It's nearly one AM Monday morning. The alarm will go off in five and a half hours and I'm not the least bit tired. arg.

I have to go to work tomorrow, believe me, I'm not looking forward to it. My car's engine doesn't sound very good and the brakes are a little scary. Mondays are the only days I can take it to the mechanics.

I was thinking about a week ago. It was Sunday. My birthday. Usually when my birthday would fall on a Sunday I remembered it as Super Bowl Sunday. For some reason I thought that it was always the last Sunday of January. Now I have no idea what it is.

anyway.

I called Molasses to tell him that the dinner my mom wanted to have for me would be at El Torito in Fullerton. For some reason he wanted to meet us there rather than drive up to my parent's house. I didn't think too much about it, he occasionally gets weird about being spared driving a little extra.

But the reservation was for five pm and by four it was raining. (I like rain, remember?) It was nice watching it but by four thirty I was getting antsy. It takes a while to get seven people ready to go and I started telling my mom that everyone should get in the van. It was too early to start she said, so I said I'd get started in ten minutes. Ten minutes later my dad was taking a nap, my two younger brothers were playing on the computer in t-shirts and shorts (my mom would never allow them at a restaurant like that) and I don't know where my sister was. I yelled at everyone to get ready and then told my mom I'd wait in the van. I grabbed the book I was reading ("A Game of Thrones by George RR Martin, Molasses lent it to me) and my umbrella and headed for the van. Headed down the steps from the back door of the house I was fighting to keep the umbrella up, my dress off of the drywall, my hair out of my face and my book and other details in my hand, when my foot missed the last step and only caught it with the heel. Me fall down, go *boom.* It sounds more fun that way. I still have the bruise on my knee.

I was mad and that let get up and make my way to the van. At the time my ankle hurt more than my knee cause it had gotten twisted around, but my knee was clearly scraped up and little spots of blood bubbled up. Just fucking great.

I sat back to wait and read a few pages. I got sick of that and went back into the house and saw that my mom and sister were still putting on their make up. (My mom still wanted me to do something with my hair and put on make up. Sheesh, I had already brushed my hair and my face was clean. Nothing satisfies her.) I announced I was leaving without them. It was five minutes to five.

I found Molasses' car in the parking lot and headed to the restaurant, the umbrella was purely for keeping my head as dry as possible at this point my legs were cold and sore and my ankle was aching. Inside I started looking around wondering if Molasses had gotten a table for everyone because I didn't see him in the front. The host asked me if I was with "(me)?" I told him I am me, and that I was looking for someone. He looked slightly puzzled and said okey. I was irritated enough that this totally went passed me without arousing any suspicion. I guess I figured my mom had already made a reservation. Figured that she'd be late. I thought I'd claim it as soon as I found Molasses.

I didn't look for very long he was in the Cantina. With his roommate and three other friends.

The second I saw Molasses I started bitching about my day until his roommate stepped out and then I stopped for a second and then went back to it cause I hadn't told them about my knee yet. Then I saw the rest of them and was just surprised and felt like being mad but didn't really have it in me to be annoyed.

At this point I still felt like people were making a big deal out of nothing. I guess if they absolutely had to celebrate my birthday, then fine, I just wished I didn't have to be there.

Finally my mom showed up with my family. We walked over to a far room where I had noticed a mariachi group had been set up. I know El Torito frequently has singers come in and perform, so bands probably do stuff their too. I figured that room was good place for them to stow their stuff and then go out to entertain everyone. I *didn't* EVER expect them to start playing Las Mañanitas as some members of my extended family who were waiting inside stood and sang along.

My dad's good friend Richard de Leon was there. My dad had been Richard's best man when he got married and Richard had returned the favor when my mom and dad got married. Richard was my baby brother, Juan's godfather and Ana's Confirmational Sponsor (often also considered a godfather, usually cause the godparents *are* the sponsors). I had known him all my life and this was the first time I had seen him since his wife's funeral last May. I miss Annie. I'm sure she was around.

My cousins were there, Debbie and Nancy and Debbie's husband Joe Casella. My mom's cousin and so by Mexican definition, my aunt, Gloria and her youngest son were there. All that was missing was my Confirmational sponsor, Brenda Lee and her daughter Hillicia and we'd be set.

For a long time it felt like all I could do was stand there, dumbfounded, feeling my eyes well up, grinning like an idiot and wanting to hide at the same time.

As it happened my mom had been planning it for some time. The mariachi band was a children's group that my dad has worked with off and on for a few years now. They're really good, the youngest singer is nine years old. It was really kind of neat. Mariachi music is something that I go home to. It's part of being home, and I know all of the words or else I can fake them really well. I guess by definition Mariachi music has become folk music since no one knows who wrote the songs but everyone knows the words and every famous artist has to do the favorites. My favorites are "Y Andale" and any of the songs about Azusena Salerosa, especially "El Huapanguero," which they didn't do.

The thing is. I go home to it, and then I leave. But they had a full two hour concert. I had my fill after about 45 minutes. Then I couldn't here anyone talking, I had to shout (which I don't like doing), clapping was perfunctory, and I desperately wanted to listen to some Nine Inch Nails (which wouldn't have gone over particularly well with my mom's guests).

In the end it went well, everyone seemed to have a good time and my mom only got up to sing once, which surprised the hell out of everyone. Don't tell her this, but when my dad figured out what she was going to do he started eying the door. Whimp. If I could take it, then he could take it. My mom's not a very good singer, but she doesn't know that. And somehow, in 45 years, no one has told her that maybe she should keep her singing to herself. Well looks like it'll be a few more years before anyone thinks about mentioning it to her cause it was evident that there was no stopping her, even as scared as she was. She was scared, too. Her hand had a death grip on the mic and her voice shook all over the place from fear and from being on the verge of tears. To try to help with the latter I caught her eyes and refused to let them go. To hide my thoughts I balled up a hand and put it hard against my mouth until I felt a lip beginning to bruise.

I know she loves me but she's got the oddest ideas of what it means to show it. Apparently she had gotten Molasses into her plan a month earlier and he had been calling my friends all over the place to try to get them to come. All in all I think 14 people heard it from him, six of which made it Sunday night. So I guess he has weird ideas too.

I still feel like the people there were celebrating my birthday (eventhough Molasses still insists they were celebrating *me* and my birthday was of no consequence, uh-huh and someday monkeys will fly out of my ass) and I was there to prove their point. I really REALLY miss the days of my birthdays, my way. I could never keep them entirely to myself but I could get so close.... so close.

It tears at me that I can't get the one day that is supposed to be mine the way I want it, but I guess it's my fault. I still can't quite tell my mom to bugger off when she really is just trying to give me stuff. And I'm the one that told Molasses. *sigh* I almost wish I hadn't. Almost.