10 Completely Random Things I Learned While Sucking Down Margaritas at Ojeda’s


1. It’s hard to make a grand entrance at the restaurant when obnoxious people are blocking your way.

Okay, Mr. Speed Bump, I understand that the 47 pounds of spicy, fried lard that you just ate might slow you down a bit. Got it. But seriously, why are you finding it necessary to come to a complete halt in the tiny lobby? This is a certified transit area, not a campground. I can’t even open the door all the way because you have claimed squatter’s rights at the cashier’s desk, telling your life story while the rest of your amazingly-extensive family is just standing there, wiping grease off their chins and belching and contributing nothing to society.

Quit talking to that cashier now that your transaction is over. She is not your friend and she doesn’t care. She is only being nice to you because you just handed her money. “Did you enjoy your meal?” is not an invitation for you to start babbling about how your gout is acting up or why your second cousin Bucky Joe got arrested that one time at the Spittoon Festival. Grab a complimentary toothpick and GO.

2. I am apparently not as fond of screaming, hyperactive children as the rest of the world.

Dear Hostess Person: No, I’m not going to follow you to that table which you are indicating. Why? Do you see what’s going on at the next table? The one where something has apparently exploded, causing small humans to lose their minds and start throwing food while howling at a decibel level that can bring down a plane? There’s queso on the ceiling, for God’s sake. I don’t want to be anywhere near that.

And don’t look at me in confusion, wondering why I don’t find the howlers to be adorable little tykes that make me want to hug and kiss them. These are not the good kind of children, who quietly sit there and do nothing but count as a deduction on income tax returns. These are Satanic minions hell-bent on destroying civilization. I don’t even want to be in the same room with the Children of the Corn Tortilla. Please adjust your GPS and let’s find a more subdued area of this establishment.

 3. It is a law of nature that you must order margaritas in a Mexican restaurant.

I don’t care what time of day it is, tequila just sets the appropriate tone, and it somehow biologically prepares your body for the impending influx of food items that your doctor has warned you to never touch again. (He’s not here right now, so screw him.) And don’t ask me lame little questions like whether I want a large or small margarita. Can you not tell by the pinched expression on my face that I have no desire for an alcoholic beverage served in a teacup? I want BIG. I want people to be frightened by the size of my beverage-ware, that kind of big.

4. Everything on the menu at Ojeda’s is the best thing ever.

You can’t go wrong. Close your eyes, stab at the menu, and try it. You’ll squeal with a level of satisfaction that is nearly orgasmic. (Not that anybody will hear you, due to the maelstrom of noise coming from the other room, with that table of unregulated offspring ripping apart the foundations of society whilst their parents do nothing to acknowledge ownership of their shared DNA.) Even the tortilla chips are delicious, but you don’t want to have too many of them, because they will take up valuable real estate in your tummy and you may not be able to finish your actual meal, a failure that will haunt you for days.

5. Puffed Tacos are proof that we were put on this planet for a reason.

I’d never even heard of these delicious things before we started going to Ojeda’s years ago, but now I can’t get enough of them. They’re like little tiny taco salads in a fried Christmas ornament. We should have a national holiday for the saintly person who invented these erogenous edibles, with pageantry and collectible trading cards. I can gnaw my way through several of them before my bulging stomach starts to raise the table off the floor, resulting in stability issues, with utensils and cellphones and vats of salsa and personal shame sliding precariously about.

 6. Tequila makes me talk.

Before I even finished the first beverage, I was rambling away about anything that popped into my head. Anything. This is a change of pace for my partner and me, because he’s usually the one to share his thoughts with any person, place or thing that will listen, while I just sit there and nod from time to time. But dump some tequila down my throat and I will share every single thought that enters my alcohol-drenched brain. This is probably why my friendship stats fluctuate so wildly on social media.

7. Tequila and some people don’t mix.

I’m talking about YOU, Miss Bellow-Guffaw three tables over. Why the hell are you YELLING everything that you say? What’s up with that? Your equally-soused tablemate is right there. He can hear you just fine. There’s no need for this “raising the dead” business. You don’t need to be at that degree of sonic distortion unless you’re parting the Red Sea or you’re in labor. Inside voice, please.

And while we’re on the topic, Mr. Thump-Bang in the booth behind me, what can you possibly be doing that makes it sound and feel like you tried to hog-tie something at a rodeo and failed miserably? Perhaps the laws of physics are beyond your grasp, so let me break it down for you: We are sharing the same seatback, which means that your rambunctiousness has a negative effect on me. Could you possibly sit still for twenty seconds so I can successfully get this guacamole-laden chip into my mouth instead of inadvertently smashing it into the side of my head?

