I need a little tender machismo, and a boy who has the ankles that can support some heels.

Now all of you stop kissing me and let me hold you for a second! Now that’s too long! Flip it, drip it, and flaunt it! Why? Because you can!

What? Mama not invited to the Belton Bazaar!

2005-10-11T04:38:00.000-07:00

Go ahead and laugh. I’m offended. I’m the Hollywood elite right here in the Bakersfield big pepper. It’s hot and so am I! Two snaps please. Now stop right before you get to three and listen honey. If I were a chile pepper I’d be red hot! You guessed why? Oh forgiveness is what we girls do. We run and cry and scream and drop to our designer rugs and roll like we’re possessed with the spirit of Versace for what’s been happening to fashion. But then we get up and hug and cry and it all turns to laughter. Now, let me finish with the crying part.

Yes, it’s a shame mama Ricky was not invited to the big birthday party for Bakersfield's Hoochie Honey of the News at Mama Rhoombas. Now, I know Nicky boy and that Jenny Angel both like to rub noses with the journalist elite, but mama is straight from Hollywood! I was made for entertainment news, for birthday parties, and big parties, glittery evenings and runways. Watch me walk…

You don’t think so? Well shout it then turn around and wait for my new heel from Nordstroms. It’s a pink flashy number ready for a spin around and a butterfly dance kiss in your hiney… jajaja!

Back to forgiveness. Honey Hoochie of the News I love you! It’s not everyday we can be pink and glamorous. Now run to me and shout because I have a boa and I want to faint with it into your arms! Shout it!

Random thoughts about Rico, Paulo, and Elijah Wood

2005-10-07T02:32:00.000-07:00

Oh Rico Rico why do I think of you snapping photos of Charleze Theron eating a hot dog on Vine in her bootylicious fusia sweat bottoms and NIKE shoes? Me and you, Rico, there we were on the jet set sitcom, you waiting for your big part: the little Latin boy scene with your big line, “Yes, sir.” That’s all there was--no Charlize at all—those ungrateful hoochie TV babies not giving Rico the big lines… But I am so proud, you crazy paparazzi! You’re a star to me! Who else can get on TV? Mama doesn’t try. Why?? Because what hoochie wants to look fat!

I won’t kiss and tell what I had for a decadent breakfast to help me look this way... (his name is well hidden). Now, Paulo, you’re in my dreams tickling my thoughts the way my starburst boa tickles the taste of all my most fashionable girlfriends. Flaunt it! Walk the runway and strut! Why Paulo? Because you can. I’m not mad anymore. Why? Because mama wants to tell you a funny story! I was in a room with none other than Elijah Wood this week. Oh, don’t tell me he’s a Hobbit. This boy’s sexier than Jessica’s Simpson’s Tiffany silver around my hoochie neckline (Paulo would be so jealous). Oh I’ll show it off. Snap it!

Yes, Elijah Wood was there. I told him, “Run to me!” and he gave me a look like I was Ed Jagels Saruman prancing about like the Lords of Hollywood Hoochies. Forget that those big baby Elijah eyes are really bigger than dinner plates. Forget he has a lonely gap between his teeth. He was looking at mama for acting crazy and I was about to panic until I decided to get Robin Williams/Rosie Perez on him and just talk crazy, “You know I saw you by a car once? Paparazzi were going crazy on you… and oh was I going to die you were not wearing the right shoes at all!”

“I don’t remember you, sorry. But I do like your boa,” he said ever so politely.

And that was it. But he was fabulous. Now run to me because I wasn’t totally ignored!

If the Queen of the Downtown Fur coached the 4-0 Cincinatti Bengals

2005-10-03T15:41:00.000-07:00

None of my girlfriends are shocked that I watch football. They all know it’s for the fashionable tight stares I make at the luscious big boys of television close-ups. Just think of all the chile peppers spicing up the field and you have mama Ricky's recipe for an afternoon of caviar and lust.

But let me just say how shocked mama is right now to say that the Cincinatti Bengals of kitty catland are 4-0. You know the team? It’s the one with the helmets that look like my mama’s favorite leotards from the 1980s. Oh run to me now and hush because you still wear them ! You bought them at Gigantic Vintage and then played football superhero flashdance in your livingroom.

Oh, but mama is excited to tell you her very fashionable attire were she allowed to be coach of such a princess 80s team. I, the ever so fashionable Queen of the Downtown Fur, lover of all men in anything tight, and shamefully addicted to late nights in Hollywood where B-rate actors dance with me and my boa... oh yes! Call me a starry-eyed hoochie mama! But darlings, kiss me now because I would coach such a team with a sure fire outfit and scarf. Yes honey I’m going to have to say to start with the shoes on this one. Be daring, but simple, and then blow yourself a kiss in the mirror and hold my hand because it's time for Viva La Vintage and their 1950s tiger print rayon dress!

Now, no Bengal kitty girl coaching outfit could be complete without a scarf like you've never seen. Don't be skimpy here girls. Get your favorite quarterback lover coach of a 4-0 kitty team a Gianni Versace Multi-color Floral and Tiger Print Silk Scarf for her head! Now love me and run to me! Shout it loud! DO it now and I will tell those kitty boys to win! I will slap them on their buns of joy and make them run like the wind! I will growl out to them and crawl on all fours with my claws out! I'll scratch at the grass and roll over and beg to be kissed (but not touched). Now run to me one last time and hold my delicate clipboard!

Mama’s tears over George Clooney and Captain Kenny Filthy Pants

2005-10-03T02:12:00.001-07:00

After all these years of wandering Hollywood in my best sugar-coated cherry boa. After so many tearful episodes of Dr. Douglas Ross shaming all those slutty ungrateful patients on E.R, which occasionally was a freakshow. You know the ones. They’re all hateful. Now run to me! I’ll hold you all! We’ll cry together and let our mascara run through the entire Kleenex factory! Life is so ungrateful, so shattering, so down in the gutter of I-don’t-want-any-children chile-pepper-made George Clooney tears! Yes, it’s true my little hoochie babies, Georgey wants no babies. And this man isn’t getting any younger.

He’s starting to remind me of George Hamilton, all made up, dark-skinned and headed for the Hollywood Ball, or to his big lonely dining room at his flash-in-the-pan Italian Villa. And mama’s never invited! Shame on him! I hope the paparazzi's tell all! Oh yes, take a look at the Clooney Files, my little Clooney-loving babies.

Oh but he did write mama back once many years ago after I sent him an E.R. love letter as a distraught teenage youth in Delano, California. Girlfriend, Neneng Tea was there and she can tell you all about it. Here was his response:

Dear Enrique,

I’m sorry about your brother and the chickens. But I am glad you all saved that big fella from the cock fight that got its beak half torn off. The pictures you sent I can see you stitched him up well. Must have been terrible and you’re right. It would make for a tender episode of E.R., one all about the dangers of pesticides and grape vineyards and injured animals. I don’t know about the sentimental love story between Doctor Ross and a teenage pesticide survivor. Sounds too risqué for television. I’m not one of the show’s writers anyway, so I don’t much of a say in any of it.

Best Wishes

George Clooney

What can mama say? I was enraptured. And now, any thought of he and I and future babies are out of the picture. I can’t believe these stars. Even Captain Kenny Filthy Pants has a tribe of his own. But he’s out of touch as well because he’s married. So much for love. I will have to run to Hollywood and find me Orlando Bloom and steal him away to a big hotel for a night of mama’s favorite costumes. Now pick me up because I’ve fallen in your arms! Oh!

Queen me! A novella by Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur - excerpt two

2005-09-28T03:29:00.000-07:00

Oh honeys I have missed you all! Now, let me tell you a little about life. Let me rant about it right now. Run to me so I can tell you! Closer. two kisses on each cheek just for being the Hollywood dancers that we all are.

If you don't run to me? I won't hold you. It's that simple and you'll pout like Ricky Ricardo losing his congas on the train. Now this is what I have to say: Of course you've been so starving for a little more of what baby Ricky, Queen hoochie, lover of men in tight jeans, and boa waving writer girlie has to say. Here's another little taste. Now kiss me because you can!

Queen me! (Excerpt Two)
A novella by Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur

That night I was drunk and stumbling and I wanted a martini; no I changed my mind as I entered, I wanted a scotch. But then I saw Paulo sitting at the bar and I dwindled into the bar shadow...

No one played the piano. It sat in the darkness just waiting to be heard myself. Couldn’t Paulo hear my cries? I still hate him. I hated him that night until I got angry enough and got up to confront him. He huddled next to a large Latino who seemed to refuse to put his arm around him. Was Paulo begging? I could never truly tell. What was Paulo wanting from this big boy toy? Talk about making me catty. I was going to find out if I had to go Rosie Perez on both their hoochie asses.
Just over Paulo’s head hung a low balcony where back in the day the old man’s sexy hoochie girls would wave lustfully to boys, many of them Hollywood boys who came to Bakersfield, got drunk and begged for the women to come down or just take it all off. Sometimes they did. A mannequin sat up above now, resting in what was left of an old porcelain bathtub. The mannequin itself was faded and wore a vintage 1972 black bikini on its pink plastic skin; she even had an overdone-make-up smile and long arms with tinsel hanging from her doll-like fingertips.

“Oh she’s a delight,” Paulo said looking over at me. He could tell I was drunk.

