A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

The 70s were a grand time, huh?  Well, from what I remember it was.  The 80s were much cooler though.

Except some, if not most, of the clothes.  Those, not so much.  How tragic was my dad's shirt?  His mullet?  My yellow shirt and red pants combo?  The automobiles?

Paneling on the walls was awesome once.  Wearing a dress, cause your mom wanted you to, was not.

I need to steal my mom's photo albums and scan all of those photos.  Hopefully, in a few weeks, when time gives me some, I will do just that. 

Word.

Last Thursday, a week after I turned 34, my BNC turned 34. To celebrate, his brother took us out to a cute little bar for some steaks and football. To know us would indicate that it was a perfect way to celebrate our early 30s. We ate and watched the kickoff of the football season. Watching 40-year old Brett Favre though, QB for the Minnesota Vikings, throw pass after pass, run up and down the field without so much as limping, made me feel old though. But suddenly the sky opened; the DJ, something I complained about because I wanted to HEAR the game as opposed to reading the closed captioning, bust out with some golden oldies. Tupac's California Love, Dr. Dre's Nothing but a G thang instantly took us back to high school. Salt-n-Pepa's Push it transported us back to middle school. If my back would have allowed me, I totally would have bent back to touch the ground just like in the video.

Back to the issue at hand...

I just picked up on the Mexican theme over at The Kitchn. Duh, tomorrow is El Grito! I'll be out of the city but you best believe that I will do El Grito in that tiny town whose only Mexicans are my in-laws. Bwah ah ah ah HA!

Viva Mexico!