May 31 2009

Incest: Isn’t that great!

Hey Kids.  

Wow.  Ceviche just called.  Her voice full of good news, which annoyed me because I’m in one of those moods that annoys easy.  One of those depressed moods that can only be reasoned with by fellow depressed moods.  Those who seek my company for any other reason than commiseration will be sorry.  The shriek of other people’s happiness sends me into a head biting tailspin.  Ceviche had it coming.  

“Burrito!  Guess what?!”

“Chicken Butt.”

“So your cousin Chalupa (Chalupa is my older third cousin on my dad’s side who I used to see once a year at Christmas but now I see every 3 years at random) just called.  He said he’s NOT bringing his girlfriend to Chili Relleno’s wedding!”

Chile Relleno had told Mom and Dad that Chalupa and his current girlfriend would be staying with our family when we all went up to North Carolina for her wedding.  Mom and Dad, being the select traditionalists that they are, were freaking out because they didn’t have enough rooms to give them both their own bed (Chalupa and his girlfriend are in their mid thirties btw).  With Chalupa’s girlfriend’s omission Ceviche was relieved of this problem, and her sporatic Catholic guilt.   If I was in a different mood I would have gotten excited like she wanted me to, instead I said…

“Why?  Did they break up?”

“I don’t know!  He just called and said she wasn’t coming! Isn’t that great!”

“Well there’s obviously a reason why she’s not coming and it’s either because somebody told him to uninvite her or they broke up or something. Did Dad tell him to uninvite her.  ’Cause thats f-ed up.”

“No!  I’m sure they’re fine.  And here’s the best part–”

“It gets better? Yay.”

“I told him that you were going to have to find a date because you were feeling alone with everyone else being in a relationship and all–”

“I never said that, you just thought it, but continue.”

“–and asked him to be your date for you!  He said he’d be honored isnt that great?  Now you don’t have to invite Gojo!”

Gojo is a childhood guy friend of mine who lives in North Carolina.  We dated breifly when we were 12 and have stayed friends ever since.  He’s one of  the few people in my life that is candid, consistant, and always a good time. His whole family makes me smile and I was super physched to get the green light on bringing him as my date.  I hadn’t asked him yet, but it was a Monday morning priority.  Everyone was flying a date out, and I thought this was the perfect situation.  Nobody to babysit all weekend. Local date who I could pick up 20 minutes before and drop off 20 minutes after.  He’s affable, familiar, and most importantly an awesome dancer.  

“Great.  Why would I want to go with Gojo when I can go with my cousin.  Now I don’t feel pathetic.”

“Oh Burrito I’m so relieved.  I was worried about you.  You know, Chalupa and I got to talking and he is SUPER funny.  Really quick.  Charming.  He’s a lawyer. Lives in New York.  Remember?  I know we haven’t seen him in a while, but he’s always been handsome.  Even if he’s gained weight for some reason I’m sure he’ll still be very handsome–”

“Alright, Mom.  You don’t need to sell me on my cousin.”

“Isn’t this great!   I was so worried about you.”

“Great. Great. Great.”

Jesus!  Was she serious!?  She honestly believes bringing my third cousin is an upgrade from being single?  At least if I get drunk and make bad decisions with Gojo it won’t be illegal in 38 states.   This is more twisted than when she wished triplets on me over dinner last week.  

“Also, your grandmother wants you to sing during the ceremony.”

“(Long Pause) What?”

“Your grandmother wants you to–”

“No, I heard you. (longer pause to continue processing and to open fridge and grab bottle of chardonay) What song?”

“The Lords Prayer.”

“Is it a funeral or a wedding?”

“I thought it was morbid too, but aparently very common.  She doesn’t sound set on it!  I’m sure you could sing something from ‘Phantom of the Opera’ she loves that musical you know.”

“All those songs are about dead fathers and stalkers.”

“Well then call her and talk about it.” 

“Are you trying to ruin my Sunday?”

“Call your grandmother.  Do you have something in your mouth your voice sounds muffled.”

“I was just trying to swallow my pride.”

“Isn’t this great?!”

“I swear woman.  I will be the first person in the world to successfully slap someone through the phone if you say how ‘great’ this is one more time.”

