Archive for October, 2013

What is a Coconut?

Posted: October 31, 2013 in Uncategorized

My first post on my first blog.

coconutspeak

To most of the world, a coconut is exactly what it sounds like. It is a reminder of exotic beaches, umbrella drinks and beautiful sun-filled distractions. If the word could first – or even better only – mean that to me, then I wouldn’t have to question my own identity.

‘You’re a coconut’ said my Chola cousin Mel. Brown on the outside, white on the inside. Why should I care what she thought? I cared. She was my age and she was my father’s niece. I was 15 and lost.

So, I ‘talked White’. I spoke near perfect Spanish and absolutely perfect English. Mel spoke Spanglish, poorly. Her uniform consisted of Aquanet, Spandex, tank tops and gaudy costume jewelry. These were the required elements of Chola gear in Choloville, USA, otherwise known as Whittier and more so East L.A.

I don’t know anybody who didn’t want to fit in when…

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The Eye
I’m sure I will be visited by princesses, Iron Man, Captain America, Harry Potter and your standard Halloween creatures. All of them seeking the coveted candy!

After buying copious amounts of chocolate, I look forward to passing them out to all the kiddies. Sadly, teenagers try their best to get candy too.

I think 12 maybe 13, should be the cut-off age for trick-or-treating. I also think that kids dressed in sexed-up costumes is so incredibly wrong! Little girl beauty pageants are bad enough.

I will not be dressing up for this Halloween. I will try my best to get my husband to watch a horror flick with me.  Candy giving, scary movie, popcorn and warm throw blanket .. what more do I need? Happy Halloween!

I am livid to no end right now! I was running errands today. I was happy as can be. I went to the post office and then headed for Target to buy Halloween candy for the kiddies.

While I was in the lady’s room, the devil was occupying one of the stalls. She spoke loudly and said things I could not believe.

Verbatim:  I don’t care how many DNA tests come back positive. If she’s not willing to live with you, you don’t have to pay for that baby. Just pretend she doesn’t exist. I’ll get you a good lawyer, son.

I was floored, nauseous, raging mad and itching to slug her bitch face a couple of times. Don’t worry. I didn’t. I spoke up instead.

She was at the sink, washing her hands. With venom in my voice I said, shame on you.  She replied, what are you talking about?

I said, you know what I’m talking about. She replied, mind your own business. I said, you made it my business by talking loudly in a public restroom!

As I exited the restroom, I heard her say fuck you bitch. What kind of woman advises her son to treat his child and her grandchild like this?

Positive DNA tests not good enough? This is how you keep your adult son from becoming a man. Men who don’t take personal responsibility for their children’s welfare are not men. They are boys in need of a vasectomy.

As far as this grandmother of the year, she needs live in a dungeon away from humanity. She can make the rats her pets.

Graduation
I have this reoccurring dream that its present day (I’m 44 years-old) and I never got my high school diploma. I missed several classes and repeatedly told myself to just forget about this piece of paper that can’t affect my life at this point anyway.

For some reason, my teenage schoolmates don’t see me as old and encouraged me to go to class. After taking several innocuous criticisms from my teachers, I decide to leave with my tail between my legs.

By the way, I do have my high school diploma. I also have a theory as to why this dream keeps coming back to haunt me.

In high school, I was a very bad student during my junior year. I ditched a lot and did poorly in math and science.

In the first semester of my senior year, my guidance counselor had a meeting with me and my mother. Prior to the meeting, I made my mother promise to stay silent. Reluctantly, she agreed.

My counselor said, I will not be graduating. The only way I could get a diploma was either repeating my senior year or go to adult night school. All this, was of course, my fault and I knew it. I asked if there was anything that could be done. Her words stay with me to this day, given the type of student you are, no.

My mother exited the office in horrible shame. I went to my Spanish class (easy A) and then I had a panic attack. I was crying and hyperventilating. My mind and heart were racing like NASCAR!  I was in the nurse’s station for a couple of hours.

After some time alone to think, I went back to the counselor’s office. Actually, I barged in. I asked her how many credits did I need to graduate. She flippantly said, too many for you to make up. I told her that I didn’t care how long my days would be in order to get those credits. I was going to graduate with my friends.

