A Royal Affair!

"Putting in Work"

People gathering for the nuptials

I wanted to document a moment in history I am sure we will talk about in the future. We will romanticize about how magical and spectacular it was to witness the live televised broadcast of the royal nuptials of the possible future king of England, William and his bride Kate or who now goes by Katherine since this sounds more regal. While many of us think it's laughable these funny folks in fancy hats run around the world with this self important title no one cares about any more we still hold them in this esteem that only the media creates.  The monarch is no more and they hold no political power or make any economic decisions other than holding an extravagant affair that cost loads for the people of England while many public service workers were recently laid off and England is facing one of its worst economic crisis.  While this all may be true the one great thing about this royal affair is that it brought many people together during a time of great suffering with war on terror and drugs and an economic meltdown. We can all sit back for a moment and go back to a fairytale fantasy we were all fed as children of far away lands with princes and princesses, kings and queens, and unicorns roam freely. While the wedding was very expensive I am sure, it brought loads of tourism and the English stand to rake in a lot of dough from such an affair only the royals can produce. Hats off to Will and Kate may your union be blessed and if not this would make for more media frenzy in which we are forced to choose sides and don shirts that say "Team William" or "Team Kate".

 

Helplessness Blues

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So I am going to see Fleet Foxes perform next Thursday and I could not be more excited. When I hear this song I think of something I told my Boo Thang about how I wanted my life to be when I "grow up" (I am almost 30). I said I wanted to live in the French country side and he would work in construction and I would be a school teacher teaching all the French kids broken English. They will learn all the street slang from Richmond CA, such as, "putting in work", which apparently doesn't mean going to a job or "finna" and lets not forget "smerkish". He would drop me off at work on his moped and I would walk back home and pick up some fresh bread everyday from the local market. He would grab some fresh flowers he saw on his way home, most likely picked from the neighbor’s garden. We would fall in line with the stereotypical masculine and feminine roles. I would laugh at all his jokes and not make fun of him when he uses words in the wrong context (men hate when you do that especially if you're a girl). We would take walks after dinner, come home have some soothing tea by the fire (there is a fire going during all seasons) and have music in the background.  As you probably already noticed I have given this fantasy a lot of thought. The point is I wanted my life to be simple, a functioning cog working towards something beyond me.

Frijoles

Being a token has its advantages.  When people ask anything specific about my 'unique' background I can either make up an answer, tell the truth if I know it, or simply claim ignorance.  The latter never gets a good response since people are usually searching for an absolute answer. No one likes ambiguity. I often find myself Googling the answer. I once claimed to know an Aztec warrior named Roberto who lives in the mountains of a Mexican village and eats goat hearts straight from a freshly slaughtered goat because it instills fear in the local villager's (Never actually told this story). No one knew the difference. I have become accustom to becoming the ambassador to all things like me. It's strange to be a token in an area where there is so many like me that people want to send us back on the donkeys we rode in on. While there are so many like me for some reason we have become the invisible. The labor workers, the gang members, the guys you pick up from Home Depot to cut your lawn in your suburban oasis you can hardly afford. No one ever means any harm. We go about discussing topics and saying things we hardly give much thought to or the implications of what this might mean to others.  I like beans.  I like to eat them with tortillas, as a side, with chips, as a soup, with queso and sometimes I like the way they feel squished between my fingers. I don't like the Mexican hat dance and I want to step on Speedy Gonzales. I must admint I am having fun making up fictional customs and events in history that may or may not have taken place, like that one time Frida Kahlo Garcia Marquez, the famous warrior from the Colombian jungle freed the  local Mayan slaves. At some point we all encounter being a token it's how we respond that makes things more interesting. I also enjoy forcing people to become the ambassador all things like them and have recently come to the realization I need to look up most of the historical facts I have been told by others.

