Basically, Fish Tacos

One year, while Sweetman and I were visiting Captain Ahab and The Nana down in Florida (before children – Sweetman calls them The Ignorance Is Bliss Years), we went out for dinner.  We all agreed we were in the mood to hit our favorite Mexican joint.

As we went around the table giving our orders to the waiter, there was a surprise order. Nana’s. She ordered “Fish Tacos”.  I choked on my Margarita. Sweetman spewed his beer.  We both looked at each other in horror. Ahab just shook his head sadly.

Now, I grew up in sunny South Florida.  I ate fish here, there, and everywhere.  I did not, however, grow up eating fish in my tacos. This order took me so completely by surprise that I didn’t even know how to process it.

“When did you start eating fish tacos, mom?” And, more importantly, WHY?”

“People change, dear. I really like them. You should try them.”

We agreed to disagree.

By having more margaritas.

Later that night, Sweetman and I awoke to the gentle soothing sounds of The Nana hurling. All Night Long, as Lionel Richie would say.

“It was that Margarita, I tell you!”, she kept insisting.

“Mom, I had the Margarita, too.”, I tried to remind her.

No matter. She wasn’t having it. It just could not be her beloved fish tacos.

That night held many lessons for us all.

The Nana is a horrible liar.

Sweetman and I would never be interested in “trying” fish tacos.

Ever.

Margaritas are evil.

Take your pick.

So I found it surprising to be having this conversation with Sweetman last night:

“Honey, what do you think about trying… now keep an open mind here… black bean and salmon tostadas, one night?”

And just when I I thought the recipe couldn’t get any worse, he started rattling off the list of ingredients, prefacing almost each new one with “Now, we don’t have to add that one.”, or “That one might not be a good addition.”.  He mentioned words like “cabbage” and “pickled jalapenos” and some other things.  I think I tuned out after “salmon tostada”, to be honest.

But this is how it goes around here between he, who cooks, and me, who… well… doesn’t.

If he thinks that being adventurous is adding cabbage to a perfectly good tostada, who am I to judge?

Engineers do those sorts of things.

“So, basically, you’re asking me to eat fish tacos?”, I challenged.

“Yeah.”, he admitted.

“Only if you serve it with Margaritas.”, I demanded. “Then, I’ll have a culprit.”

“Deal.”

I guess people do change.

And, once again, my mother is right.

Yes indeedy.

*And, though my stomach turns even as I write this, if this is your cup of tea, Sweetman found the recipe for these “Black Bean Salmon Tostadas” here. You’re welcome.  Or… I’m sorry.*

Duct Tape and Margaritas

That’s all you need folks.  Truly. If, that is, you want to take a Hip Hop class with your girlfriends. A class in which you learn to do some massively cool Krumping and such.  I suggest having a margarita before the dancing lesson (it makes you more limber, you know?).  I also suggest applying duct tape to necessary body parts before dancing. For some, this necessity is of utmost importance. If, that is, you don’t want your “girls” to be hovering near your knees when finished.  However, the duct tape can also be used over the mouth of the friend that is guffawing so hard AT your meager Krumping attempts that she wets herself.  Not that that would happen. But, you know, just in case.

And how did I come to find this out?  At a 5-year-old’s birthday party.  Yup.  I’ve got the sore back to prove it.  The adults were “invited” to join in as some dude named “Mr. Chris” sang hip hop and krump-y versions of songs like “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes”.   And a Very Jerseylicious (I do believe it said that right across that back of her pants?) Dance Instructor showed us how to do things like “Chest Pops”.  And by “us”, I mean the adults.  The 4 and 5 year old set already had that down. Not. Even. Kidding.

Now, I’ve got no “game” in the dance department.  My moves are about as vanilla and un-coordinated as possible.  It’s sad but true.  However, I do love me a good laugh. Plus, it’s a bonus to have so many friends around you that if you throw your back out, you’ll have help getting back out to the car.  So, I jumped right in and busted a couple of moves.  Because, if nothing else, it provided an awesome laugh or ten.  Yes indeedy!  Sometimes, duct tape and margaritas, however, should be required.

What I Learned On Vacation

On vacation, I learned a few things.  Try, just try, I ask you, not to be impressed.

  1. Family time is precious, indeed. (In a related lesson, cousins sleeping in the same room after being apart for 6 months? No sleeping in. Ever.)
  2. Brushing your teeth in the morning as you listen the ocean lap the sandy shore? Blissful. (Hazelnut coffee after a Listerine rinse, however? Not so blissful.)
  3. Sheets that smell of the beach and have a bit more sand in them every day? The best! (Washing said sheets a couple of times each when you get home to rid them of said sand? Not so much.)
  4. Thank you God for inventing shrimp!  And, no, as it turns out, you can not over-shrimp yourself.  Just ask my family. (I think my new peachy-pink skin color suits me just fine, thankyouverymuch.)
  5. Being unplugged for the week is quite a feat. (If you don’t count the 2 iPads, 3 DS’s, and 4 iPod Touch’s that were necessary to allow the adults to enjoy adult conversation. We don’t count those, right?)
  6. Margaritas taste better when shared over a rousing game of Spades. (And apparently, my spades game improves with each new pour. Especially considering we narrowly averted a lost “nil” due to dealer error.  Let no more be said on the matter.)
  7. Moments like this make it worth every cent of the grocery bill that somehow triples when away from home:

    Footloose and fancy-free… just the way I like ’em.

In other news, I went on vacation and all I got were these lousy mountains of laundry.

The majesty of these mountains escape me…

“Why, that’s only 5 loads!”, you may be tempted to say.  No, no, my friend.  That was simply as many loads as I could get into one shot without revealing the disaster zone that is my house right now. And, although I have no problem what-so-ever sharing pictures of my dirty unmentionables with you, I simply must draw the line at pictures of the dust bunnies and toy box that looks like it vomited all over the floor.  Of every. Single. Room.  I’m off in a cloud of turtle dust to vacuum some sand and ponder my lessons learned. Oh, yes indeedy.