Cinco de Que?: A Brief Education of Cinco de Mayo

The small kitchen TV atop the refrigerator sounded a noise similar  to the sounds of  "El Cinco de Mayo, la celebracion de Independencia". My mother's spoon stopped dead in the meat and chile filled pan.
"Que dijieron?" she asked as she walked closer to the TV. The verbal hell that ensued is a lesson neither or nor  my siblings will forget. My mother has prided herself on raising her children as Mexican as possible, while respecting the country she has adopted. While our school mates were leaving out cookies for Santa to retrieve, my mom was making us wrap the tamales that El Santo Claus would devour with a hot cup of atole. The Fourth Of July was met with hot dogs, history, and aguas frescas in our back yard, only to celebrate Mexican Independence Day two months later with enchiladas, sparklers and coca cola. We were raised to know it all, to acknowledge the reasons behind the celebration, el significado, as my mother would say. The significance.

You will have to excuse my crassness when I say, don't wish me a Happy Cinco de Mayo. I am not from Puebla, that is not my either of my two Countries' Independence Day. Too many times I have been asked how I will be celebrating Mexican Independence Day on May 5....Answer: I am not. But I am going to enjoy the history of culture of my family and take the opportunity to advocate the significance of the day. So if you feel compelled to celebrate this day, here are five things you need to know:

1. September 16 is Mexico's Day of Independence...not May 5.

2. 5, Mayo de 1862 is the date of the Battle of Puebla. It commemorates what many considered to be the unlikely victory of the ill prepared Mexican troops over the French army.

3. Although the Holiday is considered popular here in the U.S., Mexico as whole does not celebrate the day. Most of the festivities are in the state of Puebla.

4. If you have to celebrate with a drink, try a Paloma rather than a margarita. The margarita, although delicious and now a predominant staple of the Mexican drink, was popularized in San Diego in the 1940's. Palomas still incorporate the delicious tequila and lime, but are mixed with a grape fruit soda, and an optional salted rim.

5. No tacos! Puebla's location in the heartland of Mexico provided an opportunity for all rich flavors to meet. It is famous for its mole poblanos (a thick rich sauce heavily seasoned) and molotes (corn meal and cheese biscuits filled with sausage, squash flowers, and potatoes). Test out your culinary skills and whip one of these dishes up!

Now stop being an ignorant asshole, read up on your history, and enjoy our culture!

Begrudgingly, Happy Cinco de Mayo but more importantly, VIVA MEXICO!

Travel Tuesday: If you can't Travel, Watch a Movie

Travel and Movies. I can't get geek out any harder than if I was to include reading and travel. Which I can. In the last decade, I have traveled to Italy twice, Germany thrice, Mexico, Czech Republic, Greece, and a multitude of continental U.S. States. I have jumped in a car to vegas and LA, hopped on a plane to San Diego, a train to Oktoberfest in San Francisco. No place has been too close or too far for me to visit. I love to travel. I love to write about my travels. I love to read a book, watch a movie, and dream of the settings of the story, In the following Travel Tuesday segments, I will introduce to you the films that have inspired my lust for world gallivanting. 

Despite my journeys to a number of countries, the vast majority of the world's canvas has yet to carry my foot print. That is not to say that I do not to continue to dream of the day that I bless these locations with my wit and charm. For the moment, however, I have films to fill my head with visions of Spanish threesomes, drunken exploration in tokyo, making friends with a midget in Bruges, and having an affair with Ralph Fiennes in Africa. Sometimes I do it all at once, but then reality slaps me in the face and reminds me to save my money and actually get my ass on a plane. So in the interim, here is a list of the places I plan to visit, and the movies that inspire my dream to travel. 

Belgium - In Bruges

If you have not watched "In Bruges" then you have not lived. I don't care what you think about Colin Farrell, this movie far beyond redeems any reservation held against him in any way. He's a genius in an awesome movie that is set in the city of Bruges. For the readers that are well acquainted with me, you will already know that I love my beer. Not shit water beer, I mean good beer. The kind that leaves morsels of flavor on your pallette long after the beer has retreated from your tulip glass and settled in your bowels. PLenty of beer drinking is done in this movie, and plenty of the drinking is done in a setting of medieval buildings in a place that is often described as "the Venice of the North". Colin Farrell's character hates this beautiful place. He spends his nights wandering the cobble stone streets wishing he could get the fuck out of there. So he distracts himself by keeping the company of a drug dealer and midget. Now I might be a little naive, but I seriously want to meet a midget in Bruges. When I travel to Bruges, it will be with the hope that I am going to share a beer with a midget. A midget in town for the filming of a movie. It has to happen, or Bruges is going to fucking suck just like Colin Farrell said. 

Spain - Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Besides the fact that Barcelona is beautiful and rich in architecture and history, you have a threesome with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. I don't know about you, but those two are the hottest Spaniards ever. Sure, I want to visit Barcelona, drink wine and immerse in the culture. But I really really want to be the turkey in the Javier Bardem/Penelope Cruz sandwich. According to this movie, a girl eager to find herself and develop her passions can get scooped up by a world renowned artist and his super hot, albeit, bat shit wife. Sign me the fuck up.  

