Monthly Archives: May 2008

Puro Pedo Magazine’s Insecure Pendejo Indicators

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Puro Pedo Magazine’s new issue came out this week. To download a pdf copy just click here. The following article, “10 Signs You Are Dating an Insecure Pendejo,” was written by a few women on staff and is in this month’s issue. I’m sure you can add your own signs. We came up with about two dozen, but had to whittle down the list.

As an independent Chicana it can be hard to find a partner that embraces you and doesn’t feel like he’s walking in your shadow. The mujeres of Puro Pedo Magazine have devised 10 Insecure Pendejo Indicators to help you out in your quest to find someone as wonderful as you..

  1. After breaking up, he keeps calling to ask why you havent called him.
  2. He decides he wants a second chance only after you have moved on.
  3. After 9 months of dating, he still hasnt changed his relationship status on MySpace.
  4. He gives you a quota of three accomplishments per year.
  5. His idea of fun is watching Family Guy and drinking beer.
  6. He is more concerned with your weight than he is with his own.
  7. He keeps asking you for a threesome for his birthday.
  8. He gets jealous when you hug your male cousins at family parties.
  9. He convinces you not to break up with him so that he can break up with you later.
  10. You read this article to him and hes not laughing.

Tu sabes, if he is an insecure pendejo he just might not be secure enough to be with you so dont be an insecure pendeja and move on.

DISCLAMER: The material for this article came from a variety of sources. Any similarities to an actual insecure pendejo is out of mere coincidence.

La Tocaya

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Way back when I started college ten years ago (!), I did what everyone else did: look myself up in the online directory. I wanted to see what information was listed so I could change it if needed, you know since I had so many potential stalkers.

I searched my first and last name and found something shocking and completely unexpected. I was not the only Cynthia Mosqueda on campus. Gasp!

I was upset for the rest of the day. I wanted to kick someone, preferably my tocaya (namesake). Of course, I had no reason to kick her. In fact, she didn’t have my name, I had her name. She was a senior and I was a freshman (I’ve never met her, but my section leader in band knew her). I thought about complaining to my parents about their name choice. Perhaps they should have named Veronica like they originally planned. They dropped the name when some friends chose the name for their daughter born just a few months before me. At least then, I wouldn’t have found my tocaya for another 8 years or so until I met my cousin Julio’s fiancé and they got married. Up until college, I’d never met a Mosqueda that was not related to me. I thought my last name was rather rare and I liked it that way.

I quit my pouting after a day or two. A few months later, la tocaya was gone from the directory as she graduated and moved on. All was right in the world and I was the only Cynthia M in the directory… for a while.

Last fall I started to get a bit freaked out by some comments made online. I wanted to make sure the harassment didn’t move beyond creepy comments, so I double checked my entry on the campus directory.

She was back. And worse, la tocaya was in my department. Since I’m hardly ever at the ed school and she’s in a different program, I’ve never met her. After a conversation with Oso about finding another white David Sasaki on Facebook, I decided to look up my tocaya.

Not only does she have my name, she’s also cuter than me. Damn. At least I’ll be Dr. Cynthia Mosqueda before her.

Question of the week: Recognized

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It’s only happened once.

The last night I was in New York, I met up with several friends from my program to watch a UCLA game in the bar of the Sheraton. UCLA had a comfy lead through the half, so the group decided to turn in for the night — several were jetlagged and/or had early presentations the next morning. I walked back to the Hilton, a block away, with P and the guys to pick up my coat.

As P and I walked out of the Hilton to our hotel 5 blocks away, she bumped into some friends and fellow conference attendees. I’d met one of the guys, my tocayo in fact, at a few of the receptions earlier in the week. P talked to him for a few minutes and caught up. It seems like the world of Latino educational researchers is quite small. El tocayo was with a young woman. He introduced her to P. He didn’t introduce me, but she talked to me herself.

“You’re Cindy, right?” she asked quite sure of herself.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“From Lotería Chicana? I read your blog,” she confessed.

“Oh cool.”

She proceeded to explain that she was also attending the conference and was a graduate student at another California university.

Soon after, P and I walked back to our hotel a few blocks east.

Since then (and before then), no one has ever admitted to recognizing me from my blog while out in public.

It’s kinda weird, but cool.

La Pregunta: Have you ever been recognized from your blog (or other online community) while in public*? If so, what was it like? And if you saw me out on the street or on the bus or in Trader Joe’s, would you say hi**?

