Halloween at Work

Yes we are the lame team that made our own costumes out of cardboard boxes and construction paper. I was the Mexican Emoticon, I call him  Señor Stash.

Sunday Morning

Happy Halloween!

One of my fondest childhood memories is going trick or treating with my family. One year my mother took my brother Cream Puff (when he was at his most creamy and puffiest), my cousin which we called Cacalina at the time (she was notorious for pooping herself) and I trick or treating. This seems normal enough for any family on Halloween in America but not for my family. Cream Puff's costume was homemade with a Chevy's hat and drawn on mustache and red paint all over his face we called it a Mexican clown. Cacalina and I coordinated our outfits as flappers with dresses stalkings and all. My Granny was pretty busy and decided it would be a good idea to let my mom who was fully intoxicated at the time chaperon us. The weather was dark and chilly with some light drizzle coming down as we walked out of a sketchy looking motel on to the streets with a Mexican clown, two Flappers, and a mother with a small brown paper bag (not the kind you get at Bloomingdale's). At one point my mother was rolling around in one of the neighbors lawn making a spectacle for all to see. She asked us to push her on the lawn as she peed her pants on our Halloween journey. We laughed at her not fully comprehending the now obvious issue. This was normal for us. Later that night we met up with my older brothers and uncle Frankie who at the time were busy smashing pumpkins and terrorizing younger kids for their candy.  We all came back home and bartered our candies as my mother laughed and sang out of tune in the background holding her little brown paper bag. Others might say how could I make light of such a story well you didn't go home with a pillow case filled with candy and warm memories of your mom fully participating in the Halloween extravaganza.  Have a safe and joyous Halloween.  I'll always love my mama.

Just.

When my Boo Thang's wants to end a conversation with me he simply responds by saying "Just". I can ask him about anything, this can include what he thinks about the polices excessive force at the Occupy Oakland demonstration or how he feels about how detached our society has become to issues of poverty, violence against women and child labor, "Just". How can your answer be, "Just"? I go on a rampage with these responses and start to terrorize my neighbors with my high pitch voice and complete inability to accept his answer.  I can understand his urge to end conversations with me because I will admit I will discuss topics he has no interest in at great lengths. These topics usually include work, friends, family and how they want to destroy  me (a bit dramatic) and some other random tangents about food. I can see his face staring blankly pretending to be vaguely interested in what I have to say. When I ask what he thinks he just replies, "Just".

Lazy Afternoon

I need a diet coke and a Kit Kat.

Speak Mexican

I moved to Mexico when I was 3 years old. I was dropped off by my parents with my oldest brother to stay with my grandmother. Abuelita Pancha we called her. I don't call her that any more when I see her. I just kind of smile nervously and wave hello and say 'Si" a lot. People say you can remember things quite early if you experience a tragic or significant event. I remember my Dads red truck driving away as I cried hysterically for my mother and father to come back.  I lived in a small town called Juchipila. My grandmother was short and strong. She would kill chickens with her bare hands and sometimes glare at me as she was killing them. It would definitely instill the fear I am sure she was trying to invoke.  I was told I was quite the celebrity in Juchipila. I would tell inappropriate jokes and run around practically nude if the option was given. I remember one of the jokes involving a girl going up a ladder with no underwear. My grandmother would make and sale bread and I would often distribute it to neighbors for free. I would get the beat down with the rope when this happened. I can't really remember the rope but I get these vague glimpses from time to time with a large rope coming over me. I recall a local store where I drank bottled cokes. I even attended school for a brief moment. A little boy often came to school with no shoes on his feet and instead of the teachers buying him shoes he would get a beating in front of the class (That should teach him for being poor). I sometimes smell certain smells and taste certain dishes that bring me back to my time in Juchipila. After 2 years of living with Abuelita Pancha my dad came to pick up my brother and I. I remember coming in to the living room and seeing this strange man who I didn't know anymore. I remembered I had a family but had forgotten about them. I left that week back "home" with my father and brother. When I arrived I had 3 other brothers waiting for me and one I hadn't even met. I was pretty angry and excited all at once, angry for being left and excited to see a family I barely knew anymore.  It was chaos in the household, trying to communicate was a feat since I didn't speak English and my brothers didn't speak Spanish. The reunion did not last too long. My parents left us with my other grandma, Granny about 3 months later. I was later enrolled in the local elementary school who had an ESL teacher from China who spoke no Spanish and some South East Asian kids who were as clueless as I was. We pretty much stared at each other throughout the classes. I went to a pretty segregated school district, you either went to an all Latino or Black school. My school was mostly Blacks and some Asians.I would often get picked on and by the 2nd grade I lost the Spanish.  I was the only Mexican kid at school.  All the other kids would still call me white since I guess they couldn't tell the difference. I would quickly correct them and explain that I was Mexican. They would usually challenge me and ask to prove myself and demand I speak the language, "Then Speak it, speak Mexican"  I realized I had no real proof and had forgotten my Spanish and was unable to provide my authenticity as a Mexican. All my memories of donkey riding, stealing bread to give to the neighbors and eating homemade tortillas in Juchipila meant nothing if I couldn't at least speak "Mexican". The kids continued to pick on me throughout elementary and I kept trying to prove my 'Mexicanness'. I am still struggling to speak Spanish fluently and I still get the smug looks from fluent Spanish speakers and others who expect me to speak the language. I just smile politely to avoid confrontation and answer, "Si". 

