A blog about Personal Journals, Neighborhoods, and Relationships.
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Do you know where the original cholas came from? Well here's a girl that is about to school you! Check out her myspace by clicking here. My favorite quote off her second podcast is: "When we kill you it's not like we are taking your life. It's more like we are giving you death." No NO NO... don't be scared! Twinkie is not turning to the dark side. I just find her humor different. And well, ummm... funny? A little bit about her off her WEBSITE:
Bienvenidos and welcome to my website! I am Ask A Chola. You can call me "Chola". I am a chola/anarchist/cultural critic who resides in LA. I make videos that some people think are funny. Sometimes I am in magazines and on TV. I spend a lot of time on Myspace. I am interested in historical revisionism. I believe that the Chola has systematically been written out of Western history and I'm determined to write her back in (006, 007, 023). I believe in affirmative action for pirates (017). Subcomandante Marcos is my-novio (009). I put out political comunicados with certain demands that must be met, including this one to the Frito-Lay Corporation (014). Educational videos are something I will always return to (010, 011, 012, 013). *this particular entry was originally posted at Tales of Chaos and Fancy. You can click here to see it along with other pet stories. The joys of owning a pet when your floor is BROWN are self evident. It’s like a minefield, really! And it keeps us on our toes. When you finally do “hit the big one” you can’t get TOO mad, because.. well…. just look at this face?
I honestly never thought I’d ever be a pet owner again. And I don’t know what came over me when I said, “YES” but I’m glad I did. She’s like my kids USED to be when they were younger. Always happy to see me.
Oh my kids are still happy to see me, but it’s more of a “YAY mommy’s here! That means it’s dinner time and while she’s making dinner she can help me with my homework and while she’s helping me with my homework my sister can interrupt a gazillion times to tell her all about her day and while that’s going on my daddy can interrupt twenty gazillion times to ask such mundane questions such as have you seen my keys or do you know where the remote is or when is dinner gonna be ready and we can wear her out until it’s time for baths and bedtimes stories! YAY! She’s home!!!” type of happy to see me.
With Zoey (yes her name is Zoey, but I call her Zo-Zo!) it’s more of a “yap yap yap yap let me kiss (translation=LICK) your face and show how happy I am that you’re home. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU and guess what? I don’t even need or want anything from you! I just LOVE YOU for you! Now, can I hump your leg?”
Racism doesn’t exist.
At least it didn’t in my little world as a child. Even today I try to stay in my little bubble but sometimes it’s not so easy.
I grew up in a small agricultural community called McFarland where the population was primarily Hispanic. Since Mexicans were the majority, to us racism was something we joked about because we didn’t really know what it was.
When you grow up with people who are the same, shop at the same places, go to the same churches, know the same people, you thrive in the differences. Differences excite you. Racism is something you read about, not something you experience.
We’d say the gabachos (white kids) were the minority, not us. This was, of course, while not fully understanding just exactly what a “minority” was. To me it meant, “less in quantity.”
Unfortunatley, experience has led me to the actual definition of what minority truly means, the definition, I've learned can mean different things to different cultures, in some cases it can even mean, "lesser than."
It could mean a group of people you dont want to belong to, someone you dont want to be.
When you’re a minority you get treated a tad bit different. Sometimes it’s not by much. It’s hardly noticeable. Other times it’s so blatant that it’s insulting.
Like the time I took my kids to the craft store, Color Me Mine. I was ignored while the white lady with her matching jumpsuit and Dooney and Bourke bag was getting the Royal treatment.
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Was it because of the way I looked?
It happened at the Marketplace where most of the women walking around are Barbie replicas. Did I not look like I belonged with my 5ft, 135 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes, in my $5.99 Susie’s Deal’s outfit? Did I not get treated right because I wasn’t wearing $200 jeans? Or because my kids weren't wearing Gap?
Or was it because I am Mexican?
I always try to shrug it off as, “Oh, she just had a bad day.” Or “They just have bad customer service skills. I'm sure they are like that with everyone." When somebody tries to tell me it’s because I’m Mexican, I try to explain to them they are wrong. Times have changed and there’s no such thing as racism.
When my son was in the 8th grade he and a few friends stayed the night at another friend’s house after a school dance. The next morning he tells me that around midnight they decided to walk to the store to get some fried burritos from a mini mart.
As they were walking they got stopped by the police. They were told to sit on the sidewalk and were asked one by one for their names. They were breaking curfew, but other than that, they weren’t doing anything illegal.
My son was really insulted at the way he was treated but I tried to explain to him that it was justified. Even though they weren’t doing anything wrong they were BREAKING CURFEW!
