Happy New Year 2011

Another year is almost over, another year in this country, struggling to belong, struggling to get my affairs in order, struggling to organize my life, to start the life I want, struggling to find enough money to pay for some things, struggling to find a way to go to school (etc)

And in the middle of all that I am so happy. I am happy because I am healthy and in love, surrounded by family and full of friends. I am thin (yay diet), I am happy with myself, happy with my family, happy with the visitors I got from Colombia, my aunt and cousin whom I hadn’t seen in a decade.

I never thought eight years ago that there would come a time when Christmas wouldn’t depress me, when New Year’s Eve wouldn’t be a time to cry. Yet here I am, looking forward to tomorrow (and the insane skinny white dress I am wearing) but also looking forward to the bittersweet feeling when is midnight and I find myself still here for one more year.

While it sounds scary, the truth is that way of thinking has made me enjoy life and what it brings in a way that only uncertainty can. I feel so blessed (ugh for the nonbeliever in me) and so lucky I feel like I am bragging.

I will get teary eyed tomorrow. Teary eyed for that land that I truly belong to and I haven’t stepped on in a decade, I would get sad because its music stir my souls and makes my heart ache, I will be sad because I will remember all those other years when I was younger and sharing with other people I haven’t seen in so long and probably will never see again. I will cry for those moments lost, for those moments I didn’t appreciate because I didn’t know where never coming back. And still I will smile, smile for the plentiful in front of me, for the beautiful luck I have, for the overwhelming abundance of beautifulness that is my life.

This time, I celebrate New Year’s not only with my sister and brother, mother and husband, sister and brother in laws but also with my aunt and my cousin. I wonder if anyone but someone who has been separated from family can understand how monumental this moment is, how special it was seeing each other after so long, how touching it was that time and distance never made us strangers.

So, happy New Year readers, whoever you are. Enjoy your day, near you family, wife, husband, partner, friend, cat, dog, and TV set, whoever and whatever you have in your life that makes you happy. Think of the year ahead and expect the best.

Smile, laugh, love, live.

DIRTY MINDS THINK ALIKE

It never ceases to amaze me just how incredibly inappropriate Hispanic people are, sometimes I forget or simply don’t notice because I am so used to it, but there is nothing like having dinner with a bunch of Colombians, Venezuelans, Chileans and Mexicans for the combination to be too much for all our dirty tendencies.

DH and I were enjoying a delicious night of BBQ and Karaoke, or maybe I should say I was being tortured by the smell of delicious cow murder while he ate (5 months 21 days of vegetarianism and counting!) when the hosts of our dinner started passing along an array of penis shaped paraphernalia. From an eight inch penis-shaped flute (you blow at the head of course) very accurate with balls and all and another one of a mustachioed guy seating on a toilet with his pants around his ankle and with a ecstatic look on his face while his hand wrapped around an engorged penis that was bigger than he was. Don’t ask me why a host would do that. Is one of those Hispanic mysteries nobody has an answer to, right up there with what’s in a morcilla (no longer a mystery and wish I never knew) and why we can’t help it but be loud.

While I made do with rice, and salad and bread and all those around me feasted on the mouthwatering victims of murder I thought about how weird it was for people to bring out those pieces of porny, tacky sexual art. Then I realized I have lost my edge. I have been surrounded by that inappropriate shit all my life and never before made me blink an eye.

I remember having lunch at my aunt’s house in Colombia and across her dinner table she had a painting of a woman who seems to be either touching herself or someone else is touching her, and another of two lovers that seem to have escaped from a porn version of Cirque du Soleil. The thing is the strokes of the brush in the paintings are so delicate and sometimes not quite there and you never know if you are really seeing what you think you are seeing or if it is in fact blatantly sexual art.

The result is that you spent the 45 minutes of dinner at times staring at the painting and other’s trying not to stare while you pretend to be eating and incredibly uncomfortable that your hosts and owners of the painting is your family and the figure sticks hanging in the wall are getting it on and feeling oddly hot and bothered at THE MOST inappropriate time. That same family member also served their morning coffee on boob-shaped cups and you had to drink from the nipple, which I didn’t really considered weird when I was growing up but now that I have been here for 8 years I find rather odd. The prudishness here is contagious!

