For about forty-five minutes of the eight hour drive we took to Georgia this past weekend all you see is huge, colorful, mexican-themed billboards. And then finally, you reach the destination. Which seems like a mexican theme park. I pretty much belong there. Because I am mexican. Okay, 25% of me belongs there. And that is the 25% of me that I am listening to as I plan our trip to the land of sombrero rides and fish tacos.


Also, as I was writing this I thought of the maid in Clueless, 


"I not a mexican!"


"What was that about?"