Sorry guys, but I have to go there. I am beyond sick of everyone talking about Hocus Pocus every Halloween. I know that it’s on whatever channel used to be the Family Channel, or Disney, every single night for the entire month of October. I just don’t care. Sac-relig for a girl of the 90′s to say this? Maybe so, but this movie is NAHT as classic as everyone makes it out to be. Yeah, haha it’s funny when the fat witch screams when she sees the Stainmaster/baby commercial and Bette Midler looks the same as Bette Midler looks all the time. I guess. Not really. I just feel like people hype up movies that kind of suck. It’s like when girls my age brag about watching Halloweentown. Um, if you were born before 1987 and think that Halloweentown was in your age bracket, then you probably still catch every Disney Original Movie that comes out. (I’m not talking Johnny Tsunami. That doesn’t count. Shit was decent.) But seriously, you know what movie was the big Halloween classic when we were little? Fuckin’ Frankenweenie. Not this new animated/stop motion one that just came out. I’m talking about THIS SHIT:
Good stuff. There are just some movies you can watch over and over every year, and some you can’t. I was sick of Hocus Pocus by like, 1997. There are SOME movies that must be impossible to get over. Double Double Toil & Trouble. Beetlejuice. Ernest Goes to Jail (okay, maybe I’m the only one who thinks this is a classic). And I’m not even talking just about Halloween movies. Christmas as well. Case in point:
Home Alone. Never gets old. Disagree? Maybe you look like Buzz’s girlfriend and you can fight me. Just kidding, fighting is trashy.
Right now, it’s like after 1am. And usually if I’m awake right now, I’m swearing in my bed right now because it’s a Sunday night and I can’t sleep. But not tonight. Because tonight, hurricane Sandy is coming, so work was cancelled, and I drank Michelob Ultra’s instead of water. Anyways though, the hurricane is coming and we need to be prepared. I think I wrote an Apocalypse Checklist back in the day (you can Google it if you’d like, just type in “apocalypse checklist because molly said so” or whatever). That list was written almost a year ago, and it’s not topical anymore. There are some new things I think I need to add to the checklist. Instead of making it into an entire blog, I’ll just add some bullets of what you will need below this paragraph:
Booze.
Great Chow.
Lucky bamboo plant from Ikea.
That’s it. I’ve learned a lot in under a year, and those are truly the only things you need during this specific hurricane. Like, material things don’t matter anymore. We are probably all going to die of heart disease, cancer, freak gasoline fights, etc. anyways. You might as well get booze, Great Chow and lucky bamboo from Ikea and everything will be fine. Trust me. Or don’t, I certainly wouldn’t trust me either.
There is really no point to this blog. But I have some things I’d like to get off of my chest. For one, earlier, my friend was talking about Sandy Cohen (because the storm is named Sandy), and I memorialized his eyebrows in my mind. I think it’s nice that he was a public defender in The OC. Or maybe he wasn’t. I forget. Another thing I remember about hurricanes besides Sandy Cohen’s eyebrows, is that hurricane Bob smelled bad. Think back to 1991. I was a young Caucasian gangster living sort of near Fields Corner at the time, and I recall that after Bob struck, Dorchester smelled bad. Like rotten eggs and poo or something. And I never understood what happened. But now that I think of it, it probably was poo water that I was smelling, as the sewers were overflowing. Something cute that occurred during hurricane Bob: Ryan lived two streets away from me and was playing outside after Bob struck. I was two streets away from Ryan, smelling the same nasty shit, when we were 5 years old. We both moved to Quincy a few years later. It’s funny to me that you can be 5 years old, dancing in the smelly streets, and your soul mate can be two streets down, doing the same thing, and you have no idea what a soul mate is, or that this person exists. I guess it’s nothing but a coincidence, a lot of people moved from one city to another. But as an egocentric human being who thinks that the universe revolves around me, it matters.Anyways, past my bedtime. Let’s hope Sandy waxes his eyebrows before hitting us.
We’ve all ruined someone’s life at some point in our meaningless lives, haven’t we? Maybe not. But I did once. By accident. And it was only temporary, so I can laugh at it now. Not going to lie, I laughed at it back then, too. I’ve never claimed to not be an asshole.
