living la vida loca

I drank some tequila yesterday, a few beers with lime.

I woke up with someone else’s underwear in my bed.

Ha! That was a trick! But it got you to read this, so yay for subterfuge!

Truth:  My friend Anya came over with her kids and we swam for hours.

We also drank for hours. But I had planned ahead, purchased chips and the makings for guacamole plus some Taco Bell.

Not the best Mexican food I’ve ever eaten, but then I went and got some premixed tequila and lime and it was quite possibly some of the best booze I have ever consumed.

dolce vida lime tequila

Dulce Vida. It’s going to be a sweet life, a sweet sweet life. (My regards to OneRepublic)

At some point, I insisted that she call her mother-in-law to come and drive her and the kids back home. I stood there as she made the call, her car keys in my hand.

Because drinking and driving is a hella fucked up way to be an asshole.

Besides, being the DD is super sexy. Take it from Ryan Gosling.

designated driver

Sure, Ryan. Whatever you say. Let me just go and fetch my panties.

That’s the part that didn’t happen, the fetching panties part. You see, Anya and a couple of the kids came over in their street clothes and had to change into bathing suits.  Anya changed in my room, threw her clothes on my bed and then forgot about them.

It’s not like I was very alert when I stumbled towards sleep after making sure everyone was going to arrive alive.

It is very very very strange to roll over in the middle of the night and feel something… what is that… a ribbon? a rope? no… it’s a bra strap.  This is not my bra! How the hell did… oh, that’s right.

Yesterday, in general, was a weird kind of day for finding other people’s clothing items in unexpected places.

For example, when I went to the liquor store to get the primo tequila con limo, a man knocked on my window and asked me to roll it down.

“Ma’am, you have some sort of coat or shirt dragging from this door.”

I looked over and saw he was right. There was a jacket lying on the passenger side floorboard.  I unlocked the door, and he retrieved it for me and then shut the door.

“There you go. Just didn’t want you to ruin it,” he said with a smile.

Come to think of it, he was cute. Maybe I should start driving around with various laundry items trailing from my vehicle on a regular basis. Like women haven’t done dumber things to find a good man to date.

But, in this case, I must have looked confused, because he asked, “Is there something wrong? Something I can help you with?”

I looked up at him and responded, “Yes. I mean no. Yes, I have a problem. But, no, you can’t help me with it.  You see… I have no idea whose jacket this is.”

Turns out, it was my friend Lara’s jacket. I’ve been driving her to work in the mornings and she’s kind of bad about leaving things in my car.

Still, there was a bit there where I was trying to solve the mystery.  I mean, it’s possible, I suppose, that someone broke into my car… or maybe I accidentally left it unlocked… and that person, rather than take anything… left a jacket… halfway in the door…

Yeah, that theory wasn’t holding water.

Speaking of water, I have another poem to release and it’s about Mexico.

Pardon me while I post an appropos video by The Refreshments.

I made a mistake in the last post. This is the poem I wrote immediately after Las Vegas.

BTW, this is a sonnet.  Or at least it’s my poor attempt at a sonnet.

It has the right number of syllables for a Shakespearean sonnet: (4)10+(4)10+(4)10+(2)14. The rhyme scheme, however, should be ABAB and not ABCB, etc.

So I guess you can call it a so-so-sonnet.

Si, como no? ¡Que te diviertes! ¡Felize viaje y bienvenidos! 

Enjoy your stay, tip your waitress, and remember: never drive drunk.

Mexico

I’m a child of the Pacific Ocean.
the Sea of Cortez calls me by my name.
I’d swim south, beyond Puerto Peñasco,
if your heart were a treasure I could claim.

I’ve seen fish in that Baja salt water
as vibrant purple as Phoenician dye.
if you were mine, I’d bring you mariscos,
limes, cervezas, La Oeste lemon pie.

down the shoreline of San Carlos, Guaymas,
where gringos flaunt money like vain peacocks,
we could watch the sun die every evening;
find a bar, drink tequila, on the rocks.

you say that the waters there are not safe; perish the thought!
Great White, Mako may be heartless; but you, dear one, are not.

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Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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