Talking about my Generation

Two weeks ago my boyfriend graduated college and I couldn't be happier for him. Partially because it was high time he graduated that mofo, but mostly because he was ready to take that next step and it's an exciting time. I can admit that this time last year I was slightly envious of him. Yes, I was done with school but I wasn't going on to "bigger and better things". Not immediately, anyway. He still had his college security blanket, his close friends living a few feet away from him, and I was mentally preparing myself to go back to La Madre.

In fact, my bf wasn't the only person I was close to who was staying in school. I felt like everyone had an extra semester or year tucked away somewhere, and I couldn't wrap my head around it. But then something  happened. The summer ended, I found a way to move out on my own, got a job within my field and I never looked back. It doesn't happen all the time, but it does happen, folks.

Now that some of my closer friends have graduated (at last) I'm extremely proud of them, not only because of what they've accomplished but because their attitude after graduating is way more optimistic than mine was. I'm generally a happy-go-lucky kind of person, but even I can admit that post-grad life scared me. The 20-something's I've talked to about their recent graduations don't all have jobs lined up but they're prepared to work and market themselves. I think in a lot of ways this generation of young adults is thought to be self-concerned (true), self-centered (true), self-entitled (very true), but we can also be self-sufficient. There's no shame in going back home if you're working hard to get out, and if you're temporarily unemployed just remember that it's only temporary.

My best advice to grads who have failed to realize the above is this: stop looking for a hand out. No one owes you a damn thing. You've made it this far, so keep the momentum going.

Why the Real World doesn't care if you were Prom Queen

After spending an extended weekend back home in the 'burbs for Thanksgiving, I took full advantage of my time with my twin little brother and sister and reminisced about my high school days. They're going through the insignificant but common teen stage where they just want to fit in yet want to stand out - but in a good way. It's all "so very complicated" and I "just don't understand". Talking to them about what they really want out of life, their feasible hopes and dreams or even something that isn't on BET's 106 & Park is kind of like trying to teach yourself sign language. It's a cool idea at first, but then you realize that you might only use what you learn maybe twice again in your life if you're lucky. And no one will be impressed.

My biggest message to them was that who they are in high school (they're 15) will in no way, shape or form dictate who they'll become in 10 years. Unless, of course, they're on heavy drugs or currently dealing with teen pregnancies, which neither of them are. I wanted them to know that they had time to think about how they wanted to be perceived by the world. If you're not planning on going pro, it won't matter if you played varsity or JV lacrosse in high school. Yes, you'll meet some great people and learn the value of teamwork but said people probably won't associate themselves with you after you graduate. Sorry, but it is what it is. There are those rare occasions when you actually do keep in touch with your highschool buddies, though . . .do any of you guys still speak to people from when you were younger? I'll wait.

I figured the sooner they came to terms with this, the better. I know how important it is to be liked when you're surrounded by your highly judgmental peers on a daily basis but I promised them these people will not matter. Your junior prom queen may have it all together now spending daddy's money and struttin' a body that's about 5 years too developed but after you graduate, no one really cares if you were prom queen.

Trust me, I know.

No, I was not prom queen - ew! But I am incredibly perceptive and great at starting conversations. I did a crapload in both high school and college, made friends with the people who were "destined for success" and can I tell you that the only people who really care what you did in high school are the unfortunates you'll find frequenting the same bars? In that case, and that case only, being an alleged prom queen may get you a few drinks.

I tried explaining this to them and do you know what my little brother told me?

He asked me to post his tumblr on my blog. Apparently, he's "Tumblr Famous".

I wanted to go on a rant about how no one cares if you're 'tumblr famous' either but then I remembered that they are the next generation. Maybe they care. For now at least.

My prepubescent harbinger crush on Devon Sawa

Shhhh. Don't talk about it.

One of the sites I frequently stalk posted about what your kiddie crush says about you. I didn't have to reminisce for long because my I very clearly remember what my young loins lusted for and that was Devon Sawa.

Y'know, in his better years.

That long blonde-ish/brown hair. Those cute gapped teeth. The fact that he always looked confused with his puppy eyes *swooooon*. All of my elementary school crushes pretty much looked exactly like him. Nevermind him constantly taking on roles where he was cursed, or partaking in some illegal activity or sticking his tongue down Christina Ricci's throat. That was my boo. In my head, anyway.

Unfortunately, Dev-o (my nickname for him) looks cracked out in more ways than one right now, and that really saddens me. His face reflects that his future may have been paved with illicit drugs, trick babies, and dirty needles. . .But I don't want to focus on the negative. I just wanna bask in how cute he use to be. Which was very, very, very freakin' adorable. If you wanna see him now, google him, fine, whatever. But you've been warned.

