On coming to terms with not being an inner city Latina

I love big earrings. Seriously, I go ape shit for large, fake gold hoops. I feel like having short blonde hair lets me get away with wearing accessories like this. Completely delusional? Probably. Just add it to my delusional list.

Last Thanksgiving my half-crunked grandmother leaned over the table to me and told me the gold hoop earrings I was wearing made me look like a Latina and I was all "preetttty sure that's gonna be your least PC comment of the night," but then my uncle brought up Sarah Palin and I was totally wrong. But B thought that comment was so hilarious, he uses it all the time, with or without those earrings in my ears.

So the other day, during one of our many conversations about the country club women B teaches tennis to and the future women he will be teaching when in Massachusetts, the conversation turned to the type of women in general who can afford private tennis lessons and their long and illustrious history of trying to sleep with the pro. And I was all "I'm just gonna come in to the club every day to flaunt my adorable butt and throw some evil eyes around and occasionally be all 'I'm watching you, betchessssss'" And then I put one hand on my hip and thrust out my chest and pointed the other hand around the room and B's all "you do understand that you're not Latina, right?" And I'm all "STOP HATIN.'" And he's all "yeah, too white for that too." But now I'm thinking maybe I'll just pick up a tennis racquet for once in my life and join their team because you know that old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies close enough to hit in the back of the head with a tennis racquet.

But anyway, I think this all stems from B's jealousy that I can speak Spanish better than he can because every so often I'll answer a question in Spanish or insert a Spanish phrase in the middle of a conversation, just like every other asshole who ever took Spanish class does, and he'll try to answer en Espanol but it's usually just a bunch of jibberish with the words nombre and hola sprinkled in somewhere and I'm like "that wasn't even Spanish, dude" and he's all "yes it was. It was Spanish for I'm going to smother you with a pillow tonight," and I'm all "I'm just fostering my inner Latina." And also I just finished reading this book about Dominican-Americans y la Republica Dominicana (Dominican Republic, gringos) and there was a lot of Spanish speaking going on. And I was all into this book because one time I spent a month there building houses and this has totally renewed my interest in the country and in Latino culture in general. And B's all "YOU DON'T HAVE AN INNER LATINA. YOU'RE JUST A SKINNY WHITE GIRL WITH BLONDE HAIR WHO WEARS BIG EARRINGS."

Like I said, totally jealous. Tweet