God bless Philadelphia and Latin America.

I need to document something before I forget it forever.

Alright, a few months ago I was standing in Union Square waiting for a buddy who was visiting from out of town to show up, and one of the most awesomest things that has ever happened to me happened to me.

I noticed a beautiful girl, who also seemed to be waiting on the corner for someone. She was a tiny Latina girl (they’re my favorite!). She had golden brown eyes, to match her golden brown skin and was wearing a white ribbed tank top and jeans. If Selma Hayek has a 10-year-younger identical twin, this was her.


At the same time her twin sister
was surrounded by paparazzi.
Coincidence? Read the book.

Anyway, I’m waiting for—we’ll call him “Ben”—when all of the sudden this hot little mami approaches me.

I was caught off guard by this. I quickly tried to gather myself and predict what she might ask me: what the time is, where a certain street might be, if I might want to leave this world and go with her to the moon, where we would populate the moon with little Hispanic-ish children that we would call “lunarbabies.”


Lunarbabies are a lot like Solarbabies,
but of my seed, and not on rollerskates.

The suspense, if just for that split second, was killing me.

And then she totally blew my socks off. I could have never predicted the sequence of words that would come out of her mouth. As I write this I am still as flabbergasted as I was at the moment she uttered them to me there on 14th street, right outside the Virgin Megastore.

She approached, and then gently, cutely asked me, “do I have any pink cream cheese on me?”

Wow.

What? Where are the cameras? Am I being Punk’d?


“Dude! Made you look Cosby! I’m so awesome!”

Nope.

That’s exactly what she said. Not only did she ask me this creamy question, SHE LIFTED HER ARMS UP AND DID A 360-DEGREE TWIRL FOR ME, just for ME, so I could get a good look and make sure that there was not a spot of pink cream cheese anywhere on her sexy little self.

I tell you if I would’ve had a ring I would’ve proposed right then and there.

But out of shock, out of delight, out of sheer horror, all I could do was say, “nope.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Nope? Nope? All I said was “nope?”

Deep inside, I wanted to tell her so many things. I wanted to tell her, no, thank you. I wanted to tell her she had just single-handedly created a moment that makes life worth living. I wanted to tell her to hang on, that I would go get some pink cream cheese and that we could go back to my place and make everything all better. And then we could go to the moon, you know, to start creating that perfect lunarbaby civilization she so badly wanted.

But all I said was, “waiting for somebody too, huh?”

Good one.

Just then, “Ben” showed up. We were headed to meet some of my friends for drinks. So as we walked off I just told the dream girl, “bye, stay clean.”

And then, as I thought about it, I wondered, what the hell was I thinking not asking her to join us? Why didn’t I give her my number so I could buy her a drink later, or maybe a strawberry-cream-cheese bagel the next day?


The breakfast of champion hot chicks.

And you know what really sucks? That night was a blast. She would’ve had a great time. We ended up at an Asian party at an all bed club. I’m willing to wager a large sum that Latin girls love Asian parties at bed bars. And the ironic thing is, is that I never end up at clubs, let alone clubs with beds. It would have been perfect.

But alas, this is why I’m still single. I just don’t know what I’m doing around women.