Revenge of the Sixth

Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo. For you non-Latinx, it’s the day we drunkenly celebrate the Mexican Army kicking France’s ass in the 1860’s. Did I celebrate it? Sure! But not how you think I should have. I didn’t sit around scarfing tacos and downing cervezas–nope–I took the “white girl” part of me out on a MNO (that’s mom shorthand speak for Mom’s Night Out) with my sister-in-law. At first we had plans on meeting up with this women-only MeetUp group from the website. But I flaked last minute because the thought of added pressure of having to be cheery and “on” for a group of strange women I’d never met before was maddening to me. I was working on a 4 hour collective of sleep over the last 24 hours and I was in no mood to perform.

So my amazing SIL purchased us tickets to (finally!) see Disney’s Beauty & the Beast live-action film, and yeah Disney, you did not disappoint. Though I will admit; the skeptic in me had reservations of Hermoine and her ability to play my beloved Belle, and as a die-hard DisNerd, there’s no room for fudging this one–let alone my end all, be all of The Little Mermaid–when and if that ever happens. Aladdin is coming first. Anyways, at first glance, my thought was “Oh man. This is just an extended length, gaudy, over-done episode of Once.” (If you’re a “Oncer” you’ll get that reference–if not, I feel sorry for you son!) But damn. That intro music before the narrator starts gets me EVERY time; from being a tiny child to a 32 year old grown-ass woman, I STILL tear up at the music and those animated stained glass cells (See Derrick! I paid attention to your Animator speak!).

I was amazed that we got there on time; in an SUV that had less than a quarter tank of gas and a crowded parking garage that left us to walk at least a quarter mile to the theater upstairs, and we STILL had time to hit up the bar and grab cider & shots! It was adorable to see my SIL’s surprise when she realized we could take the booze into the theater. The nerve! The sanctimonious blasphemy that is drinking alcohol, an adult beverage, within the viewing area of a childhood classic. But we got a good buzz going: thank you Angry Orchard & Jameson (that’s a basic Dublin Housewife for ya; hard cider + whiskey) (I used to bartend. In another life. But my recall for drink recipes is literally my Swiss Army knife–I’m ALWAYS prepared!).

Afterward we headed downstairs for much needed alcohol-sponges, because, yo–this mama had to not only drive home, but feed AND pump for a baby.

Ahi Poke Nachos. WTF, amirite?

I hate cilantro with a passion (blasphemy as a Mexicano-XD) but I’ll be damned, that cilantro, along with that mango crema and sliced serranos MADE those nachos the bomb.com. Definite re-order. Good job on that one Yard House. Two thumbs up! Yelp! reviewing that bitch.

And we sat there–sippin’, muchin’ and just BS-in’ until 11:30pm. And the best part? Not one phone call from a panicked teenager, or a frazzled grandma or a exhausted-from-work husband. Didn’t mean we still didn’t experience “phantom notification noise”. Chronically checking our phones; “Did yours ring?” “Is it mine?” “Have they texted you?” No matter how hard you really try to relax and be a woman, be yourself, you can never really relinquish the mother in you–you’re always on. There’s no Morpheus pulling us out of that Matrix (sorry Derrick, SHAMELESS AF Keanu reference. It was bound to happen–deal with it).

But after we sat there, whispering our judgemental shames of the drunken masses and the dying-of-thirst fuck boi’s at the bar, we left and sped-walk to the SUV because for it being “sunny Southern California” and me being in shorts and damn tank top and sandals, it was freaking cold! Thanks Cinco de Mayo! It was frigid. And during the drive home, we become each others motivator for motherhood, psyching ourselves up for the broad of children that await us within my house (seriously, 7 kids total!). We walk in and it’s quiet. WTF? How the hell is the house not both flooding AND on fire? How is my husband not cowering in the shower, mumbling about his red stapler and my preschooler not bouncing on the couch screaming about how Uncle Jo(h)n Snow knows nothing like a little Cersei Lannister. (Was that too many random references for you? Too bad–deal with it, like Derrick has to deal with my shameless Keanu mentioning).

And here it is; 6am on Saturday. The day after Cinco de Mayo. The day white people celebrate with hangover brunches. And I am sitting her–post 90 minute nursing session–writing a blog while my awesome mom wakes up to take my cranky daughter, so I can write this. Life is pretty good for right now. (Mostly because 80% of the household is still asleep–but I’ll take it!) That’s enough for now–I gotta go enjoy the hot (reheated) coffee my mother slaved over (pressed a button) before it gets cold (it’s already cold because I’m stupidly writing this at the dining room table under the ceiling fan)–Later!

4 thoughts on “Revenge of the Sixth

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