It was summer, fall, spring or winter of either 2004, 2005, or 2006. I was having a girl’s night with two friends in a bedroom with hot men and Disney princesses taped to the walls, somewhere in North Quincy. The particular girl whose house we were at owned a voice changing machine of some sorts. I think it was a karaoke machine with voice changing capabilities. We sometimes spent evenings getting shitfaced and singing Wonderful World, pouring some soul out for Louis Armstrong. Because that’s what teenage girls do. Or maybe they don’t. Another thing that teenage girls like to do is prank call everyone they’ve ever met. Ex boyfriends, current boyfriends, boys we were stalking, etc. There was a girl in particular that, at the time, we were feuding with. She was an ex-friend who had hooked up with our ex-boyfriends. So like any scorned females/psychos, we decided to prank this ho (she’s actually not a ho currently, as we are now okay and run into each other on the train during rush hour from time to time). Prank calling is pretty harmless, unless someone falls down the stairs to their death in the process of running to answer the phone.
Anyways, we didn’t really discuss what we were going to say, I just picked up the mic, turned on the Louis Armstrong setting, hit *-6-7 on the phone, and dialed the rest of the girl’s number. She picks up the phone:
Her: Hello?
Me: Hello ____her name here____.
Her: Who is this?
Me: Your worst enemy.
Her: Huh?
Me: I know what you did last summer.
Her: What?
Me: I know.
Her: Know what?
Me: What you did. Um, last summer.
(corny giggles in background that sounds like deep voiced man to girl on phone).
Her: Who is this?! What do you want?! Stop calling me. (hangs up).
I put the phone down, thinking that I blew it. I know what you did last summer? WEAK. On the level of the old ‘Is your refrigerator running?’ joke. I have to redeem myself. So I call her back. This time a guy answers. I assume this is her boyfriend.
Angry Boyfriend: HELLO?!
Me: Hello.
Angry Boyfriend: Who the fuck is this and what do you want?!
Me: I know what she did last summer.
Angry Boyfriend: What who did?! What the fuck are you talking about!!!!???
Me: I know.
Angry: YOU KNOW WHAT?!
Me: What she did.
Angry Boyfriend: WHEN?! WHO?
Me: Last summer. Her.
Angry Boyfriend: Go fuck ya self! (hangs up)
Damn! Blew it again! I choked because I wasn’t expecting the girl’s angry boyfriend to pick up. Really threw me for a loop. Anyways, we gave up the prank calls for the evening and probably went back to singing Wonderful World or discussing foreign policy between Germantown and Wollaston.
The following night, or maybe a month later, one of the girlfriend’s I was with the night of the pranking/Louis concert gave me the 4-1-1 on the latest gossip she’d heard. The chick we had pranked had been cheating on her boyfriend with her best friend’s boyfriend. She had confessed to all parties involved, and naturally, her boyfriend and best friend dumped her . We laughed bitterly at her expense for a few minutes and then stayed quiet for a moment. We were both thinking the same shit: did our prank call provoke this girl to confess to her dirty deeds? We had had no clue what the chick had done last summer, and didn’t care. But we may or may not have been responsible for ruining this girl’s life. We may have cost her her best friend and boyfriend over the most rookie prank call in the history of prank calling. We looked wide eyed at each other, then died laughing and continued drinking in the Vane street parking lot, because we are from Quincy and the laugh last was on us, I guess.
I forget how we found out, but shortly after hearing about the break up of the girl and her boyfriend and best friend, it was confirmed to us that we did indeed provoke her confession. Our juvenile prank call had backed this girl into a corner, and she felt she had to reveal her skeletons or the nameless caller would do it for her. We had temporarily ruined someone’s life. And some bitch face had told her that we were the prank callers behind the threatening private number. She also knew we really didn’t have a clue that she was cheating on her boyfriend. So she’d outed herself for nothing. Which caused the disdain we had for her to become mutual.
Before you cast judgement, and call me an asshole, remember: cheating is bad. You should also know that upon running into this girl at a Quincy Center bar in recent years, she has thanked us for our prank call, on the grounds that her ex boyfriend was a trick ass bitch or something. So I think there are certainly assholes whom are bigger than us. Fo sho. The lesson in all of this: I Know What You Did Last Summer and Jennifer Love Hewitt’s boobs are a force not to be reckoned with.
(Note to girl whose life got ruined temporarily by me years back: I hope this blog doesn’t change our status from friendly train acquaintance to fake smile/ awkward small talk. I don’t think you’re a ho. You knew it would be funny years later in a blog, right…right?)