Japan - Lost in Translation

Tokyo is the back drop for what is easily one of my favorite Sofia Coppola films. She managed to capture the a beauty that is often lost in a modern metropolitan setting, and create a world of wonder. while still allowing for the traditional aspect of the culture to inspire your absolute nee to travel to Japan. In an attempt to create transperancy, I will tell you that the prospect of traveling to somewhere like Japan terrifies me. Not so in the sense that my life would be in danger, or that Japanese people are a violent. It is quite the contrary. My fear is that in being raised here in the States, my manners and loss of my own culture at times, may contribute to an act that may be viewed as a rude American. Never has this thought been more apparent than in the prospect of traveling to Japan. What if I did something to offend them? What if I come off as an animal? What if I can't hide the "what the fuck is that on my plate" face when they bring me what I thought was going to be chicken katsu?

Africa - The English Patient

I have an obsession with Ralph Fiennes. I also have an obsession with Egypt. Egypt is in Africa. I want to go. Maybe I will run in to Ralph Fiennes, maybe it will happen in a pyramid. Who knows, but maybe. 

Ode to Canelo v. Mayweather.

September, you are much too far for me.
I long to see those heavy arms as they smash in to the face of the one I loath.
"Hit him, kill him", I yell as my hero of the flat screen lunges towards the king of pomp and arrogance. The dip splattered across my chin, a chip left crushed among the sea of unwashed rug.
The pre-fights, oh how they drag on. Those men who dare to call themselves fighters, mere pansies tap dancing in the ring.
Come to me September 14, come to me as I host an early Mexican Independence day party.
Come to me as I eagerly watch that beautiful Guadalajaran beat the arrogance out of that dick whose father etched his name in boxing history.

I will wait for you. I will read on you. I will watch you.

TT: Sigur Ros and Vomit do not mix

I was a late bloomer in many if not all part of my life. I was raised with some awesome people whose musical tastes were all I could hang on to, unbeknowst that I had free will to like my own music.

Last year, for the babe's birthday, I bought him a pair of tickets to go to SF Outside Lands, this awesome music festival located in Golden Gate Park San Francisco. We were excited to see the multiple bands, but more importantly, the fact that we would be seeing Sigur Ros, those beautiful Icelandic voices lulling is in to a dream like state. As the date approached, we realized that the Saturday of the festival was to be the same day as the Mexico vs. Brazil Olympic game, a match for the fucking gold. We had to watch regardless of where we were and what we were doing. I quickly called a bar that we had frequented before to make sure that a) the soccer match would be on their tvs at 630 in the morning, and b) they would be open to the public at 630 in the morning. The bar confirmed both.

We were headed to a bar on a Saturday morning to watch Mexico dominate the shit out of Brazil. Didn't matter to us that we, the Mexicans, were the under dogs, we were pumped and ready to kick some South American Ass. We arrived to a surprisingly busy bar. Everyone was in there already drinking, shouting. The far corner of the bar was decked in yellow, rooting for Brazil. We took a seat at the bar, ordered our breakfast, and tequila shots...yeah, that's right, tequila shots for breakfast.

As fate would decide, Mexico won Olympic Gold (VIVA FUCKING MEXICO). This only meant that my babe and I would continue the shit show and down the tequila. Shots were bought for the bar, the bar bought us shots. It was great...until I hate the wind outside.

We decided it was time to retreat, only that by the time I made it to the street, I was piss drunk...literally. We went outside and I passed out on some patch of San Francisco grass, and then pissed myself. No vomit, just piss. The poor babe, equally as shit faced, but no piss of his own, was left to his own to try and get us a cab back to our hotel, and who drives up...a fucking cop. Luckily for us, we were the tamest of San Francisco's shit show, so rather than cuff us, SFPD hailed a cab for us. As soon as I am in the cab, my German speaking skills kick in. Yeah that's right, German...A Mexican girl is speaking German to the Filipino cabbie...this of course made no sense making the drive to the hotel amusing for me, cumbersome for my babe, and annoying as fuck to the cab driver.
There is a point...
I pass out only to wake a few hours later realizing we have a Sigur Ros show to catch. I pull my shit together, shower, and make it out the door. But the fun didn't end there. As we are getting ready to park the car so that we can catch the shuttle to Golden Gate Park, I puke all over the front seat of my car. In some sick twist of fate, I did not puke on my clothes, but it was all over the fucking car. No time to clean, we get on the bus. And then I puke on the shuttle, on a cloth seat. No big deal, I put some paper towels, mutter some "uh someone puked back there" and get off the bus.
So we make it to Sigur Ros, and its beautiful, only I am STILL FUCKING VOMITING!!! And I am vomiting in a crowd, among the feet of these poor souls who will soon trample me if I don't stop vomiting. It was no matter, we were going to watch these Icelandic angel voices ...

We only lasted ten minutes...I was forced to retreat to greener or pastures, or at least to an area I could vomit without being stepped on...

I am too old for this shit.

