Novela Royalty.

My mother has always been ahead of the times, weather calculated or simply Maybeline-born-with-it, she is always ahead of the trends. Back in the late 80's after having conquered the world of banking and fitness, and birth giving, she decided to become a television star. You see, my mother is ever changing and when she decides to make changes its all or nothing.

Unlike the starlets of the day, she was not about to do the usual "casting couch"in order to get in. Nope, not her. She devised a plan so well orchestrated you'd think she was a Russian spy. Never one to burn bridges she uses her resources well and her Rolodex at the time was as intriguing as Heidi Fleiss's black book. During her bank manager days (and not by mistake) she took over a branch in one of Mexico City's most affluent areas. TV stars, old money, new money, CEOs, the type of people who give Chanel jewelry and bottles of Dom for Christmas to their banker/financial advisor -and so they did-. This gave her everyday contact with agents, actors, managers and thus the said Rolodex became to be.

The first step in her plan was to contact her uncle Quito. Quito was my grandmother's only remaining sibling. He looks like Salvador Dali with a couple of extra pounds, intimidating as hell and a man of VERY few words. More importantly, Quito at the time owned a very influential/scandalous newspaper in Monterey. His newspaper was known for exposing the truth and dirty laundry of politicians, lawyers, judges and the occasional coke overdose. L.A. Confidential Mexi style. Quito agreed to give my mother a press pass on the sole condition that she would always wear high heel shoes to the events. Whatever, between the press pass and the million dollar Rolodex the heels were just the beginning.

Her first assignment was to cover the Palmas de Oro awards. Sort of like the Latin Oscars but with more sequence. Way before Angelina was sucking on her brother's face at the Oscars, my mother took her role as "scandal" journalist very seriously and took her brother as her date.  I remember it all so well, the gold lame dress, the gold pumps, the coiffed do, the accessories -which I picked, and I'm never wrong-. The evening was just what she had planned and TV stardom was within reach. Soon after, the calls began. She got parts in numerous soaps and TV ads, she even tried to get me into a few commercials. At first it was exciting but once at the casting calls I found it hard to act excited about laundry detergent or a hypoallergenic broom. In any case, her brief TV career was great. I got front row seats to the hottest shows and the not so hot such as Disney on Ice, a show nonetheless. I got to see my mother on TV which got me brag rights at school, but most important, I got to see her realize one of her dreams and that is priceless like MasterCard.

Whenever I bring it up she quickly changes the subject. Very modest and always a lady. However, I will take credit and forever be Novela Royalty (by proxy).

Glamorous vandalism

My father often reminded me to "honor" my name. Mainly because in English it translates to "courteous". I say he reminded me often because often I was an asshole. I didn't mean to be or at least not all the time. 

As a teen I split my schooling between public schools in the USA and private schools in Mexico, mainly because I couldn't help throwing a tantrum mid semester and telling my mother that my tongue was too tired to speak English and that it would be best to speak Spanish for a while as to keep it fresh, sort of like muscle memory. I would then proceed to phone my father's travel agent and in no time I was back in the mother land. My father would then have to pull strings and pay thousands to find a school that would agree to take a troubled teen in the middle of the semester. It was during one of these jet-set schooling trips that I met what I can only call perfection. Her name was Dayana and she had all the right traits to become the next Courtney Love (sigh). She was careless, dark, smoked, and got into fights with other girls out on the sidewalk before walking into first period.

The school had a big open area from where on the far side the actual building stood 3 stories high. All the classrooms faced the huge courtyard, reminiscent of a Motel 6 where all the rooms look out to the parking lot filled with Buicks, and Chevys. On one occasion the director's assistant asked for the whole student body to be out in the courtyard for an important announcement. We were asked to form straight lines by grade, gender and height going from short to tall at the very back. Dayana immediately ran towards me yelling that this was starting to look like a concentration camp and that it was our duty to beat people up and break free. I told her to relax. As we all stood in the sun by height and gender and so on, a tall skinny man in a grey suit came out from one of the classrooms on the first floor, he had a microphone and over the P. A system he proclaimed to be Arturo, the new director. At first we thought it was rather funny that a man who would ask for attention such as forming rows of people would only go by a first name but soon we found out that he was actually a dick and Dayana queen bee wanted him out.