I felt more like the mannequin: a little stiff, a little starry-eyed for attention. “I’m always a delight. Sit down before you hurt yourself, honey,” I said. I looked at the big monster sitting next to him, pulled out a Benson and Hedges cigarette and lit it without shining my glamorous smile. “Who’s the Frankenstein?”

“You,” Paulo said. “Look at you. You’re a mess. You’ve been drinking and I can tell you’re still upset. Do you want to talk?”

“No. Get me a Scotch.”

“OK,” Paulo started to smile.

When he turned around to the bartender I grabbed his arm, “Not the drink…”

“You slut.”

“I’m just kidding. Get me a Scotch.” He turned around again and I once again pulled his arm. “Just a man. Get me a big man,” I said.

“Why are you so mean?”

“Because I can be. Why aren’t you introducing us? If you’re dating this big gorilla, I just want to know.” I looked him up and down and raised a lip. I gave him the Enrique hoochie chin nod like I was a Flamenco dancer ready for the dance floor prowl.

“Why are you acting so jealous?” Paulo leaned in so he wasn’t overheard. His dark hair was a mess but it was beautiful. He didn’t have on a wig at all. It was just his short scraggily black hair with a hint of make-up on his cheeks and under his eyes, barely a hint. It was enough to make his big brown eyes gaze at me and for me to be in love with them.

“Me? I don’t get jealous. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said loud enough to be overheard.

“The hell you don’t, Enrique. Why don’t you just go home. You’re drunk. And you’re not being bashful about it.”

“Leave me alone. You’re hurting me,” I pulled away as if he had been holding my arm even though he wasn’t. “If you don’t want to tell me the truth then I am just going to have to kill myself.”

“Oh God. Baby Ricky. Why are you talking like that? You’re such a drama queen.”

“I know. Sit down. Let’s talk.” Paulo knew I always liked to cause a scene. All around us barflies had been watching us through the corners of their demon eyes. Now they suddenly focused on their drinks and their own conversations.

“Baby Ricky I want you to meet Alberto.”

“Oh Alberto I do declare you have the eyes of an angel and the hands of a protector,” I lied. He looked like a bitch and I wanted to kick him in his hound dog face.

“Hey,” Alberto said. His voice didn’t seem to match his girth. It was rather high and nasally.

“Ohh, I like your vocabulary too. You know other grunts?”

“I get around,” he said. “I like your Paulo. He’s a handsome boy.”

“Hands off you big ape. You’re gonna have to fight a girl for this one,” I said blowing smoke at him.

“No one wants to fight anyone,” Paulo said. “Here, have another drink you hateful bitch.”

“Oh Paulo, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me all night,” I said taking a long drag and making my lips pop.

Suddenly Alberto stood up. “I’ve had enough of drama for the night. I actually have beauty sleep to attend to,” he said then walked off.

“Priss,” I said. “He’s just a little hoochie in a big body. I don’t like him at all. Look at him. He can’t even shake it when he walks. Must have a little chile pepper.”

“What do you know, Baby Ricky? You’re mean to everyone I know. You can’t find fault in yourself, so you go and find fault in everyone else around you so that you can feel good about how you look, how…”

“How I dress, how I do my make-up,” I said mocking Paulo, adding, “Because all Enrique really cares about is, number one: attention, and number two: whether or not her hair matches her Camel Lola Classics! Oh come off it Paulo!” I yelled, but then softened my illustrious voice and looked seductive, “You know I care about how you hold me at night.”

“See, that’s just how you are Baby Ricky! You’re so mean to your Paulo. I could die tomorrow and you wouldn’t show up to my funeral because you wouldn’t be able to decide which wig to wear, let alone whether you love me or not!”

“Oh baby, now you’re causing a scene. You need to calm yourself. And besides. I do know. I would wear a classic Sandra Dee with a blue bow, not pink. Pink just says ‘I’m too potty talk’ for funerals. Now run to me and let mama hold you…”

And he did. He came to me and we hugged right there in the piano bar. And that’s how our relationship goes. Do we ever understand what we’re really fighting about? We do, in our own way. But then there’s so much more to talk about.
after al

Mama Ricky is back with a fall fashion book and a hip shaking look!

2005-08-05T13:54:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, yes, and more yes! I saw all this controversy lately with my little hoochie boytoy, Soopie who gets lost in the stars the way I get lost in the upcoming fashion tops from GAP. You do too? Do you see me in stripes? Honey, I'm not going to prison for your love or for this top. You know Soopie? He's got a boa for every night of the week and never repeats a performance! jajaja! He was dancing into the night and kissing and telling so much that two of my girlfriends had to wrap him up in his own boas and promise no more episodes of Six Feet Under until he shut up about a romance with...

Yes, I'm not telling. You know me.

Oh now wait a minute, baby girl. Hold your hand up and stop me like a Madonna Vogue traffic signal, I have decided to kiss and tell after all. Read the beginning of my little book, Queen Me! It's not perfect, but then, neither is fashion. I love you all! Now run to me and I'll hold you, and you, and you! Why? Because you deserve to know!

Queen me!
A novella by Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur

The barnyard chickens looked like they’d been dipped in lumpy chocolate. That’s all I can say because they were all running out of the coup grandma had made out of two old mattresses and an unknown number of soggy Pampers boxes that had been stacked on the back porch since 1978. It was now 1986. Those dirty chickens. They were all covered in mud because my big brother Jaime had done his naughty deed, again. He wanted to make these precious white chickens into Chicanos. Stupid big brother. What did he ever know about identity? I swear on my Lilac Armani power suit that he’ll never learn the difference.

I should have been so glamorous then. I could have helped him out! Jajaja! Oh god those mattresses were as disgusting as my brother’s muddy fingers. Yes honeys they still had the stains. You know, the yellow ones when Jaime pissed on them all summer long back when he was three? Yes, those.

And then there were the cardboard Pampers boxes that Grandma had been stacking up outside for so many years. I remember her building the coup thinking bailing wire was all she needed, and her common sense; and then she would have a coup where she could raise her hoochie chickens. Grandpa, now, his hair was as blue-blue Puerto Rican as you ever saw, because he tried to die it gray. He was so cute when he got mad. He would always get that sexy little crinkle above his nose. You know the kind. He would puff himself up like he were Rock Hudson before we knew he was never a man’s man, and scream, “Mama! You don’t know what you’re doing with these boxes. Throw them all away!”

And then she would yell back, “I’m making a chicken coup, you old goat. You touch them and you’ll wake up tomorrow bald like your great nephew, Jefe! He’s got a head like those little pits on that thing you call a peach tree!”

That was just the way they loved each other. What can you do? You’re growing up in hoochie Delano. You have to love the people you’re with. They’re your family. And don’t you forget it! Now run to me I have a story to tell you about my life. It begins the day after the chicken coup fell apart, the day after all those muddy chickens went running around our yard like crazy farmworkers running from pesticides. Oh, you don’t like what mama makes fun of? Well take two snaps of my fingers because I have seen people run from the poison rain. It’s not nice. It’s as unfashionable as Harrison Ford’s latest date. You ever notice how his taste is as bad as walking into a Chinese food restaurant and ordering Oreo cookies? Double stuff. It’s just that bad. Now let me hold you for one moment because there’s a lot more to this story. It begins when I was eight and then jumps around the way my faboo thoughts do.

It was the day after the muddy chickens ran from my stupid older brother. He looked like a chicken himself he was so sickly with his big buggy eyes and sunken chest, his arms flapping and coated in mud. His chin looks like a beak to this day I swear. My brother Jaime. He’s got a head as big as a cow’s with that chicken beak chin.

“Say moo for me,” I giggled. Like I said, it was the day after he set all the chickens free.

“Leave me alone, Baby Ricky. You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. Say moo for me, Jaime.”

“I said leave me alone. Mama!”

“Oh shush. You don’t know what’s good for you. I’ll leave you alone you muddy little dog.”

“OK. But I’m going outside. Do you want to go with me and play in the orchards, or we can build a fort in the vineyards again?”

“No. I’m going to play GI Joes.”

“You are? With my GI Joes? I want to…”

“No. I don’t want you to play with me. Your big head might get in the way.”

“Mama!”

And so it went until Jaime finally went outside, pouting and complaining about me playing with my toys. I wasn’t worried. I could beat him up and he knew it. He never had the Rosie Perez attitude, not like I acquired at such a young pretty age. My sister Margaret I called her Margarita Mix, Strawberry Margarita Mix when I made her mad, well she had a fashionable assortment of Barbies from the Facts of Life series. You know, that old TV show from the 80s with the great ratings but the horrible reviews? It was some promotion. Don’t ask. This hateful big sister of mine was as non-negotiable as Jaime and never appreciated Baby Ricky’s humor. Because when Jaime came back inside from dancing among the pesticide-laced grape vineyards he started screaming for mama like he’d just been kissed by a gopher snake. “Mama mama mama mama! Look what Baby Ricky’s done!”

“Oh my… godohmygodohmygod what is it, baby girl?!” Mama came running. She was so dramatic. It’s where I get it…

“It’s Jaime screaming, not Strawberry Margarita Mix,” I said. “Jaime just screams like a big-headed girl.” Mama always overreacted. She was like my uncle who always acted like he was dying every time he ate some of mama’s best salsa. Pushover.

