I got through Friday at work by daydreaming and arrived home to get ready for the taco party. Now, do you dress up or down for tacos? Is a flamenco dress with a rose in my hair too much? Do I go full chola with winged eyeliner, a red bandana, and a concealed weapon? Would red lipstick work with the inevitable mix of Cholula and meat juice dripping down my face? I left the house looking like a mix between the Chiquita banana lady and Carmen Sandiego.
Now, my mama always said you don’t show up to a party empty handed, so I fried up a batch of churro donut holes. I showed up to Kathy Griffin’s house with my holes and a smile. I smelled like a frycook. She took the box and didn’t judge me for my odor, and for that, I love her.
Finally, Ms. Griffin yelled the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard, “The tacos are ready!” The Kathy staff created a stampede towards the taco cart. I’m pretty sure I heard someone screaming Spanish curse words and a couple ‘bows were thrown. There was no need to fight. Everyone got tacos!
And these tacos were all I wanted and more. There were many options of meats and salsas and lovely grilled vegetables. And they used corn tortillas and that’s my favorite. They even had roasted jalapenos. Are you kidding me? I ate one of them because I heard it would be good for my cold and it was really good at helping my nose leak profusely. They didn’t give you a taco limit and some people exploited it. I think Kathy’s boyfriend Randy had 11. (He’s always bragging about having a very high metabolism.)