Boo Thang is home

So my Boo Thang went out of town this passed week for work and I must say I really missed him. I was determined to stay busy and hung out with some friends and finished some home projects. Checked out a cafe I have been wanting to try but Boo Thang refuses to go since the lines are always so long. Tina T and I met up at Chloe's Cafe in Noe Valley. Chloe's was pretty good but Tina T and I are convinced we can do better at home - we kind of like to think of ourselves as domestic goddesses. Zakarious even came out to chill later that night. We talked about our awkward teenage years and how I use to dress like a boy and Tina T was a Fema-Nazi (A cross between a Nazi and Feminist who will destroy all misogynistic men and ideas with her bare hands). We even took our turns crying throughout the night. It's funny when really close friends get together we laugh, cry, argue, and eventually end the night feeling a closer bond. The next morning I decided I was going to get some fabric paint to spice up my chair cushions in the dinning room. After a long debate with myself in the aisle at the local art store I decided on painting yellow octagons on the cushions. They ended up looking more like circles and pretty much disappeared in dim lighting ( I knew I should have gone with green). I made myself dinner for one, a pasta with fresh garlic with tomato and basil.  I like my pasta simple and Boo Thang always has to have meat so this was my chance to do what I liked without compromise (I argued with myself about whether to put meat just for the sake of it). I also thought one of the highlights would be getting to sleep in the middle of the bed but I was convinced I heard noises in the living  room and barley slept. The weekend was pretty eventful filled with tears, fears, and anxiety about work on Monday. I was relieved to pick up my Boo Thang from the airport the next day. I felt like a giddy school girl swooning over the likes of Justin Bieber (Canadian teen celebrity who has no real talent other than making young girls swoon with his pubescent soulless voice). I missed my Boo Thang and when he reads this he will finally notice I decided to destroy our perfectly fine dinning room cushions with defacing them with jagged circles. Glad to have you home Boo Thang because home is whenever I'm with you . 

Wilco is pretty great.

This is currently my new feel good song that makes me want to skip and hold hands with my Boo Thang. Also check out their Tiny Desk Concert on NPR, it's charming and takes the songs to the next level. http://www.npr.org/2011/10/13/141331825/wilco-tiny-desk-concert?ps=mh_frhdl1

Top That!

Does anyone remember Teen Witch? This is quite possibly the most hilarious nonsensical film of the 80's pop culture scene. It's got all the cliche makings of a cheesy teen flick starring a girl who is a complete social outcast with an even dorkier side kick. She of course has a crush on a guy out of her reach-the high school Quarterback and has no real sense of who she really is. The difference in this film is Louis (the main character) discovers she is a witch with magical powers and the ability to manipulate events to her benefit or the power to dress really provocatively to manipulate things as well.  What I find so great about this film is how out of touch Hollywood seemed to be with the urban community at the time yet managed to put some suburban white kids in trying to be all "Funky Fresh" by rapping and the couple Mexican guys they have in the second video dancing out of rhythm. I guess the two Mexican guys give the film the street cred and authenticity they were going for. This film is a mix of a bad musical and teen angst. I am starting the think the film makers were comedic geniuses. If you have not watched this film please do yourself a favor and download it right now. 

I am serious watch this!

