It's been a long time... I shouldn't have left you..

Without a dope beat to step to...

Just playing, kind of. But seriously, what happened to my blog life. Time to create, rant and amuse myself.

Mi Problema -- By Michele Serros

Mi Problema
From Chicana Falsa and other stories of death, identity, and Oxnard
by Michele Serros




My sincerity isn't good enough.

Eyebrows raise
when I request:

"Hable mas despacio, por favor."
My skin is brown
just like theirs,
but now I'm unworthy of the color
'cause I don't speak Spanish
the way I should.
Then they laugh and talk about
mi problema
in the language I stumble over.

A white person gets encouragement,
praise,
for weak attempts at a second language.
"Maybe he wants to be brown
like us."
and that is good.

My earnest attempts
make me look bad,
dumb.

"Perhaps she wanted to be white
like THEM."
and that is bad.

I keep my flash cards hidden
a practice cassette tape
not labeled
'cause I am ashamed.
I "should know better"
they tell me
Spanish is in your blood.

I search for S.S.L. classes,
(Spanish as a Second Language)
in college catalogs
and practice
with my grandma.
who gives me patience,
permission to learn.

And then one day,
I'll be a perfected "r" rolling
tilde using Spanish speaker.
A true Mexican at last!

Why doing good feels so bad

I tell myself every time I go into Safeway that I am NOT going to back down. I'm just going to tell her no, and be on my way. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being guilted into this. I can't keep letting the mean old grey haired miserable lady at the checkout pressure me into 'rounding up to the next dollar to donate to breast cancer'. Ugh!! She gets me every time!! I go in there with a clear shopping mission and only bring enough money for just the things I need, maybe an extra buck or two if I need to buy a fat girl treat, but thats it. Anyway, it happens like this: I gather my goods, usually a bunch of bananas, some bagged salad and some tortillas and as usual the ghetto-fabulous Safeway I live near is always flooded with people and only three checkers to accommodate them. I file myself in line with the rest of the neighborhood and patiently wait my turn. Then the pressure starts to build. I tell myself, 'say no, just say no'. Think of all the money you would be saving if you just said no!! As I get closer to the register, I can hear the Grumpy checker, who never says 'hello' or 'how are you', but sure as shit asks the dreaded question "would you like to round up to help fight breast cancer'? To help fight breast cancer? Now is my rounded change really going to fight this disease? By giving up my 25, 35 even sometimes 75 cents, am I arming fighter cells with swords and shields to fight off those evil rogue breast cancer cells? I'd love to think that was the case. I'd actually would feel better about this donation if there was some sort of reassurance that my money was really going to fight this disease. Show me pictures of mastectomies, or of women who are bald and going through chemotherapy, show me more than pink sustainable shopping bags, or day old cupcakes with pink ribbons on them and prove to me that my hard earned money is actually fighting breast cancer! It may be rotten of me to feel this way, but I do. I need more than the scorn from the bitter cashier, or the guilt from hearing other customers cave to the dreaded question, I need more tangible assurance that what could be buying at least 1 tall black coffee at Starbucks is actually fighting breast cancer.

Endless Joy at the Dollar tree.

I seem to be on this kick where little things in my everyday life are making me happy. This is probably because Im broke and basically can't partake in the lavish or fancy things that the rich and indebted are enjoying.
So today, I was in need of dish soap and Fabuloso. With the last 2 dollars that I had in cash, I took a little trip to the most comprhensive Dollar Tree I have ever been to. This place has everything a beaner on a budget could ever dream of. From brand name rubbermaid containers, to off brand and questionable pregnancy tests, this place freaking has it all. I wandered up and down all of the aisles, thinking I could totally sustain a living off of the products in this store. They have all of the cleaning essentials I need with the labels in espanol mind you, tons of food products like the nacho cheese sauce that looks like it should be refridgerated, but for some reason is sitting on the shelf right next to Mrs.Fletchers 100 calorie brownie cakes. Then there is the aisle of dollar shampoo, conditioner, ovulator predictors, and pregnancy tests. Im wondering why there arent't any dollar condoms, but something tells me, that with all of the baby detectors here, dollar rubbers aren't that reliable. Oh, oh, and then there is all of the stationary, balloons, fake flowers and my favorite halloween stuff, basically all of the shit that I keep in bags in my closet and use every few months when I need to give a gift or make my home a little more festive.
So basically, to wrap it up, Im broke and the dollar tree makes me happy, so happy that I needed to take some pictures to illustrate the joy from the store that makes my measly 10 dollars feel like a million bucks!

I wanna give a shout out to 'La Sad Girl" in Moreno Valley

There's probably nothing in the world that makes me happier than to tune in to Art Laboe on a Sunday night and hear a thick ass Chicana accent, giving a shout out to the homies/baby daddy/familia out there in La pinta, or just kickin it at home. The exhange between Art Laboe's 90 year old ass and the devoted cholos and cholas every week remind me of the desert days when me and my three best friends would sit around, eat hot cheetos, drink Jarritos sodas, and try to get through the phone line to request "Girls It Ain't Easy". For some reason, we felt that at the age of 11, we knew that the world had to be tough place. Hearing the stories of the vatos locked up and the rucas that were waiting for them, made us all think that life in LA had to be pretty rough and that the airbrushed happy/sad dichotomy that taught us to 'smile now, cry later' had to have some truth to it. Although none of us grew up in Los Angeles or around the 'cholo' lifestyle, we still felt like we were badass enough to wear belts with the metal buckles with our initials and that it was our duty to try and get through the phone lines. It was almost as if getting through the phone lines and dedicating such hits as "Only the Strong Survive", and "Angel Baby", somehow connected us to this whole Southern California culture of love, crime, olides, family, and 'homies'.
To hear the Art Laboe radio show now, not only makes my heart happy, but it also makes it break a little. I miss the days of being a nappy headed kid, without a clue. The world even though it seemed as if we were headed for a heap of shit, wasn't so compicated. I miss being fascinated by the voices I heard on the airwaves and wondering what "Mousey and Flaco" looked like. Chances were, Mousey had a bad peroxide dye job, with big saggy boobs with her vatos name badly tattood across it, and Flaco was probably an overweight 40-something year old doing time for a crime he's going to prove he's innocent of. And by the power of Mousey's dedication of "I Only Have Eyes For You", and Art's over dramatic sloppy 'Kiss', we knew that everthing was going to be alright.

PS..the spell check on this blog was ridiculous... guess google isn't down with the Cali slang!

I love Portland and all....

But these skinny boys in 'Never Nude' shorts are really getting to me. I don't know where the trend started, but somewhere, the bullemic boys of Portland took a vote and decided it would be fashionable to wear tight cut offs during the summer. Now I don't know about you, but I find these shorts to be troublesome. Not only do they to make me aware of how fat my ass has gotten, but also wonder if these boys are interfering witht the circulatio to their giblets? Maybe im just hatin', but this trend serioulsy makes me wish it was pants weather again.

Young, Broke, and Beautiful

Here's a little segment where I like to display and glorify the 'impoverished' life of a collge student. This week I would like to take the time to give a shout out to Colorsilk, By Revlon. For just $7.00, I can color this thick ass mane of mine, and get (near) salon results! Not only does this recession friendly product cover my roots, but it comes with a packet of hair conditioner that I can ration out for the rest of the week and best of all also comes with rubber gloves that can be re-used for washing dishes, or givin' a health exam! Who the hell needs a fancy salon dye job when I can do one in my own bedroom for just a fracation of the price. Thank you Colorsilk, for keeping me beautiful.