Being a young girl in the early 90′s, I obviously worshiped the Olsen twins. I wanted to be Michelle Tanner, I wanted to dress as cool as them, and I wanted my sister to be 3 years younger/my twin. My brother is my Irish twin, kind of, but I didn’t want to get a matching wiffle. Even today, as I am home sick on my couch and Googling MK & A music videos, I stumbled upon an interview of them from 2 years ago on Ellen and I am just in awe. They have zero media scandals like everyone and their mother has in Hollywood (of course by “everyone and their mother in Hollywood” I mean Lindsay and Dina Lohan). They are just so cool, and rich, and pretty, and yeah. Only thing I’m not a fan of is their taste in some of the men they’ve been with. But to each their own.
That said, as fabulous and wealthy as the Olsen twins are, I often wonder if they ever watch these videos and feel embarrassed or awkward:
And ESPECIALLY this one about horses:
I mean, they were galloping on their imaginary horse named River straight to the bank.
Something terrible has happened. Like, my worst childhood nightmare come true. My family has gone to Disney World without me. No invite. Just up and left me to my own devices. Like I’m some functioning adult who is capable of making her own PB & J on Wonder Bread with the crusts cut off. And my sister has the audacity to post pictures of their Magic Kingdom adventure all over Facebook. So rude. I can’t think of anything worse. All of the following combined doesn’t even add up to the sadness that I feel as my parents, sister, and niece are riding the Rockin’ Rollercoaster at MGM while I sit at work with a sore throat:
Stepping on a Lego. Or Polly Pocket. Or Megablocks. Shit HURTS. Nothing makes an F-bomb pop out of your mouth faster than when this happens.
Getting a Barbie that you already have in your Happy Meal.. Oh hell naw! I already have a set of Bride Barbie triplets! I wanted spinster Barbie! This is WHACK!
Getting the shack, Radio Flyer as a car, and not marrying Leonardo DiCaprio in a game of MASH. Not my ideal life. Even worse? Your best friend gets Leo AND the mansion. Bitch.
Being too poor to afford Camp Waziyatah. Asa can afford it and he’s an ass clown! I thought Bug Juice came from who you are, but my mom just serves me Stop & Shop brand Kool-Aid, so I guess those lyrics are a farce.
Enjoying Where the Sidewalk Ends, only to look at the back and see that Shel Silverstein is fucking terrifying. Dude is the stuff nightmares are made of when you like 9 years old. Could he not have picked a more child-friendly picture?
Not getting home in time on a half day Tuesday to watch Rescue 911. Those reenactments were priceless. Especially the one when the kid jumps off a swing and lands directly on the path of a moving lawnmower. Or the little boy who’s sweatshirt gets caught in an escalator. Shit was INTENSE (the kids survive, calm down angry moms! Well, there was that ONE episode when the teen dies from huffing). Thanks for the memories, William Shatner.
So yeah, mom, dad, Katie, my 7 year old niece who will remain anonymous…if you’re reading this: the least you can do is get me a souvenir. And I don’t want a shitty Mickey Mouse pen or Goofy key chain. I want a life size statue of Tinkerbell made of solid gold that you can wind up and plays “Hakuna Matata” and sparkles in the sunlight, and moonlights as a Belgium chocolate fountain and pours me wine. If not, I’m kidnapping the dog.
Hi, again. As I sit in my living room, drinking alone while watching the Katy Perry movie, I am reminded of how immature I am. Which reminds me of the time I was a teenage girl. So like, a few years ago. And one of the things I did when I was a teenage girl was date douchebags. And let’s be real, you’ve dated a douchebag. And if you haven’t, maybe you know someone who has or is. MAYBE you’re dating a douchebag right now, and you’re in denial of the douchebaggery going on around you. No matter what your situation is, I want you to read this and reflect on your past or current relationships. Now I want you to say out loud “I’m like 15 or something close to that, and even though this feels important in the moment, it’s really just whack.” Because sometimes you will forget that as a teenager, your life is kind of a joke. I don’t mean that in a mean way, I’m not a teenager anymore and my life is still kind of a joke. But there are things you need to remind yourself that you forget sometimes. And the number one rule of life is that you are the most important person in the world, to you anyways. You are numero uno. Then comes family, and then real friends. According to the rule of #YOLO, you only get one life. There is no time for bullshit. So you need to get rid of the douchebags in your life ASAP. You might be wondering how you know if you’re dating a douchebag. Well…here are some hints:
1. Your friends hate him. You know who your friends are, right? Well, they are your friends for a reason (am I right, or am I right?). If your real friends hate your boyfriend, they are probably on to something. You should listen to them, because the teenage years are the only years when it is acceptable for girls to butt in to their friends’ relationships (unless we are talking about adults who are in abusive relationships, then it’s acceptable for their grown up friends to intervene). Yup, if most of your girlfriends tell you that your boyfriend is a prick, then he probably is. Your family has insanely high standards for you, because they love you unconditionally and want what’s best for you. They are biased and might unfairly judge someone based on their expectations for you. But your friends, they get to see every side to you and get to see you with your boyfriend. They know what the deal is. Listen to them.
