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Tuesday, 29 January
A Tacolypse Now

The other night, while at the Bar That Shall Not Be Named with the wife, we had the following exchange. See if you can tell where it all went wrong!

I was asking the wife about work--day care--and led off with an innocuous gambit: "So, how were the little douchebags today?"

She assured me that they were no more monstrous than usual, and related a few short anecdotes. One involved a child who enjoys sandwiches more than anything in the world, and when eating one, further enjoys occasionally hoisting it into the air like a victory flag. Another child evidently derives glee from launching himself off the top of staircases; another is only content when gnawing on a particular endtable in the room. In other words, nothing new: we are ruining our children and turning them into the next generation of psychopaths, depressives and otherwise damaged revenants.

I already like them better than the Boomers.

Then talk turned to her staff. I always like hearing about them, for it seems that the only people more fucked up than our society's children are the ridiculously underpaid wraiths that we barely pay to take care of them. Plus, I am acquainted with many of them, so I always get a little frisson of self-satisfaction in hearing of their varied plights. It's like watching "COPS," only every time someone gets punched in the neck, you get to yell something like, "Hey, that's Donny! Ha ha! Right in the neck! Oh, Donny! I never liked you."

Eventually, the conversation turned to Miss X, an employee of the wife whose misadventures are storied and invariably hilarious, usually due to her curious worldview-slash-psyche--which may be described as one part palsied libertarianism, one part hurtling-through-space brio and perhaps just a splash of pure, distilled run, you fools, run! I'm always pleased to hear of her hijinks, because they usually involve some flavor of unadulterated human pain.

A question suddenly occurred to me. "Does Miss X ever have boyfriends?" I asked.

[NOTE FOR THE STUPID: This is where it all went wrong.]

"Sure," said the wife. She proceeded to tell me about one fellow in particular who endured no less than three or so separate dates where Miss X showed up forty-five minutes late each time because she was spending time filing her teeth or ironing her ears or some such. She was apparently quite surprised when he stopped showing up for their dates, and promptly would call to berate him. From what we know, he has since moved to Tobago and has filters on all incoming media to block anything that contains the alpha string "ayn rand."

Well, I just had to laugh.

"Oh, sure," said the wife, giving me a little elbow jab to the ribs. "You think she's cute."

All my blood ran into my ass and my breathing became shallow; I gawped like a flounder and farted nervously through my suddenly engorged cheeks. Never has a trap been so casually sprung; never has one been so ineptly responded to. "What!" I cried. "Why I! What!" I dived for my Manhattan like a raptor spying a fish. The wife stared bemusedly at me as I tried to calm myself.

Now, the thing is, Miss X is indeed cute. Anyone would say so. I attempted to explain this.

"Sure, I guess," I said, adopting a speculative tone, as if I were discussing landfill conditions in Omaha. "But she's not the kind of girl I'd go for." (This is true! I know: it doesn't matter. I'm a fool.) I mentally dusted off my hands here in a satisfied "case closed!" way.

"That's good," said the wife acidly. "Since you're MARRIED!"

And there I sat, pinioned, and I had brought all the cutting instruments myself and handed them over with an eager smile. The wife seemed to be enjoying this with a grimness that you'd normally expect to find in some children's story that involves someone getting burned alive at the end.

There was only one remedy to this situation, and of course it involved tacos. Happy endings always do, which is why they served tacos at Pol Pot's funeral. The wife was of course having me on a bit, but that didn't mean that I was going to get out of buying some tacos in the bargain.

And this taco place SHALL BE NAMED! For it is magnificent, and everyone should visit this place. It is called Tacos Gringos, and it is a tiny little place on Olive Ave. E. in Seattle, and if you live in Seattle, you're a fool for not going there. If you don't live in Seattle, you should fly here to eat their tacos. Moreover, you should commit a felony here and then flee the state so you can get extradited back to Seattle on the state's dime to eat some more of these fucking tacos.

