More weirdness

Its Friday night and I’m sitting home with the princess. Her brother, who’s fast approaching puberty, is staying the night at his cousins’ place like he does every weekend. The princess is playing with her new Polly Pockets she got for Christmas, explaining the game she’s playing with them. You know, the whole there’s one girl who’s unfashionable and not cute and then a girl who is cute and fashionable whom everyone calls the “Fashion Queen” game. Typical game for most 7 year old girls. I wasn’t like that. I was the tomboy in a frilly dress and mary janes or jellys climbing trees, playing marbles and fixing the neighborhood kids’ bikes. The princess is a girl through and through who plays with Barbies and my make-up.

So as we’re sitting in the living room I start thinking and ask her how she imagines herself when she gets older. “I don’t know,” she replies. When I was her age I can distinctly remember wanting to be pretty much how I am now, except I really wanted to be a model/actor and I wanted to have a vintage 1966 Dyna Glide Harley Davidson

. All my cousins thought I was weird. I don’t even know where I got all this from. Most of my family members were/are “cholos” and my parents are hippies. I did play the “chola” part when I was about 10-12, wearing men’s work pants with my Nike Cortezs’

, black eyeliner and bangs in a pomp. Yeah, I was cool. I even hung out with gang members around my best friend’s neighborhood and had my very own “chola name”. I can’t, however, remember it for the life of me. It had something to do with smiling or laughing or something. I still listened to the “alternative” radio station that played Jane’s Addiction and the Cure, but still knew all the words to all Salt n Pepa’s, Boyz 2 Men and Bel Biv Devoe’s songs.

The princess, however, likes to listen to Hannah Montana, wants to be a cheerleader and a veterinarian when she grows up. I mean, how else is she supposed to rebel against a mom like me. It’s crazy to watch them grow up before my very eyes into this weird little personality that you have very little control over. You never know what’s going to happen.

On a side note, I have a new boyfriend who’s a tattoo artist and I just have to queer out about it for a second and brag about it. If my 18 year old self could see me now, she’d think I’m the coolest.