“Mama!”

Now you tell me, baby kitties, my hoochie readers, was it so bad that I not only had the GI Joe in Natalie’s best sweater, but Ken dressed conservatively like a Mrs. Garrett? Ken was always so overrated and so was she. I didn’t watch the show for her libido anyways. I watched it for the fashion. Yes, even at a young darling age I wanted to be Blair Warner, because why shouldn’t a girl always get her way? Why shouldn’t’ a girl be so spoiled that little boys like I was wanted to be her? Oh she’s not the most ravishing. I can tell that now. But when I was eight and watching the Facts of Life reruns who else should I have wanted to be? Remember season four, episode 70? It was called ‘Magnificent Obsession’ and was about Blair in love, and Blair almost losing her friends… Whenever I could I would act out the entire episode with Margarita Mixes’ Facts of Life dolls. There was so much dress-up after that crazy chicken coup episode I don’t know what came over me. Maybe there’s omething about what Jaime did that freed me too. In my own way I would act out that fabulous episode 70 and make the girls at the boarding school never be friends again. In fact, they would all hate each other, and while Blair Barbie would make Ken-Mrs. Garrett get on her knees and beg for forgiveness, the rest of the dressed up GI Joes would all give up and go to battle, yelling for their guns while Blair would hold them all and say, “It must be tough going through what you’re going through. It must be hard to be such ugly little soldiers. It must be so difficult to be you and you and you…” Three kisses for Blair. Mama still loves her. There was still a little bit of boy in me then. Although hateful he was…

When I was ten I still looked like I did when I was eight. I swear mama hasn’t changed at all since then. I’m not lying! Kiss me now and keep the secret. OK, I’m lying but girls have to shout or they’re never heard! Let me describe my young self: not yet fashionable, lost in TV-land, staring and staring, in love with Johnny Depp and the Facts of Life, and Quantum Leap—more on Jeffy B. later—and other shows to be named, wishing upon stars like I was some hoochie girl hoping that I would fall in love. But all the while wearing T-shirts and jeans. I still looked like one of the boys though I didn’t play like one.

The world of Delano then was somewhere you would just go and wander. I wandered home like a lost lamb in the big wilderness of agriculture in the evenings from my friend’s house. That was everyday. That was Delano. Your Baby Ricky lived a different life then. I had my friends. Back when I was such a baby I even told my friends they were my ‘catty feline princesses of the daytime growl.’ You know what I mean? You’ve got to growl a little bit if you’re catty enough to hang around a bitch like me. Jajaja! So hateful. I know.

But those were the days me and my catty sisters would prowl on the boys, not because we loved them, but because we were out to make the A-list girls jealous of us B-list girls who only hung with the A-list boys. Are you following? You better follow or I’ll shout. But you can shake it at me later, listen… these girls were the prettiest little Filipino, white, and Chinese beauties you ever saw; the one’s I hung out with were anyways. The rest were all bitches. My girls could fight like mean little mamas; and that’s with crowns of clovers and daisies in their hands; that’s right! That’s what I mean, to love is to fight and to fight is to love. Just ask Paulo. More on him later. I am kissing and telling all here in this book. See, when you grow up in a little town like Delano, it’s just what you learn to do. You fight. Don’t think mama can’t rough you up in the bathroom for touching her sugar. That’s what you should be talking about. Shout it! And don’t go thinking I’m Nutri-sweet either.

But then, what am I doing, this isn’t really the story of me growing up in the Delano Hoochie Barrio when I used to walk down High Street and wonder if Grannie made me her sweetest green tomales for me after school. This is a story of Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur, Baby Ricky, Hoochie of your Dreams, catty hateful bitch of Bakersfield fashion, and lover of everyone in tight jeans. This is me in the downtown Bakersfield scene, during the brief time I interviewed local celebrities and talked the gossip with my old sisters. Yes, I still talk to those catty girls, only now they’re ‘the catty chatty princesses of the daytime growl’. We’re just a bunch of sisters who like to talk about whatever while showing it off too. Can you hear that? It’s me waving my boa to you and you and you because I’m so tickled I can talk to you; I love that I can rant to you in this long piece of artwork that fabulous Nicky Belardes calls a novella. And why? Because you deserve to hear me roar about all kinds of faboo topics.

Just before the Padre closed I experienced an evening I wanted to forget. When I’m a little bit saucy, and I don’t mean I’m raving like a ravishing Katherine Hepburne screaming at the world; you know where she’s talking faster than a Rototiller and looking sexy at the same time, but a little too drunk off martinis? I love olives, don’t you? They’re like little explosions in my mouth, not quite sweet, and with starry sunshine in the middle... But you know what I mean; when I’m not fully functional like this hoochie mama should be then I just cannot walk in my Guiliana patented leather platforms. I fall all over myself my little sweet babies, and it’s not pretty at all. If it’s winter then I trip and throw my scarf back up over my left shoulder as if I were saying, “How dare that sidewalk trip me! Mama is so offended! Huff!” You would do the same thing. Now run to me because I want to tell you about the night at the piano bar just before it closed.

You remember the piano bar in the Padre? Yes, with the martini tiles along the sidewalk teasing you like Angelina Jolie’s hand on the Nicholas Cage gearshift in the Fast-and-the-baby-hoochie Furious? Those little glasses on the walls are just so tempting. I love them. All of them, even the cracked tiles. So yes, that’s a lovely walk, tripping and falling and still smiling because I’m Enrique and I was fabulously lucky to have parked my Mercedes to walk the downtown scene in my fur growl, Rowr! But that isn’t what you want to hear, is it my baby girls? But let me tell you what I saw. I walked into the old decrepit hallway of the Padre, where the paint is all chipped on the ceiling. It’s just like bad make-up, you never ever put on a generic foundation when you want to build your face into the Sistine Chapel. These boys who design buildings in Bakersfield just never get it. I knew that old man, the owner who for years could be seen wandering through the Padre’s hallways, laughing at the city because he wasn’t going to put some hoochie sprinklers in his big cement hotel. I was just a baby then. I loved him like a dear grandfather and he would always pick up my hankie when it fell. That ravishing old fool. He knew how to be a doll. He would sit lonely nights at the piano, tinkering with it and singing Frank Sinatra in barely a whisper, “I snore in my sleep, I'm always late for dinner, And my table cloth doodling is notorious, Ah but lovely one, keep this matter glorious And love me as I am.” He could sing Frankie I’m telling you. That silly old fool. I’m crying.

stay tuned honie hoochies, mama Ricky will share more!

Run with me to the Rocky Horror Show!

2005-05-16T03:20:00.000-07:00

At night when the little shadows of dreamy dreamland come out, when all the dolls of my pretty and most darling pink bedroom come alive and do the cha-cha, and let me tell you, as soon as I pull my fake long eyelashes from their glue, I’m dreaming. Last night I dreamt of the big dark stage at the Rocky Horror Show. Forget entering a dark castle with my slut honey in her vintage 1998 Victoria’s Secret stockings all in a devastating run. Forget the entire story of boy meets girl meets hoochie Queen of the Transylvania transvestites…

This is my night. Let me be the Queen of the Show! OK, I’m kidding. Fantasy over with a snap and a pout…

Honeys I do have to say that I recently attended an event that is to just die for. Now if you have a hoochie life that’s as dull as Martha Stewart in a prison dress, then you need to get out and celebrate! Shout it! Go see this show! Now shout again! I celebrated at the Rocky Horror Show but let me tell you how I would have done this entire performance…

First of all that lovely director and I would have started off with a premature Time Warp. Shake your hips! Oh Paulo, he knows what that is—he was as premature as Bush with an Iraqi foreign policy wet dream turned real armchair war ejaculated sex fest. You know the pictures. They dishonor even my talents. Now Rico… he’s right on time. Jajaja! That’s right! I would tell the story out of order like a Tarantino film… it all comes back together like when you put Coach with Giovanni with Dior, it can come together honeys. And when it does, you flaunt it. Now run to me because I’m going to talk about the director Kevan some more. He’s got style for pulling off this show in Bakersfield. The Rocky Horror days died in the 1980s, and the ghost of George Bush has now crept into this valley like a big Charlie Brown headed piñata, bursting its candy conservatism everywhere. But the theatre scene. Oh it’s alive with people who dare to be different. Dare it babies! Swing your boas with me! Now fling them on three, over the left shoulder. One… Two… Three! Be me!

Forget that little Puerto Rican hoochie mama who opened the show with her buns shaking and granny goose wig. Oh she knows I’m kidding, she was as delightful as my best girlfriend Kay Kay Jones when we sang a duet onstage at the Roxy. It was a little it rowdy, a little bit delish, and a lot of hip shaking with me in tears for my passionate love of everything leather…. You hear it? That’s the snap of mama’s whip! Just ask Paulo. He’ll remember. Wink-wink. Jajaja!

Oh Frankfurter Frankfurter, where art thou Frank N. Furter? Let down your hair, unzip your fly and let mama die! He was that good, don’t you all agree with me? Now run to me again because I would have carried his microphone all the way to the shower. Oh it’s so faboo to be taboo! He could sing and I mean I wanted to lay on stage and do my make-up right there, because mama was more than a little warm for this show.