2. Your gut tells you he’s bad news. You know that bad feeling you get about the candidate you’re note voting for when you’re listening to them speak during a debate? Okay, maybe not. But do you ever get this bad feeling about someone when you think of them? Like that maybe, said person doesn’t have the best intentions. You might try to ignore this feeling because this person hasn’t done anything specifically to make you think ill of them. Well that feeling is your gut screaming at you to stop being an idiot. Something is not right and you should listen to your gut.
3. He puts you down. You might not even realize he’s doing it, but sometimes you feel like he’s putting you down. Maybe this is directly, telling you that you need to lose a few pounds or that everything you stand for is bullshit. Or maybe he puts you down in a subtle way by criticizing little things about you – like how you’re wearing your hair. Maybe he even says it in a joking around manner, but something about it just.doesn’t.feel.right!!! Either way, these comments make you feel slightly worthless, right? Don’t let them, he’s just a douchebag. And don’t let him put down your friends or family either. If he isn’t a douchebag, he will be courteous and respectful of your loved ones, because he wants you in his life, and they are a part of YOUR life.
4. He redirects blame at you. Does your boyfriend seem to direct blame at you when you’ve done nothing wrong? Like, does he lash out at you because he had a bad day? Or has there ever been a time in which he’s done something to upset you, and when you confront him, he turns things around and gets mad at you? Kind of weird that you find yourself apologizing because he stood you up, right? That’s just him getting defensive and manipulating you into not being mad at him anymore. It’s the biggest mind-F ever when you realize what’s happened afterwards, right? Welp, it’s manipulation and it’s another douchebag tactic. Move along.
5. He denies you in public. Does he text or call you all night then pretend like he doesn’t know you when you’re at school or in front of his friends or your friends or whoever? If you feel like you’re getting the cold shoulder from him, and if he flat out denies being with you, remember that you don’t have time for his games. You’re Beyonce. And Beyonce should be getting her beauty sleep, not sexting boys who can’t grow a respectable beard yet (side note: Yes, there ARE respectable beards).
I mean, I don’t care, do whatever you want. But let me just tell you something about your boyfriend. All he cares about is school, and his mom, and his friends…
I just felt a Mean Girls quote was the best way to end this blog. BEDTIME. Be smart, girls! Ditch the douchebags.
LovE aLwAyz,
Molly Disclaimer: I will follow this up with how to tell if you’re a guy who’s dating a female dog at a later date (they exist!!!).
Cell phones are both a blessing and a curse. While they’ve made life so much easier for people to get in touch, they also have given people an open line of communication at almost any time. It’s still so strange to me when I see 14 year old’s with a cell phone of their own. When I was 14, the only use I had for a cell phone was to play the game Snake on my mom’s gigantic Nokia. None of my friends really had cell phones. We had our best friend’s home phone numbers memorized and if we couldn’t get a hold of someone to go out, we would physically go out and look for them. Walking around every single part of Wollaston in search of my friends kind of sucked, but it was part of life before cell phones. Now parents are like “Oh, I want my child to be able to contact me in case of an emergency.” Sounds legit enough. But why not just let your kid borrow your cell phone when you want to contact them? Everyone and their mother having a cell phone is only a recent trend. Kids got by perfectly fine without cell phones before. So is the “in case of an emergency” excuse really that legit? Because I think it’s just kids being spoiled. It’s crazy when I hear moms talk about their 16 year old asking for the new Iphone for Christmas. I’m 25 years old and JUST got an Iphone this year. Spending that kind of money on a cell phone killed me a little inside. I’ve never had the best phones, I’ve never cared about going online on my phone. I must admit at this point, I’m pretty addicted and going back to a shitty phone would be equivalent to losing a thumb. Despite giving in to the Apple craze, there are still things about cell phones that drive me batshit crazy…
First of all, there’s the little stuff. Don’t call me at 8 o clock in the fucking morning on a weekend. I get up at the ass crack of dawn all week, and I sleep as late as I want to on weekends. Would you call someone’s home phone number at 8am back before cell phones? No, you wouldn’t, unless you wanted to face the wrath of an angry mother. Just because you have a direct number to someone, doesn’t mean you can call them at all hours of the early morning. If you have some really pressing gossip you want to make me aware of, that’s fine…send me a text and I’ll see it when I get up. Stop being a stalker and go back to bed, psycho.