8. Music sung in a foreign language is pleasing when you’re buzzed.

Typically, mariachi music is not my favorite. It’s just too insistent. But with a bit of inebriation, I’m transported to another world. It was truly divine and beautiful. I actually shed a few tears over this one song, where Yolanda did something something with some huevos, and the people of the village were offended by this and she was shunned forever, forced to wear used clothing and get her own water from the well. It was so sad. I asked our server if there was a place I could send money. He brought me another margarita instead, and he said I could just give the money to him and he would pray for Yolanda.

9. Your plate does not have to be empty before rude people want to take it.

No, I am not ready for you to whisk this away. Look, there’s a little bit of rice over here, and at least two bites of refried beans, and part of a miracle puffed taco. This is a feast. There is no reason for you to be inquiring about the relocation of my tableware at this point. Yes, I understand that lately my focus has been on the straw in my margarita, but there’s no need for you to get demanding about my consumption process. When it’s time, I’ll ring a bell or throw something on the floor, okay? We’re going to tip you. Relax.

10. It’s much more fun when you aren’t the one who has to drive home after the margarita fest.

Partner has to pay attention and not kill people. All I have to do is sing and tell everybody what I think about unrelated topics like bratwurst and why Angelina Jolie’s lips are so big. So I did. All the way home. At one point, Partner was eyeing nearby cliffs with a desperate yearning in his eyes. I really wasn’t ready for a plunge into eternal darkness, so I eventually had to talk about things that might interest him as well, even though it pained me and ruined my conversational rhythm.

Finally, we made it to la casa, where I joyously switched from margaritas to beer. Because mixing types of alcohol is such a good idea. The next morning, my uvula was swollen to the size of a Buick, I had no concept of what my name might be, and I quietly begged for Death to take me now rather than on the installment plan. But all in all, it was a swell time, even though there may or may not be a pair of my underwear on the roof of Ojeda’s.

And I sure do love those puffed tacos. (Feed me, Seymour.)


Prior Note: Previously published in “The Sound and the Fury” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Minimally revised and updated with extra flair for this post. Shout out, once again, to Melanie for digging in the archives and finding an older post that possibly merits a second chance.

Current Note: Okay, maybe a third chance. Slight changes made.


35 replies »

  1. Torture. [insert much moanage…] See, there are bazillions of fabulous things about living in Scotland. I get that. But sometimes you just NEED Mexican food and a seriously BIG margarita.

    Is your guest room available if I need a quick fix? It would be an act of mercy. I’ve never even had a puffed taco…

    Liked by 2 people

    • I must have good Mexican food at least once a week, twice if possible, or I become intolerant to those around me. In fact, I sense an Ojeda’s visit this weekend, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. According to the “Swarm” app on my phone, I have been to the Ojeda’s nearest my house (my fave, not just because it’s close) 118 times, and that’s just the visits I where I remembered to check in. I’ll be sure to have a puffed taco for you. And yes, the guest room is always available. Usually. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. If you were to send this piece to Saturday Night Live, I bet they would hire you immediately…I can hear this done in sketches. Just reading it has turned every bone in my body into a funny bone.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ill-mannered children make me nuts. It’s not the kids; it’s their rude and oblivious parents, or the parent who takes their exhausted child shopping. I’m proud to say that my children were smart enough to behave. My six-year-old daughter acted up once, and I let her lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. I walked away and pretended she wasn’t mine. By the time I got to the next aisle, she it figured it out, got up and stayed quiet. They also knew that if they asked for anything, they never got it, but if they said nothing and behaved, at check-out they got whatever they wanted. They never misbehaved at restaurants. My son has always been quiet, and my clever, head-strong daughter knew acting up meant she’d get left home with a sitter.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I completely agree: It’s the parents. But there has been a fundamental shift from the days when we were young. Back then, if any child acted up in a public setting, and it didn’t happen very often, it was a disgrace and the parents were mortified, either whisking the child away or dealing with it right then and there, swiftly and with firmness. Now? Half the parents don’t even blink an eye, letting their children do whatever they want. And if you dare say something, YOU become the villain and the crowd can turn against you. It’s ridiculous, and in the end it harms the child…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I’m VERY pleased to have ‘sparked’ a wander down the lane to Ojeda’s. I love it there (even though it will never cross the border into Utah, land of the bland and watery alcohol. *sigh* You aren’t alone in your distaste of shrill, screaming unrestrained children. I once got an extremely fishy stare from a hostess when she tried seating me next to some minions from hell and their indifferent parents. I demanded to be seated in another zip code, far from the babbling mob. The service was slower in my zone, but it was worth it for the semi-peace and quiet. Now get Ojeda’s to send their recipe for puffed tacos to me. Screw the boundaries, I want me some actual GOOD spicy foods…and a little tequila wouldn’t come amiss, even if I have to go buy it myself..

