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I Have A Few Questions...

What If....? A Latina who wants to know stuff

By Guadalupe Gonzalez, Contributing Writer
Published on LatinoLA: November 19, 2012


I Have A Few Questions...


Mi Gente, you may have noticed my absence in the past few days. Part of the deal is personal -- I will confide some tidbits in you as you know almost everything about me -- but I must remain mysterious in a few aspects of my life. (Crank up "El Son de La Negra", toss in a couple of salt-free margaritas, slide me a few nachitos -- como son, I mean the food -- and I will be any General's biographer.) Yes, my husband is asleep as I write and the midnight train slices through the night.

I will reveal the greater of the impediments to my writing: Post-Election Letdown. Yes, it was that bad. I do have a B.A. in Political Science. When I was actually taking my classes at Loyola Marymount University, which I attended on scholarship, I kept waiting for the "fun" classes to start. I failed to recognize that the fun had started the second I hit the campus and MEN (well, big boys) were present. I had taken all of my General Ed requirements the first year, being team taught by a select group of ladies. There were no Big Boys or Men to be seen at that time. But I was happy, because "they" told me I would complete all my requirements in one year. Sounded good.

It was only thirty years later, when my nephew was accepted and attended LMU that he broke the news to me: Tía, you were in the Honors Program.

Ooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh, it all became clear. The point of the Honors program was to finish so you could see the big boys now becoming men. Gotcha!

Despite the fact that I was not enthralled with my choice of major, I learned a few things:

1) My Papi and I could really get down and analyze the candidates from all angles, to the boredom of everyone else in the room.

2) I am one hot chiquita when it comes to the whole politics/legal/escándalo triangulation. People rush up, wanting to know if there is a special meaning to the word "Pentagon -- Is that a new way to do it?", "Five Star Admiral?"-- Is it better with one five star or one three star and one two star?" and then of course, "What kinda purse was that chick with the DD's carrying?"

For, you see, mi Gente, I am a very discreet judge of purses. Once, my husband and I were sashaying along a place called 'The Alley of the Santee", when I inadvertently stepped on a man's mid-alley display of DVD's. I saw all sorts of merchandise begin to disappear as I said, "OMG, I just stepped this man's pirated movies!" There were chifilidos galore. I thought everyone on the Alley of the Santee was happy.

"¡Cómo eres tonta!", my beloved sister-in-law told me. "They thought you were police. Look at the two of you!" We did and decided we looked more "Ugly Betty" than "Dynasty." But I am barred from "El Callejón."

3) As a political science major, I also speak mysterious language, such as "Oh, their internal pollsters already know who will win." The only glitch is I have no clue who the pollsters are, what twisted questions are being asked, and I certainly cannot say who will win.****

****Except for this election when the pen-ches (not truly a bad word, but a conglomeration of two--ya lo saben) so totally blew it by bad marketing. "Vengan todos. Vamos a hacerles una pared bien grande. Pa' que están allá los abuelos y acá los jóvenes!" Well, some might say, it works for the Romneys.

Then the GOP had to erase their motto "Convention without Walls" from everywhere. Even their tattoos that they got when inebriated were so last week.

Okay, so we got through the background discussion of this article. NOW THE QUESTIONS:

a) What if Romney had been elected, the sh_t had hit the f_n the moment Ann's tacones hit the closest Secret Service Agent in the eye, President Obama whispered into Romney's sleek ear, "Oh, by the way, it isn't just the Secret Service that has been reading and practicing the Art of the Kama Sutra. Instruct the troops to get the ribbed."

b) What if, after that whole scene calmed down and all the Romneys were finally fit into the butler's pantry because they ran out of beds, that dreaded "Three O'Clock in the Morning Call" came in? "Hello, I just got a tweet and then saw on YouTube that Israel bombed Hamas." Do you know how I can "Friend their War" on Facebook? Hello, Hello?"

c) What if, after investigation that caused the Romney/Ryan bus to stop and let Marco Rubio off mid-highway, it turned out that the daughter had not been a passenger in the golf cart in the uber-private, most sacrosanct of golf clubs, but had only been caddying? (Hey. Coulda happened. Look at Lee Treviño.) And what year did Papi Rubio get here, anyway?

d) Not to veer off the topic, but I feel like it, so there are just a couple more:

1) What if the Disney company decided to have a Latina princesita named, Sofia.
Then they decided against her because she might be too fair?
Then they decided to make her morenita, so as to not offend anyone?
Then they decided to just let her be whoever anyone wanted her to be. But left her fair?
What if the Disney company is noticing there is an awful lot of Latino lana out
and they want some for them? But they cannot figure out how to get their manitas on it?

2) What if the Mayans were right about the end of the world on 12/21/12?
Do I max out my credit card on all the stuff I ever wanted, and even some
I did not want or need? Do I wait till the specials? or till the 22nd? Do I mail out cards, or wait till the 22nd, or wait if anyone sends out any cards? Do I buy a tree, if it's only going to be around a few days? And the turkey? Why spend all that energy defrosting that big ol' hunk o'meat, with no stars? Oh, I did mean the turkey. oops.

3) And what's up with the chavo walking up the street with the big banana?
Check out the ad to the left. (don't mess me with me, guys, leave the ad
THERE).

Oh, Mi Gente, I almost forgot -- the most personal reason of all. My husband had surgery two weeks ago and is doing just fine. He has no pain. Which I was kinda counting on.

Let us just say he is very, very lucky. And I was kinda grouchy in the hospital. Nobody told me I had a good heart. I told a doctor from five years ago off. In the cafeteria. Lupe never forgets. Never. Ever. Now the surgeon is mad at me. I must hide. If you see me, call me Doña Rona.

Editor's Note: Help Lupe out! Answer her questions in our Comments section, por favor.

Guadalupe Gonzalez (c) 2112

About Guadalupe Gonzalez, Contributing Writer:
Writer, Los Angeles Attorney




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