As I passed along the clay guy with the huge schlong and manic look in his eyes to DH I expected him to be somewhat chagrined at what I viewed as another weird thing we do that he has to get used to and I laughed and said: “I can’t imagine passing this along at dinner with your family” since his family is fairly conservative. I expected him to laugh and enjoy the “art” I didn’t expect for him to ask loudly and in front of all the natural born hecklers I hang out with (who by the way are all over 40, married and with children) for me to blow on the head of the “flute” and make some music. Neither did I expect him to say “You have more practice than me” in front of all of them (my mom included) when I told him “Why don’t You blow?”.

All I can conclude in that he has been thoroughly and completely corrupted and that he will no longer be embarrassed by anything.

Which considering my family and friends it’s a blessing.

FREEDOM OF SPEECH = DOUBLE EDGED SWORD

I was reading in Yahoo! News today about a man called Albert Snyder. Mr. Snyder lost his son Matthew Snyder when he died on a Humvee accident in Iraq almost four years ago. Matt was 20 years old.

During his son's funeral the ever lovely Westboro Baptist Church showed up to protest against gays, and Jews and pretty much everybody else on God’s green earth with signs that read “God Hates America” “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” “You are going to Hell” “Semper Fags” and other enlightened messages like those.

Mr. Snyder can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he suffers from depression since his son’s death (which is understandable) and is battling diabetes. He is angry and hurt and humiliated and probably wishing his son’s funeral would’ve been a dignified event for him to say goodbye without having all that bad juju thrown his way.

Mr. Snyder decided to sue the Westboro Baptist Church and was granted 10.9 million dollars that were after reduced to 5 million by another judge and then another judge reversed the verdict and he is now ordered to pay roughly $17,000 to Westboro for the legal fees they incurred. It doesn't seem right, does it?

According to Westboro Baptist Church, America is condemned, doomed to hell and being punished by its acceptance of what they call in their website “fag lifestyle”. After taking a gander at the Westboro website (and feeling right after like I had to take a bath on bleach or holy water) I realized just how difficult the law is. The first amendment of the constitution of this country established freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom of religion and freedom for people to peacefully assemble, etc.

The amendment is a beautiful thing; not only respects my ideas and opinions no matter how unpopular they might be but it also protects my rights to voice them.

Poor Mr. Snyder had to see hate first hand and at a moment of crippling vulnerability. No father should have to bury his son and it made his tragedy even worse to see people gleefully holding signs that celebrated his death and the death of all those other soldiers out there who have lost their life in this war.

Even though Mr. Snyder is now without his son and grieving, and even though my heart breaks at the thought of him seeing those signs, the law states freedom of speech for all. Is it moral for those people to be there and mock his pain? No, and I am sure there are special places in whatever hell those fuck-heads believe in for people just like them. It is right for them to feel the entitlement of invading such a private moment and ruin it with their hateful, putrid beliefs? No, it isn’t.

Is it legal? Yes, it is.

Freedom of speech is defined as the right to speak without censorship and/or limitation, the right to speak or otherwise communicate one’s opinion without fear of harm or prosecution. It applies to all individuals in this country, it covers all opinions, and it defends all ideas.

Those who read this blog know how passionately against religion I am and how passionately for gay rights I am. So it is with a heavy heart that I recognize that Mr. Snyder is going to lose that lawsuit against Westboro.

The law should protect all: sick, hateful, disgusting, crazy individuals too. Even when their moral compass is up their asses, even when their beliefs are repulsive, even when they don’t respect the most private of moments, even when they have no understanding of the meaning of compassion their opinions also have to be respected.

The fact is that the loathsome crew from Westboro peacefully assembled to spew their venom. Mr. Snyder actually didn’t even notice they were there but until later when he saw his son’s funeral on the news. The law should protect Westboro because vile and abhorrent as they are they didn’t break any laws.

My only consolation and I hope for Mr. Snyder’s too is that the legacy of Fred Phelps founder of Westboro Church (won’t do the Baptist a disservice by affiliating them with him) seems to be on his last legs. I don't know if he is healthy or not, but a body can’t hold that much hatred and venom and continue working properly. The man is 81 years old already! Even if his progeny were to continue his work he is the heart of the operation and without him I hope it will dwindle to nothing.