Dayana and two other classmates decided to take action and show Arturo that our school was not to be messed with. She had created a whole strategy to scare him out, and the first step was to graffiti school walls with eloquent words like "pig", "out", and "nefarious" which was my contribution. We even took it up a notch and formed full-ish sentences: "Arturo, you suck" and "get out, you pig". We were to meet on a Saturday night outside the school dressed in black. This event stressed me out. Mainly because I didn't have any suitable black ensembles, I mean, what does a teenage vandal wear to a graffiti party? I was able to bedazzle something just before meeting time, but I still managed to be late because I needed my grandma to fall asleep so I could take her pack or Marlboro reds.

I met my classmates/influential minds ten minutes past the agreed time. Dayana had already broken into the building and thus missing the glamour that I put together for the occasion. I went into the building and started spraying walls. I brought neon pink, yellow, and green. This colors were not only on trend, but there were also cans that I already had because 2 weeks prior I had redecorated my room with said paint and in true Mexican fashion I could not let the remaining paint go to waste. We were to be in the building for only ten minutes and then meet 2 blocks away to smoke my grandma's cigarettes. I made it my personal goal to make works of art and so all of my profane words were written in cursive.
Who said I couldn't be classy while defacing school property?

We went back to school the following Monday and I was excited to see our work. In the dark I couldn't really see if my cursive was crooked or soft enough but in bright daylight it looked better than I thought, I mean, the neon really made it pop. I told Dayana my work was better than hers, she gave me a playful slap and told me to shut the fuck up.

Nobody ever found us out.

On a recent trip to the mother land I reunited with Dayana and another school friend. We had drinks and smoked like old times and we simply laughed at all the "artistic" things we did. Although there is nothing courteous about what we did we did it because we wanted change, we wanted a voice and we wanted people to know that we are not to be messed with. I still believe in this way of life, and I still make my voice heard when I believe it needs to be heard, I however do it in a more courteous manner nowadays.

Dayana is now a lawyer.

Chanel slap

There is a time in life when one simply must speak up. Well that is exactly what I did but what I have to say is not always well received and honesty sometimes hurts, especially when talking to a parent. You see, I am a well mannered, easy going person but when you push I shove and when my chance at celebrity status is at risk things get ugly.  Nasty Aussie rapper and most-influential-being-in-my-life-this-week Iggy Azalea said it best "If I have to tell you one more time I blow like a bomb, like a horn, like a bitch behind a bungalow at prom".

When I was around 11 years old I had an appetite for ripped jeans, crocheded vests, high tops and Madonna. I had just found out that she was on tour and my dream of becoming a real life groupie became an obsession. If I could somehow get to the concert I would show Madonna why I would make the best groupie/assistant/back-up dancer/back vocals that she had ever encountered and thus fulfilling my worldwide stardom fantasy. With Madonna having done all the leg work and the bed hopping all I had to do was be part of her posse and I would immediately be famous. 

Lucky for me my aunt Veronica was equally obsessed and she somehow scored tickets to the concert. I think she had to sing a snippet of "Like a Virgin" while simultaneously farting into the phone for a radio contest, or so she told me. She was in her early 20's, had big hair and a shared passion for ripped clothing and leather bracelets. Most importantly, she had my ticket to word domination and flashing lights. We used to hang out a lot on the weekends and she asked if I wanted to go to the concert with her. I immediately said yes!

That evening my mother was getting ready for an evening out with Roberto. Roberto was a well known corrupt lawyer and part time photographer whom once pulled strings to get me to the Formula One races which I watched from the "pits" while sipping on Fanta as he and my mother held hands as if posing for Page Six.  My mother was putting on her earrings when I went into her room to ask her about the Madonna concert. "Mom! Veronica has tickets to the concert and the rest of my future, can I go?" She flatly said no. I flatly called her a bitch.

She slowly put her gold patent leather Chanel clutch down on the dresser as to not get it dirty before slapping me across the face. "Never talk to me like that again" she said calmly. I was shocked! The woman with the gold Chanel just slapped me! I looked at her and apologized. After that night my mother and I made an agreement, I would never disrespect her and she would never slap me. Sounded like a fair deal to me.

I never did go to the concert but the Chanel slap incident did bring us closer together because there was always respect and honesty. That is the thing about making deals, they are in a way promises and breaking them will only make one look dishonest, disrespectful and mostly unglamorous, and that to me is dreadful. I'm not sure what happened to the gold Chanel, and as for the ripped jeans, they were thrown out one day while I was at school. I cried, listened to lots of Guns n' Roses and was over it by the weekend. I've yet to achieve superstardom, but I will be seeing Madonna this fall. Here's hoping!