There is nowhere to sit in Tacos Gringos. In fact, there's no tables either. There's barely room to stand. And they're only open Tuesday-Saturday from 8:00 PM to 3:00 AM, which might tell you what sort of crowd they're after: drunks! Everyone needs tacos, but particularly drunks and idiotic dupes who have been baited by their wives, and Tacos Gringos provides them. They are two dollars apiece, just the right size, and served only with onions and cilantro, with a selection of three hot sauces. That's it. Eat and get out, fuckers!

But you won't get out. Not for long, anyway; you'll just go back. When we were there, I had two shredded pork tacos. Then two more, followed by one last taco. Previously, I had eaten their goat tacos--goat!--which tasted like angels had spat in them. I have seen on the menu--but when they were closed, so I could not sample these--chorizo tacos.

From what I understand, the guy who makes these incredible things used to be a chef at Campagne (non-Seattleites: a high-toned schmancy restaurant) and he just got tired of working for other people, which hey: awesome. Go. Just go. Even if you're not a drunk or a desperate dipshit of a husband caught on a rack of wifely sado-humorism. Go because the tacos are good, and who doesn't like tacos? They bring us together. Let us unite, my friends. Let the juices of bonhomie drip down our wrists and soak into the shirtcuffs of our loving souls. Tacos improve our lives and mollify our wives.

Good tacos make good neighbors.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


Tacos improve our lives and mollify our wives.

You make me want to get married just so I can use that line as often as possible.

Comment number: 016812   Posted by: You can call me, 'Sir' on January 30, 2008 06:19 AM from IP:

I was once ambushed by my wife with the same gambit. I responded truthfully, "Yes, she's cute. But she also defines the difference between 'cute' and 'attractive.' She's cute. She's NOT attractive."

However, there may come a time when she ambushes me by referencing a woman whom I find both cute AND attractive. In that that instance, I might have to play the "how 'bout some great tacos?" card. Thanks. Good to know.

Comment number: 016813   Posted by: Frinkenstein on January 30, 2008 02:21 PM from IP:

Hello from Boston!

I think tacos are the perfect food. So good.....mmm....tacos. Seriously, I love tacos so much. Tacos friggin' rule.

Keep the words coming. You're funny.


Comment number: 016814   Posted by: Megan J. on January 30, 2008 08:28 PM from IP:


Now I want some tacos.

I mean, I always want them, but now I am ravenously aware that they are what I desire.

And yet I am stuck with yogurt that is out of my reach because a baby is eating me.

Comment number: 016815   Posted by: Ida on January 31, 2008 09:50 AM from IP:

My wife always says, when I despair over her accusations that I find someone cute, the turn around gambit that it doesn't matter what they look like cause I see whats inside a person. Yah, right. I mean, there's a +/- margin for error, but let's be realistic. I just use that line when she's complaining about some part of her she doesn't feel is small/round/ pert/perky/large enough. As in "honey, its part of YOU, so its just what i like". And ya know, for her, its true. Anyone else? not so much.

Comment number: 016816   Posted by: Alyxherself on January 31, 2008 10:06 AM from IP:

Nobody else is saying it so I will: The title of this post is sheer brilliance.

Comment number: 016822   Posted by: flamingbanjo on February 1, 2008 12:14 PM from IP:

I have always liked the quote from Godfather II: "to you, she is beautiful, but for me there is only my wife and small child" even though I have no child, it still works.
Now those tacos...sweet jebus. They're good. Thursday night, we woofed down a bunch of beef tacos. Last night, shredded pork and vegetarian.
Those guys are geniuses. Thanks for he tip.

Comment number: 016831   Posted by: ben from seattle on February 2, 2008 07:55 AM from IP:

I LOVE TACOS!! Your blog always makes me laugh. You are such a dork. I'll be your wife's sides hurt from laughing all the time.

Comment number: 016851   Posted by: Claire on February 7, 2008 10:07 AM from IP:

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