You Say Stupid. I Say Almost Clever.


My last day in Mexico was just a series of me failing miserably at trying to be clever. I am blaming my hangover and calling it an off-day. Usually, I am way smarter, I swear. 

After I got wrestled out of my room far too early in the morning, I had the whole day to kill, with my suitcase and man-bag. I decided I’d ask the bell boys to look after the bags, while I swanned around by the pool curing my hangover. After all, we had become such good friends, they always called me amigo, offered me tequila, laughed at my jokes that weren’t meant to be jokes at all, I was great buddies with Miguel, Raul, and the other Miguel. Stupidly, I let them know why my suitcase was with me, I had just checked out, could they look after my bags, cheers amigos! The words “checked out” transformed them. I must have said a secret code as they immediately lost grasp of their usually good English. Now all I was getting was “Que” and “No”. Come on Raul, we are amigos, you said it yourself everyday! “No”. Miguel, my old buddy, Miguel… he just walked away from me. Miguel 2, the Miguel who always offers me tequila, hook me up. He offered me tequila again, sure Senor, but now its 50 pesos a shot, what the funk?!

I ended up not being allowed back into the hotel or the grounds, seeing as I no longer had the special wristband. Great, about 7 hours to kill waiting for my shuttle to the airport. I had a brain wave and headed to Subway, I’d get a few rolls for the wait, free food and all after my bathroom incident. It wasn’t until I got to the till to pay for the 3 rolls – 7 hours is a long and hungry wait – that I noticed none of the people who were working the night I got locked into the bathroom were on. Balls. So, I tried to explain to the guy serving me about my free food set-up, the manager gave the all clear. The word “free” drained him of his English and all I got now was “Que?”, whereas two seconds earlier he could reel off in English the 39 different dressings I wouldn’t want on my rolls. Its fine, Ill just pay for the 3 rolls, oh thats right, no money in my wallet, I have the fear over my credit card, Ill go down the road to the ATM, with my suitcase, get some money and be right back. My clever plans were all working to a tee so far.

Shuttle never arrives for the airport, ended up getting a taxi, a good waste of money, Orbitz would be getting a call about that. So I eventually get to the airport that evening, and I have come prepared this time. I am not wearing shorts which require a belt, I am too clever for that. Instead I am wearing my blue Nike Jordan basketball shorts, which I always wear to the gym. They are loose, hang down like curtains, shapeless, comfortable, only two pockets but perfect for the flight home. I get on the flight, delighted to see I got the emergency row again, no sign of an old Mexican dude who looks like he will release his bowels next to me this time, sandwiched in between two women. I throw my man-bag into the overhead, making sure first to get all the essentials I need for the flight. My pockets are over-laden – iPod, earphones, tic-tacs, mints, chewing gum, watch, notepad, pen, phone, bottle of water – all the essentials so I wouldn’t have to be getting up every two seconds to get stuff.

The flight starts off with the woman on my right commenting on how my hair looks like its had a good spring break at least. And starts to rub it, more pet it really. She then also notices the different bracelets and bands on my arm, plus my lack of tan (in her opinion, I thought I was bronze! ha), and starts to rub my arm. Well, more pet my arm really. So she’s petting my hair and arm like I’m her cat, the job, good start to the flight. I should say as well that she wasn’t really my cup of tea. I’m not sure she would be most people’s cup of tea, but if you like the female looking version of Rosie O’ Donnell perhaps, then maybe she might be. I’m more of a fan of Ellen myself.

She’s having small talk, mostly to herself, she’s going to San Fran for a few days or so now too, but she lives in Tahoe, was I single, what was I doing for the next few days in San Fran, we should all go out!!! Oh right. I stop her petting by reaching for the air conditioning overhead, sneakily rob hers too. I needed it though, between her and the hangover, the sweats were coming. She whips out her phone, asks me my name, cant understand what I tell her (surprising to say the least), so tells me she’ll just call me “Hot Stuff”. Oh Jesus. She gives me her phone, put in your number hot stuff, we’ll all go out for drinks, it’ll be so much fun! This is where I put on my clever hat. I can’t work her Blackberry, so I hand it back but tell her, sure you can have my number, here you go, and rattle a spoof number off to her, an American equivalent of my Irish 088 number. What’s that, I didn’t give you enough digits, tack another, eh, lets say a 1, throw another 1 on at the end.

