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I used to think in Spanish. I used to tell stories about Mickey Mouse and magic and witches flying on brooms and pause only to ask my tia "como se dice dragons?" before continuing with my tale. Today I think in English and am fully aware of the thought-process in my brain as I work to translate what I want to say from English to Spanish as I’m speaking.
My job is to give advice on love and life and relationships. My blogs are full of essays and stories that are meant to empower women and young girls to see the beauty in their reflections and love themselves as they are. My business cards say Giver of Solicited Advice and I like to refer to myself as a body image cheerleader.
But that doesn't mean I don't have bad days. Because I do.
I think you need to know that.
I also wait out the bad days because I know tomorrow, I get to try again. You need to know that, too.
Okay. We need to talk.
First I want to know if you remember singing the words to the Star Spangled Banner in elementary school. I do.
Now I want to know how you feel about the onslaught of recent headlines about Twitter getting twitchy because Marc Anthony may or may not rolled his R's while singing "God Bless America."
That's UnAmerican, says Twitter. He has an accent when he says the words, says Twitter. Why isn't Kesha performing instead, says Twitter.
I'm finally home from this year's amazing BlogHer conference in Chicago. I'm exhausted because attending the annual gathering of women bloggers is like trying to fit 50 years of wedded bliss into a four-day weekend: Amazing connections forged or strengthened. New friends. New information. New perspectives.
I was up late, as usual, working on writing deadlines that I can only seem to attack after I've spent the daylight hours being Mom and Wife and Homeschool Teacher, when I got a tweet asking if I'd seen the video of Danny Trejo giving dating advice to girls.
Cultural identity is on the brain today.
I've been chatting about the topic with fellow bloggers Ananda Leeke and Dwana Delacerna, my co-hostesses for the MultiCulti Extravanganza, a party celebrating blogger diversity at this year’s BlogHer Conference in Chicago on July 25-27.
So I want to ask you, what is your own cultural identity and what do you celebrate most? And what part, if any, does ancestry play in the culture with which you identify?
I once overheard a girl talking to her friends about her pregnancy while passing by in the halls of my high school. She said things like "don’t know who the father is this time" and "another abortion" and "my mom doesn't know." Instead of using birth control or condoms to prevent pregnancy, she had apparently decided that taking care of things after the fact with back-alley abortions was good enough. I felt sick hearing her words. And I hated her for the casual manner in which she discussed the life of an unborn baby.
Dear Robert Martinez,
I come from a generation who grew up thinking that no child's birthday party was complete without at least one drunk Mexican sitting on a roof. We took our piñata entertainment portion of the festivities seriously. That meant blindfolds, spinning each kid three times and facing them the wrong way before sending them off with the baseball bat, while the drunk on the roof laughed hysterically as he mercilessly played with each child by baiting them into complacency before swiftly yanking the piñata out of reach.
Since I'm going to be giving you advice on All Things Personal, I figured it's only fair to share my own brand of Personal with you. Today, I'll illustrate with an interview...with myself.
Ready? Let’s pretend I’m famous and you give a damn about the craziness that is my life. You are at the grocery store and reaching for the latest trashy tabloid for a chance to play the Mystery Celeb Fat-Match game because you needed an ego boost.
Another former Disney starlet is trying to break free of the squeaky clean image and show the world she's gown up. I'm referring, of course, to the rumors surrounding Selena Gomez and whether she's planning on, ahem, showing us her chops.
You know.... the nekkid kind.
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