On the Road Again

This weekend I went on a road trip with my Boo Thang and Mother in law. We left promptly at 6:00am with snacks and tea in tote. The sun came up as we approached the highway. A sigh of relief came over me. I was glad to be on the road and on time (I am a sucker for punctuality unlike a friend I know who is notorious for being late, she knows who she is) This was one of the first times I actually enjoyed looking out on the highway, it looked different. The landscape was green for one. It was a sight to be seen. Covered in a green back drop and signs from all sorts of small institutions claiming to be the “Best”.  As our journey began we started discussing interesting topics that included cow tipping and whether the green fields were grapes, corn, or a complete salad.  Our minds wondered as we stared out the windows unto the sparsely populated areas coming to the conclusion we would never live in such places. In these moments I often envisioned myself in a peasant girl outfit picking grapes and milking cows. Throughout the trip I would catch my Boo Thang in moments with a self assured smirk on his face as if his favorite basketball team had just won a championship and he directly influenced this event. I would also catch him in moments that he seemed to look completely worried. So I thought to myself that the self assured smirks and moments of worry cancel each other out, so I moved on back to thinking about milking cows and running through grassy terrains in my peasant girl get up. After dropping off my mother in law and having dinner with my husband’s family which included making one of the younger cousins awkwardly sing a Frank Sinatra song as we snapped our fingers in tune we went to visit my family and welcome my newborn nephew. He was everything you expect a newborn to be, red, squishy,and struggling to make eye contact. As I held him in my arms for the first time I couldn’t help but melt and squeal as us women folk tend to do when we see anything miniature, soft, and squishy. The BBQ began in our honor. So many cousins and children were set loose. My brother was the host, whom many say resemble the Terminator and an Asian guy in one. While this was all going on my husband being good in nature and didn't want to hurt any one's feelings was forced to listen to my brother’s jokes and his workout routine. As the afternoon went on we sat and laughed and ate too much BBQ that my brother prepared ‘well done’ and ‘juicy'.  During this beautiful relaxing afternoon I was bombarded with questions by whom I like to call the Private Investigators (children) that decided to point out all flaws and question me about all subjects of the world.  I had to explain why my head was so large and why a pimple decided to come right in the middle of my eyes that day.  I pretty much laughed it all off but on the inside I wanted to punch that kid in the stomach.  My Boo Thang in the meantime decided to pass gas mid conversation with my Dad thinking no one will notice since it was outside, but that didn’t happen as a Private Investigator was lurking near by and called him on it. He responded by shifting the blame back to the child and made for an awkward moment for all parties involved.  At the end we said our good byes and all the Private Investigators came out to hug me and cry and beg I stay. One in particular thought of himself to be a Michael Jackson impersonator. He nearly cried when I told him teachers stop singing school lessons after the 2^nd grade.  He squeezed me so tight I nearly cried not because it hurt because I knew I would miss him.  We got in to the car and promised to call when we got home. Off we were, back to the highway with the current green backdrop day dreaming of running through corn fields and winning Basketball championships.

It's a Funeral Time to Celebrate!

Funerals are time to mourn the loss of a loved one. I have been to plenty of funerals in my lifetime.  At one point I had gone to a funeral every year and sometimes twice or three times a year during my childhood.  They were usually filled with over the top crying, yelling, fainting and talking about how close everyone seemed to be with the person who died, who before passing was known to be a loner. At one point I over heard someone saying they thought the person who's funeral they were attending had on something of theirs and wanted it back at that very moment, gasp! I came across this article in the NY Times and thought to myself why can't every funeral be a party? This would spare us all witnessing some of the awkward moments that come with attending a funeral including the one person threatening to throw themselves in the grave with the dead and begging God to take them instead. Let's not forget the random guy no one seems to know making a speech about how much they loved the deceased. The Ghanaian funeral party experience allows friends and family to celebrate the life of the deceased.  Yes a Mardi Gras decorated casket is over the top but not only are you reminded to celebrate life but also inspired to help the family of the deceased or any cause they are associated with.  My attempt at making funerals more festive and eventful did not go so well when I tried a comedy routine at my own mother's wake. I could hear the crickets in the room but in the midst of the silence I heard a few chuckles. I like to think that was her laughing with me as she would have been the only one to get it. Please read the following article and let me know what you think.  I probably wouldn’t be attending any Ghanaian funeral parties in the near future as I prefer my funerals filled with awkward moments and gasps.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/12/nyregion/12funerals.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hp

Happy Birthday Baby Bro!

I wanted to share this post as this was to be my first official post but decided to delete the blog back in December. I really wanted to embarrass by brother Sammy with our poop time memories and found it in an archive file dated December 2, 2010. Hope you enjoy it. Sammy is now a few months older and no longer poops his pants. Love you baby bro. Born December 2, 1986.

I wanted my first post to be about how awesome I am or how I hitchhiked through Central America with my husband and went scuba diving in Costa Rica, or the time we had dinner the Charlie Sheen (that didn't go so well since we ended up being held hostage at the Motel 6) but that would all be a lie.  But another very cool thing happened today and I thought I would share. Today is the day my little brother Sammy was born.  He is 24 today and he probably wouldn't want me to share this but I remember a time when I use to wipe poop off his butt. He would yell from the bathroom that he was done.  I could still hear him, "Fwancis wipe my butt". It was pretty awful. Happy birthday Cream Puff thanks for all the bathroom memories.  (Note: The baby in the picture is not my brother just a cute White baby)

Ugly Betty

Since this is my first post I thought I would start off with last nights happenings with my husband. I will call him my Boo Thang. Last night I decided to wear my newly purchased mouth guard for the first time. It turns out  I have a grinding problem I was not aware I had.  I think I must have read the directions wrong when applying them to my mouth. They are particularly big and crooked but my Boo Thang said I had a large mouth so it's not the fault of the guard but my own over sized teeth.  When the application process was complete he proceeded with the name calling.  It felt like junior high all over again. There I was lying in my bed ready for a relaxed night of sleep with my new found solution to my grinding problem. I could hear the cackling from the hall.  Boo Thang then started in with the comparison to the character made famous by America Ferrera known as Ugly Betty.  Since I am not use to the guard I began to suck all the excess saliva that builds inside the guard, not the most attractive sound while lying in bed with your spouse. The next morning my jaw was sore and my molars felt like I had been eating rocks all night. It felt worse than before. Ouch!!!! I am still debating to toss them and forgo another Ugly Betty comparison or give it another try.  I will keep you all updated.

Peace.