“I’m happy.  You’re always saying how I should do more to make myself happy, and not what makes other people happy.  This makes me happy.”

“If I knew you were only going to utalize that particular piece of advice on me solely, I would have structured it with a few more clauses.”

“Well I–”

“I gotta go love you mom thanks for hooking me up with my cousin I think this could be the one goodbye goodbye talk to you tomorrow goodbye.”

I ranted and hung up with extreme speed.  Wanted to make sure there was no possible way she could have interjected with some new piece of forgotten information… thus furthering my self pittying downward spiral.  

So far, to my knowledge, I would be spending a weekend in the Appalachian mountains romancing my 3rd cousin and singing “music of the night” for my 80 year old grandmother and her fourth husband.    I feared she was one forgotten “isn’t that great” from telling me we had to wear matching taffeta muumuus.  Or worse, that the reception would be dry.  

I thoroughly believe that as a society our family and friends are more uncomfortable with us women being single than we are.   Why else would they resort to incest?  If you don’t think it could happen to you, your crazy….or married…or male.  I’ve got some drinking to do.  


May 19 2009

Current Beef: RO

Hey Kids.

Current Beef: Ro

Ro is the lady at the bridal shop I called today to order my bridesmaid dress for Whoppers wedding.  I’m suppose to give her my measurements so she can asses the right size to order.  I give her my measurements (bust, waist, hips, etc).

“That’s weird,”  she mumbles.  

Okay, that’s something a woman never wants to hear. Being honest about your weight and/or measurements is a very emotional and vulnerable thing to do (something I’d only do for a good friend like Whoppers). The last thing we want to hear is “that’s weird.”  You might as well have said “you’re a fat cow.”  She then asks what my usual dress size is.  Hoping to explain away my “weirdness” (ie the strange fact that I’m not anorexic), I say…

“Ummmm 4 if its running large, 6 if its running small….” 

“Yeah. (almost indistinguishable chuckle but I caught it) Most bridal stuff runs small so-”

“Oh, well then let’s definitely go with the 6.”

“See the thing is your bust size, according to my chart, is definitely a 4. DEFINITELY.  But your waist is like a 12. Did you do your measurements right?”

Well obviously not, I’m thinking.  My boobs may be petite and my midsection may be lofty but I’m not a pregnant boy.  So I tell her I’ll re-do the measurements and get back to her.  She assures me its okay to pull the tape tight around my body…no slack.  SO I suck in as hard as I can and squeeze the measuring tape around my waste like it was a tourniquet.  1 INCH DIFFERENCE!  I call back.

“Hey Ro! (imagine best fake sorority sisters for life voice).  So, I redid the measurements.  You were TOTALLY right!  I measured them all wrong.  My waist is actually an inch smaller. Silly me!”

“Oh, well that still makes you a 12.  I’ve never seen measurements like this.  With the bust so small and the midsection so large.  I guess there is more give in that area so we’ll split the difference with an 10.”

“Look Ro, I’m sure it’s just the dress, or my measuring tape, or I’m probably just doing it wrong.  Put me down for a 6.”

“Yeah, its totally cool.  I won’t tell anyone.”

” No I understand you don’t want to tell anyone you’re CRAZY.  I get that.  Just put me down for a 6 and send me the bill thank you.”

“Most bridal wear runs large, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“WOMAN I don’t even wear a 12 in European sizes.”

“Are you pregnant?  Are you having the baby before the wedding?”

That did it.  Call me fat but don’t you dare call me pregnant.  

“What is your name again?”





“No, my name is Ro. R-O”

“Ro-ho.  Put me down for an 8 or suffer the punishment of telling the bride she’ll no longer have a mexican side dish walking down the isle in mink.”  She caved.  

Figured I’d compromise.  8 is a fearsome number, but it ain’t double digits. Ro can suck on it.  My waste may be a little bigger than normal, but its nothing compared to the size of my fist in her face.  Look out Ro.  My freakishly small boobs and fat bastard belly are coming for you.  And if I’m as weird looking as you suspect, you might want to hide the children.  PS your name is Ro.  


May 14 2009

Talking Burrito on Twitter

Hey Kids!

