It’s kind of amazing, that it took being a cancer patient in Tijuana for me to finally attend a quincenera. Back when I taught middle school at Rose Linda Elementary, I had to have been invited to about a dozen of these… But I already declined, feeling weird about the idea of being a teacher and shitting up to my students’ parties. sooo… Tonight broke the seal.
Getting ready was fun. Spotify played my “Get Hype” playlist, and I reunited myself with heavy eye makeup and fancy shoes. I was NOT happy about squeezing my fat ass into a second dress after the first one groaned in protest under the stress of five weeks worth of drip bags for 10+ hours/day. My vanity is SUCH an issue, and I’m really struggling with not being able to do anything to correct it. Yeah, yeah, beauty’s on the inside… Curves are welcome… Tell that to a face that can’t fully smile at her reflection in the mirror because her cheeks are so bloated. Sigh…I know. I’m working through it.
The place, of course, was beautiful. It was in some banquet hall at what I think was a country club, and the room was bedazzled with large bouquets of flowers (one of which i brought back to my room, despite Blanca’s protest) and shiny pink decorations, to match the designated color of the evening. (I also stole the pink satin napkin placed upon my lap by the server.)
Drinking was…interesting. With just one tequila shot and one Pina colada that may actually have had no liquor in it, my insides warmed up… Which was what I expected, considering I haven’t touched alcohol in over a month. But the drinks flowed freely for five hours after that, and I never got drunk. Not even close. Blanca did. Jesus Christ, Blanca did, to the point where I worried about the future backseat of our can driver, but not me. I don’t know if it’s somehow because my treatment here, but the only effect that the alcohol had on me was to fill up my bloated stomach even more and give me so much acid reflux that at 4:44 in the morning as I type this entry, I am still vehemently burping up margaritas, Pina coladas, and red wine.
It was also freezing. At one point, I ordered a coffee – not to drink, but just to hold and blow into in an effort to warm myself up a little. Blanca almost fell over in her chair laughing as I intentionally fogged up my glasses just to retain a bit more heat.
Regardless, I’m glad I went. People watching is always fun for me, and even though drunk Blanca drove me crazy after a while with her insistent need to try to pull me on the dance floor (I went out once, hoping to placate her … It didn’t….), just being around people so excited to introduce this 15-year-old into symbolic womynhood was a beautiful moment to observe. Plus, choreographed dancing to “Informer” by Snow? Are you kidding me?! That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity right there.
Thanks, Tijuana, for putting another memorable experience in my arsenal. And Kyana, on account of raiding the dessert buffet not once but twice, I promise not to eat a stitch of sweet stuff for a solid week – even when or on my plate directly by the cook.
(Just love me.)