Sunday, November 27, 2011

I was at a Chente concert...

Mmmmm.
Yesterday.
Good day.

This morning... not so much.

Yesterday, the pregaming began as I played board/card games with a couple of white folks (I say that lovingly... mainly because as a Mexican, boardgames are just... so not... popular. We do other shit... like drink and get pregnant. I'm glad I have "white" friends to show me the ways of this country... right?).
How'd that go? Fun and snack-tastic. I blew my morning's heavy leg workout after snacking on the nachos and fresh, giant chocolate chip cookies at the cardgame spectacular. Was it worth it? Ummm... I'm on the fence with that one... since I think nachos are a waste of tummy space with zero nutritional value... or flavor. The cookie... I would have eaten another two had I not guilt-tripped myself about the goddamn nachos. Fucking nachos. Maldita basura!

After that fun-packed afternoon, a drunken display of Mexican pride ensued.
How so?
I went to go see the icon of Mexican music. The man, the myth, the legend: Vicente Fernandez.
Knowing I was going to deal with the entire Mexican population of the city of Las Vegas, I had to do something to prep: Drink.
Trick to Chente concerts is to pregame shit before arriving to the venue. Makes it a little less painful.

Sis and I took a tequila-filled water bottle, braved the stupid ass traffic in the parking garage... and once parked, swigged the fuck out of the bottle.
Good thing.
I'd like to take this moment to apologize for... my people.
GOD!
What these eyes saw...
This is what people associate when the word "Mexican" is dropped... Lord, have mercy!
People were fighting for about an hour near my seats... all because motherfuckers don't understand NUMBERS.
Dyscalculia is this prevalent amongst Mexicans? I'm definitely not gonna breed with them, then. Shit, my kids would be fucked.
About 90 percent of the girls present were in tight miniskirts/dresses... which, I mean... can be OK under certain circumstances... and when you have a smoking bod...
... but not when you're a 45 year old mother of three. COME ON, LADIES! WHAT THE FUCK?!
About 60 percent of the girls in miniskirts looked like streetwalkers... the other ones looked like simple floozies. The streetwalkers were identifiable based on their hairstyle and choice in makeup... sometimes their shoes.
I started feeling bad after the 100th girl I saw in this attire. I became self-conscious because I was wearing dark jeans, black TOMS, a black button-down shirt (showed off my cleavage... which made me feel somewhat Latina when I walked out of the house... but not once I stepped foot in the Mandalay Bay), and a black track jacket. Peer pressure was getting the best of me.
Oh no... I stick out more than the whore-y girls because I'm dressed like I'm going to catch a basketball game... Fuck... should I... umm... unfasten the top button on my shirt... maybe?
I decided to TRY and be a little... BAM! out there, so I took off my jacket and pulled down my shirt a little.
There. See. Yeah. I'm a Mexican girl. Enough? Cool. Now quit staring at me as if I were an alien. Look at the chick over there in the leopard print minidress and seven inch metallic heels.

Aside from having to deal with people... which we all know I'm terrific at... I had a blast.
I took videos of some of the songs... which I did think about posting, however, Mom's screaming in ALL of them, so they're a no. And yes, I'm screaming in some of them... which is extremely embarrassing, but DAMN, those songs just know how to cut me deep.
Aca entre nos, siempre te voy a recordaaaaaar!

Also, a magical moment I had was while making line for the metal detector at the concert.
There were some big screen televisions on the side of the building... I think it was a bar, but considering the mass of sombrero-rockin' Mexicans blocking the entrance, it could have been anything.
Anyway, at one point I turned and saw the majority of people in line were watching the game that was being played.
What game? The UNLV vs. UNC basketball game.
I believe it was at the point where the score was 82 Rebs, 72 Tar Heels... and everyone in line started chanting "RE-BELS!"
My heart filled with joy... who cared if so many of these short, obnoxious, drunk men were staring down my shirt... we were all rooting for the Rebels!

Ah... t'was a great day/night... even if at some point we lost part of my sister's car... and then I woke up unable to speak for a few hours.

RE-BELLLLLLLLLLLLS!

1 comment:

Mooney said...

Always a good time. Hahaha.