I am happy enough with myself at this stage. At least I was smart enough to give her a spoof number, I can fall asleep in peace now. Sleep on. However, it is when I wake up, that I realize I have made a grave mistake about something else. I should not have worn those shorts. In fact, I might as well be wearing nothing, or else blue body paint at the most. Between my pockets being weighed down, so they are pulling the shorts down on the sides, a lot, plus all the streams of cold air I have aimed at me, and my lap, more or less the shape of everything is there to see. Every nook, hole and cranny. Plus it was cold, with the a/c and all, so it wasn’t looking its May West, ha.

I was woken up by the air hostess asking me to straighten my seat for the landing, so she had a good look, if she wanted that is. I’m sure most people walking by saw what was on offer, through my magnificent shorts that have now, more or less, morphed into blue bicycle shorts. Less I would say. I looked to my right, to see my new buddy just looking at my lap. I motion to my eyes – I’m up here love!!! I’m still hungover, just woke up and starving, so a bit numb and dumb, rearrange myself and pretend not to notice. Nothing here to see, move on folks. Start off a bit of small talk with Rosie next to me to take her mind off it, what do you do? She informs me she owns (or runs, I couldn’t understand her for once) two ski resorts in Tahoe. I should come up! Bring friends. Free skiing and free accommodation. Not too shabby, I think, this flight has come good after all.

The plane lands, hop, skip and a jump style. We’re waiting around for it to park, Rosie tells me she’s just texted her daughter, who is my age, and who lives in San Fran. She told her about “Hot Stuff” and she is interested in going for drinks as well, I was wondering why she kept saying we can all go out! She then shows me a photo of her daughter on her phone as the screensaver, I’m not expecting too much. However, my first thought is that there is no way that they are related! The daughter has to be adopted, she looks hot enough! I casually ask to see some more photos of the daughter, any closer ones, any face ones perhaps, ha. She shows me a few more on her phone, my first impression was right, her daughter is tasty!

Who cares about my shorts, the hangover, or any of that, this has been a good flight, free skiing, free hotel, and her daughter is hot, wuu! As I get up from my seat to leave the plane, I turn on my own phone. This is when I remember that I have given Rosie a complete and utter spoof phone number. I doubt there is even one digit the same as my real American number. Balls. How the funk will I get out of this. I walk off the plane, trying as hard as I could to muster any bit of cleverness left in my hungover brain. There is nada left, nothing, zilch. The numbers are completely alien to each other. I gave her a number where the first 2 digits were 31. The first 2 digits of my real number are 80. I can feel the free skiing with her hot daughter slipping away.

Worse still, when we’re queuing up for immigration, we’re in different lines, she’s in U.S citizens, I’m in the Johnny Foreigners line. I decide I’ll cut her off after the line, hopefully, tell her I want to make sure I gave her the right number, take her phone and change numbers quickly, what a plan. I get through immigration, wuu huu, and manage to catch her before she leaves. Sorry Rosie, I just want to make sure I gave you the right number – “Ok” – Ha, you better give me the phone, I’ll double check myself. However, instead of giving me the phone, she shows me the number quickly, then calls it out. It is a great spoof number, but nowhere near like mine. Eh, I think the end is wrong, give me your phone a second and I’ll fix it. At this stage it feels like I’m trying to rob the phone. “I’ll do it, you couldn’t use my phone, remember earlier” – Balls – “just call out the right one to me now”. I give up at this stage, tell her it was a 2 at the end, not a 1. Out the airport exit she goes, gone, good duck to free skiing and hot daughter. I just realized after writing all this I should have simply asked Rosie for her or her daughter’s number. I am quite the idiot.

I’m back to being annoyed and feeling like an ape at this stage. While waiting for my lift from the airport, I decide to vent my anger at Orbitz, I’ll ring them and complain about the shuttle never showing up. I get their freephone number, and call them. For some reason, ringing a freephone number on my phone costs me double what it costs to make a normal call. This same phone let me make calls and texts in Mexico for free. It is the stupidest phone ever. Suits me down to the ground!

Song of the long, annoying, hungover, clever, stupid day is Scenic World by Beirut…

4.4 On The Richter! Shook Me Insides Out!!!

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I had another post from my final day in Meeheeko cleverly lined up to post itself, but as you will see if it ever does appear, I do not do clever so well. Until then, I will tell you about my momentous day today!

