Toda la Recha (whatever that means)

It's time to make a confession. No, not THAT kind of confession. And I'm only allowed to make this confession so soon because the people I am keeping this from (hopefully) will not have access to this posting...at least not until it's been long enough not to matter anyway.


Max has been in town (no, that's not the confession). But whenever Max is in town we tend to do some pretty spontaneous things...most of which will have to come in later blogs because I have church in an hour. Anyway, I got home from work late one night (around midnight) after an awful day of feeling like the worst nurse on the planet, and after venting to Max for an hour or so with him being completely understanding and helping me change my perspective as he often does, he had a brilliant suggestion; "let's go to Mexico!" After exhausting my excuses (like 1. My dad would kill me if I didn't get killed by the banditos first 2. There is a chance I may ACTUALLY be killed by banditos 3. I have to work. 4. Max's $425 ride may or may not be able to make it to the grocery store, let alone Mexico. Oh, and 5. It's one in the morning!). The last argument is probably the one that made it happen since I tend to make completely irrational decisions late at night.

And thus...Mexico.