1. Wednesday, November 21, 2001

    Mariah came over last night 

    to watch the J-Lo concert with me on tv. She figured she was going to have to see it sooner or later, so why not see it right away and get it over with. I made some fajitas that turned out pretty good even though i forgot her favorite ingrediant: cheese. She was pretty distracted so neither of us knew it until we were working on our seconds.

    Before the show started I told her that Britney on HBO was mighty disappointing and she said that I was a good friend. I said, I shit you not, Mariah, the girl wasn’t all that. She put her head on my shoulder and smiled a secret smile and the commercials ended and J-Lo hit the stage.


    Jennifer Lopez was freaking amazing.

    Still, me and Mariah sat there trying to pick her apart, but we failed.

    Mariah: Is she really singing?

    Me: Can’t be.

    Mariah: I think she is.

    Me: Nuh huh.

    Mariah: That skank is really singing.

    Me: And she’s dancing.

    Mariah: Dancing her damn ass off.

    Me: Fuck.

    Mariah: You know she used to be a Fly Girl.

    Me: I never knew that, really?

    Mariah: yeah.

    Mariah: That wig is ridiculous.

    Me: But look at her go.

    Mariah: Fire?

    Me: More fire than Blink-182.

    Mariah: and fireworks.

    Me: FUCK!

    Mariah: Where’s her man, her man is a good dancer.

    Me: Bro is probably in the back munching on the brie, counting her money.

    Mariah: She’s really singing.

    Me: And look at that attitude. Like she’s looking in the crowd for someone who stole her purse.

    Mariah and I downed the first bottle of white wine. She spilled a little on her skirt. I offered Jello.

    “That’s the dumbest nickname,” she said.

    “I didnt say J-Lo, I said Jello.”

    We laughed. And then she started to cry. J-Lo was prancing around that stage in Puerto Rico like she had gathered all the attitude and spirit and sass in all of Latin America and was shoving it right back into the faces of anyone who had ever dissed her ever.

    Her band was hot, her dancers were hot, the look of the show was first rate – as good as any of the stage productions by touring rock acts like the Stones or U2. She swung on a girlie swing above the crowd. She wore a flamenco dress and danced like a Spaniard. She covered a Selena tune from the movie that broke her. Then she concluded the hour show by singing a song in perfect Spanish.

    “Show off,” I said. But it was too late, Mariah was balled up in my lap.


    “Oh, Tony.”

    Shhh shhh sshhh.

    I told Mariah that no one sings like she does. That no matter who we think we are, there’s always going to be someone who comes along to kick our ass. I might think that I have a cool ‘fro, and I walk down the street and some ass has one twice as big…

    She had finished crying. She was in the sucking the snot back in her nose/hiccupping stage.

    … and he’ll be White!

    She had this long skirt on. I’ll tell you, tv sure does f with things, cuz in real life Mariah has way skinnier legs than you’d imagine. But theyre real nice.

    I had popped open a bottle of red and filled her glass a few times as we watched 20/20 about the Iowa family who had 8 kids all at once. It was a good distraction. I turned and there was some liquid running out of her nose. She tried to lick it, but her tounge is suprisingly short. it looked cute as hell. Irresistable, really.

    I got a fresh box of Kleenex and dabbed at her nose for her. She was comatose. So I leaned over and kissed her.


    She and I had kissed a few times and it was awesome. Not just cuz it was Mariah, but, I don’t know. She’s pretty special. After a while you’re just two dumb kids in an apartment watching tv and shes not a diva and im not an FBI agent and we’re just two mixed up souls with taco sauce stains on our shirts and a kiss like that…

    She jumped me.

    I knew it was just cuz she wanted to get her mind off of current events, but it was cool. I was there for her, so I jumped her back.

    Later, I walked her to her car and I said, “no matter what anyone says, you are my favorite superstar. You’re my number one brown-skinned diva. You’re my dream lovah, my butterfly. You’re my little runaway.”

    She giggled, gave me a hug goodnight, and got in the back of her white limo.

    Later that night, around 3am, she called me crying again. She said she had a terrible nightmare that Jennifer Lopez had had her first concert and it was so amazing that no one cared about her anymore and that all of her fans had defected.

    I said, “Jennifer who?”

    We talked till the sun came up and I told her I had tickets to see Weezer on Friday, she said she had never heard of them. How cool is that! And then she invited me over to read her diary but i had to work in a few hours, so she gave me a raincheck.

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