Now I would disagree right away with that little hoochie writer Nickyboy because I think he got this show all wrong once again. The cast was all backwards! Let’s just make this a spectacle for one moment… I think this show needs a midnight showing outside of the DA’s office with J Edgar Bagels and his lovely ex-Cream Cheese wife, along with Jose Arredondo all dressed in drag playing the live musical instruments, with Harvey Hall in the wheelchair, minus that humongous… let me make my arms go in the air here babies… HUMONGOUS white wig of his left at home on his four post bed… And that hungry little Columbia hoochie mama showing her boobs just so I’d want to tickle them with feathers. I think if I played her part then the show wouldn’t be just to die for; add a couple of cherries on top of that, honeys…

Now, for Frankenfurter I would have had about twenty actors play him in an extravagant chorus line where Riff Raff runs down the line with his cha-cha hairy ass hanging out begging each one to kick him for not shaving his round buns… (not to die for honeys. Even I shave where the sun promises not to shine its happy rays).

And just for good measure I would have had Roger Mathey play Riff Raff, only I would have allowed that little boy blue to act out his own fantasy sword-fighting scene with a stunt double of himself with glittery nipples and a whip that just screams, “Hello!” Imagine Roger singing that. Go ahead, shout! Jajaja! Better yet, why not Jerry from the pizza place with his annoying sidekick Naty Bergy in tighty whities sucking his thumb and a baseball bat… now that’s riff raffy gone wild! Buy that tape!

And that monster! That little hoochie monster Franken Boy Toy with the golden panties in his buns like my fantasy of Frank N. Furter in mine… Oh! I would have had that cowboy from Seven to the Right play him. And I mean with the cowboy hat on! If you don’t know what I mean then you just don’t want to kiss and tell. OK, fine, mama will have her laugh and be done with it. But honeys, where is my Benson and Hedges man if you never let him on your stage?

Now do the time warp with me again. Now one more time and this time don’t hold back. Now go to the show and tell them you heard all about it from Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur… I love you all!

Ten Best and Ten Worst Dressed Bakersfield Hoochie Celebs

2005-05-06T06:41:00.000-07:00

Worst Dressed

11. Honorable Mention: Baketown. Have you seen her? I refused to dance with her at Narducci’s and now she’s gone cold as a freezer burnt rocket pop. Advice: Don’t cut loose with the laughs or you might attract other harbor seals, but do go silk and glamorous. The sheen will make you look like British royalty and I don’t mean Prince Charlie Boy.

10. Roger Mathey ties with my 5th grade teacher Mr. Klems: Show me braids and an Elton John dazzle to go with your beautiful sword-fighting dreams that do come true.

9. Lead Singer of local band, Vesper: Dresses like he’s still watching Family Ties. Spunk it up a little and at least go Flock of Seagulls

8. Ed Bagels Cream Cheese ex-wife and most lady lawyers: Too much into the polyester pants and red power suits. Your make-up is far too heavy like it’s been applied with my grandmother’s old spatula she used to stir lard into refried beans. You can look good and be powerful, but you have to experiment.

7. Ed Bagels: This powerful man is just too small for his suits. If the stories are all true then he needs to kick on his high heels, put on a faboo Audrey Hepburn wig and some friendly Christian Dior for that taller, lordlier glam look.

6. Downtown Hemingway Bag Man: Would look good in front of a bookshelf. Forget the look. Get on meds and clean yourself up

5. Downtown Dread Locks Bag Lady: Would look good in front of a band at Reggae Fest. Forget the look. Get on meds and clean yourself up.

4. Old CSUB president Tomas Arcineaga: No hope here. Looks like my Hoochie Great Aunt in a toupee. I don’t even recommend feathers. Next?

3. Robin Mangarin: She could be exotic if she weren’t made of plaster and candle wax. Loosen your shoulders and be proud of your heritage! Put on some coconuts~

2. George Martin: A good man with a five o’clock shadow and hairdo that’s in serious need of a fixer upper. Stay away from the color red. Your suits are just too strange.

1. Mayor Harvey Hall: Add some curl, liven it up. Quit looking like your auditioning for a part as a nuclear scientist in the stage production of the ‘Oppenheimer Chronicles.’

Best Dressed

11. Honorable Mention: Jason of Ridikule. I only met him once. He’s got a tummy and big hair. He’s just a teddy bear with braids, though sometimes he paints his fingernails. He wears a bandana too and he’s a happy soul. Goes to show that you don’t have to wear a Tux to make mama’s list.

10. Yataka Fukufuji: Don’t you just love his name? It’s like a naughty Japanese mountain with a cherry on top! He’s adorable. He’s from Japan. He has great hair and bone structure and plays goalie for the Bakersfield Condors. All the girls I know just love him. He’s the only man on this list in a uniform! Put me in your crease, stick boy!

9. The bus stop lady: She’s at the corner of Chester Lane and Oleander everyday and she’s the coolest, best-dressed crossing guard I ever laid my hoochie eyes on. She can hold that sign up for me any day and I will stop!

8. Gerhard Enns: This Dalloways leading man is Elvis Costello meets lead actor from 28 Days Later—he looks that British, but dresses like he’s got a cool New York advertising agency to run.

7. Danielle Belton: Hoochie Honey of the Downtown News. This mama must be adorable. I’ve never met her. But if her outer wear matches her inner attitude then we can both wear boas and snap to the left and to the right!

6. Joey from Seven to the Right. Have you seen this urban cowboy boy toy singer? He’s moving up my personal rankings to “Yummy dresser and darling crooner.”

5. Nico Rhodes: Have you met her? She's darling, she plays keyboards, she’s funny and she dresses like she’s ready for a martini and an episode of Sex and the City.

4. Rikk Chesire: This Robin Hood actor must wear his tights in public at least once if he is to move up on this list. He wears glitter like I wear a Gucci pearl sand silk racer wrap tank. Shout!

3. Columbia: Is she for real? This girl has the cheekbones of a Diva and the outfits to match.

2. Dr. Frank N. Furter: Go watch the Rocky Horror Show. The pics are all too glamorous.

1. Captain Kenny Filthy Pants AKA Kenny Mount, lead singer of The Filthies: My dreamy dreamboat Rural Rock Punkster. Whether he goes punk T-shirt or suit and tie, I’m his hoochie baby. Mama needs a fan right now to cool off! His denim coat is to die for. Love the sweat when he sings. Run to me now!

Oh Honeys, mama's enraptured with Danielle!

2005-04-30T04:03:00.000-07:00

Oh I love it! This Bakersfield drama is more scandalous than Angelina and Mister you-have-too-much-pecs-hear-me-roar Pitts. jajaja! Have you seen him lately? He prances around like a rooster now that his Aniston feathers have been trimmed. I know Angelina has him trimming more than his feathers again—that tramp! What movie set doesn't have its share of scandalous hoochie bun shaking? All the young people, old people, hoochie people, Brady people, having sex and then pretending not to on the movie set is as normal as Roger Mathey slapping a dream sequence into a play like he’s being tickled in his sleep! I love it! I love it! Oh Rico should know! He was a paparazzi… But i don't kiss and tell unless you're wrapping me in silk pajamas for a late night talk by the bay... more on that later... That’s theatre—the energy, the libido, unless you’re a grumpy old Puerto Rican grandmother who locked her cookie jar long ago like this old hoochie who wrote back to Danielle like he not only locked up his cookies, but his tiny little habanero too…

I point my finger and wave it twice in the nose of this professor with the overheated habenero for Danielle. He candy coats his anger like a doorman in a British film just slapped twice with a white glove. Talk to the hand and shout because mama has more sense than you! Was he feeling as betrayed as young lovers on the set of his show by Danielle who has the bosoms of his mad desire by talking sense to him? Why didn’t he just cry out in perfect hoochie dramatics, “You wronged me Danielle! Now kiss me. Kiss me hard! (and find the key to my cookies)” It’s soo faboo to feel wanted...

But seriously, what movie set doesn't have scandal? It's fashoo in hollywood, it's taboo in Bakersfield? Is this old professor hoochie just jealous because actors and actresses can shake it and he can only break it? And if people don't come to shows, that's poor marketing. If you want the boys to see you prance, you have to SHOUT your fashion at them! jajaja! Show it off!

But back to girl and boy talk. Mama has to say he's like a blue-haired Puerto Rican papa with no zingin’ in his zest and his sequins having all fallen off his tiny glow stick. Oh rapture! But so much potty talk only makes me roll over and beg for Rico to not be so shy. And yes, I still dream of Paulo, but I don’t want you all to be hateful… Now run to me and let me hold you!

