Archive for the ‘Mexico’ Category

It’s Free

Posted: August 4, 2014 in Life, Mexico, Nature
Tags: , , , , , ,

Lately, I’ve been experiencing some weather-incited nostalgic thinking. I find it odd because it’s as humid as the tropics and I live in Los Angeles.

It isn’t that I’ve never experienced humidity in my hometown, but the norm is dry heat. Southern California is in fact a desert.

Anyway, back to the nostalgia. I lived in Torreon Coahuila , Mexico for one year as a teenager. Flash floods were common on my grandparents street. Is was major boulevard with a hospital across the street.

The humidity was annoying, but the mosquitos were the worse. They ate me up alive even after I used ‘la bomba’ on my bedroom. This was my ineffective weapon.

La Bomba

Still, I loved the smell of an impending storm. I would hang out in the blue white tile courtyard. It boasted a productive lime tree.

The old fashioned washing machine (complete with a ringer) was underneath a corrugated metal roof. I loved the sound of the roof as the rain came down.

All my senses were in different realms or dimensions when it rained in Torreon. And when the rain left me I faced a dry, plain reality.

Before I met my husband I lived in a Pasadena house with roommates. We had a concrete slab porch. I used it to smoke my cigarettes on the coveted porch. Porch, smokes and a crazy humid thunderstorm was sheer joy to me.

Today I’m free of smokes and mosquitos, yet part of me stays in those places. I, of course, got into the rain to drench myself. I think everyone should succumb to the elements for a while. It’s free.

 

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There are things in I wish could happen at least once in my life. Am I wrong for wanting this?

I want ALL WOMEN to stop calling themselves females. The word female is an adjective not a noun! It describes. Example: Female doctor, female officer, female cat. Got it?

I want every Jehovah Witness to have their doorbell incessantly rung by conversion-seeking Muslims, Sikhs, Jews and Catholics (preferably Irish Catholics … they don’t play).

I want IRS agents to get obscenely audited. I mean go all the way back to their McDonald’s gig!

I want every mayor in America to ride the bus for two weeks, one in the summer and one in the dead of winter.

I want every slumlord in America to be sentenced to 30 days in a Tijuana or Cuidad Juarez barrio. I know it’s in Mexico but this is my wish list.

I want the head of TSA, Homeland Security and U.S. Customs to stand in line at the airport or cross the border with all the appropriate documentation.

I want a better mental healthcare system that prevents homeless vets and mass shootings. Most prisons are ridiculously housing the mentally ill and then spitting them into the street with a few pills!

I want every member of the NRA and their political whores to assist in performing the autopsies of every innocent child killed by gun violence.

I want every single sex offender to be sentenced to following: publicly (high traffic area) made to wear a sandwich board listing his crimes for 24 hours. The rest of his sentence can be served in general population.

Lastly, I want to find a way to forgive the selfish, arrogant, bigoted and heartless people in the world. I know that can included myself in that list. Please forgive me, God.

 

Lately, I’ve been internalizing a lot of the wrong that occurs in the world. This isn’t good since I can’t fix the world. My disgust is rather pointless. Plus, it’s harmful to me.

So, I’m going to reflect on the wonderful things I’ve witnessed in my life. Even now, I am astonished at how or why I was able to experience such beauty.  My start in life was poverty and it stayed that way for most of my life.

That said, anything that was free and beautiful in Los Angeles was experienced by me. My mother made sure of that. I went to museums, rose gardens, Japanese gardens, tide pools on the beach and lovely parks.

My first real opera was Georges Bizet’s Carmen. I was in awe of Carmen, of course. After the opera, the actors/singers joined the patrons.

Without even thinking, I rushed up to the lead mezzo-soprano who played Carmen and told her she was beautiful and amazing. My mother came behind me and apologized for my rudeness.

My opera goddess gave me a hug and a kiss. Then she proceeded to introduce me to the cast. I was dizzy with sensory overload. I was between 8 and 10 years old when this glorious event occurred.

I have been to several museums in my life and most have truly humbled me. Still, there is just one painting at The Getty Center in Los Angeles at connects with me deeply.

Portrait of Leonilla, Princess of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Sayn by Franz Winterhalter is a bold and brazen portrait of a woman in charge. Sadly, the Getty won’t let me publicize it. So click to the link below.

http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=910

I have always loved history, preferably world history. My childish mental time travel reached back to medieval Europe and ancient Egypt, Rome and Greek.

I saw museum artifacts as physical bits of history. The thought of objects surviving hundreds of years amazes me to this day. Man can create wonderful things and just as easily destroy it.

Thankfully, there are places in the world that live on genuine kindness, joy and peace. I have been to places in Mexico, Hawaii and elsewhere that reaffirm my faith in humanity. I think that is worth more than all the museums combined.