*I know there are blog meet-ups and other reunions of online communities (e.g., flickr mixrs), but I don’t include that in my definition of “public.”

**I’d be nice. I don’t bite.

Tuesday afternoon

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While I was out this afternoon, I stopped by my favorite café on the Westside, The Spot, to get a quick pick me up after a long day. Aside from the drinks and free wi-fi, I like the Spot because the owner is friendly and always notices when I haven’t stopped by in a while. And I like being missed. I ordered my usual, a chai latté, to go.

Once back in the car, I turned on the radio and listened intently as NPR’s All Things Considered reported on Barack Obama winning the North Carolina primary. I smiled and hoped that he’d have a good showing in Indiana.

A few minutes later, I was in downtown Culver City. Traffic slowed down because of the farmer’s market on Main Street. I briefly thought about shopping for fruit and veggies there, but opted against it because I was still wearing my yet-to-be broken in brown flats. I drove on to the next block where I parked at Trader Joe’s.

While shopping in Trader Joe’s for organic strawberries, tomatoes, carrots, bananas and other necessities I listened to a podcast of one of my favorite episodes of This American Life on my iPod. I’ve listened to the What I Learned from Television episode at least four times. Twice this week.

I left Trader Joe’s with two brown paper bags (I always forget my canvas tote when I go grocery shopping) full of groceries and headed home.

When I got home, I turned on my trusty MacBook. I checked my email and sent out announcements about the mujer issue of Puro Pedo Magazine.

What does this say about me?

Los vecinos

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I’ve lived in the same place for 7.5 years. In that time, I’ve had the same neighbors in the units across and above me. There are 8 apartments in each of the two buildings, both managed by the same company. We share a driveway so we see each other come and go, wander around and smoke a cigarette, hang out on the balcony, pick up our email or barbecue behind the cars in the carport.

Of all the people who live in the two buildings, I only know two names. It’s the same with Isa, my roommate. We keep to ourselves. This feels odd considering I came from a neighborhood where we knew our neighbors quite well. I mean, one neighbor held a small 4th of July block party.

The only names I know are those for Carlos, the building manager. We need to talk to him to fix stuff, like our bathtub that won’t drain making it impossible to shower. And there’s Yuri, who lives with his family across the hall from us. When he was in middle school, he used to ask for help on his homework. He’s no longer a kid. I know when he gets home ’cause I can hear his hip hop music blasting from his car.

I don’t know the Latinos living upstairs nor the elderly woman across from them. She’s the one I wonder about these days. The woman in unit #3 drove a green sedan with a Culver City Senior Citizens decal on the window. I’d only see her mid-morning when she’d return from errands. If she had groceries, sometimes she’d ask for help getting them up the stairs. I’d help, of course. Of course, I never knew her name.

I haven’t seen her car in a while. I haven’t seen her in a while. Yesterday, I noticed men moving away furniture out of her apartment. When I returned from a May Day activities and a meeting on campus, I noticed furniture out on the curb waiting to be picked up by the trash collectors.

I came back in and asked Isa, “do you know what happened to the woman upstairs?”

We both agreed it was weird that the Latina woman upstairs was driving the green sedan. Neither of us had seen her green sedan or her in a while.

“Do you think she died?” I asked Isa.

“Possibly.”

“How sad… we don’t even know,” she said.

“Yeah.”

I had a weird vision of seeing her taken away in an ambulance, but then remembered that was a scene in Dagoberto Gilb’s The Flowers.

I’ll find out what happened. I’ll just talk to my neighbors.

Happy May Day!

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Lion dancing

I celebrated May Day with thousands of other marchers in MacArthur Park and Downtown LA. The organizers of the march called for an end to the deportation raids (or redadas), legalization and a path to citizenship for all undocumented immigrants and dignitity and peace for all workers.

The march was fun and festive like the last immigrants’ rights march I attended in 2006, A Day Without an Immigrant/Un Día Sin Inmigrante. I went alone, but knew I’d find someone I knew. I did. Almost as soon as I caught up to the march (I was a little late because it’s tough to find parking in MacArthur Park), I ran in to some friends from school. They were lion dancing and playing drums and cymbals.

Sadly, I had to leave around 3:30 to make it back to campus in time for a meeting. I missed the rest of the march and rally. Anyone want to fill me in?

For a slide show of march photos, click on the image above.