They say behind every great man is an even greater woman. That everybody needs a mate and that two heads are most definately better than one. I, of course, finally came to the significant reason behind this conclusion, as I sat alone, drunk and bored outta my mind at my cousin Camille's, Quinceañera.
Like other family functions, I assumed nothing would go right. With a ceremony as big as this, I expected to see flaws and disaster at every corner and I was not about to miss any of it. Already there was controversy, as Camille had let four members of her quinceañera court go and replaced them with four other friends at the last minute, making them learn a waltz within a mere matter of days. And the fact that Camille's parents were both seperated meant two disputing families would actually have to let bygones be bygones for one night which also meant the possibility of a family feud. Plus, centerpieces still needed gluing, ballons still needed helium and even last minute alterations to dresses had to be made, minutes before the entire shindig began.
Saturday morning, the day of the event, I left my house with the intent of getting dressed at the church. Why wrinkle a perfectly good outfit when my garment bag could be put to good use? An hour later, as I was changing in the small restroom, I realized my freshly starched Paul Frank shirt was missing a button. Panicking, I tried using my bubblegum as an adhesive, which ultimately failed because of the dry heat in the room, due to the lack of central cooling and vents. Apparently, The Catholic Church of St. Christopher's believed the small, concrete church should mirror entirely, the historic missions that were once abundant in the southwest.
With absolutely nothing to form a resonable formal outfit, I entered the chruch and sat in the last pew, wearing my dirty denim Evisu jeans with the big torn-knee holes and a skeleton pirate T-shirt. The room was awash with Dillard's and Macy's couture and I stood out like a sore thumb. For the first time ever, all the men in my family actually wore slacks and neck ties, instead of the usual cowboy-boots-and-hat get-up that so many Mexicans confuse as formal wear. I felt unique and out of place, which I really hate. I needed to find sanctuary in a place, that at the moment, was in competition with the heat of hell. A place where I could gather my thoughts and regain my strength, because for a Saint who specialized in travel, Christopher sure wasnt making this ceremony go any faster.
An hour later, I was seated in the reception hall of Dove Mountain Resort, praying no one would notice my relaxed-casual ensemble. Needless to say, it didnt work. The topic of the evening wasnt how stunning Camille looked or how beautiful the tables still looked after the aunts and grandmas stole and hid all the candle and flower centerpieces, but rather, on a scale of 1 to 10, how comfortable was David Tellez? There was only one answer to my problem. The bar. Of course! The sweet nectar of mixed drinks had always helped me before, so why not now? Drinking my deliciously refreshing piña colada, I noticed the chefs bringing out the steaming silver trays of food for the buffet and decided to stay and wait in line. George, Camille's step-dad, and his sister Georgina who were also at the bar, noticed I was standing in line and joined me.
GEORGE: So David, how do you like the party so far?
ME: Well, you're serving both chicken and brisket. It is quite the spread.
GEORGE: Well, we just want everyone to have a good time. I see you're in your jeans so, I'm sure you're relaxed.
ME: Whatever. It's a long story.
GEORGE: No it's cool man. You're happy, I'm happy. But right now, I'm actually starving. You starving?
ME: Kinda, yeah.
GEORGE: Well, they're gonna serve the food soon anyways. Let's just go first.
And with the George's blessing, I served myself a bountiful plate of food, which was then I learned I had committed a major faux pas. The quinceañera court was supposed to be served first, not I. And it was with a heavy heart, and a heavy plate, I sat down and ate my food in front of my starving family. After my table was called to stand in line at the buffet, I wished I had somebody to accompany me. The longer I sat, the more alone I felt. It felt really sad not to have someone in my life I could make dozens of faux pas with and laugh about them. Obviously my piña colada binge wasnt helping whatsoever, and so after the quinceañera court performed their waltz, and the music started to play, I got up, hoping to dance all my troubles away.
I danced the cumbia, glided to the electric slide and even got low to the flo' with Lil' Jon. I was the dancing king and the dance floor was my kingdom. My moves were hot and as I looked towards the reception hall, I could tell everyone agreed with me. Why else were they oohing and ahing? Turns out their "oohs and ahs" were directed towards my t-shirt. All down my front side I spilled the briskit sauce turning my skeleton pirate shirt into an actual bleeding skeleton pirate.
I was totally out of the party mood so I decided to retire in the resort library and kill myself. Mr. Tellez in the library with the candlestick. But instead, I turned on the TV and caught the last hour of North by Northwest and The Cheetah Girls 2. Thirty minutes later, my Aunt Corinna found me slumped in the chair and offered me both a slice of marble cake, with an Oreo cookie cream frosting, and consoling. She confided to me how coming to family events like these were a little hard on her, because they reminded her that my Uncle Richard was still away in Afghanistan. Still, she came with a smile in her heart knowing full well, that eventually, everything would be ok. Which meant I had a choice. I could stay and mope in the library and die of shame or I could go back out there and dance.
And that’s just what I did, because as my Aunt Corinna said, when people feel lonely they just need to smile, because eventually everything will be alright. And even though I got yelled at by the mother of one of Camille's friends for dancing to nasty with her daughter, I didnt care. I knew that by the next family function, I would be a little more carefree, I would have the best clean outfit, and hopefully by then, I'll have someone to make as many faux pas as I do.