My trip to Mexico was a roaring success. As in so far as I’m back in America again, wuu huu. I had to fly back to San Fran, for appearance issues, and I’m heading back to L-Heeeey tomorrow night. I am funking pumped to say the least. My plan is to finish off (start) the writing assignments while I’m in San Fran now and be good to plough on with being more productive this time around in L.A.

So this morning, I set my alarm to get up early, I was focused, pumped, good day of work ahead of me, c’mon the writing flow!!! Alarm was set and good to go, 11.30, nice and early. About 11 o’clock, I am half woken up by the neighbours, in the apartment below, getting it on. Sweet lord they were going at it, I couldn’t believe it. Then again the wind does rattle the windows when it picks up. So seeing as the windows were rattling, walls were shaking and floor was hopping, I thought it must be a normal occurrence whenever they went at it like rabbits. One was dominating the other this morning though!!! I gave the floor two bangs with my runner – I’m sleeping, unless I can join in, it’s a bit early, !!! – and fell back to sleep.

When I get up to have breakfast, my cousin’s fiance mentions that I managed to sleep through it all. “I know!!” I tell her, “They were going at it a lot this morning, must’ve been make-up sex!!” I get a puzzled look in return “I meant you slept through the earthquake, what are you on about?” Oh, the earthquake, thats what I was on about too, obviously. How was I to know?! It was my earthquake, I’m so proud of it. 

For some reason, the earthquake ruined my productive buzz I had saved up. I felt like I had accomplished something by having my first earthquake experience, so my edge was taken off, ha. Looks like it’ll have to be tomorrow before I finish (start) those writing assignments.

Has this ever happened to you? On your way to the gym, you stop off in the little Polish shop around the corner, where everything is dirt cheap, and buy a can of Red Bull. There is one left, not in the fridge, but on the shelf next to the one dusty can of tuna and one tin of Polish soup. It’s only a dollar, who cares if it’s nice and warm, dollar on!!! So as you’re drinking it, en route to the gym, you notice how much it doesn’t taste like Red Bull usually does. This tastes more like the watery beer you had in Mexico. Maybe though, thats what Red Bull tastes like when its not cold.

So you get to the gym and decide to start off with squats, you’re feeling pumped, throw on extra weights! However, on your way down on your first squat, you realise, oh jesus, my stomach, my god, that dodgy Red Bull! Barely able to put the weights back up, you sprint for the toilet, thank funk you get there just in time. You have your own little earthquake, plates move, that dodgy Red Bull is flushed out, leaving you feel pretty shook. You then inspect the can from the bin, sell by date is 12-02-2006, what year is this again?

Yeah, thats never happened to me either.

I must depart now though. I must get down to that Polish shop quick. I saw earlier that they’re having a big sale on lots of items – dirt cheap milk, eggs, chicken and cottage cheese!!! I hope I’m not too late!!!

First, before I go, here’s the apt earthquake/pump me up song that I was not listening to as I did not frantically run looking for the bathroom… You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC

Ha, here’s another song my buddy gave me to play for the earthquake… I Feel The Earth by Carole King

Naked Wrestling With The Cleaning Maid.


On my final morning in Mexico, I woke up surrounded and shrouded with the fear of God in me. What had happened last night, that little Canuck again! Usually, no matter how many Cosmopolitans I have had, ha, when I get in from a night out, I always manage to take off my clothes and fold them away, not sure why but always seem to do it. However, on my final morning, I woke up fully clothed, half on the bed, runners still on, the hotel phone ringing next to me in my ear. I did the quick check. Phone. Wallet. Passport. IPod. Laptop. Camera. Clothes. Runners. Hair. They were all still there. Something was wrong though, the fear was here.

The phone kept buzzing away, so I answered, and realized I could barely talk. “Senor, its almost 11, you have to leave.” I grunt out the information that my flight wasn’t until way later that day, couldn’t I stay in bed until the afternoon? “Yes Senor, you can stay if you like – Sound, nice one! – but it will cost you an extra $25 per hour after 11.” Balls. Up I get, head for the shower. En route I notice my credit card on the ground. Thats obviously a good sign. Here comes the fear some more.

The shower in my hotel is horrendous. Either that, or the Mexicans have thought of a great way to save water. My shower decreases in pressure, the hotter you try to make it. So I have been either having freezing showers, with the shower spitting water out at me. Or if I want a hot one , really only luke warm max, the shower barely drools out a few drops at a time onto my head. Either way you’re not using much water, so I’ll give the Mexicans the benefit of the doubt and applaud their eco-friendly invention. Nothing to do with the hotel actually being crap, nothing at all.