Mama is angry about the Lords of Bakersfield Hoochie

2005-04-29T03:23:00.000-07:00

Have I congratulated Nickyboy recently for writing a book about those big mean men whose chile peppers were out of control for so many years? Well mama needs to tell you about his article too. Let me just rant for one moment. Nicky is a writer extraordinaire. He taught me about active verbs and I taught him about denim summer fashion. Let me just spin off… It’s ok, I’ll hold you and kiss you later. I have just traveled back from the land of denim. Do you know where that is? Not your little Target wonderland, but garment central in Los Angeles… and let me tell you that I don’t want you or you or you to have a saggy bottom! Did I say me? Well let me be Sandra Bullock in Force of Nature and go crazy for just one rapturous second! Oh! Oh! Oh! Well a little less on the pocket frills means more tush for you to show off! Go denim! I give three cheers for summer fashion, because every summer I go crazy with nouveau! Now, back to that little tough boy writer who wrote about Rolling Stone’s hoochie freelance queen of dirty secrets, Kimberley Sevcik. Her sunken monument to the Lords of Bakersfield Hoochie was simply disastrous. Nicky said he didn’t like it. I read it and instantly my face was as red as a sun-soaked jalapeno tamale! Mama tried to hide it with make up this morning and it’s all wrong. You know those kinds of days, ladies? I wanted to tell this little bimbo hateful bitch that mama is no little country girl with braids and neither is Nicky or Robbie Price. Mama is Puerto Rican sunshine on any parade and so are these writers whose stones don’t roll but are built on a foundation of truth! She’s a jealous bitch and wants to write about J. Edgar Bagels and his moldy cream cheese ex-wife who takes pills like they're Krispy Kreme donut sprinkles on her soufflé. Oh, so boring. I was falling asleep with every word. No wonder it’s in the back of the magazine. I’m going to post this entire message on-line for the world to read. Why? Because I love you all! Now run to me and shout because I’m mad!

I saw a theater parade: ‘Robin Hood’s Glittery Chile Pepper’

2005-04-23T13:06:00.000-07:00

Run to me because I have so much to tell you about a show I am renaming ‘Robin Hood’s Glittery Chile Pepper’. You don’t know what I’m talking about? Well let me hold you. One kiss on each cheek for not being at the premiere of this faboo show, and one on the lips for Roger Mathey’s big Robin Hood misadventurous boy toy surprise. Let me just begin by telling you about the tights I saw, because I was quite a merry little Puerto Rican growling kitty, jajajaja! These tights were in greens and browns and just tight enough around chile peppers that when the acting turned too ‘Shakespeare on Corona’, a little bit slurry, a little bit maraca talk, there was plenty of hoochie boys to look at... should I have auditioned?

Now let’s start with Friar Tuck. This Latino in a potato sack, played by Pablo ‘I like to eat chicken the way I love you and you and you!’ Reyes had a wonderful hairpiece. I think fashion is fashionable when you can take a man with hair, make him bald, and then have the women love him for being a hairless Chihuahua. Now I’m not all that into the bald is beautiful sensation, but I did feel a tingle watching the Friar chase a rather boisterous drunken slut around the stage. Now I pictured Friar speaking a different kind of lingo, because Maid Marion, as uppity as she was, and I do mean to go Rosie Perez on her for not partaking in the Friar’s libido machismo ala Latino Robin Hood Salsa Machine…masssshshhine! So let me snap my fingers not once, but twice in front of her attitude because mama was about to storm onto the stage and straighten her dress! But here’s what the Friar should have said, “You hoochie little jalapeno mama! You stole my Robin Hood, prepare to snap your fingers and do a cha-cha with mama Friar! Now let’s tango with roses in our teeth while Robin Hood and his merry men sing a song ala Dulcinea I’d like to hear titled, ‘Marion, the Billy Joel Uptown Girl of La Moncha” You know what I’m saying, don’t you? You ladies need to keep yourselves in line when you see machismo, so shake it a little. Don’t be an old 1986 Christie Brinkley Hoochie Piano Girl who leaves her husband for a Bronx cabana boy. Can you believe that? Hold me. She is not always a woman to me!

Oh goodness, I want to mention to all you ladies about Robin’s pretty pink Hood, because when he wasn’t strutting his chin hairs at that uppity glamour girl Maid Marion, he was busy seeing his true colors explode in a glittery dazzle of lights! Shout! And let me tell you, mama was questioning whether this hoochie vigilante stuffed a sock in his tights to hide a little pink spot because even mama was dancing in her seat during the show’s most faboo scene: ‘The Glitter Parade’. I clapped for joy at all the glitter Robin smeared on his pectoral petals and if my Marilyn curls would have been swinging, then mama would have run on stage to touch all that glittery manly girly excitement. A man in tights would love a boy in curls, don’t you think? I’m going to give Rikk Chesire, the actor who stuffed socks to make for a fine chile pepper my phone number so we can act out a new final scene: The stage isn’t so dark, but bright like my smile as Robin Hood swings on a rope down to a heart-shaped bed with Enrique Fuentes held down by not one, but four Friar Tucks. Can you see it? Now hold me because this is more than a dream and today I am missing Paulo more than usual. Damn him.

Since I’m robbing from the rich these days with this new glamorous lipstick I’m wearing tonight, let me tell you who stole the show from those kings and queens with their all-too-British bantering about who-loves-who, and who wants power, and who can be dashing and horrid to the vixens. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the royalty was just as funny as a Kirstie Alley Fat Lady segment where she squeezes into Valentino dress four sizes too small. It’s Ok, I can say that honeys, her and I are old friends and have both come out of closets so to speak. Back to that dirty Sherriff of Naughtyham. Now Captain Kenny Filthy Pants is my hero and he deserves two kisses on the lips for being so tall and bewitching even though he is a hateful bitch for not showing up to Narduccis, but I just loved this Sherriff. He was tall; he was dark; he was handsome; and he didn’t get any of the girls, which leaves me of course wishing I had run onstage and dropped my silk hankie with the sequins spelling ‘hoochie queen’ on it. Jajaja… you haven’t seen it? I will show it to you, but only with a kiss and tell about all of your favorite fashions this summer.

Let me finish by talking a little about this director of loose shenanigans who likes to create characters of kings in pink tights and sword fighters in my favorite Victoria’s Secret summer delights. Oh you didn’t know? Well I am not giving anything away. I didn’t even talk about the sword fight climax that reminds me of what it’s like when a director daydreams trainspotting meets Robin. Oh now I can’t help myself. Let me fall down on the carpet and gossip for you… Yes, it was a Roger Mathey dream sequence turned play turned reality turned ‘Enrique felt like a little hoochie for staring into Mr. Mathey’s potty dreams’ when a swordfight erupted like the night Paulo and I got in a shouting match over opalescent blue eye make-up accessories; because honey I do believe a little glow can take you places… well this boy made his dreams come true. I don’t know if he was drinking a little too much chardonnay and was reading Somerset Maugham while the Princess Bride was on his DVD player. This boy has an imagination for tights, uppity maids, glittery sword fights and kings and queens that makes directing look like a trip to my favorite Hollywood fashion salon when Paulo is trying on wigs. Do you hear me roar? I’m talking to you, and you, and you! Now go see this show at the Spotlight and shout!

It's not TABOO to be in love with a FABOO boy

2005-04-03T03:19:00.000-07:00

Are you ready for Queen Enrique, Baby Ricky, Hoochie of the downtown, the most catty hateful bitch of Bakersfield fashion, and lover of everyone in tight jeans? Enough about what’s personal. Let me get back to what I have been saying all along about fashion. It’s what you need to make you, YOU! I can’t even begin to tell you how lovely it is for a little girl like me to have been in New York this past week. I was on the I-78 in New Jersey, approaching the Holland Tunnel, the Long Island Expressway, singing to the Queens Midtown Tunnel… mmmmm, then on the I-95 North, we approached the George Washington Bridge… oh did I say we? Wouldn’t you like to know? …and the next thing you knew I was in another spin, zinging in another direction, and was in the garment district and it was all about the newness, the sleek, the dynamic, the ravishing, and all those glittering sprinkles, so much candy in your clothes; like a little bit of hoochie on everything, because let me tell you what’s coming back! Silver threads and golden sequins! You should see my DNA honeys, it ALL glitters. You didn’t know? Shame on you… now run to me because I want to hold you and tell you… If you haven’t been a reader lately of the most fashoo Fashion and Style section of the NY Times, then you just don’t care. I’m looking the other way so kiss me on the cheek and I will finish my story. I’ll shout that all the way to my lastest hero, Captain Kenny Filthy Pants, and right down to his little boy GAP boxer briefs. Did I tell you about my latest crush? Ever since the Cherry Bar I have been madly in love with the leading man of the Filthies. Don’t tell Paulo that. Oh I don’t care. He’ll just faint and I’ll laugh because he’s a hoochie and keeps calling me. The competition right now is between Kenny and Rico. Rico, so straight, such curly hair, such tight jeans. But he doesn’t make love to a guitar onstage like that filthy boy sugary sweet honeybee that I want to sting me right on my dirty cucaracha maraca. Jajajaja! Now, back to sequins. These aren’t gold, but you know my colors and look at that price! It’s as delicious as strawberries circling my golden moons… now be a cherub and run to me! Yes honeys, because you can!

Where's mama been now? Damn that Paulo! Damn him!

2005-03-31T03:13:00.000-08:00

There was a little chile pepper walking to school one day. She wore a big pink boa and told her boyfriend, “You walk by yourself, because you’re not hot enough!” And he wasn’t. He was a shriveled, unholy, smirking little habanero who had soaked all night just to let the water make him feel less like fire. But she did not like it! Oh no, she said, “I’m going to find me a new dancing, fiery, cholula pepper boy. One who isn’t so demanding, One that doesn’t have so little fire in his seeds!” Yes you all. Run to me because I am not going to cry now that Paulo is gone. What can mama say? My life will go on. There will be new Paulos in a great big Puerto Rican blue-haired sunset for me! And I shout that because I can! But let me say this to you… don’t any of you ladies ever put up with a man who threatens you with violence. You run. You run to me if you have to. I’ll hold you. I am queen of the downtown fur and I’m growling like you and you and you at all those bad little boys! Now let’s have fun, because I was at the Silver Fox and I saw Teresa and he was wonderful. He wore fake eyelashes like Brad Pitt can wear a Tie: so perfect, so yummy, so vroom vroom get your engines into high gear ladies. So Teresa said he might show up on the 16th to Narducci’s where mama is making her big entrance. Now run to me because I need to hug you and you and you! And no tears for Paulo!