Burrito is now on twitter. Be the first, or second, to get on board. It’s like talkingburrito but smaller….. I call it burritotalk…. mainly because some ass wipe took talkingburrito. By his profile I’m guessing its a creepy teenage boy. Mainly because his color motif is black and red, has no fans, and is only following Dr. Drew. SO, don’t be fooled. Go to to follow the real deal.


May 13 2009

Current Beef

Hey Kids.

Starting a new category called “Current Beef.”  I will use this category to keep y’all updated on who I’m currently feuding with.  And I feud A LOT.  So, get ready to choose a team.  If you get excited and want to make t-shirts.  I’m cool with that.

Current Beef with… AGAVE NECTAR

I reject you, agave nectar.  Your attempts to be a lighter, more natural, honey substitute is a failure.  Yes, you’re extracted from a plant rather than a pollenous insect (which is admittedly less creepy).  Yes, your less viscous nature is easy to pour and makes for seemless inclusion in alcoholic beverages (obvious plus).  But make no mistake.  You are an impostor!    

“But I work well with others!”  You claim.  

“Ha!” I say.  

A self loathing black man donning Klan cloaks may be welcomed by the high wizard, but should he really be there…NO

Only a true star, like honey, can stand alone.  Example: Put agave on my toast this morning. Slid right off.  Messy and shifty. No thank you.  And what are the caloric returns of playing this slip and slide game? Zip. Ze-ro.  Even light agave has the same exact nutritional value as honey.  EXACT.  And just between you and me it takes twice as much to get anything half as sweet.

Conclusion: Stick to what you know Agave Plant.  And what you know is Tequila.  Yes.  Tequila is Nectar’s older, wiser, and more mature sister.   You can take all that desperate need for attention to the shrink.  In my book she’ll always be the favorite child.  


May 10 2009

Burkas and Bones

Hey Kids! 

Watching Meet the Press.   Afghan President Hamid Karzai is being interviewed.  Yipes!   Did you know 60% of Afghanistan’s GNP is opium?  93% of the world’s opiates originate with Afghan poppies.  SHIT I had no idea those Afghans were so hard core.   No wonder there is so much crap going down. They’re all on one big heroin trip!  Why else would you make your wife dress head to toe in black sheets, beat her, tell her she couldn’t leave the house, and then be shocked when she wasn’t aching to mount the high hard one? Outrageous right!  So outrageous  it seams that they democratically passed a law in Afghanistan making it legal to rape your wife (as if they need one).  AND this didn’t happen years ago it happened last month.

“As long as the husband is not traveling, he has the right to have sexual intercourse with his wife every fourth night,” Article 132 of the law says. “Unless the wife is ill or has any kind of illness that intercourse could aggravate, the wife is bound to give a positive response to the sexual desires of her husband.”

Riiiiiiiiiight.  Yet another reason why marriage is becoming less and less appealing to me these days, but I won’t get into MY issues.  You can’t say this law is completely without regard for the ladies, though.  It protects their right to get nookie too with this little prevision:

“man should not avoid having sexual relations with his wife longer than once every four months”

To be quite honest, once every four months is probably enough for most wives.  But, I don’t know what the Afghan’s view on vibrators and dildos are…I’m assuming they probably aren’t as encouraging as we westerners.  So, sans the toys I’m gonna have to say if you’re gonna throw the ladies a bone…let ‘em play with it more than 3 times a year.  

Look, at the end of the day I’m not one to tell the Afghanistan government how to run it’s shit.  Quite frankly I’m still wondering what the hell the US Government is doing telling them how to run their shit.  I’m no history buff, but if Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Great Britain, and the Soviets are any indication, they don’t seem to respond well to outside influences… just an observation, I could be wrong.   

Political agenda aside, I’ve culled an extremely eye opening new vision of Afghanistan this morning.  And the more I learn, the more this vision becomes strangely similar to the Wizard of Oz.  SERIOUSLY! freakin poppy fields everywhere, the wicked witch is sporting a burka, the landscape of the emerald city looks just like the Tora Bora, and you don’t have to admit it out loud but take in the Afghan hat/robe fashion motif and then google image “flying monkeys.”  Fascinating to watch, but definitely some place I’d ever want to visit.  No wonder Dorothy was so eager to get home.