uptempodemonplumsauce: "Pinche pendeja..."

Would you believe me if I said
I'm getting tired of margaritas?

...mutters the steward as he passes me after dealing with the Most Annoying Drunk White Woman Ever. “Lo siento!” ("I'm sorry!") he calls out realizing I heard him. I throw him a thumbs up, “‘sta bueno!” because I. Agree.

515a

I wake up.

615a

I get off my phone. I really have to get on that whole phone, news detox thing. I start my morning: Yoga, crying, you know the drill.

10a

I arrive at Via Organica for the wall art walking tour that I researched last night online. When no one shows up I try my luck with my internet. It meets tomorrow. WHY don’t I take notes when I research??

I wander even though I’m wearing new shoes. I stumble upon some really cool murals on my own and earn my toes some bloody blisters. You know what else receipts are good for? Yeah, y’all. Never throw your receipts away, they could be the thing that gets you home.

Usche, she's so hot right now

I get home with MORE groceries for my soup - this better be the best recipe I’ve ever made - and chill with the ladies.

Lest you think I hate Usche and Stella because I panic when they bark, and they’ve been on a roll lately, let me tell you about my favorite times of day:

~mornings~ We have our quiet time in the yard or in the garden, and they’re so happy to see a new day that they prance, especially little Stella.

~afternoons~ They make little sleep grunts as I write that kill me.

~nights~ They comfort me. While I research in bed, they let me slip my feet under their little bodies under the covers and it’s calming like a thunder-shirt.

Stella's smile

I run out for a late lunch and get a wild hair for a margarita. I hit nearby Hotel Sautto because I saw a marg recommendation online. The hotel garden is beautiful and the margarita is strong. Because I’m by myself, I can’t help eavesdropping on the only other people here, a drunk threesome.

I learned to hate drunk people in college when I worked my way through UT as a bartender on 6th Street. I barely tolerate my drunk friends, I hate drunk strangers (myself included), and there is a special place on my Shit List for drunk foreigners who boss staff around. These are those people.

I actively try to have empathy here, because I know I’m judgmental. I consider thoughts like “They probably are just bad drunks,” and “Everyone has

I bought chicken here. I had to wait for the
lady to leave before I took a picture bc she
was scary and wielded a mean cleaver.

a story, Bianca, and you don’t know theirs,” even as I can feel my lips curl in disdain. Then, they start fighting loudly over how much to tip, and it’s two plastered cheapskates against one slurring woman who keeps trying to explain why they should tip more than 3-5%. I’m so grossed out.

When Carlos/Eduardo (I’m not even sure either of these names are correct, but the main asshole woman keeps hollering both for the steward across the garden in that particularly disgusting way some people have of learning their server’s name just so they can personally order them around) curses the drunk witch as he passes me, I crack up. Good for him, I hope he spit in her drinks.

The weather calls for thunderstorms for the foreseeable future so if I’m going to take advantage of the nearby rooftop bar for a sunset drink, I know I’ve got to squeeze it in today. And yet...

I take my time writing. I FaceTime with my girl, Maddie B (if you need a good therapist, see Madison Besser. She’s been counseling me since she was 9 years old.) I FINALLY cook my soup. (Labor intensive but excellent.) I drink wine and dance along to Mamma Mia and then swoon along to To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. (I couldn’t have asked for a better double feature! Both movies get better every time I watch them! Squee!)

Despite all the cool things I get to do, all of the above is close as I can get to a perfect night.