an irishman tends bar in a mexican restaurant in little italy.

and that is why i love new york.

mexican radio is likely one of my favorite places in this town and i'm not even sure why except that i've never been able to spend fewer than 8 hours there, or had fewer than 39 margaritas, and certainly never had fewer than way too many inappropriate conversations while positioned tummy-facing-mahogany.

i'm assuming it's mahogany.

then again, i couldn't care less. at all. margaritas will do that.

atop a stool, and power driving green mac n' cheese [why was it green again? is this a mexican thing i'm apparently super virgin to? because holy hot damn, that shit was food on crack-infused steroids.], i tried so eloquently to describe the love affair i have with the eastern shore of maryland and why i think certain male and female "landscaping" options border on just plain silly.

[i may or may not elaborate on that at a later date. i probably won't, but if i do then rest assured it will be detailed and educational.]

17 of 39 margaritas later, this bit of information fell into my lap:

"marcy, the reason people fall in love with you is because you say weird stuff like 'i grew up like a pirate.'"

huh.

um, thank you?

and.

um, what?!