I found Pastor Jim Sommerville’s blog while researching for this post; Pastor Summerville had an encounter of sorts with darling Fred one time when he and his band of roaches went to Richmond Virginia to harass its Jewish community.

Pastor Sommerville is a more evolved creature than I am and he decided to pray for the soul of Fred (what soul?) and for him to find love and let go of the hatred that, to quote Pastor Jim “has made him its disciple”.

I don’t have it in me to wish for Fred’s salvation. I don’t have it in me to pray for his rotten soul. If I was the praying kind I would pray for Mr. Snyder’s battered soul and broken heart. I would pray for his family and the families of all those who Westboro has touched with its grimy paws.

I would pray for Mr. Snyder to feel some consolation after the suit is over even when it probably won’t conclude as he hopes. If I were the praying kind those are the ones I would pray for, I wouldn’t waste a word on Fred.

Actually Fred can go to hell.

For Pastor Jim Sommerville’s post: http://jimsomerville.wordpress.com/2010/03/03/how-do-i-stop-my-enemies/

For the Yahoo! Article: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_funeral_protests

THE INEXORABLE PULL OF RESPONSIBILITY

I wish I had coined the phrase since it seems to describe my very existence. I am, it seems, trapped by a sucking, drowning, black-hole of responsibility. There are, I know, people who seem free of such a crippling emotion, because that is what responsibility is, an emotion. A feeling in the pit of your stomach, in the center of your heart that makes one do things we don’t want to do, but we do nonetheless because it is expected, because one has to.

Girls always dream of being Lizzie and holding out for love, for passion, for someone who is going to understand one’s quirks in personality. Girls dream of being Lizzie and being brave and holding out for Mr. Darcy, but I am afraid I would have never been a Lizzie Bennett and that I am destined to be a Fanny Price, my most hated of Austen’s heroines.

I am afraid that my sense of responsibility keeps me from doing what I dream of doing and sending everyone to hell and being utterly selfish and caring only about what I want and what I need and what I expect of life. But I am, no matter how hard I try, going ‘round and ‘round doing what I have to do.

I would’ve married Mr. Collins. I would’ve married a totally unsuitable person to save my family from destitution. I would have had sex and bore him children and endured the attentions of Lady Catherine de Burgh simply because it was expected of me.

There is no rebellion in me, no overwhelming passion, because responsibility shadows, swallows, overwhelms everything else. I am doomed to be responsible. I am doomed to swallow my wants and do what needs to be done. Why do I have to? Why can’t I just ignore everything that needs to be done and simply be? Is it my lot in life to take care of what needs to be taken care of disregarding completely the hungers in my soul that need to be fed?

I wish I was more ambitious. Ambitious enough that only my interest seemed to matter, but my ambitions are simple: Health for those I love, to be loved, a house of my own, a job that I like and occasional travels that show me the world out there. I don’t wish for riches and grandeur, I don’t crave fame and fortune. I work for a multibillionaire and I know that money does not necessarily mean happiness. I can’t help but think that if I wanted it more, wished for it more, ignored others more I could have everything I wanted.

Sometimes I want to run away from everything, expectations, family, friends… and myself. Let’s combine those two and really put together what I want to run away from: Family expectations.

Sometimes I wish I was more like my brother, who has no regard for anyone but himself. No regard but what he wants. Sometimes I wish I could grab my credit card and disappear into oblivion in a small town in the middle of nowhere U.S. and work at some dinner where my name is not my name and I can spend my days doing something little and meaningful and write and get up knowing that I will write some more and do something with my days that does not include disappearing in anonymity in an office, doing nothing worth wile and being invisible.

I know the feeling will disappear and tomorrow I will get up and do what is expected. Dry, cold, reliable, and responsible Melissa, doing what needs to be done, no matter what. But right now I want to be more, do more.

I know it’s silly. I get to the end of this post and I realize how many times I have said in the past, “With privilege comes responsibility” and I am oh so privileged with a big family. I just wish there was someone to share those big responsibility’s with.

