A Juan and a two…

For the past year, The Boy has lived the life of a nomad, working as a field auditor for power and communications companies. He isn’t home to visit often, but when he’s in town we’ve adopted a new tradition – Bad Juan margaritas at the local TexMex dive.

These are not just any margaritas.  Not the frozen girlie variety sold in chain restaurants.  Not the syrupy-sweet stuff that bachelorettes drink to excess in Vegas. They are both terrifying and magical in their potency – bringing inexplicable cheerfulness when consumed responsibly. And by “responsibly”, i mean “less than three”, as the restaurant generally won’t serve any individual patron more than three of these things*.

But what fun is that?

We continued the tradition on his last visit.  Bashing tortilla chips and sipping the neon-green power-punch, The Boy talked about the frustrations of life on the road.  Ten to twelve-hour days.  The work is repetitive enough to be mind-numbing, but still requires just enough intellectual effort to prevent him from completely zoning out.  He doesn’t
want to do this forever, but isn’t quite sure what’s next.

daisyfae:  In the meantime, you’re not stuck behind a desk.  The pay and benefits are good.

The Boy:  True. But how much money do I need?  If you have enough, it loses meaning.

daisyfae: Then reframe it into terms that DO have meaning!  How many Bad Juans do you earn an hour?

The Boy:  I like the way you’re thinking here…

We did some basic math.  At $7.00 per drink – accounting for overtime, taxes and other adjustments to income – he earns more than enough to get really, really shit-faced drunk.

Motivation.  We haz it.


This month, The Boy is working in Florida, so it’s a bit more difficult for him to visit for the weekend.  He uses my place as his permanent mailing address.  Usually, i just pile his mail up in a basket on his desk, but the letter from his auto insurance agent was likely a bill.  i realized last weekend that he wouldn’t be home before the due date, so i
paid it.  Sent him a text afterwards…

daisyfae:  Just paid your car insurance – $392.  We can settle up next time you’re in town!

The Boy:  Thanks!  If you take payment in Bad Juans, it’s exactly 56.

daisyfae:  That would more than kill me.  Nice try.  Cash or check preferred.

The Boy:  Shekels it is!

it'll get you drunk

image found here

* unless you time your visit to coincide with a shift change, when you can sometimes scam a fourth one…

26 thoughts on “A Juan and a two…

  1. It is important to drink heavily when discussing anything with your children. That way if you say something that irritates them – which you inevitably will – all will be forgotten in the morning.

    • Nurture or nature? Hard to say. But since they’re surpassed legal drinking age, this is pretty much what we do for recreation… Well, not ALL we do, but it happens!

  2. Word press is just having a hissy fit at me. Which I am returning, with interest.

    I love your reasoning about the value/use of money. I worry about the offer of 56 Bad ones though. Beyond deadly. Early inheritance?
    And I love the relationship you have with your chillun. Heart-warming.

    • WP has been odd of late… Thought it was just me and my ancient laptop having hiccups! i don’t think he was really trying to kill me. He was just surpised that the amount of the car insurance bill came out to an evenly divisible number of Bad Juans…. Or he was trying to kill me….

  3. Tell him to stop saying those terrible things about money. Nobody likes to say it out loud in polite company but you need money. HE needs money. Try doing without. Not many people can pull it off. A Buddhist monk but that’s about it. No more margaritas unless mom is picking up the tab. I hope he finds his heart’s desire but don’t forget about the auto insurance bill.

    • wordpress is cranky tonight… perhaps i need to throw money at it? *gigglesnort*

      This is my kid that could live in his car if he had to. He is resourceful, and existential in an odd way. He is somewhere between “survivor man” and “outlaw josey wales” with a dash of bukowski thrown in for depth. i shit you not, UB… um, i mean EoPS… he needs SOME money, but once he has enough, it no longer motivates him. You will be lucky to have one of these children, as the other kind will cost a lot more!

      he’ll pay me back. he always does.

      • I wish *I* could be so liberated! It’s not like I’m obsessed with wealth or status, but I do think about it more than I should, I suppose. What a healthy disposition he has. What happened to me, I wonder?

        I think I threw everyone a bit with the blog revamp. Continue to call me UB. Call me Exile. Call me Mark. Make it easy on yourself.

        • i’m not quite there myself… what would i do with more money? travel more. give away more. maybe buy a shiny new car, or motorcycle or something. i’m pretty sure it doesn’t buy happiness, but it can really lower stress…

  4. You’re such a good mom, teaching your son to frame money in ways that are meaningful. Especially ways that involve booze. In all seriousness, though, you sound like a great mom. The Boy and The Girl are very lucky. Also, those Bad Juan margaritas sound kickin’.

    • If you ever make it here, we’ll slurp up some Bad Juans and go lick an SR-71. Date? Say yes. i can’t handle rejection…

      i genuinely adore both of my kids. They are good humans, functional and productive, and a lot of fun to hang around with…. i wasn’t quite so fond of them as babies, but fortunately they weren’t babies for long….

  5. I frame money in terms of massages. How many massages do I have to do to earn this item? Is it worth it? Will I get that much pleasure out of it? The Peter Max I have hanging in my massage room was 100 massages. It was more than worth it. I look at every day when I am giving massage as we used it as a tax writeoff for my business and hung it in the massage room.

    We make real margaritas here, starting with squeezing the fresh limes. They are quite potent and will kick your butt.

    • i do think that it helps manage a budget to think of how many hours of work it will require to buy (or do) “X”. paying for a vacation three years after you went doesn’t seem like a great plan, either…

      i don’t think the Bad Juans have fresh lime juice. There is something about them, though, that makes everyone happy! We really never ask, because we’re sort of afraid it’s something illegal… 🙂

  6. I do believe the kid is alright… he reminds me a bit of someone i used to know except your boy has a much better work ethic than that other guy.

  7. Me and my mum get on very well, although I’m the only one in my family who drinks and you have to be quite careful what you say in front of her. I edit my life greatly. I’ve often thought I should sneak a tiny bit of diluted vodka into her glass next time we have a social occasion.

  8. Wow the words “field auditor” almost froze my reading. Gads zooks, I thought, could Daisy Fae by a shill for the IRS and her son employed in the Cincinnati field office? Ah, but I read on, and her-ladyships halo was re-polished. Aren’t offspring aggravating always pointing one itty-bitty non-important little mistake or eccentric action?.

    • Not the IRS! i can’t imagine him in a desk job, let alone one that has him crunching numbers and busting people for tax fraud! he’s been pointing out my flaws since he could talk, and it is indeed annoying, as he is usually on target!

  9. We used to have a place here that served Margaritas like that. Giant bowl of tequila with half a lime squeezed in, as far as I could tell. They may have added a bit of Cointreau to protect stomach linings. If you drank more than two, you had to go down the street to another bar to sober up.

    • Oh yeah! There was a night where an unexpected ex walked in. Rather than leave, my son and two other companions said “hold your ground!”. So we stayed for another round. The “Shift Change Round”. Realized that NONE of us were in any shape to drive – so walked across the street for recovery….

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