Fiestas Patrias

I’m going to San Antonio this weekend for the kickoff of Fiestas Patrias. My sisters and I go every year. We get a group of friends together, rent as few hotel rooms as we can get away with, and go and have fun.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to commemorate Cinco de Mayo. When I used to live in México that particular holiday was all but ignored. I’ve always found it funny how big a deal it is in the States. Anyway, getting back to the subject, I’m not going to San Antonio in some sort of cultural pilgrimage to celebrate the Batalla de Puebla. I’m going for the Fiestas part.

San Antonio is a tourist city. It’s a quaint little place where you can park your car in downtown and walk or take the trolley to most areas of interest. A place you go to hang out. A city to visit. And let me tell you, this city comes alive for Fiestas Patrias. Parades, shows, and special events draw tourists from all over. Hotels have been booked for months. It’s going to be a blast.

I have to admit, however, that I go to San Antonio to spend time even when there isn’t an event. There’s something about the city, with the Spanish everywhere and the distinctive architectural touches and the incredible Spanish radio stations and the delicious Mexican restaurants, that has always appealed to me. A home away from home, maybe. A more concentrated version of the things that I love about my hometown (Houston). Even the name, San Antonio, has a comforting sound to my bilingual ears.

Anyway, I’ll be away for the weekend. I’ll try to have fun and forget about work and my last disastrous date and all that other mundane stuff. And I’ll try to stay out of trouble. In the meantime, check out this week’s posts — yes, I actually updated on time this week — and let me know how you’ve spent your weekend.

Hasta luego, gente.


For all my talk about not caring what other people think and not caring what others see when they look at me, I left out a very important BUT in there. That’s not completely true. I do care what some people think. I care what my sisters think.

Of all the women I know, theirs are the only opinions I seek. I want their approval, I want their understanding and I want their support. Thankfully, we have a very close relationship. Not exactly…loving, but close.

My sisters are among the most critical people I know. They are hard to please and easy to annoy. They are outspoken and honest. They are blunt and sometimes hurtful. And when they are angry, they can and will be mean.

And I say all that with love.

They are also the ones who tell me that I can do anything I want. They can cuss me out in an English/Spanish combination that takes years of practice to follow and in the next moment lend me their last dollar. They can tell me that I look horrible with complete honesty and I will never take that as an insult. They are the ones who tell me when I’m being overbearing and obnoxious and bitchy. And they reel me in when I’m out there.

My sisters are my lifeline.

I cannot imagine living without their companionship. We tell each other the important stuff. We lie for each other and sometimes to each other, but the trust we have is absolute.

My sisters are a reflection of me. And as I look to them to see what today’s verdict of my behavior is I remember that they look to me for the same thing.