Casi Mexicana

Every month I am going to observe how I am slowly but surely becoming a Mexican mamacita. The old phrase of “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” is certainly becoming true for me as I slowly assimilate. There are days when I think, “I am the oddest person in this city, and certainly no one understands where I’m coming from.” And then there are the days when I realize just how much I love the Mexican culture and wish there were more parts of it in U.S. culture. Through adaptations, adjustments, revolutions and resistance, I will become casi mexicana (almost Mexican).

Blondie. The Guatemalan sun gave my hair beautiful streaks of bright blonde. After months of attempting to keep up with that, and a month in Mexico of being stared at constantly, I decided to dye my hair back to its original glory. A schizophrenic mix of red, light brown and dark blonde, that some like to refer to as “ginger.” I was sure I was scot-free from the daily awkward attempts at English, catcalls, marriage proposals and generally feeling like a rockin’ celebrity. Well, I was wrong. Very wrong. I have actually been receiving more attention- both wanted and unwanted. I think the reddish brings out my eyes, uh, or something. Or maybe I seem more approachable. Or maybe I just feel like I’m back to my original self and that is exuding from every pore. Either way, I like the color, but it didn’t exactly accomplish the goal I set out for- blending in. Appearing a little darker.

Brushing my teeth. You don’t drink the water in Mexico. In fact, you don’t wash your pesticide raised fruits and veggies in it either. They say you have to even keep your mouth shut in the shower. I was advised to ten cuidado (be careful) while treating my housemates to my usual performance of Fergie (how come e’ry time you come around my London, London Bridge wanna go down?...) and Justin Timberlake (dirty babe, you see these shackles baby, I’m your slave…) when I’m in the shower, just in case I open my mouth too wide and get some water down in there. And while I’m not chugging glasses of tap water, I am singing in the shower (thank god, it is such a stress relief) and even… brushing my teeth with it. And my lovely retainers. I figure slow introduction is good. At first I used all purified water, all the time. Then I started just rinsing my retainers in it (being featured in this blog is bringing them more stardom than ever before). After a while, I made the nerve-wrecking decision to rinse my brush after the brushing session, and at least 8 hours before my next session. Surely, whatever bacteria will die before then, right? And now, I have even started to occasionally rinse my mouth out a little. However, slight paranoia has me spitting like crazy afterward to assure complete removal of the tap water. Quite lovely.

Slang. Mexico City has its very own idiomatic culture of making words have excessive amounts of “ch”s in them. Chavo. Chela. Chilango. Panchanga. I spent over a decade now learning the proper words for things and I fly here and have to learn a bunch of other ones. Everyone said I would have to learn Mexican slang, and I thought, “whoa, give me a chance at getting fluent in the textbook stuff first.” But, let’s be real, I can’t be talking like Destinos forever now, can I? So, I said adios to the proper Castellano I learned in the suburban streets of San Antonio and Austin, Texas, and said hello to a dirtier mouth and more “Ch”s than you can shake a stick at. So, here is a run down:

We all know “beer” as cerveza. Here in D.F. it is chela.

That guy over there, he’s a chavo. And the gal next to him is a chava.

I went from being a Texan, to a Washingtonian, to being in the process of becoming Chilanga. Someone that is a native of Mexico City.

I thought I would be fiesta-ing all over this town, but really I’m going to pachangas. This one is particularly interesting because it is derived from “para changes” which literally translates to “for gorillas.”

“Cool” old school is padre, but for today’s folks it is chido.

I thought I would be trabajando-ing here, but instead I go to my chamba. My job.

And then I know a ton of others that refer to all kinds mind-in-the-gutter things such as sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, that I will share on an individual basis. But I will not have the world wide web thinking that my ladylike have transformed to chanchada, or filth.