APRIL 16th HONEY: Pink FaSHOO Galore with Dalloways, coffee, Johnny Come Lately, tea, Norfolk, and ME!

2005-03-21T04:41:00.000-08:00

I was on my little hoochie mama girlfriend’s site today and this little stubborn crinkle over my eyes was a big surprise. (You know the one, Paulo) So much talk about bats these days. I told her don’t get mad, just snap your fingers three times and growl! Run to me! Yes! Now, if you haven’t heard, little hoochie writer Nicky is presenting a big show at Narducci’s APRIL 16 with three faboo bands, the dalloways, Norfolk and Johnny Come Lately. No, don’t kiss me yet. There’s more to tell! Really! Just sit there in your pout and put on more moisturizer. And again! We all know you need it. And so do you and you and you! Now, this is a REALLY BIG SHOW. Let me say it again because mama just wiggled in her chair. This is a REALLY BIG SHOW! Why? Well that’s because these little British babies are gonna sing a lullaby just for me. Oh thank you Nicky for their music. I love this band. Paulo, kiss me right now or I AM going to kiss and tell! Have you seen the lead singer? He’s part Elvis Costello. He’s part Dexter’s Lab. I think he might be part batman—I just pictured him in a tight suit saving me from a burning bush! (you know the kind). He’s also part Woody Allen. So is Nicky! Are they brothers??? Nicky, that little hoochie said he was Mexican not British! (Pout). Enough, mama is talking again, jajaja. There is a darling girl in this band I want her to sing a duet with little G-boy. No, that’s not my spot but the lead singer of the Dalloways, and yes honeys, he can perform. JaJa! Shout and show it off because you can little Dalloways!

Mama’s Big News:

Now I’m whispering because this is the REALLY BIG NEWS. Lean close, let me taste your kisses. Yes, now, tell everyone “Shout it because you want to!” because ENRIQUE FUENTES, QUEEN OF THE DOWNTOWN FUR IS GOING TO BE IN THE HOUSE! Yes honeys, mama thinks this little hoochie town is ready for her to show up and show off as only she can! So fashoo and so faboo, let me tell you little hoochies there is more to pink in this town than a downtown fire station! Jajaja! Why? Say it with me: because Enrique Fuentes can! This is the biggest grandest show this hoochie Bakersfield will see (until I show up again and have my special giveaway: a fashionable boa! Now I won’t kiss and tell unless YOU shout three times and kiss me on the lips!) Honeys, if you’re not there, I’m going to run and never come back. I’m going to go sit in Hollywood and snap my fingers and pout all at once. I want to see you, and you, and you! I love you all! Show up and I will give you something that you won’t say no to, a nice gift! I love you! Now I’m falling over so catch me, girls!

The Angry Hoochie: Enrique Fuentes Snaps Her Fingers! Now Run!

2005-03-21T03:58:00.000-08:00

Little miss something I want to talk to you! Are you listening because right now I want to take you and spank you like you were Paulo throwing a fit at me for you know what again. You know who I am talking to: That little hoochie with the baseball bat. You know your hoochie name: it sounds like a little crazy town, only you need a make up tip from Ingrid BERGman to live it. Don’t you know this? Jajajaja! Were you at the Silver Fox, foxing it up with a hoochie Latin Lover? Well she wasn’t me and I would go so Rosie Perez on you that you would think you were a Puerto Rican grandchild, caught in the cookie jar AGAIN! Shout it! I saw you with your van and broken window. I think you threw your lover out into the cold. Run! Right now to me! She should run to me because I would hold her. Now Shout, because I was downtown last night and I saw this hoochie van driving around, cruising like some kind of Charles Bronson film. So 1970s and retro. The little van, stalking dark streets in downtown hoochieville. The baseball bat. The little 70s afros running this way and that and scattering and dropping hankies like Barbara Streisand was singing Funny Girl all over again. They were all crying. And I’m not. I stamp my feet and cha cha and I’m not your potato chip at all, I won’t crunch. And I am not salty to your taste. No, but I will tell you now that I will show it off. Run to me all you intimidated and oppressed. Go ahead. Mama will save you all!

See my little honeys, mama made a quick trip to Hollywood and still loves all of you!

2005-03-17T17:19:00.000-08:00

Hello!!!! Oh my little goodness, my little cookies, my little baby pequeno chile pepper eaters. Wash your fingers and lick my paws. I feel like such a lamb, so furry I have to shave EVERYTHING. If I had the eyelashes of my little boy flash in the pan, Paulo, I would never ever have to use fakies. Did I say fakies? JAJAJA… oh don’t fake anything but your make up and your tears, ladies. Shout it! Now, your mama baby kitty wants you to meow with me right now because I have a story to share with you. Let’s sit at mama’s table. Pour your tea and me and hold me for one second. Because I need you that’s why! Now run to me! Your Enrique was in Hollywood yesterday, dashing about with a fun crowd at the pink Starbucks in Pacific Palisades. You know the one, right? It’s so pink and luscious and you can sit and talk to the stars like they’ve been your hoochie girlfriends for years. I saw Anthony Hopkins again and told him straight out like any hoochie mama should that he can talk and I’ll listen! There’s more. You know the fat lady who I love so much and talked about very recently because she has a new TV show. You know it! Kirstie Alley! We talked make up. We talked sunshine. We felt like dandelions and oh she is a rabbit out of a cage and smells like honey and loves Tazo Tea, refresh, honeys, refresh... I have to say that she is a darling of darlings. But let me tell you one more personality your mama met. Mama met this little baby girl who is in so many movies. She’s a doll and I held her. Yes I did, shout it! Christina Applegate! That daughter from Married with Children. She was in that movie The Sweetest Thing with Cameron Diaz and Selma Blair. Her character was soooo player-player girl and she found out so wrong that you can settle down at the end. Is that what mama is going to find out? Tell Paulo that I am going to settle down one day and then slap me with your frigidity because mama wants to swing from the world like a cherry blossom caught on your branches. That’s mama talk for you, and you, and you! Now one last time, welcome me back to town and run to me because I deserve to hold all of you!

Hits and Misses – Me! Me! Me! And all the hoochie rest…

2005-03-13T10:46:00.000-08:00

Hit: Me. Enrique Fuentes. Queen of the Downtown Fur. Catty bitch of the hoochies. Lost lala of the Kiss Me Song. Musical Menagerie of the Lingerie. Twinkle of Your Starry Dreamgirl Fashion! Do you little hoochie enchilada’s cook yourselves in a nice long svelteskirt that you know you’ll find during this most decadent week in San Fran fashion? Or, are you lost, crazy loco cabeza little boy lost like Kenny Filthypants was when he serenaded me with his cockaracha potty songs at the Cherry Bar? Run to me and don’t ever hide again! Take a look at this fashion in Japan. Because if these hoochies are this lost,then I am a saint and will love you, and you, and you! Because I can! I am a hit because everything I’m touching is turning to pink! Melt me. I’ll be your pink butter baby hoochie mama; and I will wear a belt with that! Match me and I’ll take Paulo for ice cream and let him eat it off my… oh honey’s you thought Iwas going to talk to you like you’re my hoochie girlfriend? I don’t know you! And I don’t know you! But I will write to you, and you! And I will tell most all! Now run to me and hug me because we can show it off together!

Miss: No misses today. I just want to tell you all I love you!

A lovely night of eyebrows away from Bakersfield bands

2005-03-11T03:08:00.000-08:00

There is a precious little moment that many of us know. It’s just after the warmth that ladies love to feel. It hurts a little. It stings afterwards a lot. But we do it. We do it because we love ourselves and we want to feel like good little hoochies (I don’t ever dare do it for Paulo. He would get too excited if I admitted that). Now run to me because what I’m talking about in ever such a whisper to you, my baby cupcakes, is post-wax oil, and the warmth that ladies love to feel is a good wax. Yes! Shout it! Take off that unibrow! Let your stylist swab hot wax, blow on it, pull for a quick rip, and then do the same above and below each eye. And wax your lips too for that baby smooth kiss that you know Paulo dies for. Don’t you love when the wax rips the hairs and your stylist rubs the pain away with her delicate fingers? And then she plucks, she tweezes and keeps those tweezers perpendicular to your eyebrow. Why? It’s just the way, sugar. Don’t you love when she puts a few drops of post-wax oil on your redness to make it go away? Don’t you love her mamacita-taking-care-of-her-hija, gonna-rock-you-in-her-chair attitude? Oh honeys, let me tell you that while so many of you were out listening to your hoochie war battle of the babies, Enrique, Queen of the Downtown Fur was throwing her head back (minus the boa) and getting all cleaned up for an even longer night with Paulo. You know the nights I’m talking about. Besides, if I can’t see that Karmahatefulbitchlist in his full lovely drag make-up, then why would I ever want to go? Oh don’t be so sensitive. When mama jokes we ALL laugh! Jajajaja! Do it! Because we ALL can! Now, I got a report from my lovely Nicky that there was even a tiny scuffle tonight. I told him I wouldn’t write about it, but I lied! Hug me now! And I’m sorry, but if some hoochie boy punk fans are going to fight, they better step around Enrique because my lips will smirk, I will snap my fingers, and they will BEHAVE! Oh! You know it! Give a shout out for music and the community Nicky has started. I’m there, you’re there, and don’t be hateful because I love you, and you, and you! It’s Ok babygirl, show it off!

