Thursday, September 27, 2007

Snack of Death: A Piggy's Vengence

I had a very bad incident with chicharrones this past weekend. Did I choke on one you ask? No. Me enchile? No.

I was biting into a delicious hot pica chicharone on Friday as I was preparing to watch High School Musical 2 and as I bit into it, the little chicharrone flake flew up into the air as they are prone to do and landed in my eyeball! OMG, the pain, the pain. It's like when you rub your eye after eating jalapeños. Worst of all, it was a flake and the pica together that were burning and itching my eye at the same time.

I ran around screaming and wondered to myself why I didn't have an emergency eye wash station in my house. I believe that all gelats should have them considering the ratio of chile to eye incidents that we are prone too.

I recovered and I didn't have to wear an eye patch, though I'm sure I could have rocked it if need be. I'm just warning you all that if you ever eat chicharrones do it with safety goggles or with your eyes closed. Now I'm never going to touch a maranito pan dulce or I'll be screwed!

I'm Back Bitches!

After a long spring/summer/fall (dios mio) hiatus, I'm back to the blog. I hate it when the crappy side of life takes over and you just become a sloth on the couch trying to keep up with the ever shrinking space on your tivo. No more. More posts, more love, more todo. Tu sabes.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

From the archives, in honor of me being able to eat meat in three days, a little diddy about Easter:

It's holiday season again. And while one would usually wait until Thanksgiving or Christmas time to write a scathing something about the hurt that is family, I find that Easter says it best for me. My pain began with a frantic call from my mother.

Let me preface this by saying that as a Latina, more specifically a Mexican-American (or Chicana or Xicana or Revolucionaria or whatever the kids are calling it these days) I was born with a little black cloud of guilt over my head and it has followed me around my whole life. It's a mix of the ethnic, a mix of the cultural, a mix of the women in my life with a dash of Catholicism thrown in for good measure. Nia Vardalos thought she gave you a lesson in ethnic loving -- that girl ain't got nothin' on this shit.

The Gonzalez Family Reunion: where my family supposedly celebrates the resurrection of Christ. But if you were to poll them, you would hear their relief to return to things like soda, alcohol and American Idol after four long weeks of Lent. Four weeks can mean a lot of pent up anger and frustration and evil scenarios that make me think that my family is one step away from organized crime. Evil scenarios like the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003.

I'm from a small town in Central California. If we want entertainment, we go see Friday night high school football. If we want culture, we travel north to Fresno for the national touring company of Michael Flatley's The Lord of the Dance. This year we wanted drama, so we went to church.

In keeping with tradition, we rent the outside of our church hall on an annual basis. Steaks and tripas are barbecued (we get the meat free from our connections at the local grocery store). Kids hunt for Easter eggs (filled with money and confetti rather than candy). A horseshoe tournament is played (with a sweet pool). Alcohol flows freely (from my cousins who work for The Budweiser Corporation. Thank you, Budweiser.) All this to celebrate the resurrection of Christ and in the shadow of the giant 25 foot tall Virgin Mary statue that sits outside Sta. Maria de Guadalupe's Church Hall.

But this year something went terribly wrong. The phone rang one evening. It was my mother. The scandal in her voice was thick and quick. "Mija, we've lost the hall." She just said it. That was it. We had lost the hall. Someone had very unceremoniously stolen it out from under us and reserved it for themselves. "Don't people respect the fact that we have it every year?" she spat. "Who's family is as big as ours?" And that was it. The mortal truth. No family in town came close to our 200 plus members. But now that was all over. The church hall was a symbol of our power and presence in this little corner of the world. We had been duped. Someone had threatened the one thing that made us, family pride.

Deeper investigation from my aunt, the local gossip with connections because she taught catechism, led la familia to more clues. Seems that Tencha, one of the women who worked in the parish offices, was the key. Word was that Tencha had used her power on the inside to get the Church Hall for her family. "Her family isn't even as big as ours!" my grandma barked scandalously.

Suspicions were confirmed when, at mass on Sunday morning, Tencha gave us all mal ojo from where she sat perched on the church choir. "Ves, ves!" my grandma murmured during the hallelujahs. I was family and that meant that I couldn't get out, so along with my grandma I gave Tencha mal ojo back. All this on Palm Sunday. I felt dirty.

Like any well-oiled machine, we sent in the big guns in to fight the good fight on Monday morning. The self-appointed patriarch of the family, my mom's cousin Chonito was the head of the church building fund, organizer of the annual summer church festival, and a high up in the Knights of Columbus. He was also a wiz at strong arming local politicians and council members. Hell, even I'm a little afraid of him. Today, was the official drawing of the proverbial line in the sand as Chonito paid the Priest a visit. Chonito calmly asked the Father to "reconsider [his] decision". Hell, he might as well have brought the olive branch. Instead, he got a shrug and the big pass off. "The girls in the office handle those things, not me." The man who espoused the world of the Lord to us every week had no power over the catty ladies who sat in the front office typing the Sunday bulletin? Come on. In other words, no pleading with the greater good was going to work. So Chonito did what he does best. He threatened the Priest. "Father, you have a lot of people in this parish who are unhappy with you and now you have one more. I'm not someone you want unhappy with you." The Priest was shocked. Chonito stormed out of the parish office and rolled away in his giant Lincoln Navigator (limo tint? Of course. 20 inch rims? Hell yeah.). When I heard, I crossed myself. Oh Lord, was this sacrilege?

That Monday afternoon, everyone in our clan got a call instructing them never to go to that church again nor to give a single cent to the orchestrators of the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003. Fine with me, hell I didn't need to be getting mal ojo on a weekly basis or feel guilty for only giving change during collection because I couldn't break a $20.

