Yesterday I snuck in a day trip to LA with my sister.
The reason for the trip was to accompany my sister to her best friend's baby shower. Since the vehicle used is mine, I pretty much was strong-armed into going.
I'm glad I went, not just because it was a stereotypically beautiful California day, but mainly because it was an incredible opportunity to people-watch. It was MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.
Why the excitement? Because I was somewhat of a fly on the wall, and I was able to watch two families interact without having a bias toward one or the other.
Both families were Mexican... but the different versions of Mexicans that I swear exist.
One was what I consider "traditionalists." First generation, very traditional... spanish-speaking... formal (for parties)... still return to Mexico on a regular basis for vacations. I guess I should call them straight edge.
The other family was the stereotypical Mexican displayed on television sitcoms... the LA Mexican-Americans, what pops into Mexican people's minds (in Mexico) when someone says "Chicano." Lot's of drinking, lots of swearing, lots of tattoos, lots of illegitimate children... teen moms... ex-felons... super dark skin, but unable to speak a lick of Spanish ("Con el pinche nopal en la frente." Roughly "With the fucking cactus pasted on your forehead." As in, you're as Mexican-looking as a fucking cactus). That deal.
It was like having an out-of-body experience.
It was like watching... Mexicans time traveling to their sad future.
The Straight-Edgers weren't saying much mean shit about the LA Mexicans... but they were mostly disgusted... upset, disappointed in the direction the LA Mexicans had gone. The look on their face was like what I imagine one's to look like if given the opportunity to travel a couple of generations ahead to see one's children have turned out to be huge disappointments.
The LA Mexicans were obese... drunk... all the women had children... all the men were covered in gangster tattoos... gaged ears, and more nose piercings than I've seen in any other gathering anywhere. Oh, and not a single one spoke Spanish.
I just sat there... soaking it all in.
I am neither this nor that... mainly because I'm rejected in both circles.
I am too traditional for LA (I get ridiculously frustrated with non-spanish speakers... it surprises me, but that's the way the cookie crumbles for me. LA reciprocates by getting frustrated with me because I'm a goody-goody who likes WAY too many Mexican things), but I'm also too "Chicana" for the traditionalists (I'm too liberal in the church teachings... I have a rebellious streak, believe it or not. I don't give a shit about some day getting married OR procreating... I don't care for "raising a family" and that sort of shit... and I drink and cuss and rough house like a teenaged boy... I'm not very proper).
I was entertained.
Then I went ahead and forgot any part of the adventure that bummed me out by visiting my good ol' now-19-year-old boy for a short minute.
I swear... I feel like... well, I feel bad... doing shit on the down low as though I'm breaking some type of law... Mrs. Robinson type shit. And we haven't even done anything scandalous.
... but he thinks I'm gorgeous and hilarious and a fucking genius... and his eyes twinkle all cute when he finds me in a crowd, as though he has just seen the most valuable treasure. Then he holds me close against his rock hard ABS (let's not get all porn-tastic here) with his muscular arms as if he's scared I'm going to be torn away from him any second, never to be seen again... and that shit is... I've never felt anything like it. It's wonderfully exhilarating and flattering. It's so protective... and I've never been protected. It's the one thing I've always kept to myself, silently... this desire to please, PLEASE be protected... please don't leave me hanging there alone, only to be stomped mercilessly by the heartless assholes who always seem to find me. It warms my heart and makes a gentle smile slowly creep across my face. He makes me feel like I'm worth a fucking damn... worth being treasured.
A nineteen year old. Insane.
The reason for the trip was to accompany my sister to her best friend's baby shower. Since the vehicle used is mine, I pretty much was strong-armed into going.
I'm glad I went, not just because it was a stereotypically beautiful California day, but mainly because it was an incredible opportunity to people-watch. It was MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME.
Why the excitement? Because I was somewhat of a fly on the wall, and I was able to watch two families interact without having a bias toward one or the other.
Both families were Mexican... but the different versions of Mexicans that I swear exist.
One was what I consider "traditionalists." First generation, very traditional... spanish-speaking... formal (for parties)... still return to Mexico on a regular basis for vacations. I guess I should call them straight edge.
The other family was the stereotypical Mexican displayed on television sitcoms... the LA Mexican-Americans, what pops into Mexican people's minds (in Mexico) when someone says "Chicano." Lot's of drinking, lots of swearing, lots of tattoos, lots of illegitimate children... teen moms... ex-felons... super dark skin, but unable to speak a lick of Spanish ("Con el pinche nopal en la frente." Roughly "With the fucking cactus pasted on your forehead." As in, you're as Mexican-looking as a fucking cactus). That deal.
It was like having an out-of-body experience.
It was like watching... Mexicans time traveling to their sad future.
The Straight-Edgers weren't saying much mean shit about the LA Mexicans... but they were mostly disgusted... upset, disappointed in the direction the LA Mexicans had gone. The look on their face was like what I imagine one's to look like if given the opportunity to travel a couple of generations ahead to see one's children have turned out to be huge disappointments.
The LA Mexicans were obese... drunk... all the women had children... all the men were covered in gangster tattoos... gaged ears, and more nose piercings than I've seen in any other gathering anywhere. Oh, and not a single one spoke Spanish.
I just sat there... soaking it all in.
I am neither this nor that... mainly because I'm rejected in both circles.
I am too traditional for LA (I get ridiculously frustrated with non-spanish speakers... it surprises me, but that's the way the cookie crumbles for me. LA reciprocates by getting frustrated with me because I'm a goody-goody who likes WAY too many Mexican things), but I'm also too "Chicana" for the traditionalists (I'm too liberal in the church teachings... I have a rebellious streak, believe it or not. I don't give a shit about some day getting married OR procreating... I don't care for "raising a family" and that sort of shit... and I drink and cuss and rough house like a teenaged boy... I'm not very proper).
I was entertained.
Then I went ahead and forgot any part of the adventure that bummed me out by visiting my good ol' now-19-year-old boy for a short minute.
I swear... I feel like... well, I feel bad... doing shit on the down low as though I'm breaking some type of law... Mrs. Robinson type shit. And we haven't even done anything scandalous.
... but he thinks I'm gorgeous and hilarious and a fucking genius... and his eyes twinkle all cute when he finds me in a crowd, as though he has just seen the most valuable treasure. Then he holds me close against his rock hard ABS (let's not get all porn-tastic here) with his muscular arms as if he's scared I'm going to be torn away from him any second, never to be seen again... and that shit is... I've never felt anything like it. It's wonderfully exhilarating and flattering. It's so protective... and I've never been protected. It's the one thing I've always kept to myself, silently... this desire to please, PLEASE be protected... please don't leave me hanging there alone, only to be stomped mercilessly by the heartless assholes who always seem to find me. It warms my heart and makes a gentle smile slowly creep across my face. He makes me feel like I'm worth a fucking damn... worth being treasured.
A nineteen year old. Insane.
No comments:
Post a Comment