Enrique's very special night at the Cherry Club with the Filthies

2005-03-09T03:35:00.000-08:00

Have I told you? Although I have never met that sexy hoochie Bakersfield boy whose talk is as naughty as his band name, Kenny Filthy, I think he and the rest of his band would be darling in a punk rock opera. My babies, it would be about growing up in Bakersfield wearing none other than 1970s vintage polyester fashion! With a tight-all-the-way-down-to-the-heels look with little maracas shake-shake-shake-shakin’ it up for babygirl! Shake it and shout honeys! Because you can! Shout! Most recently your Queen Cat of the Downtown Fur went up to San Fran to her most favorite girl bar ever: The Cherry Club. That was February 18th. Wait a minute. Wrap your boa across your shoulders and throw your hair back because you’re acting so Rosie Perez and I don’t like it. Don’t tell me you’re Puerto Rican after all just because you can talk! You’re saying you never heard of this totally inspirational bar for ladies and gents and little boy blues everywhere? And yes, these little filthy boys were there. Now, listen closely, because this is one of those crossover bars where straight meets me, meets ‘let’s have a happy family’, because EVERYONE there loved The Filthies. The house was packed so tight with bodies that my boyfriend couldn’t help but get excited and jealous at the same time. Gussy (Don’t you love that name, Paulo?) is the hoochie guitar player who jumps around en fuego. That’s fire honey. Yes! Run to me and hug me right now! And Captain Kenny Filthy Pants, he’s the other guitar player, and he sings almost as good as my dear champion of the purr-car growl, Morrissey, only hungrier, faster, with a yummy boy punk edge (Because they are all yummy and not just Filthy. Shout it out!) Guppy is on the drums and he’s scrumptious delicious and the crowd loved his drum rolls so much I thought they were all going to want to by Velcro’d to his symbols. Hit it! Kelly is just as Filthy as the rest. He straps on a bass the way I strap on my wings. And he can flutter them too honey, because you can’t have good music without a proper bass line to follow. Think melodies are like common sense fashion make up—you can’t mix and match colors that aren’t on the color wheel, baby girl!

Oh yes, meet drink and be cherry, because this red bar is like no other bar. If you’re a girl with cherry lip gloss, if you’re a girl who is simple and sophisticated, if you’re a girl of the San Fran moment, it’s the place for you. And I will tell you one more thing. If the filthies are always like that, then I am going to have to shower and shave three times a day. Did you hear that? Run to me! Go ahead! Now shake it!

Drama Queen of the Moment: Kirstie Alley.

2005-03-08T14:40:00.000-08:00

Oh yes, honeys, did you watch last night’s episode of Fat Actress? Hoochie supreme showed it off from the first frame to the last. She’s no big blonde bimbo like that ONE girl. I won’t say who she is! You know, that girl who wanted ALL that rich man’s money, and then DIDN’T get it, and then had her own Reality TV show and was REALLY fat, and then got skinny? Oh I can’t say her name even though you’re at home right now shouting it. Yes you are! Kirstie screams from the first minute to the last. Her days of playing aliens are over, and I’m glad because Star Trek was never fashionable to anyone, ever. And you can tell them all that I’m a hoochie for saying it because I’m not changing my mind even though naughty boy Patrick Stewart is my papa champion.

Playing a pseudo-version of herself, Kirstie cries for help through the entire episode. She wants a show and she got one by making it, which is rather fake, but I like it. She is so hoochie that I want to try and hug her even though she wears a light layer of oh-I’m-so-normal make-up. John Travolta is not so exciting in his cameo. He needs to go dance again, his face is too puffy; most of the secondary characters have Barbie makeovers straight from the factory, and yes honey, they’re BORING. But Kirstie’s whining, and yes, her babygirl bantering, she does it like no other, she wants it, and wants to flaunt it, and says it all for the big girls in all of us. Inside, I’m not this tiny-waist hoochie dancer who is so faboo; Inside I am fat like Kirstie and screaming just like her character. That’s why I cried the whole episode. I don’t know what Kirstie is trying to saying in her show, but fat sex is not bad at all; later in the episode I swear she changes her mind, but I won’t give THAT away. It may not be fashoo, but it’s happening, especially with Kirstie, because she’s my sissie babygirl. In this first episode, so many actors and actresses names are dropped that I felt like I just picked up a star map and began fanning myself, ooooo! Sweet little sexy me, Kirstie, I feel you, because I have just your conversation, only every second with my own baby self. Kirstie and her friends people-watch more than I watch glitter fashions dance off the rack! Show it off! Go ahead! Kirstie, keep yelling, your fictitious career is going to take off I just know it! Shout, I’ll keep watching this drama queen get all the attention! Kiss!

Glitter, frost, fashion - an evening with Enrique - the Gay Bakersfield Parade

2005-03-07T18:42:00.000-08:00

I am a parade. I don't need anyone else. Do you hear me honeys? I am shouting! I’m going out tonight and I’m all made up. Are you?? Do you want to be ready? Do you want to say to those hoochies who call on you every night, “No way, Jose! I have a hot date tonight with myself in front of my vanity mirror! You’ll have to take a number. And you! And you! And you!” For all you ladies of the day, it’s time for the night. Yes, I know you’re so nice about applying during the morning hours. But now it’s time for frost and glitter! Yes! You remember my Padre piano bar stories? Yes, you could get lost in my glitter back in those days. I could wink at you and I was a star! I still am! But don’t get mixed up. Daytime make up uses neutrals, like grays and browns with lighter colors for blushes (but not necessarily lip make up because if you’re like me you can hoochie it up a bit so that Paulo will kiss you again, and again! Yes! Get back babies, Paulo is mine!) In the evening… mmm yes… get close for this one, let your eyelashes touch mine because you want to hear what my moist lips are whispering: evening shades are bold, like us! Use blues, greens and reds with options like frost and your babydoll glitter to catch the moonlight, or candlelight (or light of Paulo’s heart) Add two (or more) coats of mascara and you are completely ready! You don’t need to go to make up school to get your desired effect: sexy hoochie lovely purr kitten. But you do need to BELIEVE that you are an artist! Because you are! Shout!

And if it’s hot outside like it gets in Bake Town’s panties when Angelina Jolie is on the big screen, then please honeys, use water-based eye liners, powder blushes, and lover, you know it, face powder: sexy it up because honey you don’t want to shine like some hoochie who looked like she just sweat with her man at the next table! Run and get it and show it off! But listen, I am serious, if you want to do it right, you need to look at the fashions. You can’t do a thing if you haven’t seen fashion. Do you know what’s going on in metrofashion? Oh ruffle it up and then contrast because mama is waiting for you to be sexy. Don’t you dare put that make up on if you’re going out in last year’s dungarees. Think 1970s, just looser. Re-create your vintage heart and soul, babies! If you don’t? I’ll call you a hoochie and slap you and say you’re not fashoo or faboo! Run to me and hug me right now!

I'm tired but I'll talk fashoo with you!

2005-03-07T00:01:00.000-08:00

When I stay out late I like to drive around and talk on the phone with Trixie Love. Have I mentioned her? Do I ever need to? Oh yes I do! Trixie is coming to town (but just passing through). She'll be here long enough to bat her eyes at Paulo and me (she's so fashoo) and then off to Hollywood where you know she's going to stay up all night with some director hot on her heels. But enough of that. Ms. T L see-you-later Enrique only needs to feel my love. Let me wave my arms in the air. Let me do it again! I have finally decided that tomorrow is make-up tip day. And I have chosen a special subject just for you and Trixie Love. It's a glittery stardust make-over for the fashionable girls who are all about decadence and opulence. If you can't hear me, let me shout it again! Do you have trouble with those eyes in the salsa club when your chile pepper cheap peso hoochie boyfriend and his hoochie attitude is not paying you enough attention?? Turn up the whips and hips because someone needs to snap shake it and I'm not talking about flat black eye make-up. You need color on the hit parade nights and I want you to show it off! So show it off girls! Yes!

Hits and Misses: The Famous Padre Sisters!

2005-03-05T21:35:00.000-08:00

Hit! : The old Padre Hotel with the fabulous piano bar. Yes, yes, and YES! Now if I could just go back in time to the night I snuck into the Padre’s sexy martini-tiled piano palace (Yes, I’m a bad girl. You know it!). That night I went up to the balcony and pretended I was a girly girl like you’ve never seen. I twirled in my rhinestones and freyed glittering cowgirl vest. Was I wearing a matching hat? Wouldn’t you all like to know! I keep saying I don’t kiss and tell unless there’s a tub filled with peach jello involved… more on that when I share stories of me, Paulo and Trixie Love when we all made sure we were pink flamingos at the backstage love hole at Elton John’s famous, ‘I want your lovies’ tour. You know the one. Let’s be serious for just one moment. The piano bar was THE most flashy boa this town ever swung from its sexy neck. Kick up your feet in a chorus line to MY memories. Shout!

