Dear Damaris,
I’ve been with this one hombre for almost two years. I’m actually pregnant with his bebe right now. And I’m wondering; where is the ring? I mean, Ay Dios Mio, I put up with his cheating, and with the fact that he used my credit card to finance a new motorcycle. My friends say to talk to him and tell him that having a baby together is a commitment por vida. What should I do?
—Blingless in Baltimore
Dear Blingless,
First of all, stop italicizing your Spanish. If you actually use these words normally, then they shouldn’t be weird to you, so stop making them look different. Number two: tell this dude to marry you already. Our women have a long tradition of cutting out the shit and getting things done. I don’t care about either of you, but your kid needs two people around if he’s got any real chance of growing up and not being dependant on some cheating, motorcycle-riding deadbeat (no offense). About that ring: I have one I can send you. I’m pretty sure it’s fake; I didn’t end up marrying the guy who gave it to me (he was into insurance scamming).
Your friends are mostly right; you should talk to him. But avoid throwing in all those Spanish words; I’m sure your man knows you are Latina without them.
Good luck!
Damaris
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Dear Damaris,
I totally hate my real name! I don’t want to say what it is, but let’s just say I’m named after a popular drink. I get teased all the time. People think I’m a crazy party girl even though I’m not – I’m actually straight-edge, and I’ve never even had alcohol. How can I keep people from assuming these things about me?
—Miss Understood
Dear Sex on the Beach,
Oh, how terrible! People think you’re cooler than you actually are! Listen, Piña Coloda, no offense, but it sounds to me like you should take it as a compliment because you sound like a super boring person. You know, right after things ended with Insurance Scam Man, I started hanging out with a woman from work who was straight-edge. She would always say, “No, it’s cool, go ahead and drink. I won’t judge you.” Bullshit. She had a blog about being straight-edge (boring!) and after that night, she wrote about how pathetic my life must be if I needed to get so drunk to have a good time. You know what’s pathetic? A Straight-Edge Blog. “July 29. Today I didn’t drink beer. Aren’t I awesome?” No, you’re not. I haven’t talked to her in years, but recently, that woman wrote in her blog, “I realized today that all my real friends are straight-edge.” No shit – normal people can’t stand you. So, Gin and Tonic, get over it. I don’t want to be friends with you, either.
Good luck not dying from the boredom of your existence,
Damaris
P.S. Your name is Margarita.
**
Dear Damaris,
I can’t find clothes that fit my curvy Latina body. Everything seems made for skinny women with long legs. It’s not fair! How do we deal?
Love,
Real Women Can’t Find Pants
Dear Real Pants,
I have this same problem, but it’s because I’m 5’1” and weigh over three-hundred pounds. Sometimes I ask myself: how did I let this happen? Why didn’t I grow taller? I feel like I’m always looking up at life: at fast-food counters, at bakeries, at buffets. The man I almost married didn’t care that I was short. He was only 5’5” (which was hard for him – people don’t respect short men in the insurance scam business), but he was big where it counted – his hands. Big hands that could rip out every piece of a Mustang’s interior just before setting the chassis on fire without denting a single piece. But you can’t marry someone like that. My mom said it: A liar is a liar. I finally found out he was messing with his partner in crime, a beautiful man over 6 feet tall. His legs were so long – like the women you’re complaining about, Real Pants. So do what I did after Julio left: eat. Make yourself as big as you can. So that you count. Eventually, you’ll stop crying, but you’ll never stop being hungry.
Good luck!
Damaris
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