"Fiction was invented the day Jonas arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale." ~Gabriel Garcia Marquez
France invaded Mexico a long time ago. Mexico kicked them out. At some point in that complicated historical drama, the fifth of May became significant. From what I've been able to gather, it's not so much a Mexican national holiday as it is a drinking celebration in the United States because the Californian Mexicans in the 1860s swelled with pride when they learned the Mexican army held off the French advance at the battle of Puebla. That's fine by most folks, I'd imagine, libertados estados unidos. It gives the average family a reason to go Mexico it up for dinner. Soccer moms can get wasted off margaritas and for one day tequila isn't just something to drink when you're depressed. Well, I guess not everyone drinks tequila when they're sad, but I sure do.
I've a few memories of Cinco De Mayos from my past, here and there and everywhere. "Few" memories is probably an understatement but here, today, I'll re-tell one of those times to the best of my ability. I don't know if it's the best or the most enlightening, but it's here and it's more or less topical, plus "cinco de mayo" is trending on google today.
A time of year for new growth, the end of April always brings damp weather and cool evenings. April has chilly mornings with a hint of something on the tip of my tongue when I breathe the air in deeply. I spend a lot of time looking off towards the sky and the horizon during this time of year because of the impalpable smell of hope in the air. Spring makes me think things will get better, sure they may get worse too, but the primary notion in spring is one of new and renewal. Something that's as fresh and clean as an outkast song.
Often, as is my strange and strong desire, I find myself embroiled in some sort of heartache or another. I don't recall the specific lady (or I don't wish to divulge) that put me in a sorry state towards the end of April a few years ago, but I do know I was a pretty sad sack of shit. Think Will Ferrell when he was fired from being the Anchorman, I was despondent and in despair. I'm also overly dramatic and self-absorbed so when things go wrong in my life, I like to make it out to be a grand deal of epic proportions.
In this state of affairs, sad and lonely, I heard my phone beep and buzz. I ignored it as I was embroiled in a book about turn of the 19th century "Belle Epoque" Vienna. I still have that book, Frederick Morton's Thunder at Twilight. It's a wonderful exploration of social life in Vienna and the surrounding area that led to the shot heard round the world when the Archduke took a bullet to start the first world war. Apparently there was a love scandal involved, too. I remember that particular point because of the proximity to my own dilemma at the time. The book started to slow, maybe the sex scene that caught my attention finished early. I hate it when that happens, but I finally checked my phone to see a curious request, typed in all capitals: "WE R GETTIN SO FUCKN MAD MEXICAN TONIGHT ITS GONNA B STUPID HIT ME UP ASAP"
74 characters I'd never seen in combination like that on my phone before. What did this mean? What could this mean? I began to think and finally in one of those "hey maybe ... " moments, I glanced over at the calendar to see if it was truly the 5th of May and then quickly picked up my phone and began hammering away at the keys. This was back before everyone had keyboards on their mobiles so I was forced to painstakingly enter each character by pressing the numbered keys, like I was living in the 90s or a neanderthal. I managed to infer the general meaning but when the specifics came to light, I nearly did the same in my pants.
Mad Mexican: slang (v) - the act of becoming lewd, lascivious, and blasphemously drunk on a Mexican holiday, at a Mexican restaurant or involving anything Mexican.
Example: The other night my friends and I went out to the local Taco Bell and got Mad Mexican in the parking lot off a couple bottles of bottom shelf tequila mixed with Baja Blast Mountain Dew.
My heartache hung heavy on my soul still, even with this most exciting of possibilities lying ahead of me, I was still having difficulty committing to a course of action. Should I go out and enjoy life and maybe meet my next source of heartache or stay at home and wallow in my misery a while longer? Decisions are tough!
With plan of action in hand, I started off towards the Mexican establishment in question to meet my demanding friend, Roger. Roger likes to drink at strange times. He's a day drinker and a weeknight drinker more than a weekend warrior. The weekends, when Roger and I were out on the town, were more for casual loafing and general rabble rousing instead of the more specific weekday routine of "get hammered and dip" so that trouble can commence in places where we're not expected to be so drunk at that point of the day. Think of it as kind of a real life version of punk'd where I'm Ashton Kutcher and the only prank I ever play on the world is being surprisingly drunk for whatever occasion. It's liberating, try it some time. "Inappropriately drunk" doesn't just refer to being "too drunk", it's use can be applied to when an individual is drunk at an inappropriate time as well.
I arrived at the Mexican joint around 4pm but the crowd was already amassed. A clear divergence from the norm for this time of day and type of bar, this Mexican bar was filling quickly at 4pm (on a Tuesday, but a Cinco De Mayo Tuesday) and almost elbow to elbow by 5pm. Luckily, Roger saved me a seat at the bar where he was already enjoying a very large glass of frozen green deliciousness. He's more of a traditional margarita kind of fellow but I always prefer the raspberry flavored frozen variety. It's popular among the ladies as well, I'm aware, it's also delicious so I don't care if it's a masculine or feminine drink.
That heartache kept tugging at me even as I got my first whiff of tequila powering through the raspberry tartness. A cheers was given to liberty and Mexico and within five minutes I'd already given myself the first brain freeze of the evening. There'd be more to come but they became more of a minor inconvenience than anything else as the events of the afternoon slowly began to unfold. Two margaritas of the size that were being served were sufficient to get a good base for further Mad Mexican exploration. Who stops with just a good base though, not architects and not Mad Mexicans.
Roger - "We need some tequila shots."
Me - "Are you sure you 'need' them? I'm cool with it but I don't think I've ever needed a tequila shot."
Roger - "That's because this is your first time getting Mad Mexican, just follow my lead. [to bartender] I need 2 shots of 1800 and 2 jager bombs."
Me - "Mad Mexicans can't turn into Nazi Germans dude, that's just bad history."
Roger - "MAD MEXICANS DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY WANT!!! NOW DRINK YOU PUSSY!"
The Jager bombs did not sit well with all the tequila and frozen fruit juices from earlier. The burrito being delivered on a forklift because it's so big didn't look like it'd help my situation either, it was at this point that I began to truly understand the notion of "mad" in "Mad Mexican". The point of the game is to go wild, crazy, young, and free. Pretend like you can take a nap in the middle of the day under a tree wearing a nice shade providing sombrero and drink until you can't see straight. Drink until you wouldn't be able to hold on to one grain of sand in the vast Mexican desert. Drink until you forget that heartache you wanted to dwell on earlier.
The evening went on much like this for the next two hours. At that point, Mexico became too mad even for a veteran like Roger. He hailed from south Texas and apparently this tradition is one they do down there every May 5th. Knowing him, they probably get blind drunk and then go out and commit hate crimes on unsuspecting Mexican-Americans. Such is life, I suppose, anyhow we were escorted out and the remaining details are still unknown but we did start our trip home on the right foot:
Roger - "Geez, fuck, geez, fuck, is it morning?" (When you're escorted from a bar early enough, it's still light outside and disconcerting to some of the uninitiated)
Me - "Don't let that sunshine fool you, the night hasn't even started yet"
And the remainder of the evening has no further relevance but the moral of my tale is convoluted but simple: don't let the sunshine fool you, Mad Mexico is a state of mind. It's a feeling more than a place and you can take it with you anywhere. Getting Mad Mexican in no way helps alleviate the heartache. You wake up the next day feeling hungover and heartbroken, not just hungover. One little helpful tip for aspiring day drinkers out there: the hangover isn't nearly as bad the next morning if you pass out drunk by 9:30 the night before.
Written by: Javier Nelson
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