While waiting for about the fifth drop to drool out of the shower and onto my head, after being in the shower a few minutes at least, I remembered that I tried to pay the cab with my credit card, like an ape. I had no cash, so gave the cab man my credit card. I then also remembered there was no credit card machine in the cab itself, but he took it anyways, and held onto it for a good while. It got a bit hazy then, but I presume he took the digits down, probably bought himself some nice stuff online, and gave it back to me. Hopefully there was still only $24 left on it for him to splurge with.

So I get out of the shower, still no better after such a horrendous excuse of a shower. I’m completely goosed, hungover to funk, getting spins, need to sit down on the toilet before I fall over, towel over my head, trying to fully remember what had happened the night before. The bathroom door is fully open, Subway incident left me scarred. I half zone out of it, thinking I hear a noise, but take no notice, too hungover. I look up from under the towel, and see the cleaning lady has come into my room, the noise was her knocking.

She’s just standing there, looking at me. I’m just sitting there, naked, hunched over on the toilet, towel over my head. If I had my wits about me, and if she had been hot and younger than 40, I would’ve invited her in for a cup of tea. She was neither and I had no wits whatsoever anyways. I’m too hungover, tired and lazy to speak properly. My words are too slow coming out of my head so I sound like a caveman, grunting and ughing at her. I’m still with the towel over my head, too dumb and hungover to cop on she can see me in my birthday suit. I stand up, walk towards her, cop on, through the towel around my waist, it falls off, I almost slip on the floor, it’s just great.

By this stage you think she might have been apologetic, embarrassed, intrigued, disgusted, what with me being naked, hungover and acting so dumb and all. Instead she tells me “You need to leave, I must clean, now!” I’m thinking, still too hungover to actually say out loud… I need to leave?! You just walked in on me, in the kip, in my hotel room, and now, you tell me that I need to leave! (I was emphasizing left, right and centre in my head). Instead of saying any of that, all I can manage is an “Ugh, two minutes”.

She responds by pushing and shoving me back in towards my bed and suitcase. Towel is pushed off, my front is covered but she’s getting full view of my tan lines from behind. She wants me out, now! Im thinking will I give her a half Nelson, or body slam her. We’re facing each other, in a deadlock, my brain wondering what the funk is going on! Who will make the next move. Probably me, to pick my towel up off the ground and cover myself. Instead she barks out that she’ll ever so kindly give me five minutes to dry, dress, pack and be gone. How kind, such a good hotel I was staying in. It was a great start to the day, really great. At least it took my mind off the fear for a while I suppose.

I’d like to say my day was fine from there on in, nothing else really happened, but… let’s just say I might as well worn body paint instead of shorts on the flight home, a lot has been explained at least! First, here’s the great song that had me zoned out on the toilet… Magic Position by Patrick Wolf

Here are a few photos of my hotel as well, at least the place looks class.Pool on!

Chilling with the old folk

Ah, how nice.

Sideways, Subway and A Threeway?

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After writing this post, it is longer than I thought, so I’ll split it into three mini ones:


Spring Break this is not. Funny, in a “it would be funnier if it wasn’t happening to me but one of my friends”, yes. Fun… not sure yet. Firstly, the 4 stars this hotel proudly gives itself has to be wrong. This is not all-inclusive. That to me would mean eat and drink whenever, wherever and, more or less, whatever you want from the menu. This is more a form of totalitarian all-inclusive. You can eat what we give you, when and where we feel like it. It’s brutal. So far I’ve tried sticking to the buffets. I could be in & out easier, I didn’t have to wait around to be disappointed by what I ordered, the food was already out to see and disappoint. Plus I didn’t have to make reservations for a table like the other restaurants.

However, yesterday, I see a sign that the dinner buffet was closed that night in the usual place. Instead there would be a big event on the hotel’s beach front, an ABBA’s tribute band, plus the dinner was being served there, but you had to reserve a table. So, I made the reservation, reserved a table, and went along about 8 o’clock to check it out.

The setting was cool in fairness. Down along the edge of the beach, lit up brightly, stage at one end, food buffet along one side, sand and sea on the other side, lots of tables in the middle, all cordoned off by rope and ribbons. Just lovely. I go to the entrance, wait to be seated at my table. Andy and Colin, once again poor chaps, were feeling sick, so I had to go along on my own, ha. I notice, while waiting for Miguel to seat me, that the tables are the ones you’d see at a wedding, or a hotel function, the big round ones that seat a few, a good few. I start to wonder if they’ll have a small one like that for me.

