Tag Archives: Dominican Jokes

Ghost Town

The one thing that I always wonder about is how do people persevere on The Island. As Islanders become frugal consumers (meaning that they order their stuff via internet) it is impossible to imagine that businesses on the Island do survive . However, since the constant chant is that esto ha cambiado muchíííísimo and at the risk of being mugged on the streets, I decided to document two of the many exclusive plazas comerciales so that you can be witness of all of the “action.”

Warped in the Wrapping

Something Islanders are known for is their inability to do something for themselves or the more popular term: cogerlo suave. Of course when Islanders come to NYC a dar una trabajaíta, they find themselves shocked at the notion that in The City you actually have to not only work hard, but be efficient, sharp, punctual or you get the The Donald. I have heard uno que otro Islander say that allá se trabaja demasiado when speaking of the work dynamic in The States. But the pinnacle of Island laziness is the merger of lethargy and the Olympic gold of the cogerlo suave jobs: Gift Wrapping.

Gift wrapping is a win-win trade. The Islander, too lazy to wrap his own gifts, will drop off a box full of bottles for los clientes, toys for los ahijados, and cariñitos for the angelitos. In turn, la muchacha que envuelve gets paid for a hobby that is hardly a job, although Islanders consider it a talent in it of itself.

Gift wrapping starts with the selection of gift paper. This requires a tremendous amount of time and consideration for you have to answer the pre-wrapping questionnaire about the gift receiver: ¿Para hembra o varón? ¿Adulto o niño? ¿Liso o estampado? ¿Con brillo o sin brillo? After a good fifteen minutes, the gift wrapper then proceeds to “measure” the exact amount of paper to be used. This is done by unfurling some paper off the roll, placing the box on the uncut piece, folding the paper over the box, and then assessing whether or not she will cut. Upon her approval (which involves retracting the extra paper or unfurling some more) the gift-wrapper will cut the piece of measured paper. She will then carefully and painstakingly begin wrapping origami style, cautiously folding and delicately placing small amounts of tape on the gift, stopping at intervals to contemplate if the process is going well. This will take about twenty minutes. Then comes the placing of the ribbon or la moña. Ribbons are not ready-made, so you should feel very special that you will get a custom-made ribbon based on yet another questionnaire. ¿De qué color quiere la cinta? ¿Cómo la quiere, un lazo o una moña?  ¿De uno o dos colores? ¿La quiere rizada? Once you have answered all of these questions, the gift-wrapper will once again ever so delicately make a moña of about twenty buclés, again stopping at crucial intervals to make sure that the process is going as expected. One false move, and the gift wrapper will quickly toss the half-made moña to make a new one. Of course, this does not happen to veteran gift-wrappers. Finally and ceremoniously the gift-wrapper ties the ribbon onto the gift, fixing each individual buclé, splitting and curling the extra ribbon which result in about ten to fifteen individual curled tendrils of ribbon. The wait has been worthwhile because what Islanders hope for is that the receiver mesmerizes on the wrapping so, that she will forget how cheap the gift inside is.

Another day of Island life observed. I hope the cold isn’t hitting you guys too hard, but just in case, I send you some Dom-York love laced with some Anís del Mono. Oh! and a very special shout-out to my Eurodoms, Phillydoms, Bostondoms, and D.C.doms! Thanks for following!

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Ocean?

On occasion, the York Fairy pays a visit and brings to my attention the little pesky things Islanders do that somehow have been internalized as behavioral norms when expressing their beliefs about the City or in this case, the U.S.A. Of course, it is my job to act immediately not as a way to scrutinize, but more as a call to reflect on the reality of what is being voiced. Last week, I was forwarded these very fervent opinions, which were posted on the blog of a very talented graphic artist. The cities where our friend claimed to have lived in were deemed subpar by what I intuitively believe to be Island standards. Unless of course, our friend is royalty, then I stand corrected. Further below, I offer my modest responses.

New York

“Forget you’ll have to pay almost two grand to live in a place the size of a prison cell and have horrible service anyplace that’s ‘trendy’. The worst thing is all your city Facebook friends who won’t shut the fuck up saying how much they ‘love New York.’ As if their lives are so crappy that’s the only thing going on for them.”

Oh I see, because real estate on the Island is just so affordable. And I am sorry, but “servicio al cliente” is an on-paper concept that is reserved for either tourists or those with an “i” ending in their last name. It occurs to me that our friend was trippin’ while getting off the gravy train (See March 25, 2010). P.S. If New York is so bad, why would so many people want come here?

San Francisco

“Oh, the gorgeous, charming City by the Bay, right? Wait until you move there and get daily attacks by hordes of homeless guys, roaming the streets like zombies.”

Ummm…Which intersection in the capital is exactly free from the sponge-throw windshield cleaning, arms missing, abscess sporting, hernia showcasing guys that come up your window to beg for money?

Los Angeles

“I hope that you like your car, because that’s where you’re going to spend most of your life. It also applies to smaller cities I lived, like Austin, TX.”

Remind me again how does one get around on the Island?


