This weekend, I figured, would be the weekend I finally went to Mexico. Even though I was born and raised in LA, I've never been there - although I feel that I'm part-Mexican due to the fact that I've gorged on so much Mexican food in my life that my DNA strands are now spiraling carnitas burritos.
In the end, I couldn't get anybody to go with me. My guess is they figured it was some sort of ruse, so that I could sell their bodies to organ harvesters. Nevertheless I'd resolved this morning that I was going to travel solo to Oaxaca for three nights anyway. It was either there or Chichen Itza, and "Oaxaca!" is just damn fun to say. Then, just as I was about to request Tuesday off, I discovered that our client's ad spokesman had to reschedule our two-day recording session to next week ... starting Tuesday. Damn you, commerce!
For weeks, I've been tempted to just hop in my car, drive down to Tijuana, eat the worm at the bottom of a mezcal bottle, watch a donkey show, and get it over with. But I've held off on doing Mexico for so long that I feel that my first time should be special - although ironically, my first time was with a donkey.
Good Lord ...
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