They feel so heavy sometimes.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

I just came home from an exhausting weekend with the family and I mean exhausting because having too much fun takes its toll. We (Dear Husband, sister, mom, uncle, and pets) drove up to Tampa to hang out with the family we have there. The same family who lovingly open their home to me when I was spoiled brat 8 years ago used to asking for everything and doing nothing on my own.

We spent two amazing days laughing our asses off playing board games, dancing, drinking, eating (of course) and remembering the old days, from when we were little to the horror stories of our first jobs in the U.S. The cultural shock and horrid jobs behind us gives us the opportunity to laugh at what before made us want to cry. There is something simply delicious about looking back and laughing hysterically at things, experiences, jobs, pains, falls, etc that drove us crazy and depressed us. The personal triumph of moving past it couldn’t taste any sweeter.

After playing games and utterly crushing our only male cousin playing we started getting ready for the party. I had forgotten how the simple fun of sharing a bathroom with so many other women feels. What a simple pleasure to sit down with little eye shadow pots, brushes, steaming curling irons, tweezers, pencils and chattering voices, felt like. I had forgotten the fun of simply being a girl with other girls who you love while men stand outside complaining about how long we take and make fun of us.

We made it to the party late of course and danced and laughed, ate and danced, laughed some more. We laugh a lot, I noticed. I don’t know why it struck me so strongly that exact moment but we do a lot of laughing and the thought of it made me happy. Happy that in spite of all the hard things we have gone though, heart ache, losing family, losing oneself in this vast and foreign land we still find pleasure and laugh, out loud, until our bellies ache and we are gasping for air.

Twelve o’clock finally came and the deafening sounds of music and other voices drowned our own, we hugged each other, taking turns, wishing each other a happy new year to come, happiness, health, love, laughter, security…There is something about that precise moment, that instant, that last a second, that short moment when the new year begins and the old year ends that is almost indescribable. There is something about the energy around, flowing like bubbly champagne; something about the screams, laughter, the happy almost euphoric feeling, there’s something about that exhilarating emotion that makes the most cynic one of us feel overwhelmed with happiness and the beauty of hope.

None of us know what the New Year will bring, but in that very moment we are all, as one, expecting, hoping, wanting and wishing each other the best for the year in front of us. All that positive energy, all the good juju cannot be all in vain.

As I sat there surrounded by the people I love and the people I share blood with, people that had seen me grow and people that love in spite of my many, many, many flaws I felt so incredibly lucky, lucky that the people I care about are mostly in good health, well, working, living, breathing, enjoying life. Lucky that I have a husband that loves me and mine, lucky that my family is just the shit and I wouldn’t change even one of the crazy characters in it.

I ate my twelve grapes, wishing wishes, for Dear Husband, for my brother, my mom, my sister, the rest of my family and myself. More than anything I wished for more years where we are just like this, spending it with family, eating until we burst, dancing, wishing each other another happy new year, another year where in that moment we are so incredibly happy and we are so overwhelmed we want to cry.

I wish you all my same brand of happiness, the same brand of luck. This is a new year, a blank slate that we all get one time each year, so start this new one with renewed hope, with new plans, with a positive mind, with a happy feeling. You never know what good is around the corner, when love may come your way, what blessing life might throw you. This is the year to be happy, so be it.

AWESOME CHRISTMAS!!

Oh the many things to be thankful for, family, friends, music, food, alcohol, alka-seltzer and extra strength Tylenol.

I woke up this morning and I am 27 years old today, almost 30 and lucky that I am alive, healthy and surrounded by the many people in my life that love me and enrich my existence. I usually hate my birthdays, it makes me uncomfortable cutting the cake with people looking at me and I usually just want to spend it in bed and ignore the fact that each year I get older and that soon there’ll be gray hairs and menopause, wrinkles and brittle bones. Agh!

Today it was different, today I woke up happy. I was happy because I had so many presents to open and the $300 worth of gift cards gives me this almost manic and giddy feeling because of the serious shopping I have to do in the near future, but more than anything I woke up happy because even though Dear Husband was in the bathroom spewing wine, beer and whiskey and even though my head was pounding and even though Zoey was waking me up way too early, even though the house was a mess of wrapping paper and tape I was happy that the place smelled like pine, and that everybody loved their gifts and that today I will celebrate another year that I am alive.