“I only have two problems: September to May. Also, if you enjoy nightlife, forget weekdays.”

I am going to need some help on this one. But not since the days of Tom Collins at Don Pincho and Lunes de Café Atlántico did the Island see so much action on a weekday. Those days are over.

Word has it that our friend threw in the moleskin and moved back to the Island. Yes my comrade, surely the grass is greener on your side.

Poker Face

Hello Nuala groupies! Please do excuse my small hiatus, but as most fellow city rats such as myself know, once the thermometer hits a temperature of 65ºF and above, all bets are off! The discussions revolve around dichotomies such as “walking or not” for getting around, “inside or out” for dining, and the wardrobe is reduced to t-shirts and flip-flops, or as Islanders would say: andar como una rastrera.  I also will happily inform you that my sister got married this past week. I flew to California to be her Maid of Honor (hold your snickering), and I must say that I looked mighty good in my Kelly-green D&G dress, which I snagged on sale.

Speaking of being fashionably fabulous, while walking down fifth avenue marveling in amazement at the latest trends, a realization that I was running low on my moisturizer reminded me to enter Bloomies. As I became intoxicated with the smell of made in Italy, it dawned on me that I would forever be the impressed New Yorker who mesmerizes at what this city has to offer. This prompted the question: Why do Islanders always seem so unimpressed when visiting the greatest city in the world?  When relatives or friends say voy pa’ llá, I always seize the opportunity to play tour guide by putting together itineraries that include the latest museum exhibits and culinary trends. I am pumped up with enthusiasm that quickly deflates with the typical ‘oh sí….’ or ‘ah bueno…’ that dryly emerges from an Islander’s straight face.

Islanders are cautioned not to display asoramiento when in the presence of Yorks, for they don’t want to come across as the hicks que nunca han visto nada. So don’t be surprised to have someone who has never seen the interior of an airplane act blasé with anything (and I mean anything) you show him or her. Meaning that while you’re bellowing your best cheerleader cheer about something that might knock your socks off, (say the view from top of the Empire State Building) expect a flat ‘ay sí, muy lindo’ and nothing more. Some Islanders will even go the extra mile to say, adió pero si allá hay de eso y hasta mejor.  Therefore, to better help you plan your tour with Islanders, I offer you the top ten places you should avoid showing due to the fact that they have indeed been there and done that.

Rockefeller Center: Grab that ugly Christmas sweater you’ve been storing! La Sirena has generously put together a skating rink and Christmas tree to Islanders’ delight.

Rooftop Bars: My sources say that the Holiday Inn in the Capital has a rooftop bar igualito que 230 and  5th.

Asian Restaurants: Forget about Nobu and Megu. On the Island hay muchísimos restaurantes chinos que le dan cien mil patá a to’ eso.

Bloomingdales, Saks, Bergdorf’s and Bendel’s: A little over a year old, Blue Mall satisfies the needs of the faux riche.

Peter Luger: Nevermind that PL has been acclaimed the best steakhouse in America for twenty consecutive years by the New York Times, I had an Islander say yo no le vi la gran vaina a esa carne tan cara.

Radio City Christmas Show: I once read in Ritmo Social that Las Rockettes (ranging from ages 14-18) danced in the Teatro Nacional.

Central Park: El Mirador in the Capital satisfies the Islanders’ eco-curiosity.

Broadway Shows: With Nurín Sanlley producing Grease and the former Miss Universe Denise Quiñones starring in Chicago, who needs Ticket Master?

The Manhattan Skyline: The Chrylser building le queda chiquito a los Narcscrapers that adorn the Island’s urban landscape.

Page Six: Even I have made my way into En Sociedad magazine.

I have traveled to over a dozen destinations. My heart skipped a beat when I first saw the Eiffel Tower, I nearly fainted when I climbed the Great Wall of China, The Acropolis took my breath away, my taste buds melted when I first imbibed Opus One in Napa and as far as I am concerned, Cayo Levantado is the Mecca of all beaches. Perhaps I am a New Yorker that lives in a constant state of asoramiento, or maybe it doesn’t take much to impress me.  I am just drunk on life and a good Manhattan.

That’s What Friends Are For

Click here to enjoy snippets (that cannot be posted here) that compare  Domi-Yorks and Islanders.

My Burning Bush

The sight of Islanders attending misa, círculo de oración, grupo de espiritualidad (or whatever en vogue kool-aid group) is a special one. The forty-year old Doñas divinely clad in seda cruda suits made by la costurera tal or the newly-wed couples at the very au courant rezos en comunidad are a wondrous spectacle. Indeed, Islanders are a devoted group of people.

