My Trip To Texas Pt 2: The Mexican Perkins

San Antonio is very different than Houston. For one, San Antonio is better than Houston. I say this not out of disrespect for Houston. I say this because it is a fact. Sometimes facts can be disrespectful, but it's not the fact's fault. It literally is what it is.

Fact: Messing with Texas would be such a waste of time.

So, San Antonio: My best friend from my childhood, Ian, moved to San Antonio sometime after college. I think he moved for a girl. Or he moved there with a girl. I can't remember the timing. I think this is because sometimes I'm not a very good friend. Either way, he moved there with or around the time a girl, who he has since broken up with but still hangs out with quite regularly, moved to San Antonio. They don't hang out as much lately. I think she moved to Guam now or something. I don't know. Maybe Ian will move to Guam? Ian, don't move to Guam.

After spending a day being told I don't know how to think by a Houstonite, Kelsey and I caught a Houston Astros game (they actually charge admission to those) and then drove to San Antonio with Ian. Kelsey and I were stayed at the Riverwalk that night. Evidently the Riverwalk is famous. I had never heard of it. Here is what it is: It's basically a mall with a river that winds through the middle of it. It's outdoors. Texas is hot. It's a very uncomfortable mall to shop in. Like all of Texas, people drink heavily to ignore the heat. This makes it a dangerous, drunken hot mall. Or something like that. Kelsey and I sweated through the Riverwalk during the day. At one point I ate the best hot dog of my life...

(INTERMISSION: About six months ago Ian called me and told me he just had the best hot dog of his life. It was a Hebrew National (re: kosher) hot dog, wrapped in bacon, covered in onions, with a dab of mustard. Since any kosher food is better wrapped in meat, I tried the hot dog in Ian's honor. He wasn't kidding. It might have ruined my Hasidity for the day, but damn was it good.)

...in tribute to Ian. Then some other stuff happened. Then! THEN! THEN we went to a real-life country honky tonk bar where the number one Texas Country musician was playing that night. Texas has its own brand of country music and its own music charts. They aren't gonna listen to none of that Shania crap...their country music needs balls. This is your true blue "lost my tractor and my dog and my wife to my brother" style of song. People two-stepped to it. Don't tell anyone from Texas to dance with more than two-steps. That would confuse the bejesus out of them.

Ian gave me this shirt and hat to wear. Everyone there thought I was so from Texas.

The honky tonk was great. People wore cowboy hats for real. There was no irony. So many cigarettes were smoked. Beers were cheap. Stools were smashed over people's heads. The mechanical bull was rocking. The showdowns were fantastic. Obviously being a redneck in Texas made us very hungry. Ian mentioned a place we could go to that was open 24 hours. It was a Mexican restaurant. I don't remember the name. I will hereby call it El Perkinso.

Wait, you say? Who would get Mexican food at 2:30am? Evidently a lot of people. The restaurant was very full. Granted, most of these people had their small children and babies with them. That's just good parenting.

Do you ever have those times where you wish you weren't or you are happy you aren't drunk? That's how I felt when I went to El Perkinso. I hadn't been drinking, and I'm very glad because I think I would have thought I died and gone to a tackily painted heaven.

Would you like anything to drink? Jesus should be right with you.

El Perkinso had everything: an annoying mariachi band that would not SHUT UP and wanted you to pay them for bugging the hell out of you; an apathetic waitress who sat at the bar five feet in front of us rather than promptly take orders; Dr. Pepper; drunk people everywhere; crying Mexican babies; dogs; pigeons; Christmas trees; affordable prices; ergonomic chairs; and bathrooms. I ordered quesadillas. Ian ordered three meals.

In heaven, you can eat all the burritos you want.

I ignored the mariachi band for most of the night. I ate a lot of chips. Basically, quesadillas aren't as late-night wholesome as chicken tender melts from The Perkins.

Night three in Texas was the best night in Texas. It's not often you get to attend a concert in a bar that looks and feels like Urban Cowboy (minus the Travolta), eat a nice family dinner with a bunch of other families at 2:00am, and then go home and want to die.

It should be noted that we went to El Perkinso for breakfast a mere six hours later. A homeless guy that had been sleeping on the bench outside the restaurant was now playing (poorly) a guitar. It was as if we'd traveled through time kind of.