He says that the cop asked each of them their first names and age. When the cop got to my son he asked him to stand up. He took a picture of him to keep in his files and he asked him for his full name and address. He also asked him what they were doing out and a few other questions. My son complied.
They were driven back to his friend’s house, where they talked to the parents. Everything checked out so the kids were released to them.
My son was confused as to why out of all six kids that were with him, he was the only treated like a hoodlum and questioned like a common criminal. He just couldn’t understand why he was treated so rudely while his friends were treated so courteously.
He said he thought it was because he was the only Mexican in the group.
“There is no such thing as racism anymore. That’s a thing of the past,” I found myself explaining to my thirteen year old son. “Maybe it was just that you looked like you were up to something, while they didn’t.”
Sometimes it’s much easier to try to convince him and others than it is to convince myself.
*click on the blue writing if you're curious about what happened when I went into Color Me Mine.
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**click here for this original post over on bakotopia.com and the many comments left by others who shared their opinion with me. Feel free to comment here and keep the dialog going!
I can remember when me and my sister and mom would sit around the kitchen table and have our late night talks. Then I'd pretend I was asleep and then she'd hold me for a while. Her and my sister would continue talking then she'd carry me to bed. I can remember being at the beach in Mexico and getting lost. After getting tired of looking for my family I sat down and played with another little girl. She was building a sad castle and I can remember being amazed at her talent. Everything I tried to buid would fall apart or it would look like a blob of sand. I can remember being excited about my dad coming home from work because it meant getting a "peso" from him and running down to the bakery for a piece of pan dulce (sweet bread) I can remember being scared of having to go to the bathroom at night because we didn't have indoor plumbing, therefore we'd have to go outside to an outhouse. I was always amazed at how my brother and sister never seemed to be scared about anything. I can remember the drive into the United States. The border and it's traffic and men in uniforms checking each car for illegal immigrants and contraband freaked me out. I can remember the relief I felt once we got into the United States. It was like being in a whole new universe! I can remember getting lost on my way from my first day of school. Thank GOD McFarland is so small because I remember a lady asking me if I was lost and I said, "YES" then she asked me for my address. I didn't know it. But I told her I was staying with "mi Tia Victoria" *(my aunt Victoria) and she knew exactly who I meant, and took me there! I can remember in the second grade not knowing any English and therefore not being able to tell the teacher I had to go pee. So I peed my pants. Then I remember getting sent to the principals office until my pants dried. There was no way for me to go home since everybody was at work. I can remember wanting to go camping to Camp K.E.E.P. and my mom not allowing me to. She said that's where little kids got chopped up into little pieces and she wasn't having any of it. I can remember in High School, when I was a freshman this guy had a crush on me and he walked me to my locker and tried to kiss me and I turned my face as in EWWWWW And he frenched my cheek. It was sloppy wet GROSS!
**What are YOUR favorite childhood memories? This week has been a pretty cruddy week for me. Not cruddy, I guess.
I’ve just been really out of sorts all week. Absent minded, clumsy, tired, achy, etc.
Then this morning I ate a rotten pumpkin seed and I can still taste it. YUCK.
BUT now it’s Friday. And not just ANY Friday, peeps! It’s FIRST FRIDAY!
Just what does that mean, my friends? Well it means that come Monday, there will be new stories up for me to listen to at the First Friday site. CLICK HERE TO GO TO FIRST FRIDAY PROSE!!!
I am a big wuss when it comes to scary movies. I don’t enjoy them. I have never understood how scaring the hell out oneself can be considered pleasurable? I tense up. My heart beats fast. I feel like I can’t breathe. My neck hurts, and I get a headache from being so tense. How is that fun? But my husband LOVES them. So one date night, a long, looong time ago… we compromised. I would watch a scary movie with him, only if he watched a chick flick with me.
Well, I couldn’t get through it. I freaked out and decided, “you go ahead and finished the movie, and I’ll go take a long hot shower to calm my nerves.”
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I was afraid to be upstairs by myself but I didn't want to admit it to him. I took a deep breath and started walking slowly. I could feel someone’s presence lurking in the shadows. I started imagining somebody following me. My mind started playing tricks on me.
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I could feel evil breathing over me. Every corner in the house was an opportunity for someone to attack. I kept telling myself it was all in my mind. And my husband was there to protect me. I had nothing to worry about, right? And still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
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Once I was in the shower, that eerie feeling did NOT go away. In fact, it got worse. I felt someone staring at me, so I freaked out.
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"Dammit, Norma, it's all in your head. Stop it," I thought to myself.
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I had shampoo in my eyes, so I couldn't open them for a bit to verify. Of course, that freaked me out even more. When I finally washed the shampoo out I opened my eyes, and there was my husband... staring at me in this evil looking stare. I screamed!