There seems to be however, a complex dichotomy between the preaching and the practice. The merengueros thanking the lord for helping them write such inspiring lyrics such as pa’ sobarle el pompo or Freddy’s gratitude to Jesus for the miracle of life while threatening: “el que me quite mis armas lo mato,” make the moral compass of Islanders very difficult to characterize. Islanders pride themselves in belonging to the non plus ultra traditional and conservative society, where God and family are at the core of their values. But let us further evaluate this. In the Holy Land of tabaco y ron, what rationales justify the increasing divorce rates? Who is el Santo del Sagrado Lavado de Dinero? It occurs to me that Islanders need to edit their commandments so that they better reflect their much touted and unparalleled values. The mighty gods have spoken! I’ve seen the light! I have vision of the omen! And here I bestow upon you the new commandments for the Island.


Islanders cannot inconvenience their worshiping with nuances such as heat. An air-conditioned church is in order.


Islanders would rather rot in hell than to be seen with a member of a lesser caste. (See March 23, 2011)


Islanders will sell their mother to Satan for a Benz or a Beamer. Throw in a Lacoste shirt, and he gets the dad as a bonus.


The phrase “Yo soy un hombre serio y de familia” quickly rolls off the tongue of many Islander men. Yet they go around with their zippers open plugging themselves into anything that moves. On a given day, peruse through the Cabañas Turísticas at their peak hour, noon. No vacancy. No kidding. Los hombres serios y de familia seem to extend their hora de almuerzo to eat something more than their lunch.


So much of the sacred act of marriage.


Keeping Up With the Joneses takes on a whole new meaning on the Island. More like Keeping Up With the Jaquezes, Islanders will try to outdo each other at any cost. Failure to do so will result in being judged and mocked should your possessions (or lifestyle) differ from theirs.


As stated myriad times, we are the Anti-Christ. Don’t be shocked by Islanders dousing themselves with garlic powder and pulling out the crosses and wood stakes when they come across  a Yorkie.

According to many gente seria y de familia, The City is Sodom and Gomorrah.  Here is the thing though, we never claimed it wasn’t.

Spring is here… start buying fruit to make those sangrías. Can I get an AMEN?

Aliens Ahoy!

If Martians were to land on the Island today, you could be fairly certain that they would be hooked up with a salario de lujo, a paid apartment in La Anacaona, un carro full y de paquete and a hefty golf vacation plan in some club de empleados de la empresa tal. “¡Qué lindo habla el Marciano!” the natives would coo in awe of their light green skin, and while peppering them with questions about why would anyone leave Mars, they would dream to someday visit the beautiful red planet. These actions, what the common folk would call lambonismo and tumbapolvismo,  is what I call in politically correct terms: Trophyism.

Trophyism is not such a nouveau concept. It started circa 1492 when the mesmerized natives thought of the milky-skinned and golden-haired conquerors to be the gods themselves. The legacy of this has resulted in the well-known guacanagarismo, a reference to the time when the cacique Guacanagarix bestowed his kingdom Marien to the colonists, making it the first Christian settlement of the Island. Today, the church of Trophyism spans both the business and romantic worlds, and it thrives on foreigner worshiping and devotion.

Trophyism goes beyond displaying eye-candy for people to marvel at. It is purposeful to have a healthy amount of Aryans in your organization because it somehow gives credibility to the company (credibility being the operative word here). It works to your advantage if you’re from Wichita, Wala Wala, or Wakita because ironically, it makes you more exotic than say, being from New York (something I continue to be baffled by). You need not to worry about having a degree or even being literate for that matter.  Upon your arrival, the natives will throw a parade in your honor once they catch a glimpse of your sun-drenched tendrils and your comical salutation in your “pookeetow deh espainyol.”

Another thing I discovered is that Islanders love being ripped-off by foreigners. While on the Island, I learned about workshops that aimed to unlock the potential for anyone to achieve and attain anything. The Power of Visualization they call it. My friends were so excited to share with me the techniques that guarantee the  power to harness my potential for goal realization, they swore that all I needed was to visualize it and pay the minimal fee of three thousand dollars upon completing the course. Of course the director, an expat from some hick town in The States, had set-up shop for these talleres to take place, where the credulous would learn the so-called pillars of contentment. After enough cohorts had “graduated,” the institution filed for chapter eleven, and the owner fled the country only to leave the participants with the power to visualize getting their money back.

In the romantic realm, Trophyism takes an interesting turn. For the native drooling men, it means finally having someone to perform every deranged sexual act they have fantasized about all their lives without having to worry about the power structures that come with being an Islander man (see August 12). If you’re a foreigner male, get ready for the panty-throwing event of a lifetime, for you will never have so much readily available vajayjay in your life.

For Islander women though, it’s a bit more complex. Trophyism becomes an absolute necessity, an instrument of survival especially for dark-skinned girls who have no hope for upward mobility. The trophy husband becomes the desired ticket out of paradise because let’s face it; middle class Islander men will not marry girls of color. Plus when it comes to interracial relationships, foreigners are definitely more open to them.

I finalize by saying that as per Island standards, being a Dominican-York does afford you the privilege of being considered a foreigner, not even when you are a blue-eyed blond.  Your mottled Spanish will be the laughing stock of the natives and your style will be dismissed as presumptuous at best.  Always remember the mantra, a York is a York is a York. I am sorry to burst your bubble, so drown your sorrow with a stiff Manhattan.