Double Trouble Miss! : Any city ‘without’ a piano bar. How am I ever going to feel like a sexy lady in Bakersfield when I can’t go and drape my long arms and evening gown and kick up my Roger Vivier's buckled flats—oh yes they are coming back girls. Run out and get a pair, or more (if you’re competing with me). Or Manolo Blahnick—do you own a pair? I have three and they’re ALL me. Kick those up on a piano and lay your head back… oh wait, you can’t. There’s no piano bar in this town, which devastates me more than you when you’re not being fashionable ladies. I’m shouting at you, and you, and you! Kiss me later, because I’m talking!

The Most Lustful Upcoming Fashions, Nicky, and Peter Brady Record Gospel

2005-03-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

If you haven’t seen the new Chinese summer and fall fashions that are coming out from Louie, Valentino, Lauren and my other friends, then you are farther behind the times then that lovely Peter Brady lead singer of Broken record Gospel! His hair was more Peter than Brady, but if I tell him to his face he’s going to make this baby girl eat porkchops and applesauce. Sing “I can change,” will you please, Peter Gospel? Now honeys don’t get mad, cause mama is just playing with all your sensitive minds. I did have a good time that night even though I didn’t get pinched enough. And I did love the music. I thank lovely Nicky for the review slot, although the whole page should be MY forum. Let’s make it pink, no, a deep red to go with fall Oriental fashions. What do you say girls? Let’s get my lipstick back on track, pucker up and paint in the lines so to speak. A deep red for them too, perfect! Jaja! Now the fashions I’m talking about are so lovely and delicate they remind me of little erotic porcelain ruffled dolls standing close to each other. My grandmother used to put them like her little girlfriends in her glass cabinet that when I was a lonely boy, my own doll fingerprints would smudge the glass. I couldn’t help falling in love back then. (and dreaming dreamy girl moments of holding hands, don’t you love it, Paulo?) But these are the fashions of today and you can learn all about them in this most lustful photo collage sent to me from Trixie Love over in Las Vegas. She’s a high-flying Rio casino dancer. She’s also a performance artist and oh my love when we hit the town in hot pink on Saturdays we are on a fashion hit parade! Do you all hear me or do I have to shout louder? Show it off! Go ahead!

Hits and Misses: My Tail Works, but not my Mayor

2005-03-04T11:00:00.000-08:00

Hit! : Rabobank! Do you know what I like most about this besides I would love to get paid millions of dollars to change my name to bootylicious honeygirl? Oh lovers, whenever I read this you know I see the words ‘bootybank’ and you know how I feel about a good booty. Make it just round enough for me and I’ll take it the rest of the way around the world. And back! And back to the front. (Oh Paulo, you can’t wait for dessert now) Didn’t your grandmother teach you your Spanish? Kiss my rabo little hoochie… Let’s all go to the arena and shake it. I don’t mean Fanilow Mandy, but Copacabana. Can you imagine? We’re all lovers together in Bootybank and shaking our round somethings (Because we can, girls!) and Fanilow supreme, Barry, frilled like a cockatoo and tight pants because he still has what I paint on my hips everyday…

Miss! : Mayor Harvey Hall. This man is such a poor dresser that I am crying while typing these words. My mascara is running, honeys. Don’t you feel sorry for your babygirl, Enrique? This is painful. I’m in my braziere and panties but wish I were in a snowjacket his look is so cold. My grandfather wore nothing but suede, but this man could not be helped by any 1970s jumpsuit. He’s got a blue Puerto Rican wig and green mustache and makes his little Mexican ambulance drivers work for pesos. What kind of Tequila can YOU buy for a peso? It’s not the kind you can poor down Paulo and find the worm. No! He’s a miss, all the way my babies! Talk to me, honey. What are YOU wearing?? I love you all!

BakeTown is a fancy meal I cook in my oven. Delish! Kisses, and more on gossip!

2005-03-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

I can’t wait to tell you my darlings, but this is the most delicious meal I have had for breakfast in some time(I’m not talking about you, Paulo. I will be over at noon. And I’m not fixing your hair (I’m going to mess it up!) What I’m shouting about is that I would kiss BakeTown on the lips (and yes Paulo, you on the hips) Because, I have been around this town for years and it’s time for me to show my ravenous liptalk and fascination with Chips! Yes, the TV show, remember Eric Estrada? He was the hip-shaking Latino love boy who frequented gay bars after every motorcycle speed chase show taping (Yes, Paulo, he brought his cuffs, should I bring mine?) Don’t you read the outdated gossip as well as the new? Why just read about Ashley’s beauty crème because her skin looks like polyester play-doh? Why just read about Julia Roberts and her hoochie love nest? Why only talk about Brad Pitt and his obsession with a ‘friend’ who has poor taste in eyebrow wax? Do any of you know the number of the boy in Hollywood who tries to wax her eyebrows? I’m telling you, ‘try’ is the best word I can come with up for that. I could give a lesson or two. After I get done waxing his little chile pepper, he won’t go messing up any hoochie actress eyebrows. That poor Brad Pitt. He’s just going to go the way of the Hollywood love gods. He’s a Troy and a half and you better put a Trojan on his horse if you’re going to play with that boy. He’s loosening up, I hear. No more wanting to have babies, just wanting to make them! Jajaja! Good friends are saying how funny I am, how flashy I dress, how desperate and dramatic I am with the make-up I wear (are you ladies and little boy batmen in tights ready for my makeover tips?) I’m going to bend over and pick up my dropped hankie for you, and you, and you, and you! Yes!

'Silver Fox, foxy me, fox you up, honey' --my broken record bible verse

2005-03-04T04:25:00.000-08:00

Oh I was there. And I was watching every single one of you in that smoky room. I put on the cherry lips just like I said I would. Did you see that Ben boy with the hair? He's the country shirt starry-eyed boy who broke my record when he sang to me--and that's the gospel! He sang and I wanted to be his keyboards, flicking the bass, tickling me...enough of that! I just was in love with his hair. Now if you girls don't stop wearing these sashes around your waists like you're some kind of Jet Li Hoochies I'm just going to have to tie you up and spank you all myself. There was one tattoo too many on some boy-looking-like-a-rock-star in wayyyyy too much red. Did you see him? I don't think he was ready to dance. And clear lip gloss for him was not a good way to say, "Come kiss me, I have boy lips." But then I have to remind myself that you don't have to be foxy to walk into the Silver Fox late at night. I'm not sure I was into the music because there was no one there to kiss and tell. It was fast, just how I like to be. But really, I did like the girl who told me, "Enrique, I love your pants, they're tighter than a tuna fish can on you, honey." Oh I love her. I love her. She was wearing a knit top long sleeve, hidden jewelry and sneek peek tattoo on her cleavage for a nice flavor of 'see what you get when you're with me at the Foxy fox'. I love you all!

I was the first show-off butterfly in Delano, Ca

2005-03-03T12:37:00.000-08:00

The first thing you will want to know about me is who I am and where I grew up. Originally, I am from the lovely farming community of Delano, California. I grew up dancing like a little senorita butterfly, ignoring all those blackbirds and scarecrows and wore purple everyday to show the town I wasn’t made of dirt. My mother loved my wings and still does. She’s a butterfly too, only she’s in love with my long eyelashes and even when I was a young pretty one she would kiss me and tell me “I am going to steal those from your precious face!” I think we share them now and then, these butterfly wings. I’m not so hateful, see? I was a skinny boy in the fields of desperation between the sweaty thighs of Mexican and Philipino mamas and papas. They made me and I’m going to break me if I dance hard enough; and they all worked and I thought dancing with grapes was a rattlesnake hoochie dance even at my most innocent age 7. Were you ever 7? I’m no little girl blue. I worked hard, sooo hard too. I worked it on High Street in my teenage years. Now I just live life loco, loco loco and I am all about dress up. Coming soon will be my make-up tips. And then, dress up! And when I am on the street I will interview everyone about the fashion fixer uppers they desperately need. And I am desperate, I am drama, I am the queen and you are all so fancy in MY Bakersfield parade. Show it off. Go ahead!

Let me tell you something about fashion and me

2005-03-03T12:36:00.000-08:00

My nice little cubana boyfriend has been telling me about his lushious book for some time now. You know the one, the one that should have my title, Queen Enrique, Baby Ricky, Hoochie of the downtown, catty hateful bitch of Bakersfield fashion, and lover of everyone in tight jeans. I told him when the time was right I would jump right in and say that yes, he is Rico, and, no, he does not hate gays. Enough said! Mama is here to talk to you about the big hits and the big misses not just in our little devilish town here on the enchilada highway. Oh, do you hear me? Do I need to turn it up. I have my lips on high and my shoulders back and I'm ready to roar to you little boys and girls. Put your skirts on and dance, cause mama enrique fuentes is here to tell you about everything and anything, from fashion hollywood to fashion Bakerswood, to the word on the street in my very nice honda that has a kitten purr...purrrr... I love you all! I'll be there for dinner at 7! Dancing at 8! Me for dessert at 9!