 

 

 

Lets talk about PDAs. Public Displays of Affection are par for the course when it comes to Latinos. Not all societies embrace (no pun intended) this tradition.

I am absolutely straight. I also kiss my mother, sister, female friends and family. When I lived in Mexico, I walked arm in arm or holding hands with all my female relatives.

If I had done that in the U.S. people most likely would have thought of me as a lesbian or bisexual. By the way, there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian or bisexual.

Now lets talk about men’s same-sex PDAs. You got your bro hug, fist tap, high-five, full-on hug and kiss on the cheek for dear old dad, grandpa or favorite uncle on his death-bed.

I know lots of kids that kiss both genders on the lips. It doesn’t make them dirty. It isn’t sexual in any way. Then they reach an age when it’s programmed into their brains, it isn’t okay to kiss on the lips anymore.

Many men and women in other countries don’t have an issue with this, but Americans do. Why is that? I think it’s because Americans demonize love and affection. If men do it, it must be dirty. If women do it, they must be sluts.

American society also wants to avoid the sex talk. Why is this? Are they afraid their kids will say gross, nasty or yuck? Or maybe they’re afraid they’ll have more questions.

Parents need to talk about it. If they don’t talk, a pervert or horny kid will have their own talk with them. We all sigh when a parent kisses a young child. It’s sweet. I think people make the sweetness dirty.

 

 

I’m a bit more crazy than usual. So, here’s my list of things I hate.

Driving Jerks

That asshole that speeds inches away from my parked car as I’m trying to get into it! Dude, there’s no traffic at all! You’re a tool.

The ass rider who thinks he’s going to get there faster if he piggy-backs my car! Here’s the cure. Drive as slow as humanly possible.

The neurotic left-hand lane turner: you have the arrow, it’s not going to get any greener and you’re sitting in the intersection waiting for what? Is it Elvis, The Apocalypse, a cure for male pattern baldness? Just make the damn turn already!

Stop Soliciting Me

I’m in my cozy, cool bed. Somewhere between awake and having Clive Owen pole dance in front of only me, then it happens. The phone rings and its the soul sucking telemarketer! Meet my friend click, you dick!  That bastard evicted Clive from dream. I tried to get him back, but it was no use.

Spam use to be a food (I never ate it) and now it’s a techno pest. I hope every spammer out there gets a raging yeast infection!

Random Pissy Stuff

Low Rider Vato cars that have La Cucaracha as a honk sound. It’s tacky Vatos!

Double Dippers are gross. For those who don’t know what a double dipper is : You place a chip into a dip, bite into half the chip and dip again (with your mouth germs on the half chip).

Gynecologists that want to make small talk and/or joke why they’re all up in you lady parts during a pap smear! Shut up and write me a letter later!

Shampoo suds in my ears after I exit the shower. I swear I rinsed more that enough!

Elitist snobs are everywhere. They don’t have to be rich either. What they need is to be brought down a peg or two. Do a little side suffering. It does an ego good.

Lastly, I hate people who thrive on the suffering of others. You know who you are.

Buffy Barrington-Charleston was entertaining 100 of her closest friends. Trying to sound humble, she gives a tour of her palatial estate.

When asked who the adorable, silent and small Mexican girl is, Buffy had much to say. “Guadalupe has been with us for 20 some-odd years. She’s fabulous with everything. Especially the kids. If she had money, she could have raised my kids alone. Yes, they’re still in college back east.”

“Still, Guadalupe helps around the house”, she huffs. “But maybe I should let her go. She’s outlived her usefulness and I need a younger staff.”

Guadalupe walks over with a smile on her face.” I have a few things to confess, I’m afraid. I’m an American citizen with a masters degree in psychology.  My thesis was based entirely on raising your kids. They paid my tuition with your money. There was never a two-month vacation in Europe.

“No one stole Ally’s Louis Vuitton collection. George has never paid SoHo rent. He makes a living in a Bensonhurst pizzeria. And he shares an apartment with Marc, his girlfriend.”

Guadalupe shows her iPod set on Skype. The kids confirm it is all true and say good-bye.

“I’m going to leave now, Mrs. Buffy. I’m running for your ex-husband’s congressional seat next month.”

As a little girl growing up in East Los Angeles, I had joys that were not repeated after I moved to Pasadena.

These joys were strongly rooted in my Mexican heritage. Cinco de Mayo (May 5th) was not Mexican Independence Day.

It was the Mexican victory over the French during the Battle of Puebla. Every kid in Los Angeles knew that.

And every little girl wanted to dance in the folklorico dresses. Thankfully, I got the chance. But there are no photos of me. We moved a lot.

But this photo is accurate. Fanning with mariachi wholeheartedly playing was magical!

folklorico dancer

folklorico dancer