Category — Mexico

As Latino males (but more specifically, Mexican males), it’s a little awkward and too cheesy to express our love, affection, and even appreciation to family and friends while sober. Yes it’s an overgeneralization, but an overgeneralization that makes cultural sense (for example: machismo) and one that I can attest to from my personal experience. If you’re a Latino male and disagree, lay off the booze and we’ll see if the same corny words come out. I doubt it. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel those cheesy lovey-dovey emotions and affection towards family and friends, but vocalizing it can be tough. That is, of course, in comparison to our male Anglo counterparts.

Even expressing it to our parents can take a lot of thought and courage. That’s why we resort to expressing it by doing things for them. Yes, there is that obligatory “los quiero mucho” when saying goodbye at the end of a phone call, but it’s more out of respect and kind of like putting “sincerely yours” at the end of a personal letter before signing it. But even then, when we do express those lovey-dovey words to family we do it to fit in and not to come off as stone cold assholes. Try it with friends and things can get awkward real quick, especially when you do it with another Latino dude.

Sometimes (or more like most of the time), as men, we’re too lazy to combat the mocking and jokes that will come from friends hearing us express our platonic love and affection towards them. The rules of the game don’t permit it and I’m programmed to dish out the first joke. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Whether you look at it from a creationist or evolutionary standpoint, dudes always behaved like dudes. Cain killed his bro and neanderthals wacked each other with sticks. I guess I’ll sticks with the jokes for now

Monday through Saturday in order to get to work, I get on a public bus that drops me off at the company bus pick-up location that is 10 minutes down the road. In that short 10 minute ride, I get to see all kinds of people hop on; students, mothers, businessmen, etc. I pay the 6 peso fare, walk all the way to the back and pick the seat that is least vandalized and with the best viewing angle to observe people without appearing too creepy (good thing I don’t have bug eyes!). If you’ve ever sat in a bus and felt like someone was staring at you, yup, that’s me. Though I may seem like a potential stalker, I’m not. I don’t care how interesting or famous you are, I never get off at your stop to follow you. However, just because I don’t get off and follow people doesn’t mean another creepy person won’t (insert whatever creepy music gives you goosebumps).

Call me paranoid, but I’ve never liked the idea of another person sitting behind me and observing me. As flattering as it may seem to have someone from behind stare at you for an indefinite amount of time, it’s a very vulnerable situation and the perfect scenario for the first scene of a homicide movie. That is another reason why I try to sit all the way in the back. If a story about me is gonna be in a movie, I want to be alive to tell it.

I have no problem lending both of my big ears so that you can complain about how your diet is not working and how your ass is genetically predisposed to attaching itself to comfy couches the moment you set foot in your house. After a while though, there’s only so much moping my ears can take. When I reach that breaking point, Payazaro steps in to the rescue and gives you a taste of your own medicine.

I tell the girls in the office, “Man, I’ve tried eating everything: greasy foods, healthy foods, not working out as much and still I can’t gain weight! I’m at the point where I’m considering brushing my teeth with lard just to let my body know what the plan is.” The looks I get are priceless. What, I can’t vocalize my weight insecurities like y’all do? Yes, I know, it’s a double standard.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, is it fair for me to complain about how I can’t gain weight if women complain about how they can’t lose it? Yes. Thank you for your input.

Ever since I can remember, the source of 99% of the complaints I hear stem from social perception and expectation of what a body should look like. What a body “should” look like is subjective but even then most of the jibber jabber is about a body figure that needs to lose weight. Just because you have excess weight doesn’t necessarily mean it’s worse than my lack of it. Unless you have a doctor’s note to prove otherwise, quit your whining and keep eating.

These girls in the office aren’t even obese; they just like to complain to fit in. All I’m saying is let me be part of the choir too.

There is no denying that I’m an extrovert. Like most extroverts, I was always too busy being in the spotlight to pay attention to the small details in the environment and the people around me. However, over time I have developed an uncanny ability to isolate my attention to one particular thing in the midst of chaos. For instance, milk mustaches. Very chaotic.

I was chillin’ with my cousin having a good time eating cookies with milk. I was joking around and making her laugh to the point where she started choking on her cookie. I told her to drink some milk to wash the cookie down and so she took a big chug like a burly man would during beer fest. Instead of concerning myself with her wellbeing, my eyes quickly zoned in on her milk mustache. The milk at my house wasn’t even whole milk and yet the milk soaked and stuck into each hair strand above her upper lip like a triple-thick milkshake. It was incredible. Ladies, if I can dip a cookie on your milk mustache, it might be time for a wax.

You know you’ve lived alone too long that when you see your reflection in the mirror you salute yourself and sort of expect a response.

I highly recommend it though, not the saluting yourself part, but living alone. Taking the time to live alone can be difficult at first, but it is one of the best things I have done for myself. I didn’t move to Mexico with that goal in mind, but it was a fortunate byproduct of my housing situation. Yea, you’ll start hearing random noises and tend to confuse the voices of people walking outside your house with the voices in your head, but the benefits that come from living alone are endless.

Warning: if you’re predisposed to being a loner for life, don’t do it. Nobody wants to be lucky enough to walk by your stenchy house only to discover that the stench is coming from your corpse that has been decaying there for months. Cats and dogs traffic the roofs of most houses here and chances are one of them will sneak in, gnaw on and drag pieces of your body to your neighbor’s living room. Unless you’re Marilyn Manson, that’s not the most popular way to say goodbye to them.

