The Mexican Surprise Party

It was "Mom's" birthday yesterday. "Mom" is Ozma's mom, but I'm the honorary white daughter, I am told. I've been close to the entire family for many years, so I was naturally part of this whole thing.

Ozma's been scheming for a year. About the same time, Mom also began planning a surprise party for Ozma (which took place a couple months ago). Imagine how difficult it was to help both of them plan the party, and not get the parties confused. But I did it! I didn't trip up once!

So, yesterday Ozma's family flew in from out of town to surprise Mom. They were parcelled out between the various siblings. Ozma got several, including Crazy Aunt Belinda.

Now, these out-of-town relatives are all drinkers and party-ers, and Ozma has been chewing on her nails, hoping that they would stay somewhat responsible until they left for home. But as soon as they arrived, via limo, they started drinking. And the reunions were passionate. At one point Crazy Aunt Belinda had jumped onto Aunt Sally on Ozma's couch and lovingly pummelled her. I emphasize lovingly, because there were no bruises.

Since they were short on sleeping arrangements (Kitten and her husband are also staying there this week, and yes... they're back together, at least temporarily) Ozma had to share her bed. Guess who shared it with her? Crazy Aunt Belinda; who snored in her ear half the night. The other half she muttered in her sleep "I'm going to kick your ass! Get over here, b*tch!!!" Which made Ozma exceedingly nervous.

Then, in the middle of the night, Aunt Belinda got up to use the bathroom, walked back into the bedroom, and studied Ozma verrrrry closely. Ozma pretended to be asleep, which took a lot of doing, I think. Then she abruptly jumped back into bed next to her, rolled over, and promptly fell back to snoring again. Ozma hardly slept a wink.

When I arrived at the party last night, two separate family members immediately pulled me aside and warned me not to talk to Crazy Uncle Juan. Apparently he did too many drugs as a kid, and is very attracted to pretty women, and never stops talking. That meant that he would make a beeline for me and I'd die of boredom within a short amount of time.

Crazy Uncle Juan had stayed with Ozma's brother, Jack. Jack said that Crazy Uncle Juan had tried to crawl into bed with him the night before. "No, get out, man! What do you think you're doing?" snapped Jack, irritably (he wasn't into sharing like Ozma was). So Crazy Uncle Juan then ended up on small couch with one of the others (while a perfectly good, large bed remained unused) both snoring so loudly that Jack thought the roof would cave in.

Other relatives had been peppered throughout his house and no one (except Jack) wanted to stop partying until 3 in the morning. Jack had circles under his eyes, poor dear, but he had Ozma and I snorting with laughter as he told us everything.

I sat at The Old Maids Table, where all of us unwed, single women were expected to sit, I think. Most of them were obviously single for a reason (they all looked like Tom Arnold in drag). I wasn't allowed to sit for long, though. Most of the time I was being motioned over, or yanked out of my seat to dance, or dragged off somewhere because there were the usual family intrigues...there always are. I just love this family.

We ate and chatted and listened to piped-in music until Mom arrived with Dad and got the Surprise of Her Life. She cried all night long (tears of joy, I think, but it might have had something to do with Crazy Uncle Juan and Aunt Belinda).

Mexican dancers were brought in, and they performed beautifully. Then the mariachi band arrived and seranaded Mom and sang the Mexican Happy Birthday Song (which sounds nothing like what we sing and goes on a verrrrry long time).

We were all expected to go up and dance with Mom. Being the tallest woman in the room, I stood out like a sore thumb, but I was game. Remember Shoop, the guy who sang a horrible version of "Indian Outlaw" at Kitten's wedding? I told him that if he would dance with Mom, so would I. And by god, the guy who won't dance agreed to it! So we took turns dancing with her.

At one point, someone came by and whispered that Ozma was trying to get Crazy Uncle Juan to ask me to dance. I hunted her down immediately. "What are you thinking?" I hissed. She shrugged. "He's a good dancer," she said, with mischief in her eyes.

When the mariachi band left, they started playing disco music, the floor was cleared, and everyone began dancing. I didn't dance much, because no song really got my toes tapping. But, I stood by the sidelines. As I stood there, a little man standing next to me looked up at me and said "Damn, you're beautiful! You're tall, though! Damn! Too tall for me! I'd ask you to dance if you weren't so tall!" OK, OK, I get the point. I'm tall (to him, but then almost anyone would be!) Finally he asked me to kick off my heels and dance anyway, but I politely declined.

"What's your name?" he asked. I told him (it's a rather exotic name). "Damn!" he said again. "I thought you'd have a white girl name, like Debbie or something." Nope, I answered. Not Debbie. I told this to Ozma later and she laughed. "You're not a Debbie," she said. "Definately not a Debbie." What the heck does that mean? Is it some kind of Mexican code word?

Crazy Uncle Juan came running up with a microphone, loudly asking everyone over the music what my name was (what is it with these people? Why this obsession with names?). I ran into Mom's arms and escaped amid laughter.

As the party ran down, I snuck out. I have a funeral I must go to today, and Ozma's going with me. She's looking forward to it: it's either the funeral, or it's Crazy Aunt Belinda.