Like other family functions, I assumed nothing would go right. With a ceremony as big as this, I expected to see flaws and disaster at every corner and I was not about to miss any of it. Already there was controversy, as Camille had let four members of her quinceañera court go and replaced them with four other friends at the last minute, making them learn a waltz within a mere matter of days. And the fact that Camille's parents were both seperated meant two disputing families would actually have to let bygones be bygones for one night which also meant the possibility of a family feud. Plus, centerpieces still needed gluing, ballons still needed helium and even last minute alterations to dresses had to be made, minutes before the entire shindig began.
Saturday morning, the day of the event, I left my house with the intent of getting dressed at the church. Why wrinkle a perfectly good outfit when my garment bag could be put to good use? An hour later, as I was changing in the small restroom, I realized my freshly starched Paul Frank shirt was missing a button. Panicking, I tried using my bubblegum as an adhesive, which ultimately failed because of the dry heat in the room, due to the lack of central cooling and vents. Apparently, The Catholic Church of St. Christopher's believed the small, concrete church should mirror entirely, the historic missions that were once abundant in the southwest.
With absolutely nothing to form a resonable formal outfit, I entered the chruch and sat in the last pew, wearing my dirty denim Evisu jeans with the big torn-knee holes and a skeleton pirate T-shirt. The room was awash with Dillard's and Macy's couture and I stood out like a sore thumb. For the first time ever, all the men in my family actually wore slacks and neck ties, instead of the usual cowboy-boots-and-hat get-up that so many Mexicans confuse as formal wear. I felt unique and out of place, which I really hate. I needed to find sanctuary in a place, that at the moment, was in competition with the heat of hell. A place where I could gather my thoughts and regain my strength, because for a Saint who specialized in travel, Christopher sure wasnt making this ceremony go any faster.
An hour later, I was seated in the reception hall of Dove Mountain Resort, praying no one would notice my relaxed-casual ensemble. Needless to say, it didnt work. The topic of the evening wasnt how stunning Camille looked or how beautiful the tables still looked after the aunts and grandmas stole and hid all the candle and flower centerpieces, but rather, on a scale of 1 to 10, how comfortable was David Tellez? There was only one answer to my problem. The bar. Of course! The sweet nectar of mixed drinks had always helped me before, so why not now? Drinking my deliciously refreshing piña colada, I noticed the chefs bringing out the steaming silver trays of food for the buffet and decided to stay and wait in line. George, Camille's step-dad, and his sister Georgina who were also at the bar, noticed I was standing in line and joined me.
GEORGE: So David, how do you like the party so far?
ME: Well, you're serving both chicken and brisket. It is quite the spread.
GEORGE: Well, we just want everyone to have a good time. I see you're in your jeans so, I'm sure you're relaxed.
ME: Whatever. It's a long story.
GEORGE: No it's cool man. You're happy, I'm happy. But right now, I'm actually starving. You starving?
ME: Kinda, yeah.
GEORGE: Well, they're gonna serve the food soon anyways. Let's just go first.
And with the George's blessing, I served myself a bountiful plate of food, which was then I learned I had committed a major faux pas. The quinceañera court was supposed to be served first, not I. And it was with a heavy heart, and a heavy plate, I sat down and ate my food in front of my starving family. After my table was called to stand in line at the buffet, I wished I had somebody to accompany me. The longer I sat, the more alone I felt. It felt really sad not to have someone in my life I could make dozens of faux pas with and laugh about them. Obviously my piña colada binge wasnt helping whatsoever, and so after the quinceañera court performed their waltz, and the music started to play, I got up, hoping to dance all my troubles away.
I danced the cumbia, glided to the electric slide and even got low to the flo' with Lil' Jon. I was the dancing king and the dance floor was my kingdom. My moves were hot and as I looked towards the reception hall, I could tell everyone agreed with me. Why else were they oohing and ahing? Turns out their "oohs and ahs" were directed towards my t-shirt. All down my front side I spilled the briskit sauce turning my skeleton pirate shirt into an actual bleeding skeleton pirate.
I was totally out of the party mood so I decided to retire in the resort library and kill myself. Mr. Tellez in the library with the candlestick. But instead, I turned on the TV and caught the last hour of North by Northwest and The Cheetah Girls 2. Thirty minutes later, my Aunt Corinna found me slumped in the chair and offered me both a slice of marble cake, with an Oreo cookie cream frosting, and consoling. She confided to me how coming to family events like these were a little hard on her, because they reminded her that my Uncle Richard was still away in Afghanistan. Still, she came with a smile in her heart knowing full well, that eventually, everything would be ok. Which meant I had a choice. I could stay and mope in the library and die of shame or I could go back out there and dance.
And that’s just what I did, because as my Aunt Corinna said, when people feel lonely they just need to smile, because eventually everything will be alright. And even though I got yelled at by the mother of one of Camille's friends for dancing to nasty with her daughter, I didnt care. I knew that by the next family function, I would be a little more carefree, I would have the best clean outfit, and hopefully by then, I'll have someone to make as many faux pas as I do.
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