What is a Latina Mess? That would be me!
Yeah I figured if this is my blog why not share with my audience a little history of who I am and how I became the woman I am today. Why not? Heck, all those celebrities share their stories with America (well, this only happens when they get caught in a scandalous dilemma and their publicist convinces them to open up and become more human…please!) Well here you’ll be reading some true facts of this “Latina Writer”, yes! I have decided to brand myself as such. In case you’re wondering, yes I am a ‘true’ Latina forty-something trying to make it in the writing industry and I am shameless in self-promoting and marketing myself as such. Keep reading, I am contemplating writing a post in ‘Spanglish’.
I haven’t decided if I should put these ramblings in its own tab for you to follow or hide it under my humor tab. Feel free to make suggestions, you’ll see I do listen to my readers and followers and I don’t take offense to being criticized. Let me get on with it….
Latina Mess part 1:
Growing up in a Puerto Rican household has its shares of laughs, tears and of course…parties! What hispanic household does NOT have parties? Hello, did you ever hear about the kid who turned a year old and there was loud music blaring out of a Victrola, plenty of liquor and about one hundred adults and five kids? Forget the kiddie decorations, we had streamers, balloons, rum cake, arroz con gandules, chicken, pernil, Budweiser, Bacardi, Heineken, Bud Lite, I mean Budweiser (Hispanics do not know the meaning of Lite in beer) and the birthday kid is totally forgotten after we sing an early Feliz Cumpleanos. Damn, I remember being in parties every day of the week when I was growing up. I also remember sleeping on a bed full of coats and purses because our drunk-ass parents forgot they brought us to the party (this is totally true and those Hispanics out there reading this are either hating me for fessing up or laughing because they know it’s true!) Back to my story:
We were a family of five kids (three boys, me and my sister) and of course the parents. I still resent the fact my sister and I were the oldest. She was only one year older than me but my sister was such a pain in the ASSteroid giving out orders, making us do the work she should be doing and acting like the mom. Seriously, to this day (and I’m forty-something…I will continue to say I am forty-something even when I’m sixty!) I am afraid of my sister. I really didn’t like being around my brothers because they always made fun of me. They did, those ‘back then’ scrawny bastards! I still am called by my oldest brother, Mrs. Bones. Back then that was torture being called Mrs. Bones and this was due to the fact that I was the skinniest of the clan and my mom thought something was wrong with me. Now I know how the runt of the litter feels! Honestly, if you’re not fat and busting at the seam, the Latina moms thinks something is wrong with you! To this day I remember my mom taking me to clinics, doctors and even those ‘brujeria’ women to get me to gain weight! She took me daily (or perhaps it was weekly) to some quack who injected my booty with some stupid-ass medicine to get me to gain weight. I guess this is why I so hate needles!
So I once again go off on a tangent because honestly if I were not a Latina, I would have my own therapist but we don’t believe in that. We feel we’re just lazy-asses trying to act like ‘white society’ and heaven helps us if we tell our parents we need a therapist to ‘find ourselves”. I could hear my Mom now, “Eso son poca verguenzas, con dos o tres chancletazos yo te curo!” English translation: “That’s all an act! with two or three hits with my sandal I’ll fix your problem”.
Latina moms are notorious for hitting us with their sandal! Sounds far worse in Spanish because the word sandal sounds like a deadly weapon in Spanish! We actually used to hide those damn sandals..and don’t let it be a man’s sandal with those hard unbendable soles. Heck, we used to get hit with the cords from the iron…yep! ooh, if they got angry enough at us, they would cut that bad boy off the iron and beat us with it. The next day you would find the iron with the cord attached to it with white tape. You know that red cross white roll of tape every household had and was referred to as utility tape back in the days. That was no laughing matter back then and we didn’t know there was such a thing as DYFS, Child protective services or 911! All that crap surfaced after I had my kids. That’s another story when my then, 6-year-old told me he could dial 911 if I hit him. I was so NOT feeling my mom gene and told his little smug ass to pack his bag, get his favorite cup and dial 911 after I beat the daylights out of him. Yes I did! But like I said, that’s another story.
Hmm, back to my childhood. So this Latina Mess grew up being the older sister’s assistant in rounding out the boys, making sure they were fed, bathed, the house was clean the dishes done, those stupid men’s shirts ironed and I will say I was about 8 years old doing all this child labor! Don’t even let me tell you about how we had to clean and gut fish when I was either in kindergarten or first grade. TRUE STORY! Hell, Hispanics parents are the worse ‘slave owners’ ever and this is not in our history books! We were doing all these stupid grown up tasks at such an early age that’s why I can’t STAND housework, ironing, cooking, cleaning, dusting and BABYSITTING! Honestly, my sister can’t stand kids and I am still baffled why she had one! She was the “MOM” to all of us and she was either drunk when she conceived or it was an immaculate conception because she still admits how she hates kids and her son is fifteen today.
I must stop now and let you digest my ramblings….
If you want more posts on Latina Mess, feel free to comment since I’m taking a chance in opening up to my readers here.