99.9% (lucky you!) of a myspace blog I posted in June, 2006 about a trip to Cancun.

Hola muchachos! I got back from Cancun late last night and have spent pretty much all of today catching up and unpacking. But I wanted to write down what happened because I like torturing you.

SATURDAY
We spent Friday night at Alex’s parents house and his dad drove us to the airport Saturday morning. Nothing truly eventful except we were delayed over half an hour for coke. Yes… they forgot to put soda on the plane so we had to wait for it. After apologizing 79 thousand times (without starting the plane), I decided a vote was in order. “Who wants a coke?! Who wants to fucking go?!” No one answered because I was talking to myself, but I think the large guy behind me agreed as he coughed all over my hair. We ended up in Cancun anyway, and found out we had an amazing view that was literally right on the beach. Local weather: hot and humid. We ordered pizza because nothing was open, and I passed out.

SUNDAY
Exhausted from not having enough coke, we decided to take the bus to downtown Cancun. Huge mistake. There’s nothing there except flies and souvenirs. After walking thousands of miles in blazing heat and crazy humidity, I felt pretty lost and Jewish. Actually, it was maybe a mile or two and I did get a nice view of the ghetto. Arriving back at the hotel (after buying a souvenir to make the trip sort of worth it), we decided to check out the beach. Walking from our back porch to the beach took one minute, but I was parched and still had to stop for a pina colada as soon as I hit the sand. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading Dashiell Hammett’s detective stories and not applying sunblock, while Alex read “The Da Vinci Code” and wore SPF 15. That night involved buying some beers for our villa’s kitchen (which, along with limes and crackers were all the supplies we needed for a week) and setting up our touristy activities for the trip, which were climbing the Mayan ruins at Chichen-Itza and going on a Pirate Cruise.

MONDAY
The day was spent at the beach, and I again decided sunblock was for losers and trusted my Italian/Mexican genes to carry me and my pale ass through a week of endless infernos. The water was awesome, and I spent some time playing in the sand like a four year old, and loving it. That night we wanted to check out the night life we saw on the tragic bus ride all the way to easkabumfuck a day earlier. We ended up at Senor Frogs, and while we were waiting for our picture (which you pay $25 for AND tip the guy- for what I couldn’t tell you) my legs felt like they were burning. Chalking it up to being out of Fresno for too long and the heat was getting to me, I had a few gigantic drinks and forgot about it. We danced, watched Southerners and Brits get crazy with the little shows the house puts on, drank and danced some more, went home, and had another beer or two (thanks to the well planned stash).

TUESDAY
We had to be good Tuesday because Wednesday we had to get up early for a trip to the Mayan Ruins (real early, like 6AM, not fake early). When I woke up I realized last night my legs had been EATEN ALIVE by fire ants but I was too drunk/stupid too realize it. I laughed in pain’s face but started furiously scratching my legs and realized laughing at pain and/or death always requires liquor. We spent some more time at the beach- I think I wore SPF 6 that day- and went to town to go souvenir shopping. We got some great stuff, but my legs felt like midget dogs were devouring them with NO utensils and I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to handle it. So… we ended up at the resort bar that night. We met a strange guy- Steve?- who came alone and apparently smoked a lot of weed. We also met this nice Southern couple on their honeymoon who were convinced we needed to have lots of babies. Somehow, throughout the one night we had to behave, Alex and I ended up being the most drunk we would be on the entire trip. I had to close the tab because he was ready to pass out, but I ended up on the beach extremely faded in a nightgown. I wasn’t on a nice resort chair either, I was right at the water line saying incoherent things to cute couples as they went for moonlight walks. I had a bath towel with me that I think I was sitting on, but most of my comments to people involved asking for towels.

WEDNESDAY
Alex and I wake up feeling like someone set off dynamite inside of us. Here it is, 6 something in the morning, we have a bus waiting for us, and I can’t get him to put any pants on. We end up at the bus through the mercy of Dionysus and feel like absolute old shit for the first part of the ride. When it started wearing off I compared it to having a nail in your foot that feels nice when it’s out, but you’re still bleeding. Yeah… Alex thought that was a bad analogy too. Anyway, we get to Chichen-Itza, me covered in bugbites and both of us hungover, along with a busful of nice old tourists. The ruins were amazing, but you could only climb on some of them because some dillhole decided it was a fantastic idea to graffiti the inside of the temples. Our tour guide, Pepe, told great stories about treasure hunters using explosives on the temples and how the winner (or maybe loser, no one knows) of the Mayan equivalent of basketball was beheaded after the game. We also talked about sacrificing virgins (no cracks about how safe I must have felt, you dogs) and how the Mayans had a superior grasp of acoustics. You can clap at certain points in the ruins and it will reverberate your panties off or make twanging noises from high up in the great temple. Pepe said some other stuff but I was hungry and it was too damn hot to try and decipher his accent all day. We also saw a sinkhole where they sacrificed “pure people” by throwing them in. I sat next to it and scratched my bugbites thinking of how badly I wanted a ham sandwich. The bus drove us to a good Mexican restaurant for lunch, and our next activity was swimming in an underground cave. Being a germ freak, I only sat on the side and estimated the number of parasites everybody else was going to walk away with, but it was really pretty.

THURSDAY
Still tired from Wednesday’s excellent adventure, we had to recoup in the morning for Thursday evening’s Pirate Cruise. (Yes, bitch, it gets capital letters.) Everyone was going to dress like a pirate, we’d have an open bar AND a steak and lobster dinner. So, to rest up, more fun at the beach! This time, however, all the previous time in the sun finally caught up to us and took a hearty dump. My back was HOT from the burn, and Alex referred to himself as “Lobster Man” and made up a theme song which was something like him half-singing “lobster man” over and over. We sack up and go to the pirate cruise, which was amazing from the beginning because we started out standing in a huge line! Ye-eah! The pirate cruise really got going when we got one of the worst seats right next a speaker on tiny stools with 80 other people (some fortunate souls got the side of the boat). A fat captain calling himself “Cap-i-tan Hook” screamed half-english into his microphone, which was amplified into our little section of the deck. I looked at Alex with pleading eyes and said, “We have to find better seats, or this will be the worst and most un-piratey experience of our lives.” His attempts to rescue us were shot down by the pirate servers. I saw a young couple slide into a prime spot one deck above us, and mustered all the rage a pirate-obsessed American tourist can have onto an unsuspecting deckhand. I wandered over, raised a shaking arm and said, “Can we sit there?” I pointed (angrily!) to the other half of the excellent seats. “Sure.” We ended up getting a great view of the show and the sunset, and the young English couple next to us were just as interested in getting beers as we were, making the cruise pretty cool.

FRIDAY
Just relaxed and packed for our morning flight the next day. Drank the remaining beers. Enjoyed it.

Tags: drunk, good times, pirates, vacation

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