I’ve seen many types and kinds of mosquitoes, but I’ve never had one try to flirt with me as it did today. It was carefully gliding in the air as if it were scoping out the landscape in my work area. I didn’t make anything of it because I thought it was a fruit fly. Fruit flies are annoying and inferior to the mosquito, and unless you’re smelling kind of frooty, they leave you alone. Also, killing a fruit fly is like fishing in a barrel–its boring and no fun. Well, this mosquito knew this and took advantage of it. It nonchalantly flew over to my face the way tinker bell would. I was hypnotized long enough for it to gently kiss my nose and fly away. Sorry, but even cute mosquitoes get their brains smashed out. I don’t care how lonely I may be, if you’re not my girlfriend or a cute puppy you’re not allowed to kiss my nose.

When I was a young lad back in the camping days in good ol’ Washington, I never had a problem with mosquitoes. Maybe my blood was too spicy for them. Whatever the case, mosquitoes were never that annoying to me because I only went camping like once every twenty-some moons. In Manzanillo, however, mosquitoes make you feel like you’re camping everyday. They become inevitable and unavoidable house pets flying around your house.

That is why I decided to start a segment in my blog that will be called “Mosquito Chronicles” that will detail noteworthy moments and events. So to inaugurate this special day, I leave you with a cartoon that accurately depicts some of my nights with these lovely mosquitoes:

Before I was born, my mother took extra vitamins of R-E-S-P-E-C-T. As a newborn, you could see the abundance of respect overflowing from my eyes. I was never that greedy baby trying to hoard any breasts in sight. If you were a girl I liked in elementary school, I never pulled your hair. Instead, I just stared at it until you became uncomfortable. In middle school, I accepted your request to be my girlfriend just out of respect even though basketball was more interesting and entertaining than you. In high school, I picked up your books from the ground and carried them for you even though I knew you would misinterpret this kind and respectful gesture for me wanting to hook up with you…puh-leez. During college, I kindly agreed to say that I was your “boyfriend” at the bar so guys would leave you alone, when in reality, the thought of being your boyfriend made suicide appealing. If that isn’t respect, then I need to go see a psychologist. As gay as this behavior may seem, it isn’t. The only difference between a person demonstrating the behavior I did and a person humping all those girls’ legs like a mad barbaric man is RESPECT. And yes, kids in elementary school do hump other kid’s legs. OK, so now that we have established my long history of respect towards women, I can address my current situation…

So a fellow female co-worker and I were discussing a work-related project at her desk and out of nowhere she decides to shove me with one hand and tells me to get away from her. Being the respectful gentleman that I am, I immediately felt guilty even though I had done nothing wrong. Could I have possibly outdone myself and been too respectful? I nicely asked her what I had done wrong and she said that her boyfriend was coming over to her desk and she did not want to be seen talking too close to another man. No seas mamona. If that’s what you want, then shove yourself back into your mother’s womb. I thought her reaction was disrespectful to my respectful ways. It was so disrespectful I gave her a half cara de fuchi (all eyebrow action; no flare of the nostrils or lip wrinkles). Jealousy in the workplace when you both work together is immature and ridiculous. If you’re a girl and your jealousy gets in the way of doing your job, which requires interacting with people of the opposite sex, then either sign up for convent school or be a stay-at-home mom. And don’t make eye contact or wave at the mail man.

For all my bilingual people out there, what is it about the brain that prefers one language over the other? Or is it just me? Spanish is my native language and I didn’t learn conversational English until I was 9. I still remember learning English by sounding the words out in Spanish. The vocabulary words handed out in 2^nd grade weren’t too difficult and by using Spanish as a spelling filter for English words made me a kick-ass speller. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but at some point I started to think (as in my conscience) and dream in English. Coincidently, that’s when Spanglish unintentionally emerged in my speech. I didn’t view it as a problem then because it was an important communication tool within a bicultural and bilingual community. However, my English speaking, reading, and writing skills were terrible and they were much worse in Spanish. Did I care? No. Neither did most of my bilingual classmates throughout my years in the American public school system. Problems arose when people like me had to interact with monolingual Spanish or English speakers. Is this the setup for some sympathy and pity? Maybe. Get your Kleenex ready…

Growing up without dominating either language is like growing up half-cat and half-dog. Other cats and dogs look at you weird. You make the cardinal sin of asking cats what purring is and when you’re invited to bark with the dog pack you meow. Even while hanging out with cats and convincing them of your cat-tastic abilities, it is only a matter of time before they notice your wagging chihuahua tail and they will call you out for it.

It wasn’t until I attended college that I realized how I never fully learned either language properly. Because the entire curriculum was in English, I had no choice but to really learn and dominate it. This made Spanish my weaker tongue and even though it is my native language, my meow (English) was much louder and clearer than my bark (Spanish).

I’ve come a long way since college, but English is still more advanced in my speech and comprehension. Is it possible to dominate two or more languages “equally”?

Everyone has a tick or a jitter when they’re stressed out. I used to think I was in control of mine, but it has become very obvious in the office. “Stop eating your face” they tell me. Say what?

I have the bad habit of biting the inside of my cheek. In a weird way, I’m kind of stabbing myself with my wolf-like fangs. If you have ever seen me eat at a carne asada, you would know exactly what I mean. Even dogs stop chewing their bones and stare at me like “dang, this dawg (haha, get it?) must be the alpha”. After a few long hours of nibbling away, I can feel thin layers of cheek skin coming off. OK, maybe I do swallow them, but don’t judge. Most people chew away at their finger nails when they’re stressed out and those finger nails have touched many unclean things and even naughty parts of their bodies…or even worse, of other people’s bodies. I at least brush my teeth 3 times a day and drink more water than your whole family put together, so I’m guaranteed clean and thoroughly cleansed cheek meat during stressful times.