Another thing about cell phones that makes me crazy is when people call me repeatedly. Look, you call once, if the person on the other end doesn’t answer, they’ll see you called whether you left a voicemail or not. That’s the beauty of caller ID. You don’t need to call 17 times in a row until the person you’re trying to reach picks up. Obviously they are in the middle of something and can’t answer. Lay off, psycho.
Third, don’t send me chain text messages you got from your reclusive, weird uncle about a sobriety check point on Quincy Shore Drive and Neponset Circle. Good lookin’ out and all, but you can go ahead and assume I’ve already received the same text message or seen it on 58 Facebook statuses before deciding to shotgun 18 beers and hop in my Civic. I don’t need another reminder that people think I’m a total douchebag who drinks and drives all over town (I don’t).
And lastly, and the most annoying thing about cells phones, is when people assume that just because I own a cell phone, that I am obligated to answer their phone call or call them back. I’m not. I pay too much money a month for unlimited everything to accommodate to anyone but myself. My cell phone is for my convenience. Your cell phone is for yours. No one is obligated to answer shit. If my phone rings and I don’t feel like talking because I’m busy doing nothing, I don’t have to pick up. And when people ask why I didn’t answer, it’s none of their Goddamn business. I am allowed to screen phone calls. Sure, be courteous and don’t make plans with someone then not answer their call and proceed update your status from your phone. But other than that, I don’t owe anyone shit. Except maybe my mom. And sometimes I see a text and in my mind I will make a mental note to reply when I’m not busy. And sometimes I reply, and sometimes I forget. It’s not a diss to the person who texted me. I just forgot because there are more important things going on than answering a friend how last night was. More important things being my job…and not dying while I drive, etc. Chill out, psycho.
So the moral of this post, and the moral to most things in life, is that if everyone would just calm down for a second, and stop being so psycho, things would be fine. Put your fucking phones down for a second, and smell the coffee. You’ll be reminded that there is life outside of technology and apps. Then you can go back to playing Angry Birds for 6 hours and neglecting your infants. Things will be fine, psycho.
Just because you graduated from kindergarten 5,000 years ago doesn’t mean that basic kindergarten philosophies no longer apply! Here are a few words to live by:
1. No Cutting: Unless you are in line at the supermarket and you have a cartload of shit, and the person behind you has one or two items. Nothing drives me crazier than when people see this, and don’t let the person with only a couple things go first. But yeah, besides that, NO CUTTING. Don’t be a dick. I honestly even get pissed off and form a secret hatred for people at amusement parks who have fast passes. Then I remember those idiots paid an extra hundred bucks to go to Six Flags.
2. Snitches Get Stitches: Okay, maybe drop the physical threats. But seriously, no one likes a tattle tale. Don’t be a fink.
3. Sharing is CARING:If you pull out a pack of gum, you better be ready to offer me a piece. Same goes for booze. Don’t be cheap.
4. Keep your hands to your goddamn self: For children, I assume this means hitting. When you get older it means hitting and not being a sex offender. The older you get, the creepier life gets.
5. “God Made Dirt, Dirt Don’t Hurt”: If you drop food on the floor, it’s not that serious. Don’t be one of those obsessive weirdos who thinks you’re going to die if you eat a Pringle that just fell on the ground. It’s called the Five Second Rule, and depending on what it is, you can probably still eat it. Not Howie Mandel.
