I'm Havin' Fun. {So Sue Me.}

I haven't been neglecting you. On Monday morning I got a phone call from my mom.

"We're coming," she said. "Can you be ready for us?"

Absolutely. It only took 18 hours of spring cleaning that I never did back in the spring, but I got good and ready. They arrived on Tuesday at 5 a.m., with an extra three people I was thrilled to see--my sister, her baby, and dear dear Chelsie.

We're full to the brim in this house, I'm out of milk, and I don't know when I've been happier. {As a side note: anybody who as physically met me before and reads this blog is 100% welcome to come visit me and Poor Kyle in Canada--we're all friends here. Any time, any day. We're very accommodating. I cherish company.}

So please, blog, don't feel abandoned. I mean, when it comes right down to it, would you rather spend your days thinking of clever things to post on the internet, or do this: (see below) until the wee hours of the morning?



[Starring my dad as lead singer. I've never heard him rock like he rocked that day.]

I will return to regularly scheduled posting when I get around to it. Sometime this week. Or next.

{Not Forgotten}

A part of me has died. A rather large part of me.

Matta's. Gone. Closed. This is an outrage. How could they do this to me? How could they knowingly shut down the institution that made my life worth living? How could they close their doors and shut me off--cut me off--from the only chips and salsa I have ever actually tasted in my dreams? How does the Matta family sleep at night?

You can read the story--what meager explanation it might give--here.

I've made some really special memories there, and now...they're all I have. Oh, sure, the Matta family says they're relocating somewhere else in Mesa. Only they don't know where. And they don't know when. And really, would I even enjoy it anymore without the old-town, been-here-since-before-I-was-born, my-mom-ate-there-after-her-first-time-through-the-temple ambiance? I sincerely doubt it. They haven't even promised that their salsa will be the same at this alleged "new location," nor were they willing to sell the recipe. Not for my car. Not for a million dollars. Not even for my soul [I offered]. They tried tossing me a bone with the whole, "There's still a Matta's Grill open somewhere out in the boondocks" line. But when questioned, the despondent-looking veteran-waitress of 21 years could not guarantee me it would be the same Matta's I've always loved...so I'm not buying it.

To more accurately express my deep sense of loss, I have put together a short film [it's not really seven minutes long...more like five and a half. I had trouble cutting down the song in iMovie, so as soon as the music ends, let it be a sign that the movie is over]:

"The End of Life as We've Heretofore Known It"

To anyone who has ever chosen to have dinner at El Charro over Matta's: shame on you. Shame on all of you. And shame on me, for marrying out of the Arizonan Covenant, moving to Canada, and letting it come to this.

The worst part of the whole tragic tale? Matta's was the only Mexican food that Poor Kyle has ever enjoyed, and ever considered eating a second time.

And...my life will never be the same.