Dad and I went to Palm Springs this past weekend, sans you guys. Twas great. You guys had fun with your babysitter and dad and I ate until we looked like we were with child. This is a look I do so well!
Our room was gigantic. It was sort of 2 rooms.
Here is The Captain at a restaurant called Mirasol. He claims that this meal is going to be his "last meal" if he is ever in the prison. Not just in the prison, but on death row. IF he has to write down what he wants to eat - Chicharonis. Some meal of small pieces of pork fried to perfection and then slathered in tomatillo sauce and beans. Turns out the owner/chef is from the same part of Mexico as your father, because "of course". He can sniff a Jalisco native out like a dog to a human crotch. What is up with that anyway? Do I take it as a compliment when a dog can't get enough of my lady slot? Yes, I do.
The breakfast joint we ate at was so damn fabulous. Scone'ish eggs benedict. Cheekys was the place and Hell yes was my response. Tu padre had chilaquilles, because "OF COURSE". He is so adventurous, I swear that man is a broken record when it comes to Mexican food.
This is your dad "trying" to smile.