Incoherent Scribblings

Margarita Tour

Prada Marfa
Originally uploaded by blondelibrarian

This past weekend, He-Who-Must-Not-Yet- Be-Named and I went on a road trip to New Mexico to celebrate my birthday. We are still planning on seeing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull this weekend (actually not until Monday), but since he had prior commitments for most of this up-coming weekend we decided to do the whole birthday shebang a week early.

On our way to Mesilla, New Mexico we stopped along Highway 90 outside of Valentine, Texas to visit the (in)famous Prada Marfa. Now, before you get too excited and think that we actually have a Prada store out here in the middle of nowhere, I must warn you that not only is the collection from 2005, it isn’t an actual retail store. Marfa has become fairly well-known for its artist community and Prada Marfa is actually a work of art. However, it is one of those places, along with the Marfa Ghost Lights that everyone around here has to experience at least once.

The trip to Mesilla was first and foremost a margarita tour of West Texas and Southern New Mexico. We stopped in El Paso for the first margarita of the day; a traditional margarita on the rocks with a salt-rimmed glass. This margarita was quite tasty, but what set it apart was its sheer size. It was, as they say, a Texas-sized margarita! (I wish had a picture of it, but wouldn’t you know it, my camera batteries died at Prada Marfa and I didn’t have my spares!)

We then continued on and once we arrived in Mesilla we inquired where the best margaritas in town were. The verdict was a toss up of two places: Either at La Posta or the Double Eagle Restaurant. We had fantastic mango margaritas at the Double Eagle and awesome “La Patronas” (made with “the top of the line 100% Blue Agave, Patron Anejo Tequila, Cointreau and freshly squeezed lime juice”) at La Posta.

Honestly, I am not sure how to cast my vote for the best margarita that I had all weekend. I have learned a lot about margaritas and tequila since moving to Texas and I must say that the “La Patronas” were good in a way that cocktails are when you use the best liquors available as opposed to the bar stuff. However, I think I am probably a little more partial to the mango margaritas because as much as I enjoy a good margarita on the rocks, I have a fondness for that extra bit of sweetness that fruit margaritas offer.

A Funny Thing Happened

… At the laundromat tonight. I saw this guy there that I thought I should know, but couldn’t place him.

(In the spirit of Halloween, I know that this story could fall into a horror movie cliché very quickly, so let me say that we were not the only people there: There was also a family and three or four other people that drifted in and out leaving their laundry unattended.)

While I was standing there waiting for the dryer, the mysterious man came up and introduced himself as this guy that was at a birthday party I went to on Friday. As soon as he said that, I remembered him from a margarita-induced haze: He had had on a fedora that made him look like a jazz musician. I also remembered that he was there with one of our student workers.

I thought that he was just being nice and reintroducing himself to me, but he just stood there and kept talking to me. After I added another fifty cents to each dryer for another 15 minutes (what a rip-off, by the way!) he asked me if I wanted to go across the street to this restaurant to grab a drink while I was waiting.

I agreed and we crossed the street. I ordered my Coke, but before I could pull out my wallet he bought it for me. We sat down and chatted for a while and a few minutes later when my laundry was done he helped me put it in my car.

It was a completely innocent situation I am sure, but I can’t help but feel it was a little weird: After all, he came up to me even though he barely knows me. Now in all honesty, I wouldn’t find this terribly unusual, but I know (and he knows I know) that he has a girlfriend.

In most situations I would think he was hitting on me, but this time I couldn’t decide if I was imagining things and he was just being nice. It is possible I suppose, but in my experience, guys don’t do things like that unless they are interested.

The Hookah Pipe

I went out for Friday night drinks with some of the people that I have met since moving to West Texas Town last night.

When I got to the bar and sat down at our table the first thing I noticed was a very pretty vase-like object. Because I am not as innocent as I look, the first thing I thought was, “Oh my god, there is a bong on our table!” However, because I am also cool, I did not show any hint of surprise on my face.

As I joined in on the conversation I learned that the “vase” was a hookah pipe that one of the members of my party (we’ll call him M.) had received as a gift from a Turkish friend on a recent trip to Turkey.

M. had brought the pipe to the bar to show off and share. First he showed us the tobacco he had: It was thick, gooey with resin, and smelled faintly of cappuccino. Next he finished assembling the pipe and then there was much discussion at the table deciding who would and who would not participate in the smoking of the pipe.

Looking at the situation from a strictly academic point of view, I agreed that I would partake in the smoking of the hookah pipe. It was a smooth smoke that smelled quite nice. I learned that the scent of cappuccino that I had detected earlier was a flavoring, so it actually tasted pretty good too.

Since I have lived abroad and actually been to a few places where a hookah pipe was being smoked, I soon offered my opinion concerning what we were doing right and what we were doing wrong. Consequently, M. and I then engaged in a lively discussion of the proper way in which to smoke from the pipe. I am not really sure if we smoked as we might have in Turkey, but I must say our little group was very popular amongst the other guests at the bar.

I heard the words “hookah pipe” whispered more than once on my way to and from the bathroom and a few brave souls actually came to see what the fuss was about. M. was very nice to them all and even shared with the drunk girl that yelled “Is that a hookah bong?” so loud that I am sure she was heard down the street.

Finally, with drinks and tobacco both in need of a refill, we called it a night. I had no hangover this morning and my throat is not scratchy, but I can still catch the faint scent of the hookah pipe in my laundry basket now and again.