We fight, we bicker, but the one thing that you can never do to a family is insult their pride, self-perceived power, or their ownership of a big piece of grass outside holy grounds. Of all of the trip ups and infighting that has occurred in my tenure with this clan, nothing has united us more than the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003. Secret family meetings were held about la situacíon (yes, the situation). I have never seen a phone tree develop so quickly, people volunteer their homes, or the homes of guys who know guys who may or may not have done jail time, tu sabes.

It all worked out in the end I guess. My parents still have to drive 30 minutes away to the next closest Catholic church and attendance of mass at Sta. Maria de Guadalupe's is down about 200 plus. But this Easter, steaks and tripas were barbecued, kids hunted for Easter eggs, and alcohol flowed (Thank you Budweiser). All this at our new location, found when we all put our heads together and got over the fact that in the end it was about the celebration, not where it was celebrated. This year's Gonzalez Family Reunion was perhaps more of a blow-out than any in years past. The location helped. But I can't tell you where it is. Your family might try to steal it. Then people would have to get hurt. Amen.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Is Britney....

...gonna be the next Anna Nicole? Um, I think she is well on her way. They need to do one of those intervention things on her or some-thing cause, they are gonna take her kids yo! Maybe she needs to go to the Christian rehab like my primos. That shit works, cause then you get addicted to the Lord instead of the smack. My primos are hella high on the Lord and like to say long prayers. I don't think Brit's family would mind long prayers instead of long humiliating interviews on national television. Whatever it takes is all I'm saying. Send her to Juvie, give her a beat down - R-E-G-U-L-A-T-E. Is her mama blind or something? 'Cause if I did anything that humiliating to my family, um, that would mark the end of my days on this earth. I'm just sayin', meal ticket or not, that girl needs someone to smack some sense into her bad weave.

BTW, love the tie necklace Brit. It's so classy. Did you get it at Claire's?

And did you wonder what happened to pobrecita Felicia, her trusty assistant with the unfortunate ears? Even Felicia was like "Fuck this crazy bitch, I ain't talking to Child Protective Services no mo'. I'm going back to the south y'all!" Here's what she wrote to the dude who used to run Britney's now defunked fansite,

Once again–I commend you for your Honesty and Integrity. I have been reading your new website daily and am grateful to have that to go to, to check on the antics of Britney. Britney doesn’t have a Publicist for me to clear this thru first, so it will come directly from my heart to you!

I am writing in response to “Where is Felicia?” on your editorial.I am home–in Mississippi…….I am now a trained Corporate Flight Attendant and fly with a tiny jet company out of Georgia. I am also a substitute Preschool Teacher at the Church Preschool in my town. I LOVED being with Britney for the past 9 1/2 years. I enjoyed being a part of HER dream, but now, am living my own dream.

I cherish ALL the incredible opportunities that came my way thru my job with Britney and am crushed/saddened/heart sick by the way her life is unfolding…….

I want you to know Ruben that WE (as in her Family and nearest and dearest—ALL of whom are NOT on the payroll anymore!!) are doing EVERYTHING in our power to get help for Britney and all in our power to NOT pad the bottom or move the bottom, so when she does indeed hit rock bottom, she’ll stand up and walk away from this whole fiasco a new, confident, changed, career driven Britney like we all knew and loved.

There’s just so much you can do to help a person—I don’t dare want to be an enabler, and I cannot love her enough for the both of us. I cannot convince her in ANY way to love herself. All I can do is be a friend, someone that loved her for MANY years unconditionally, and PRAY. That, I have decided is the most and best I can do for my friend. I cannot save her from herself, nor can I commit her to any type of treatment program against her wishes and will. I am throwing my hands up and realizing that I am helpless over another—ANYONE!

It’s been a hard reality for me to face. I have lived my best example daily, and that is ALL I’m capable of. To see what’s transpiring now, makes me feel a failure, defeated. I LOVED and BELIEVED in what I was a part of for the past 10 years and was so incredibly proud of Britney and all she’d become.

All that to say this Ruben–I’m so Southern, and the BEST way for me to tell you how I feel is to say—You can just kick an old Dog so many times before he gets off the porch. I, FELICIA, am OFF the porch!!

Thank you for ALL you’ve done–ALL the love and support over the years. ALL the non-judgement and ALL the Honesty!

PLEASE let me know if there’s ANYTHING I can do to repay your kindness. With as much sincerity as I can Muster,


Sunday, February 04, 2007

I got your ice blended right here. You like that?

Children in Los Angeles are like accessories. Hot new Marc Jacobs purse, check. Iced Grande Latte, check. Child in a ridiculously adult outfit, check.

Per capita, Los Angeles has less children than your average American city, and for that reason some of us become desensitized to the little buggers. So when they invade your personal/public space, it’s like a dog whistle or a sudden outbreak of hives driving you to distraction.

Today, I happily sat in the local coffee shop working when some white people showed up with their cute little boy. He was wearing shorts and rain boots. I smiled. Then he sat right next to me, then he started to talk, then he didn’t shut the fuck up, then he started to jump on the chair next to me, then he spilled his vanilla ice blended all over the fucking leather club chair all while his oblivious mother stood there waiting for her Americano. Are you kidding me lady? Really? You aren’t going to regulate on this shit? And do you think it’s a good idea to give you hyperactive ADD child more coffee?! Cause let me tell you something, that kid needs a cachetada more than he needs a treat for the way he is behaving. You need to spank him and if you don’t, I’ll do it for you. Really, I’m happy to help out so that me and the other twenty people in the coffee shop don’t have to hear his high pitched screams and tantrums. And after I slap him, I’ll slap you. Pendeja.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Cage Match: Mariah vs. J.Lo

Bitch don't mess around. I NEED to see this girlfight. NOW. Oh, my little black heart would swell with such joy.