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well, if you haven’t figured out by now, you often inspire me, not with just the older pieces but the newer ones as well. You make me laugh, but you also make me think. It’s a delicious combination. Just like the puffed tacos. Or tequila. Hmm. I might have to combine those two and come up with a snarky nickname for you. I’ll keep you posted…


  5. I just asked Google, and the nearest Ojeda’s is more than a hundred miles from here. I love a genuine Mexican restaurant, one where they speak Spanish in the kitchen. And no, my doctor wouldn’t approve either. J.


    • Speaking of mileage, and this is probably a little bit pathetic, Partner and I will actually drive 180 miles to dine at Miguel’s, another fabulous Mexican restaurant in Abilene TX. To fully complete the picture, we do so when we’re meeting Partner’s sister, who lives 180 miles on the OTHER side of Abilene. We make it an afternoon, visiting and chatting and whatnot, but really, we’re driving three hours to have lunch… 😉


  6. I usually order daiquiris at my favorite Mexican food place, tequila makes my clothes fall off🤷🏼‍♀️
    Back in the day, friends and I would make a day of going down to Mexico for food and drinks. I’m too old to abuse my body that way now☹

    Liked by 1 person

    • I do have to be careful with the tequila. It’s the one liquor that just does things to me, and I haven’t learned to control like I can with others. (In case it ever comes up in a trivia contest, my preferred liquor is vodka. I know that beast well, and I can tame it.) I’m also too old for the abuse, but I haven’t quite learned all my life lessons… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  7. 1. I hate blockers. These same people come to a complete halt on sidewalks and in shopping malls, causing pedestrian traffic to reroute. Ugh.
    2. We went to Mexico over the holidays and the clerk at the desk assured us that our waterpark facing room was “wonderful.” For two people with no kids who don’t need a splashy, screamy alarm clock? No thank you.
    3. I am happy to report I have never broken that particular law!
    9. I’m a slow eater and a big talker so I’m usually the last one, and waiters are always moving in on my dish. Often I’m too embarrassed to stop them.

    Liked by 1 person

    • 1. And the grocery store? What is WRONG with people who stop in the middle of the aisle and you can’t get around them as they study which mustard they want?
      2. I think the real problem here is “waterpark”. Never go near one.
      3. Bless you.
      4. Don’t be embarrassed. Enjoy life.


  8. I have asked to be moved away from the screaming hordes as well. Those parents are, well, in need of parenting themselves.

    I love good Mexican. Adore it, in fact. Indulged whenever possible when I lived in Phoenix. So delicious. But puffed tacos? Have never heard of these before.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Puffed tacos? 🤔

    We had 16 people over last night for a taco/burrito bar and I served margaritas because, yeah, you GOTTA have margaritas with Mexican food. And though I also offered Sangria and beer, mostly everyone took a margarita. Oh, and the food was good too. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • You simply must readjust your life’s journey to include a layover at a place that serves puffed tacos. Wait, let me clarify that. The layover should be at Ojeda’s. Otherwise, there may be sorrowful ruminations…

      16 people? No. The best parties must have an odd number of attendees, should disputes arise wherein a final verdict is necessary. Tied votes leave everyone dissatisfied… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  10. Fun, interesting and wry post. I love Mexican food but need to resist all those tempting calories until I can run a marathon and burn them off.
    Free margaritas if you’re seated by noisy kids should be the law

    Liked by 1 person

    • It’s really not fair how Mexican food now has such a powerful influence on my state of health. Back in the day, I could eat everything on the menu and not gain an ounce. Now? My consumption of a meal at Ojeda’s causes the Earth to shift on its axis…

      Liked by 1 person

  11. As usual, your humor and style have me accidentally snorting my coffee. This particular piece hitting close to home as we encountered a few of those mentioned moments while in Mexico.

    Liked by 1 person

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