Today my dear friend Dick proposed to his lovely girlfriend BT and that is just one more reason to love this day.

Let’s think today about those much less fortunate than us, those who are poor, afflicted by disease or simply those who have many blessings and choose not to see them. We are so incredibly lucky to be alive and well and I hope I never forget it.

Merry Christmas to all!

THANKSGIVING AND MY NEW BEST FRIEND, XANAX

I apologize to those of you who kindly take the time to read my blog for the long days of not posting. I was hit with a thing I call writer's block (and other folks just call sheer lazyness) and couldn't find a thing to say. If you have nothing interesting to say better stay quiet right?. I didn't want to bore you guys with blathering nonesense just for the sake of posting something.

Anywho, Oh the holiday season is here! Tra-la-la-la-la-la and all that! I am so excited that December starts tomorrow and that finally I can go all Christmas-crazy with a reason. I woke up this morning feeling completely blah and ech and icky (a combination of spicy chicken wings for dinner, a fight with Dear Husband and the start of my monthly cycle) and then I remembered November is over today, I get paid and Christmas for me starts tomorrow woot woot, yay, holla and all those!

I had an amazing time from Wednesday on when Dear Husband and I left to go to Indiana to see the family for thanksgiving. As I have shared before, I have of late developed this paralizing tiny fear of flying and a dear friend of mine was sweet enough to share some of her Xanax with me so I could relax on the way there (bless your heart AL). I rode the flight to Atlanta on nothing but a rum&coke and experienced THE worst flight I’ve ever taken. We were delayed for an hour and thirty minutes because of bad weather and the entire way there was so rocky we couldn’t even get drinks because it wasn’t safe to pull the cart. I spent the flight shaking, watching Cash Cab and pretending I wasn’t praying for whichever God above to let me see another day.

We landed safely in Atlanta with plenty of time to catch our flight to Indy and I sat at the TGI Fridays in the airport downing martinis and trying to get my heart rate back to normal. Twenty minutes before take-off I chugged the last of my third dirty martini with the Xanax I should’ve taken on the first flight and let me tell you I completely understand why people get addicted to prescription medication because I haven’t been that relaxed since I stopped sucking thumb and drinking chocolate Nesquik from a baby bottle. I was laughing in the face of death the entire flight to Indianapolis and every time the plane shook I contemplated my mortality with a cheery thought and prepared with eagerness for my next life (I am a firm believer in reincarnation). I am never flying any other way but with Xanax and Grey Goose running freely through my system.

Indianapolis was as always cold and grey (I’ve only been over there during the fall) and we had a great time on Thanksgiving eating turkey and spending time with Dear Husband side of the family I don’t get to see much. I talked to his charming grandpa who recently lost his wife and was touched by how much in love he still seemed to be with his deceased wife. We exchanged presents (we are not seeing them for Christmas) and spent a few hours playing Monopoly. Spending time with Dear Husband’s family (I haven’t been married enough time to start thinking of them as my family just yet) always makes me think how obviously different we are. Not just his family and mine but how different the interaction between him and his family is, the interaction between them and myself and my family and him. There is an air of… formality I am not used to and that I think is normal here but completely foreign to me. I am used to being irreverent and used to talking to my family members the same way I talk to my friends. With his family there seems to be a more delineated line between “adults” and “children” even though we are now ALL adults there is that deference to the uncles, aunts, parents etc that we don’t use in my family.

I know people that read this blog might think I get repetitive when I say that I get these moments when I realize how different we truly are, Dear Husband and I. But it seems as if I never run out of them. You know those moments when the light goes off and I am presented with yet another example. I try to convey to Dear Husband how I see the differences as interesting but I think sometimes the words come out a little critical as if I was comparing his family to mine (with his losing to mine) instead of just comparing notes.

