Sigh. I am a spoiled brat.

Sitting here in my empty apartment, chewing on stale peanuts from Mexico, looking through photos of My Family Holiday in San Miguel and actually feeling bad for myself.

Feeling bad that I had to leave such an amazing place. Feeling bad that my truck probably won't start in the morning. Feeling bad that the truck will take me to a land of gray cubicles and fake smiles. Feeling bad about the coming months of slush, dirty white sneakers and pale men wearing hoodies and smoking Marby Reds. Jesus, I'm a snob.


A week ago I was sitting on a balcony with my face in the sun, playing my guitar and singing to myself. Making my sister laugh. Waiting for the sun to go down so I could sit on the balcony and sip on some white wine with my mom. Hablando en español.

Shit. I have nothing to complain about. Not a damn thing.

Didn't see any live music.

Wait.

That's a lie. I did see some live music at the fucking Ranch Party we went to on Christmas day. Oh yes. Imagine 10 gringos entering a ranch full of about 250 cowboys. Cowboys. I don't mean dudes dressed up in costumes for a special ocasion. I am talking men who wrangle cows for a living. Lots of beer. Lots of testosterone. Lots of tacos. Lots of tequila. (I know this sounds like a bad movie set for a Mexican adventure, but it's the truth).

How could I forget the live music? "Las Texanas" (The Texan Ladies) were really tearing it up. As my boyfriend said, "The female drummer is charmingly off beat ... I know I sound like an asshole, but I really mean it!"

He was right. These girls were rocking full-on white jean ensambles with silver rhinestones and white cowgirl hats. Classy I tell you. I can't give you titles of the songs, but I'm pretty sure the bass line and drum beat was exactly the same for each one.

On the other side of the arena, 12 men with brass instruments burst into perfect staccato interludes a la "We Will Rock You" at a high school hockey tournie. Then an old man fell off the stone wall and didn't move an inch. We were sure he was dead. Drunk Mexican are hilaaarious. Good times.

It was amazing actually. Photos are coming. Part of me wanted to stay for dancing and more beer, but people were getting stumbly and the sun was going down, and suddenly we just wanted to be home.

Home.

I was home.

Hasta luego, San Miguel. Beso enorme. Te extraño.