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Then I started crying and crying and crying and I couldn't stop. He felt so bad. Sorta... in between his laughter he felt bad. He couldn't stop laughing. The more he laughed the more I cried. The more I cried, the more he laughed. I finished my shower and got dressed. All the while I’m still bawling. Or like Oprah Winfrey calls it, I was “crying ugly”.
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He’s only made me cry like that one other time which I will be writing about soon. But for now, have you ever played a prank on someone and it went horribly wrong? Or has someone played a joke on you and you didn’t take it very well? Please share your experiences here.
Diets suck. I rarely get on one. Oh sure, I've tried one or two of those fad diets. But I have never lasted longer than ummm a DAY! I love food. I love veggies, fruits, dark leafy greens. I love juice. I love all the stuff that is good for me, so then WHY diet?
Actually, I think the hardest diet I've ever been on is when I was younger, and I used to weigh 88 pounds. Yeah, I know. Disgusting, right? So I used to try and try to eat really fattening foods so I can get to my ideal weight. I really didn't have a set weight in mind. I just figured for one thing, as long as I could stop buying my pants at Kids R Us.(not even a size 0 would fit me back then). And secondly, when I got comfortable with myself and my own body, I would know when to stop.
"How hard could that diet have been? Quit your complaining", you're probably thinking.
Shut up! It was heck-ah hard. If you're a friend of mine, you already know I can't stand greasy, fattening foods, so it was tough trying to make myself eat. I hate fast food, don't care for sandwiches. What's a girl to do?
"Yeah,whatever... save it you skinny ho", you're probably thinking as you bite into your Whopper with cheese.
Time went by and of course I gained some weight. Ten pounds to be exact. Finally, I should be happy right? But I wasn't. Sure I was meatier now if I could only tone up. Then surely, I'd be happy.
Later it was if I could just lose five pounds, then I'd be happy. It was time to cut back on my food intake. But just a little. Time to diet, right? Ugh.
When I got married I weighed 96 pounds. If I could only gain 10 more pounds, then I'd be happy. Well geez louize. When is this sure happiness going to come? I can only starve or force feed myself for so long.
Well, 47 pounds later.. I weigh about 135 and I finally realized a few years back that as long as I am HAPPY it doesn't matter what I weigh. And I also realized that dieting makes me miserable. Forget dieting. I hate it.
I'd rather be happy and fat than skinny and miserable.
Moral of the story? I don't know. There is no moral. If you want to cut down on your intake, fine, but dont cut OUT anything you enjoy. Go eat a Big Mac. Just don't biggie size it. Maybe just eat half of it. I don't know?
I can't guarantee that not eating all of it will make YOU happy. I also can't guarantee that you eating a low cal salad will make you happy. All I know is.. only YOU can make you happy. Just be happy for heaven's sake.
And don't base your happiness on your weight. Take it from someone who's been on both sides of the scale . Happiness does not come in a pill, or a protein diet, or a shake, or an "ideal weight". It starts with you.
Work on your inner self. I have found that when you are happy inside it will affect your decision making. From cutting out food that is poison to your body, to cutting out the people in your life that are poison to your inner "self."
BUT after all is said and you do decide to "diet" and we're out having lunch one day, don't be surprised if I ask, "Are you gonna eat that?" because it'd be a shame to let that salad with extra ranch go to waste!
Symptom, Cause and Corrective Action: *borrowed from Old Horsetail Snake (blogger you can click here to check his site out!) Feet cold and wet: Glass being held at an incorrect angle. Rotate glass so that open end points toward ceiling. Feet warm and wet: Improper bladder control. Stand next to nearest dog; complain about lack of house training.
Beer unusually pale and tasteless: a. Glass empty. or, b. You're holding a Coors Lite. Get someone to buy you another beer.
Opposite wall covered with fluorescent lights: You have fallen over backward. Have yourself leashed to the bar.
Mouth contains cigarette butts, back of head covered with ashes: You have fallen forward. Have yourself leashed to the bar.
Floor moving: You are being carried out. Find out if you are being taken to another bar.
Beer is crystal clear: It's water! Somebody is trying to sober you up. Punch him.
Don't recognize anyone; don't recognize the room you are in: You've wandered into the wrong party. See if they have free beer.
Your bedroom is painted gray, has a concrete floor and an interesting steel door. Toilet may be conveniently located next to your bunk: a. You're in jail. or, b. You're in the navy. Sleep it off; you can always get out tomorrow. Don't talk to your new roommate, and under no circumstances sleep on your stomach.
You are dancing to a Village People song, and your partner is wearing leather chaps: You are in a gay bar. Keep your back to the wall, edge toward nearest exit. Do not accept offers for back rubs.
Your singing sounds distorted: The beer is too weak. Have more beer until your voice improves.
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