Underpants On The Outside

Do you know what Saturday is?  That’s right, hermanos, it’s Cinco De Mayo, which I think is how you say “The Fourth of July” in Spanish.  I’m a big fan of Cinco de Mayo, and not just because of the ceremonial four cups of tequila*.  Mostly I enjoy foods that have been set on fire stacked on top of foods that taste like fire and then wrapped in a tortilla.  

If I was back in L.A. I would spend the day at Big Brother’s in-laws, and I’m pretty sad to miss it.   Those of you who know his in-laws know how awesome they are, and those of you who don’t, well, if you ever meet them your lives will be better for it.  As an added bonus, they’re actually Mexican, so their party has more gravitas than down at Muldoon’s, where Cinco de Mayo consists of 2-for-1 Coronas and corned beef with salsa.

Even my Brooklyn friends are getting into the swing of things and planning a party.  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to miss that too, because months ago I apparently agreed to accompany Wonder Woman to St. Louis, where a friend of hers is getting married.  In case you’re wondering, in 2005, St. Louis’s population was 1.8% Hispanic.  (Read: hard to find a good tamale)

Any other day, I’d be 100% fine with going, but I’m disappointed to miss Cinco de Mayo. And while I’m trying my damnedest to blame WW, this one really is my fault.  I’m willing to bet the conversation went like this:

WW:  Z, would you come to St. Lou-
Z: Enough with all the yak-yak, woman!  This X-box isn’t gonna play itself, you know!
WW:  Wanna go to a wedding?
Z:  Is it ours?
WW:  ….No.
Z:  Sure, I’ll go.

Then she probably said some other stuff.  This is our routine, and it works well except for occasional collisions like this.  What kills me about this weekend is that since I forgot this wedding was coming up, I had already started planning our Brooklyn party, and it was going to be amazing.  We’d already agreed to a Carne Asada competition, and I would make many batches of my delicious Rainbow Sherbet Margueritas (patent pending); all that was left was for me to figure out some way to get a piñata in there.  

An aside: piñatas are the coolest thing ever** – violence followed by sudden candy.   I like them so much I even dressed up as one for Halloween a couple years ago.

This picture was taken right before Big Brother hit me with a stick.  Very, very hard.  Then his wife hit me with the stick, even harder.

Then I came up with what was quite possibly my best idea ever: a piñata joust.  I didn’t have all the details worked out, but it involved grocery carts, trash can lids, broomsticks and plenty of mouth guards.  I imagined all of Brooklyn coming to witness the spectacle and to gather the candy spilled into the streets like so much blood.  There would probably be a good deal of actual blood as well, but certain bodily harm aside, I was bouncing in my seat with anticipation.  An hour later, Wonder Woman reminded me that my presence was required elsewhere, and now I’m bummed because as I imagined it, a pinata joust would just about have been the pinnacle of rad.

For the record, I am happy for her.  She gets to go back home and see her friends, which is important.  I’m also sure we will have a great night, and eat very well (for gringo food).  These are the things you do for someone you love - it’s worth it.  It’s just…well…I can’t help but notice that for all of its strong points, no matter how many times you hit love with a stick, candy is never gonna fall out. 

*It’s possible that I have some of my dates/cultures wrong
**Except for a blow job/grilled cheese sandwich combo platter, of course