6. Treat others how you would like to be treated:Do unto others, bitch.
7. If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie, wipe the seatie: For the love of GOD…
9. Girls rule and boys drool:Seriously, I live with a boy and they definitely drool. Maybe I’m a little biased with the whole “girls rule” part.
But still, there are some kindergarten rules that we should have left behind when we were 5…
1. Whoever Smelt It, Dealt It: Not necessarily true. My boyfriend likes to let one rip silently while out in public, and he will (loudly) ask, “Eww…did you FART!?”, and proceed to quickly walk away. He smelt and dealt and blamed me.
2. If it’s yellow, let is mellow. If it’s brown flush it down:Flush ‘em both.
3. Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you’ve got your cootie shot: While modern medicine has indeed found a preventative immunization for HPV, there is still no cootie shot for chlamydia.
So when it comes down to it, kids know a lot of important shit. Maybe we should start listening to them…but only maybe. I can’t fully trust mini people who idolize Caillou and refuse to eat anything other than Easy Mac.
Remember when you’re little and you are playing make pretend with your friends and you’re pretending to be your favorite characters from a TV show, or band, or movie, etc.? Wasn’t it annoying when your one really prettiest/coolest friend always was like “Well, I’m so and so or I’m not playing!” and she would pick the best of the group? Well that’s never happening to me again because I’m calling it right here, right now, so that if I ever play pretend games again, my friends know who’s boss (the answer is me):
I’M THE PINK RANGER, KIMBERLY! I CALLED IT!
I’M POSH SPICE! I CALLED IT!
I’M TEENY! I CALLED IT!
I’M MARRYING ZAC! I CALLED IT!
I’M BEYONCE! CALLED IT! I’M KELLY! CALLED IT! I’M ASHLEY! CALLED IT! I’M SANKA! CALLED IT! (….what? did no other little girls play “Cool Runnings” with a Radio Flyer as a kid? Jeez…tough crowd.) I’M MARRYING STEFAN, NOT STEVE! CALLED IT!
I’m not in denial about it anymore. I will scream it from the rooftops, but I don’t think that it’ll come down to that. I’m a gringa. Probably the gringa-est gringa on the block. How did I come to this realization? Well, it all started about a month ago when I came into work thinking I was the shit with my new Dolce and Gabbana shades. I thought I was Molly from the block. Whatever that means (I think it’s meant to be a J-Lo reference). But anyways, my sunglasses were nice (I’ve since sat on them and bent them, which is why I can’t have nice things). They said “DG” on the side, as most Dolce and Gabbana glasses do. I was showing them off to my female coworkers, feelin’ fly as hell. Give me a break, I’ve only ever bought the 10 dollar sunglasses from the cart at the mall, besides the time my dad found a pair of Ray Bans and I took them. But anyways, I was showing off my sunglasses and that’s when it happened. My Puerto Rican coworker looked from my sunglasses, to me. And in slow-mo he uttered the words: “D-G stands for Dumb Gringa”. At first I was shocked and felt these words were harsh. For there is no way that I, el Molly, could be a dumb gringa (actually, I think it’s ‘La Molly’?). I took basic Spanish classes from 6th-11th grade or some shit. That means I watched the movie Selena at least 5 times while sitting in an uncomfortable desk-chair. That’s pretty emotional. And it’s not counting the 89 times I’ve seen it on TV. I might not know how to conjugate verbs, but I know the important vocabulary necessary to survive in a predominantly Spanish speaking supermarket or at La Paloma for at least 35 minutes. I could list the colors of a rainbow to a blind Spanish speaking person: azul, blanco, rojo, to name a few. If Dora asks viewers where she put her map, I would tell her “In your mochila! The map is in your mochila!”. I mean, off the top of my head I know all of this shit:
Guys, as a kid my favorite part of the Children’s Museum was the supermercado. And when I was done pretending to purchase platanos, I would cry out, “Una Vez Mas!”. I needed more time! Does that sound like something a gringa would say?
Yeah, maybe when I attempt to roll my R’s I sound like I’m choking. Maybe I don’t celebrate El Dia De Los Muertos, but I sure do pour some Pino Grigio out for Selena once every few years. And maybe I went to a free translation website while doing my Spanish 1 homework in high school. But do these things make me a gringa? Yes, absolutely. I’m a gringa, okay? YOU WIN! Just don’t bring my sunglasses into it. Those cost more than 10 dollars and they don’t deserve it.