Travel Tuesday: Bathrooms in Mexico

It was suggested to me by Running Mama to start a Travel Tuesday entry on my blog  where I save the best of the traveling stories for that particular day. Since I am rotten at organizing my thoughts and stories, I couldn't help but jump on the suggestion...so here it goes.

It was my good fortune that I was invited to join my aunt and uncle on their annual drive to my uncle's home town of Curimeo, Michoacan Mexico, December of 2011. As it turns out...regardless of where...I love to travel, and a road trip in to Mexico was an experience for the bucket list. I have visited Mexico many times before, and with the exception of one trip to Chichen Itza, my trips were typically in to small towns, immersing in to the everyday culture. So when I was told that I would be hitting up cities and towns on my three day drive, places I had yet to see, I was ecstatic. Not to mention that I would be staying in a very small town once arriving...I thought the experience would be excellent fodder for a book that I will never write.

Being the small town that it is, Curimeo has roads that were barely  wide enough for the Texas size truck we had, but we said fuck it. Upon arrival in to the town, my  first site was the guy with a tequila in one hand, and the reins of his horse in the other. I thought, yes, this is true Mexico. It was great and fucking inspiring. I wanted to ride a horse and drink my tequila at the same time. One fucking day...

My uncle and aunt are building a house in this town. But because this town is so small we would have to go two towns over to buy materials for its construction. So one day while we were running errands, we decide to have a Michoacan style torta ahogada. Now for you non mexi's, torta ahogadas are a Jalisco delicacy, not a Michocan one. But I said fuck it, and ate one anyway at the local eatery. Almost immediately I felt the rumble...a slight stirring in my lower bowels, a dance upon my intestines. We get in the truck and descend down towards home base.

It was about half way in to the truck ride that I thought, shit...I am about to shit. I turn to my aunt and say, "Tia, I have to go, get my ass back to the house." I was clenching with all of my might but I knew that clench could hold out for so long. I had to go in the worst way. This "going" was going to be fucking epic too. So I turn to my aunt again and say "get me to the fucking house". Now, because we had taken the three day road trip down to Mexico, we had equipped the car with rolls of toilet paper, in case we had to stop and take a piss along the road. I had never factored in taking a shit along the road. So my aunt, fully aware of the toilet paper availability, pulls the truck over...on a driveway...with some random home only fifty yards away, and says to me "just go here". Now at this point my ass was in so much pain. It was holding back the literal shit storm ready to reign over this poor souls driveway. I will be honest, the prospect of relief was a moment of euphoria for me. But no, the thought of my ass spewing over someone's driveway was too much to bare, and the fact that this was broad fucking daylight on a road that was traveled often fucking enough to catch me shitting. I climb back and clench so much harder...

The home that was under construction was located at the entrance of Curimeo, and therefore would be   one of the first houses driving in to town. I ask her to stop at their house, the one that was under construction. With a chuckle, Tia tells me "There is no running water, we have to go to your uncle's mother's house." FML.  We continue to drive in to the town, you know, the one with the narrow fucking streets. Well on this particular day, some asshole decided to have a party and shut the one fucking street down...the one street. We had to go around, park a Mexican block away. I didn't even let her stop the truck, I jumped off and ran towards the house, tripping over the cobblestone and running through the tape that shut down the streets....

I didn't exactly make it....I am not the most graceful traveler...

Not so Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

I am the oldest by six years. This meant that my summers were spent terrorizing my younger siblings in to playing school, where I was the evil head master and they were disgusting and vile students. I was such a shit to them, they had no choice but to play outside and entertain me because until July rolled around, I was stuck in a backyard filled with chickens, goats, and some cactus...this is downtown San Jose, California by the way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jk7uXaNuWNEBut then the end of June/beginning of July would roll around. You see, from the age of 8 up until my quinceanera, I had the good fortune of being shipped to Texas. I realize how ass backwards this may sound...."good fortune" and "Texas" do not typically jive in the same sentence. But to me, this was all I could think or talk about.

My godparents moved to Texas when I was seven years old. They had a ranch about an hour south of Austin. But it might have been hours and hours away because most of my time was spent on that ranch in a town that was notorious for its great pecan...I wish I was joking. But it didn't bother me because I was care free, kid free, and my days were spent watching Mexican smut television and eating my godmother's home made tortillas. As to why I wasn't a tumbler is beyond me. My tummy days came way later. We would take a drive in to town, blasting Selena y los dinos, or some other tex-mex station. One year, at the age of thirteen, I earned my right of passage and was allowed to drive the truck from town to the ranch...I didn't kill anyone...but I did scare the shit out of everyone in the car. It should also be noted that my driving skills come from learning to drive in a monster truck on the solitary highway of Texas....so yeah...

Once in a while when my aunt Linda was in town we would take a trip down to Corpus Christi, where we would try to swim in an ocean but couldn't because of the warm salt water scratching the sight out of my eyes. Also, my aunt and godmother don't swim...so I would have been fucked. Other times we would drive to Mexico, spend the day in Piedras Negras buying candy and eating tacos from the street vendors.

I have spent a lot of summers in other places in the world. But I have to admit, Texas is place I loved to be.