As his family said goodbye, and his aunt and uncle and cousins left for the day to go back to their hometown which is several hours away from Indianapolis I couldn’t help but be surprised at how differently we express our love for each other. They obviously love one another since they drove hours to come to Indianapolis to spend an afternoon together; but as they left waving goodbye I found it so weird that they would wave goodbye instead of hugging each other or kissing each other. The whole departure was so sudden and efficient I was left reeling! One moment they are saying “we gotta go because we have a long drive” and the next they are all bundled up and waving goodbye at the door.

Do you have any idea how damn long it takes for my family to actually leave a freaking place?! We say goodbye like seventeen times and then there is always someone who has to go pee and another starts telling a story of something that happened twenty years ago and then we are all involved in the story and we say goodbye again and we start talking all over and by the time we are at the door we have hugged, kissed and hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed each other goodbye so many times it could last us a lifetime.

Friday we went to Chicago. I couldn’t help but be in utter awe at the sight of Lake Michigan. That thing looks like the freaking Ocean! The cold wasn’t that bad and I loved seeing my breath puff in front of me. We saw a PETA demonstration in front of a fur store and even though I really don’t like PETA I also really don’t like fur so I was just hoping for some fake-blood throwing scenario but nothing happened (sucks). We spend the night playing Sequence with mom in law’s family whom I adore because they are amazing and laughing at the stories they had to tell. My new grandma is one of those saucy women that haven’t let religiousness get in the way of their humor. She is tiny, white haired and full of spunk.

Saturday came too soon and it was already time to go, a grumpy Dear Husband was suffering from a horrible migraine that wouldn’t go away and concerned family members were getting on his frayed nerves. By the time we made it to the Atlanta Airport after an uneventful flight from Indiana we were exhausted, hungry, annoyed and ready to make it home. All of the sudden a simple conversation trying to compare Chicago to D.C. for our next home turned suddenly into a fight over Dear Husband selfishness and his marriage to his iPhone and my daddy issues. Believe me it was not a fun flight to Miami but again Lady Xanax came to my rescue and I was just too chilled to give a damn.

Oh the issues that come up when families get together and emotions are running high…

We made it home exhausted and emotionally beaten. I hate arguing with Dear Husband and I know he hates arguing with me because I am hard to beat in a verbal fight and if I am angry I get mean.

Today though I saw the calendar and the slate was wiped clean. There is no silly argument that Christmas cannot cure and all I can think of now is the pretty gifts I’ll give, the pretty tree we’ll get, the decorations, the Christmas music, having family over, and how lucky I am to have a husband who loves me, a family that I adore, a roof over my head, money in the bank, an evil cat who loves me in spite of his better judgment and a dog who peed on her bed last night after a doggie nightmare.

I might fight with Dear Husband. I might complain about my weight. I might have a homicidal hatred for Dear Husband’s cell phone and his obsession with it. We might be strapped for cash and my birthday this year might be celebrated less than gloriously. But our house will smell like pine and Max and Zoey will spend their first Christmas together and my sister will come down from NOLA and we’ll have a great time together and there isn't any need for Xanax for that.

BOUNDARIES? WHAT DO YOU EAT THAT WITH?

Now that I am happily married to my own blue eyed gringo, I am always stricken by the differences between us and our respective families. Marriage is hard business indeed, (all that seating on pee because they won’t put the sit up, hearing them go the bathroom, or worse yet when you are warned not to go in right after they leave it…it’s hard work indeed.

Since my cousins, my sister and I are all married to men from different cultures, I never run out of things to compare notes about. We are one of those brave few who jump in a risky venture like marriage with the added variant of a cultural gap. Believe me they are never ending, from something as minor as the cartoons we watched growing up, pop culture references to something major like the holidays and how we relate to other family members.

Take for example when my Dear Husband and I started dating, my aunt and grandma where so curious they demanded I took a picture of him, they asked me about his profession, how tall he was, if he was cute and if he came from a good family. All I had to say was that he had pretty blue eyes (he insists they are green) a college degree and his parents were missionaries to guarantee the seal of approval.

I was present when Dear Husband called his grandpa for father’s day and the conversation was something like this: “I hear you have a new girlfriend” Grandpa L said. “Yes, grandpa, I do” He answered looking at me smiling and holding my hand all romantically. “Is she black?” Grandpa L asked making Dear Husband blush as I gasped with the spit I swallowed wrong.