Apparently having him as a crush meant I was attracted to douchebags (go figure). Muscle-heads who I could probably easily manipulate because intellectually I surpassed them. . .I don't totally disagree (but they're so freakin' cute!). Anyway, those days are long over.

So tell me, chickadees. . .who was your top childhood crush?

(And if you have nothing nice to say about Devon, don't say anything at all! I mean it! lol)

Flashback: How he met my mother

To anyone who even remotely knows my family or who has met La Madre once (that's all it takes), they know that I get all of that dramatic blood running through my veins from her. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one out of my siblings who took on that trait - oddly enough the rest of them are incredibly normal, mentally and emotionally healthy young beings. Go figure.

My boyfriend, being the astute individual that he is, learned more about me from 20 minutes with La Madre than he did in 3 months with me.

Photo credit

After much protesting and a little bit of using sex as a distraction I realized that I couldn't hide my family from J forever - especially since he had gone out of his way to integrate me into his. I decided that for his own safety I'd have him meet the whole crew in increments. Starting with the Boss herself. He thought my apprehension might have been because of the whole racial difference thing, but I assured him it was just because, no matter what race you were, my family could be too much for regular people.

Their first real meeting came when, against my better judgement, I thought it would be okay for J and her to hang out at the mall while I got my hair done. Because I only go to a certain salon for a certain thing, and because my hairdresser moves like a wounded turtle, the ordeal was taking up to 2 hours. I was panicking. He wasn't answering my texts, phone calls, or those special mind controlling signals I try to send out to him. I tried calling La Madre. No answer. It boggled my mind that they could keep themselves pre-occupied for so long. Then it hit me: she was talking to him about God only knows what.

Just as I was about to call my brother to get him to call La Madre, J shoots me a text saying 'hey'.

Me: r u ok?

J: Yea, y?

Me: because u haven't been answering me and it's been 2 hrs. and u could have died.

J: lol

Me: I'm so serious.

J: I'm with your mom. How much longer?

Me: another 20 mins.

J: damn!

Me: r u suuuuure ur ok?

Once I was finally finished getting done up and we were all heading back home I got them to tell me what I'd missed. Apparently, they were now really good friends. They'd eaten lunch together, browsed the mall (I'm sure J looooved that) and did some light shopping. It sounded like a date I'd enjoy and I was a little jealous, until he handed me this manicurist set he'd bought for me on a whim, and then I lightened up. The important thing was that it didn't appear that his opinion of me had changed which meant La Madre had been on her best behavior. No third degree? No questions about your retirement savings plan? And she didn't ask you if you had a single uncle? Okay, then. I'll take it.

Just as I'm relishing in the thought that all parties might have gotten though this unscathed, I make some comment that I can't even remember which triggers the crazy in La Madre to come out. Maybe I said she was driving too fast or asked for something, whatever. It was kind of like opening Pandora's box and as I'm trying desperately to close it, things are spewing out. Before I know it she's telling him how much she loves us and how she's sacrificed so much for her kids and wishes I would come home from college more to visit. In between sobs and steering she's turning back to me and telling me how she just wants the best for me and really wants to open up a baking business.

I know just how to react in this situation - you have to match her crazy with crazy - but because for whatever delusional reason I'm holding onto the chance that J might still like me, I don't say a word.

When we finally reach our destination, she gets out of the car, gives J the biggest, most somewhat questionable hug and tells him to call her 'Mom'. I'm dead.

Once she drives off I ask J, with my head down, if he still wants to continue the relationship. He actually thinks for a little bit, but then laughs and says he understands me a lot more after having met my mother. I tell him that I'm no where near as emotional as she is and he tells me that we're a lot more alike than I think.

I mean, I guess.

DISCLAIMER: Now I'm not saying that La Madre is certifiable crazy, by any means. She's actually the most self-less, caring, sensitive, annoyingly creative person I have ever met. She's got so much life in her that she almost doesn't know how to contain it all so she shares her dreams and aspirations with me, urging me to live my life to the fullest. My mom's biggest issue in life has always been her running on her emotions - and that's it. When she's happy, she's ecstatic with big smiles and tons of affection. But when she's not, the world might as well have just ended because her world did. Logic? Irrelevant. It's something you get use to. I think her bipolar characteristics could lead those on the outside to think 'somethin' ain't right', but I promise you, it just takes some getting use to.

In fact - think Tammy from Basketball Wives, only MUCH less hood unless she feels completely comfortable around the people she's with.

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