The first thing I did to celebrate C.d.M was hit up a Mexican restaurant. I really wanted to get a taste for the culinary styling of Mexico. The one I went to must have been the only one in the city because it was packed with all kinds of different white people. As I walked in, I was met by a sea of sombreros, ponchos and those fake mustaches that curl down the corners of your mouth. And the chips and salsa were endless. Mexico must have an unlimited source for chips and salsa. I was able to get a seat at the bar and ordered one of these exotic Mexican drinks called a cerveza. The first couple went down so easy that by the eighth one, or ocho as the locals call it, I was feeling pretty great about this fine country to the south of us. And I was hungry.
So I ordered a very popular native dish which contained beans, meat and cheese. It was all wrapped tightly in a flat, floury, almost dough like substance. I believe they called it a Burt-Eat-Toe. My dialect is no where near perfect and the pronunciation might be different depending on what part of Mexico you come from. I believe the original recipe stemmed from a man named Burt working a small roadside grill in Juarez. Who knew Burt was originally a Mexican name? Learning is fun.
After I polished off my Burt-Eat-Toe I thought about hitting the streets. I knew there was a festive parade getting ready to start and felt like it would really help round out my C.d.M experience. But then Bill from accounting showed up and ordered us another round of cervezas. Then another. Then another. Then another. Next thing I know, my face is painted green, white and red and I'm karaoking "How Bizzare" by OMC with my new best friend, Bill, from accounting.
Then there was blackness. Deep, dark, memory erasing blackness.
I remember a lime being squirted in my eye.
I tried to impersonate those guys who played poker with Ethan Hawke in Training Day before they beat his ass.
Trying to describe the one George Lopez episode I watched in the waiting room of a Jiffy Lube.
I woke up the next morning not knowing how I got home or in bed. There was a strange woman lying next to me who stirred. She smiled and moaned slightly, "Hola Papi." I didn't know what that meant but I felt like I successfully celebrated C.d.M the way this strange woman's Mexican ancestors would have wanted. Cinco De Mayo kicks the ass of every other day in May. It's an El Camino compared to a donkey pulling a cart of fruit. It's Speedy Gonzalez compared to all those drunk mice that hang out with him. Cinco De Mayo is that five star resort in Mexico while all the other days are that area just outside the resort where you could be kidnapped. I can't wait to do this again next year. Vivian La Mexico!