Mi Amigo No Es Tequila Juarez

There are some things in life that we must find out for ourselves. While the academian may postulate, hypothesize, and theorize about any number of potential experiences, there are some things even he must undergo in order to truely experience them. For me that this experience was Juarez Tequila.

Mi amiga Ribka was having one of the premier Halloween parties at her Melrose Place-esque condominium off North Shepherd Saturday. I of course, being utterly incapable of saying 'no' to Ribka agreed to go post haste. I even got my fancy modern Egyptian costume out. I race towards Houston from my family gathering in central Texas, arrive at said residence, and within the mercifully tinted confines of my auto, I change into my shiny white costume and donned my desert sun-repelling head scarf. Pretty snazzy for all of five minutes. As I enter, "CECIL! Wahoo! Let's party." kissed with a slightly drunken euphoria that is practically required at these sort of midnight gatherings.

Music blarring, Heidi, Astros players, and Martha Steward casually converse about things that EtOH tend to disguise as perfectly acceptable conversation. Now most of our friends being in the health field the aforementioned topics are boundless. In order to further expedite an amazing evening, our amigos from Monterrey's finest medical school tell us intently about "The Seven Year Curse." Christian's Latin laced accent offered no less than a sobering gravity with his description which was juxtaposed with our far from sober state.

"If someone says 'Salut' and you do not drink, you are CURSED with either seven years of no or horrible sex." This was no lighthearted indictment of the cosmos and we vigorously took our first shot of Juarez Tequila subsequently. Needless to say, "Salut" was bantered about for the remainer of a very long evening which made my account of the following events, completed with the aid of those less wary of Mexican Tequila Folklore, less reliable than I would like. But from the night's/morning's events this is what I've learned.

1. Do not drink with Mexicans; well in order to not kill your social life don't keep up with at the very least those skilled in the art of the tequila shot. All I remember is repeatedly and emphatically announcing "BAILOMAS A LA PLAYA!" followed by gyrations that would make even the most social of Brazilian Carnival goers blush in humility and an equally emphatic assertion that my (non-existant) Spanish language skills were bar none.

2. Do not drink with mid-Westerners; well, in order not to kill your social life, don't keep up with at the very least those named Eric from Michigan. They have livers raised by distilleries and taste buds flippant to the essence of vodka. Must be all the cheese and winter.

3. Do not drink anything from bags in Ribka's refrigerator or non-gelled jello shots. Either are made with dangerous almagamations of products that will bring out the Dionysian nature of a Quaker. Both would be an affront to even the most steadfast sobreity and the delicate nature of ones palate.

4. If a young Mexican invites you to enjoy a candy called Pelon Pelo Rico, do so with the understand that tamarin is as addictive in nature to the most scandalous way one is forced to consume it given its clever packaging.

5. Sleep....sleep is the key to any successful recovery. Mi amigo no es tequila Juarez.