Forty Flags

Forty Flags, Richmond CA

Boo Thang and I have been in search for the perfect artwork to decorate our new apartment. We came up with a few ideas. I thought it might be fun get a cityscape of the places we are from. He couldn't find one without a cow taking a poop and I thought one with a liquor store repeated at every corner wasn't so attractive. I thought maybe I would use a picture of the house a grew up. I then remembered I lived in a motel most of my childhood. Not just any motel it had forty flags or at least the sign said it did. When I was in grade school all the kids would talk about where they lived. Some said a two story house which was code word for a townhouse in the projects. I lied and said a white one story house with a white picket fence and had a dog named Astro who could talk to humans (I was a cliche traditionalist) I could never tell these kids where I actually lived. I mean my neighbors consisted of women of the night and their escorts, who I thought at the time were kind enough to make sure they got in cars safely.  We also had the frequent adulterers who's  wives would sometimes show up and ask for the room number, we would always give it out to watch the show either from the window or the single camera view we had of the parking lot and rooms. While these conditions may seem a bit unfit for a child, I really had no other choice. My Granny, as I like to call her lived where she worked and as children of parents who decided they no longer wanted to be attach (My mom came back when I was 14 to live and she was pretty awesome for dropping me off at school) this was our only option, a one bedroom in a motel office equipped with a kitchenette,  a day bed for all 5 children and a granny, and of course roaches. I wasn't so sure anymore I wanted to be reminded of this place by displaying an artful picture on my wall of this shabby roach motel. This picture would bring back memories of my uncle Frankie (who was only 5 years older) constantly going on a terror rampage and flipping off the camera in the parking lot and letting us know he was about to break some neighborhood windows by holding up the stick he had in hand or some other random gadget that could easily smash a window. There was always something exciting going on. I wasn't allowed outside, for obvious reasons, but often watched the action from the window. My Granny would often buy merchandise from various vendors as I liked to call them. Granny was actually known as "Moma" to the the neighborhood-I use to think she had a lot of kids when I first moved in and quickly realized my Granny was not the Jezebel I mistook her for (She is a saint and love her so much for everything). The Converse Man was one such vendor who would walk around the neighborhood with a grocery cart filled with Converse shoe boxes and the Meat Man, who actually drove a proper meat truck but would sell some of the meat to us.  I often look back and laugh at the silly moments I encountered that resemble a scene in a straight to DVD film starring Ice Cube. While things were rough at times and I definitely remember some pretty scary moments I would never take this back as it made me realize we pay way to much for store bought meat. Kidding aside it has enriched my life for having experienced it. I am still on the search for the perfect picture to decorate my wall and if you ever visit me and see a shabby motel with a sign that reads "Forty Flags", now you know.  

Blissful

Have you ever had a song make you feel sadness and bliss all at once? That is what Sigur Ros accomplishes every time I hear them. Damn these Icelandic geniuses better come to my hood soon or I may go on a rampage of punching people in the stomach or maybe squish a bug with my bare finger. 

Utopia

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My version of utopia would have a beach near by, plenty of local produce, great weather, a light house and a few dirty hippies who refuse to shower and insist on talking so closely your foreheads nearly touch. These close talkers will make for an interesting dilemma as my Boo Thang is highly uncomfortable with these types and struggles with being polite. The last time he encountered this situation he took a few steps back and the talker took a few steps forward each time not quite taking the hint. It was pretty hilarious to watch this conversation tango. I would spend my days making 'art' which would include some sort of recycled bottle concoction and my Boo Thang would spend his days fishing and lighting fires (remember there is always a fire going all seasons). I recently read this article in the NY Times where such a place seems to exist - for the time being that is. Cabo Polonio is a sleepy beach town only accessible by foot or over the sand dunes by jeep. It is surrounded by natures bounty, quirky homes, and of course hippies (They always know all the best places).  I know the idea of an actual utopia is a bit far reaching since it usually comes at a cost and there is always a struggle to proclaim ownership and eventually making it into some sort of Disneyland beach resort. The residents are currently battling the government and investors stake in ownership of this ethereal wonder.  If we ever find this utopia we all searched for at some point we would live in constant fear of others plans to take it from us kind of like the time I had my faux fur coat. I am pretty sure the utopia would turn into a Lord of the Flies situation.  For now please read the following article and imagine a place free from chaos, money troubles, and self important celebrities. 

http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/09/30/the-coast-of-utopia/?ref=style