One of the joys of facebook is that people whom you really like and were sorry to have lost, can now find you...or you them. Old friendships renewed, new friendships strengthened, hours and hours that you will never get back. But hey, at least you don't have to talk to them on the phone. I don't know how it was ever appealing to me to rush home from school and call the friends I had just left to tell them what so and so did on the bus....or how much I really loved my new "dorothy hammel".
Oh and I also like the "ignore" feature which is just the cowardice I thrive on. I once explained to someone why I wasn't going to "friend" them and they never wrote back acknowledging my very polite deed...so I don't do that anymore. Ignore/Gone/Moving On.
In college I was a bit of a humorist...or perhaps satirist. Sadly,I think the lay person would have quite simply labeled me obnoxious. Oh if only they had blogs in the 80's. I also enjoyed me a bit of the bubbly, which added to my keen sense of the hilarity. I don't drink nearly as much anymore, and I am not nearly as funny. My husband likes to say that my true Don Rickles doesn't appear until after a couple of stiff ones. I think my husband is a hockey puck.
Recently an old friend sent me a link to a great you-tube video called one semester of Spanish, Spanish love song. Yes it is funny, but somehow I think it may not be as hilarious as we think it is. Because, well you see... it brought back a memory that had long been hidden in the recesses of my brain; as just another ridiculous moment in a series of ridiculous moments, I have instigated. Who would have thought that a bad perm wasn't my only 80's party foul.
It was spring break and a group of friends and I were in California. My parents were very patient. I would always bring people, throngs of people home for various holidays and my mom never flinched. I guess when you already have 5 kids, a dozen or so more just get lost in the crowd. But this story is not about my mother...it's about a bunch of girls, going to the house of a friend for dinner...and his patient, very patient parents. Al's folks were gracious enough to invite us over for dinner. An authentic Mexican dinner. Platters and platters of food, and great company, presented with pride. This food was so good, it defines what I compare all other Mexican meals against. So good, the memory lingers more than 20 years later. And for every good memory, alas there is one that maybe should be shoved into a closet and never revisited.
So, let me explain. Alonso's dad was making these unbelievable margaritas. The kind that you can't really taste the alcohol, but proves that it is there by your subsequent behavior. We all had too many.
As I sat under the gorgeous and memorable photos of Al's sister's Quincera, I proceeded to start an espaNo-No. My friends and I thought it would be nice if we all spoke Spanish during our visit. Big mistake. How rude we were. I tend to think I was the worst. While my friends were giggling about their Spanish which was basically a rendition of a restaurant menu....I was gearing up for my debut. However, the only Spanish I could string together, besides Tijuana traveler's Spanish, were radio catch phrases "no tengo tiempo para ti", and what you might ask a domestic worker...please iron the shirts, don't forget to vacuum the dining room, do we need more detergent? Yeah, I know...you don't need to explain it to me. I get it. Should have stuck with machaca. Actually I think passing out drunk in the living room might have been a better choice.
I can only imagine what those wonderful, gracious hosts were thinking. I'm sure it went something like this. You are grounded young man...but first drive these borrachos home.
Just recently I was reminiscing with Al and Kathleen (another culprit) about that evening so many years ago. We were in my kitchen, laughing, talking, making too much noise--like old friends do. And Al was making margaritas. Not his dad's recipe, but off-spring margaritas...just as delicious and just as potent. And then we sat, eating great Mexican food, drinking margaritas; under mike and my wedding photos. We were 21 again, and back to our old antics.
Alonso's Second Generation Margaritas
2 parts tequila of choice
1 part Limoncello
3 parts Minute Maid Limeade concentrate (more or less to taste)
mix well in advance to let the flavors mingle
Serve with lots and lots of ice and salt on the rim.
Enjoy with friends and watch your tildes.