She said, okay with no confidence in her voice. We proceeded to plot out a course. I ending up taking an obscene number of classes. I passed all of them and got to graduate on time.

My mother was proud of me for not letting the counselor dictate my future. Had my mother not promised to stay quiet, she would have cussed her out and my mother doesn’t cuss … ever. Is this trying episode in my life the reason for these strange dreams? I don’t know, but I’m sure it probably has something to do with it.

Dear God

Posted: October 26, 2013 in Life, Love, Religion
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Dear God AKA The Almighty AKA The Creator AKA Heavenly Father,

Hello, It’s your crazy Latina daughter signing in. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and anxious lately. I guess I’m afraid.

I keep listing all my failures in life and the list is long. I feel really bad about them. Maybe I should try to be a better person.

People that know me, tell me I have a good heart. I hope you think so, Father. I try my best to be compassionate.

I try my best to help those that need my help, but sometimes I resent it. And when I want to sympathy and nurturing, I wrongly manipulate.

I hate people who manipulate and I do it with unconscionable ease. Not often, but once is too much. I’m sure I don’t fool anybody, but it’s still wrong.

It’s not that I want to be perfect. I just want to be better than who I am. Thinner, smarter, saner and worthy of your love.

I know you love those that are undeserving. I just feel like my whole life has been ‘she doesn’t qualify, but let her in anyway’ pass.

I’ve taken up enough of your time, Lord. In your Holy Name I pray, Amen.

Throughout my life, I’ve been a victim in varying degrees. I’m sure many can relate to that. I’ve posted on the topic of bullying, but I’m not sure how to label this topic. I’ll just say what it is.

Many times, I have been made the butt of various jokes. Perhaps you think it’s not a big deal. Just words, right? It’s even more acceptable if a flippant just kidding is said afterwards.

For me, it wasn’t okay. How can I be your friend, when you banter away at embarrassing moments in my life? So glad that my humiliation brings you joy!

I tried my best to be just as thoughtless in high school. I succeeded in making a few people look like fools. Then I stopped, cried and profusely apologized.  I hate being mean.

I guess what I hate most is that being slighted or picked on hurts so much now. I fear it more than getting sick (mental and physical).  Fearing it doesn’t stop me from getting angry about it.

When my brother teases his kids, I envision slapping him hard (twice) across Sir Jerk-A-Lot’s face. He verbally tortured me the same way when we were kids.

Again, what do I call this apparently time-honored tradition? You see it on YouTube and World’s Dumbest every single day and hour. Friends laughing up a storm at the other friend’s expense. My friends never went that far, by the way. They hated seeing me cry and apologized.

Tune Up

Posted: October 24, 2013 in America, Art, Children, Life, Love, Music, Race, sex, Society, Uncategorized
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It occurred to me the other day that my life has its own soundtrack. I tried really hard to remember what it was when I was very young.

My nursery rhymes were in Spanish: Pimpón, Las Mañanitas and Agua De Melon made me giggle and sing. When my mother ran her fingers through my hair and sang, it was heaven.

Low-rider Chevy Impalas always had La Cucaracha for a horn and of course Low rider from War playing.  Throw in the gratuitous Guadalajara from a Mariachi band.

My pre-teen years were spotted with a lot of music!  Classical music at first put me to sleep. Later my mind fell in love with Chopin and Mozart. I would dream of going back in time and marrying Mozart. Hey, I was a kid.

Like every red-blooded American teenage girl, rock was king! The Police, Genesis, The B-52s, Fleetwood Mac, Bee Gees, The Eagles  and so much more. When I felt dark Pat Benatar’s Love is a Battlefield or Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit did it for me. If I was feeling crazy weird Cyndi Lauper, The Eurhythmics or Oingo Boingo did the trick or at least distracted me.

I was never a big Madonna fan. The kings of my heart were Duran Duran from England. They looked so hot. Of course, I had my favorite (Simon Le Bon) .  I swear I was super geeked out every time I saw them on MTV.

My music as an adult is a potpourri of humanity. I appreciate all types of artist young and old, foreign and domestic, rockers and crooners … everything that isn’t self-serving garbage! I’m 44 years old and Simon Le Bon hasn’t made the cut in decades.