Hello again. Yes, I'm am updating my blog -- Surprise, surprise and no I'm not updating because i don't want to unpack my suitcases-because I really, really do want to unpack. In fact, there is nothing more that I want to do than unpack. But I have contracted a rare disease know as "Cantaunpacknothingcitis." My doctor says it's incurable, and if i even try to unpack anything, i'll break out into hives. And hives are not pretty. So here I sit, and there my suitcase sits so close and yet so far away!
-- Please forgive the pain cause by reading this longwinded gibberish know as my writing style, but remember I am a heartless person, so really you should expect it from me by now.---
Ok. so here i am in Mexico enjoying my life. Inge's life = fairies waking me up from my slumber, sipping peach nectar, the floating men of veracruz, fresh ocean breeze-- Sure perfection can get monotonous, but pain builds character. And I must suffer on. I love the weather, the people, the food, and about everything you can think of. But, there were many things I have learned this week that I swear if this knowledge doesn't cause a deep scar in my soul and cause me to pay thousands of dollars for psychological therapy than nothing will. My world of perfection has crashed and burn, and this my friends is how it happened. ::cues the sad oh so dramatic violin music::A few nights back i went out for coffee with some friends. - yes i actually do have friends, despite common the belief- I am really not that hideous looking-- We went to a student hotspot called La Chiva, a very cute little place, nice atmosphere, yadi, yadi, but this is really not the point of my story. So i'll get to point ---> Story Title
Why Inge is Scarred for Life
So here I am enjoying some caffeinated beverage because I enjoy drinking toxic beverages. As I sipped death in a cup at La Chiva, a Mexican university student comes up to our table introduces himself. We all go around the table telling him our names - Sarah , Joe, Miguel, etc, ect - until he gets to me i say "Inge" (no surprise there).
He says - Oh, like chinga right (then he chuckles)? and not to be the stupid person that doesn't understand Spanish, I'm like Si?!? because of course I know what that means? Not. (That was stupid, Inge, Numero Uno rule of foreign travel - don't agree to anything someone says unless you know what the heck their talking about). So I dumbly agree it's like chinga, and he laughs and then he's like No, No! ::this is where i'm slightly---no, i can't lie; I was Really confused,:: But my face was so poker-like. It was so good. It was like when some one asks you if they like their outfit (which, mind you is horrendously ugly), and you look them straight in the eye as you say in a ---Oh! so sincere voice. "That's such a nice color on you; it just brings out your eyes!" My face was just that good- or at least I like to think it was that good.
However, in the back of my head, I was confoundedly confused the entire night. The synapses in the little cerebral just weren't firing and connecting like they should have been. What is "chinga"? I had a really bad feeling about this. I attribute the bad feeling to my amazing Womanly Intuition
Next move? That night I jumped on my trusty little computer and used God's gift to the world: The Google search engine ::search phrase? -- "chinga Mexican slang " :: Ay Yi Yi! Now the murky waters of my brain were becoming clear! The gray matter up there became more gray or less gray whichever one happens when you become less stupid.
So, you ask, what does chinga mean? Well, let me take a moment to give you an idea - let's play a game of fill in the blank, shall we? -- What is the most offensive word in the United States? Ok. I'm confident my viewing audience is as smart as the average 5th grader. Now, take that word and add "your mama" to the end. Do you get my drift? So common phase in Mexico? "Chinga Tu Mamá!"
Ok so here you sit thinking -- Chinga and Inge are not the same word. They sound very similar, rhyme very well, but not the same.-- "Why are you being so very dramatic, Inge?" Well, this is where my story become even more traumatic. While living my perfect life and eating my perfect breakfast (yogurt, fruit[I think that day it was fresh papaya], and granola) with my host mom, our conversation somehow steered toward offensive words in Mexico. I think it was because my Spanish is not quite so good yet, and I misspoke and she thought I had said something about offensive words and we got on the subject, somehow? Not sure? Anyway---
So we are talking, and I mentioned that my name is very similar to Chinga. Then she start to chuckle, shake her head, and laugh. A little too hard, I think, and then she's like who told you? ::first question in my head is "why didn't YOU tell me?" You can't protect me forever, Mom!:: And then she further explains that the phrase - Chinga tu mamá! is probably highest offense in Mexico. So in order to be a little less offensive Mexicans say "Inga tu mamá!" It's practically the same thing she says between choking laughter. -- Ay, Yi! Yi! ::Just then my perfect fairy tale world crumbles like a cooke and then I drowned in milk.::
----So while writing this gibberish, I just realized something. I met a family partying at the Veracruz Carnival a couple weeks back, and me and my friends introduced ourselves and after i said my name --- Oh, THAT is what he meant when he said "Inge, tu mamá!" and then he laughed. Oh, THAT explains the looks I been getting after I say my name -- Oh, Oh, and when that local said "Inge, that's a strange name, no?" Sigh, the gray matter is unfortunately becoming grayer.----
Now, lets return back to the breakfast table. There she sat laughing. No, I will correct myself - she was practically crying because she was laughing so hard at my pain. And then when she realized what my last name "Hooker" means in the United States, she was practically rolling on the floor--it true: i can't make this stuff up! Her laughter overflowed into my once perfect bowl of granola and fruit - my entire name is a bust! ---
Thank-you Mom and Dad, Love you too! I appreciate your overflowing love for me. Not only have you given me the last name of Hooker - my first name is the f-word in Mexico --- it's like double jeopardy. You couldn't just name me one questionable name, could you? No, you had to give me a double dose of sketchiness. And isn't it convenient that the sketchiness of both of my names coordinate so very well together? --- how many times can you say "double awkward turtle?" (sorry for the high school reference, it was necessary) --- Because really, maybe i DO need More and Longer awkward silences after I tell people my name. I really think what I need is One more Mexican giving me the "what the heck did you just say your name was?" look.
Like I said, I must need to build character very, very badly. Ah ¡Dios Mio! I think I'm going to change my name to Jane Doe and then go live in a hole. Well, since I've decided to live in a hole, I'm not sure I can continue blogging. If the hole has wireless, then maybe. signed INGE HOOKER ::I feel like I just cussed after I typed that, I'm going to go wash my hands off:: Inge pulls out her bottle of Purell hand sanitizer and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs::