No PETA we haven’t harmed any animals – especially not vacas – in the making of this post. Tampoco do we have barbacoa or birria all of a sudden. I wish. Then I would really not be sitting here in front of the computi typing my little fingers away. Instead I would be stuffing my face… one taco after the other topped to the brim with pico de gallo, salsa verde and a little Valentina sauce on top of all of that.
You Mexicanos de a Madre (or if you just so happen to like hot sauce as much as I do) me entenderan! Coincidentally my friend Letty listed me in her Twitter group for #MexicanosdeaMadre and ever since I have been walking around wearing that label proudly.
What?! Wasn’t our cholo video proof enough for you?!
There isn’t any real point to this blog post. I’m sorry. We haven’t killed any cows. I’ve not been holding the leg of any animal while they are being slaughtered. I haven’t slaughtered anyone either lately, metaphorically speaking. You know con mis palabras or miradas. I am really committed to giving “nice” a fair chance this year. I am. I am.
That repetition just now was for myself.
¡Ando bien chiquiado oigan! Haven’t been able to put my finger on why exactly just yet. It’s not burn out. I can say that. It’s more like frustration, brain farts, coraje, irritation, desgana, hueva, flojera, cynicism… sigh, and so many other little things all together.
What do you call that exactly? And more importantly how do you fix it?
Remedios caseros welcome!
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Hmmm, where do I begin?