Now I am NOT implying that my now grandpa-in-law is racist, not at all! The man is also an ex-missionary who has helped and lived with people of all races, nationalities and cultures, but the fact is, here in America marrying outside of your race or culture is still something that is worth discussing. Worth talking about. I laughed my ass off when he asked that and even more when Dear Husband said: “No, she’s Hispanic” and his grandpa said: “Ooo a hot Latina” Which I found adorable.

I have 27 first cousins, FIRST Cousins, and that does not include all the second cousins and the cousins of cousins that I also consider cousins. Dear Husband has five or six? Our differences don’t end there. Dear Husband is close to his family in such a different way I am to mine. Boundaries and privacy are practically non-existent when you are Hispanic, there are no secrets, no gossip left untold, no argument between couples that the whole family doesn’t hear about and no medical treatment that some cousin is taking that we are not all privy of. I knew the moment that one of my cousins was diagnosed with irritable bowel movement, I knew when my other cousin started treatment to get pregnant and how often and when during the day she took her shots, I knew when she got an urinary tract infection and I knew that my other cousin was suffering from an early form of ulcer.

We are so all up in each other’s business ALL THE TIME that I find it weird refreshing when Dear Husband doesn’t know intimate details about his brother or sister. I know details of my family’s sex life that I don’t want to know about but know anyway, that’s how it works for us, close to the point of sickness.

My parents in law came to our wedding and stayed in a hotel, to what my mom said: “What for? We have a pull out couch” In a completely puzzled tone of voice, and would’ve been offended if I didn’t tell her that is just the way they are, and they were trying to be nice by not inconveniencing us. “What inconvenience? We are family now” She said and to this day I still think she thinks they thought her couch was not good enough.

Pull out couches had to be a Hispanic invention. What a better way to guarantee family members to stay over at all times! My mom’s cousins (they were raised together they are not even related!) spent 5 months each year for two years living with us. They would come in December and leave in April and stay with us the entire time. Dear Husband who was living with me at the time (IN SIN! Scandal!) had a hard time understanding that concept. He didn’t understand why someone would want to spend five months cramped in one room when there were other alternatives, hotels, apartments for rent, etc. He doesn’t understand that Hispanic families have two problems, they have a problem saying no, so even if we didn’t want them there we couldn’t say anything and we have a complete disregard for our family’s space and need for privacy.

I am sure next time his family comes over they will rent a hotel room again and stay over there while we in a very civilized way see each other for dinners and brunches and then part company at night when everybody goes their until the next morning.

In my family there is no hotel room good enough when there is an extra bed empty where cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents can crash, there is no meeting for brunch but two hours of complete and utter bedlam while ten people try to make breakfast, talking and laughing at the same time and asking for coffee at the top of their lungs. There is no room service but an uncomfortable yet common sharing of bathroom to pee while others shower. There’s the saying “Oh mija me guindas de cualquier clavito” which roughly translates to “Oh hon you can put me anywhere” Actually if one family member were to call the other asking if it was a problem to stay over we would assume they are mad at us. “I think she’s mad at me! Why else would she call to ask and make a sarcastic question about being able to stay? What does she want? A written invitation?”

Dear Husband opened the door to find some family members at the door who were staying the night to travel to a town close by. “Oh I didn’t know they were coming” He said to me hugging everyone and giving them kisses in the cheek like he learned to do since we met. “Neither did I” I said and he just laughed at us and our utter lack of etiquette when it comes to family.

I have been blessed with the most sociable of gringos who has not one complained about the size of my family, the frequency of their visits or the volume of their voice. He talks to my cousins, teases them on facebook, argues with my uncle and seamlessly and easily became one of them. I know I envy Dear Husband’s family respect of privacy and their so sweet and nice way of trying to make things easy for everyone and not inconvenience by staying somewhere else. But I know without a doubt that when my kitchen is as busy as a bus stop with people yelling and laughing and elbows are digging everywhere and we are all driving each other crazy and being insanely loud, that if they were in a hotel across town, I would miss them terribly.