Sabado Gigante!

It was a looong night.

I love my in-laws. They are a warm and gracious family and they have welcomed my son and I into their homes and hearts since day 1. They are also a huge Mexican family that can overwhelm me rapidly. My least favorite thing is when the Honey calls me to go to a family function without him. Here's the thing. It's in Spanish.

The conversations. The explanation as to what is being served. The television. It's all in spanish. I speak a little spanish. But it is so much fucking WORK to figure out what is being said. They start out in English and slip into spanish mid stream, and I'm done. It's just exhausting to try and follow a conversation. There's also the small matter of Catholicism. I'm not. Catholic, that is. I lived with the ex's sister for a long time, so I am familiar with Catholicism. But the Honey's family does it differently.

When they had the rosary for the Honey's father, who passed away before I met him, I was cool with it--but they wanted me to come and pray out loud with them in spanish. I CAN'T. If it were in english, I learned enough with Leisa (Former SIL) that I could chime in with the occasional "and also with you" but I'm lost in english, really. Last night was another holiday that involved lots of prayer and then the kissing of the baby Jesus in exchange for candy. I don't know what it is about our hostesses Creche, but they are all made up like seventies night with the drag queens. Baby j looked like a hoor! Blue eyeshadow, badly applied bloodred lipstick, and more blush than Bette Davis in Mommie Dearest (That was her, right?).
There were so many things that disturbed me about that.

Once the religious part was over, we watched a TV special of Vicente Fernandez--the mariachi singer that even I recognize. But they were turning him up to top volume so they could hear him over the noise of the crowd, and there I was, trapped on the couch, because it was too cold to be in the garage with the drinkers. But I'll be damned if Vicente didn't share an onscreen moment with his guitar player, looking at him soulfully for far longer than any straight man in America would ever consider. So I amused myself the rest of the night running gay sub-texts in my head for the TV. I used to torture the Ex by running them out loud during Hercules and Xena. He never watched them the same again. Now I'll never watch vicente without remembering his affair with the band.