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…