So I follow Miguel, from the entrance at the back of the set-up, through all the tables with all the people, up to by the stage, just in front and to the left, next to the food, under a floodlight, my cosy table. My big, round table, just like the others, that seats 10 people. No-one else is at the table, looks like its reserved just for me and my party. Sorry, Miguel, anything a bit smaller? He can’t hear me with Dancing Queen being belted away in the background, gives me a smile and a si, pulls out a seat for me and I sit down. For some reason facing the crowd, I think the spotlight lighting up my table  and the dance floor was blinding so I had my back to it. Then straight away get up and go get some food. Back to my big, cosy, exposed feeling table, back to the floodlight, spotlight, the big shining light that brightened up my table nicely, and nicely illuminated the shadow of my head across the dance floor.

I’m sure no-one even looked up at my table, or cared I was there on my own. However, in my head, the scene from the movie Sideways was playing on repeat, where he’s eating on his own, looking annoyed. This was great fun, Miguel, two of your flat, watery beers please! So while Miguel scuttles off, a guy getting food from the buffet next to me salutes me with a nod and asks if this seat is free, can he sit down. Work away buddy, bring your friends over, fill the table up! So a friend of his does come over, and its then when I recognise them… my big, fat, gay German buddies. They’re no longer wearing their identical hats, both look similar to Gary Glitter still though, and thankfully they’re wearing more than just red thongs this time around.

Gary 1 starts the small talk, asks me questions in German, I respond in a bit of English with a dash of German here and there. Gary 2 asks me if I’m here on my own. Gary 1 asks me more small talk about Germany. Gary 2 keeps asking if I’m here on my own, with a sparkle in his eye. I’m wishing I was still feeling like the Sideways dude now, instead of feeling like Gary 2 is going to ask me up to their room at any minute, so I wouldn’t be on my own. Miguel finally comes back to the two yellow waters. I use them to wash down my fish that tastes a lot like washing up liquid, bid the German Garries adieu, and head off to buy some beer and get a Subway. My usual route after I have a meal in the hotel.


Off to the nearest shop I go, buy some cans of Bud light, nice and cheap, not in the fridge so they’re also nice and warm but its better than the hotel’s stuff at least. Pack of tic-tacs, seeing as its Mexico, I’ll try the lime ones. Power walk onto Subway, cursing the fact I bothered with all-inclusive when I keep having to do this routine a few times a day. Get to Subway, the yellow water has flown through me, or was it that dodgy fish, so I ask the guy making my sub where the bathroom is, he points down the hallway. Down the hallway I go, into the small bathroom, not like a big public one, just room for one in there. So, the door closes, I hear a click, reach for the light, it doesn’t work. Get out my phone, using the light from it to fumble with the light switch, its still not working, must be bust. Maybe there’s a light switch outside the door actually, let me check. Turn the door knob, door doesn’t open. I try the lock, its just turning fully around, clicking away, just like it did actually when it closed behind me. The job, I’m now locked in the bathroom of Subway, in complete darkness.

After a good few minutes hammering on the door, shouting for Miguel, Raul, Gary 1 or 2, anyone, I get no response. I realize I could panic but there’s not much I could do really. I’ve been locked in a bathroom before, ha, I know the routine. I decide to hope that the guy making my sub notices I never came back from the bathroom. I open a can of warm beer, throw in a few lime tic-tacs for that authentic Mexican feel (they did nada for the manky warm taste in case you were wondering), sit on the sink, throw a song on my iPod, and wait in hope.

About two cans in, someone knocks on the door, wuu to the huu. The guy making my sub is here to save me, tells me to wait Senor, si, I get the manager. Two and a half cans later, I have no clue what took him so long, he’s back with the manager. The manager has perfect English at least, tells me to stand back from the door. Two thuds, kicks I think, and a barge later, and the door is bust open by the stocky little manager, my saviour. I’m on my fifth can at this stage, so I no longer really mind, especially seeing as the manager apologies and says I have free subs for the rest of my stay (apparently there was meant to be a sign up saying the toilet was out of service, but, they forgot to put it up, so sorry senor, no problem Raul, c’mon we share my last can!!!).


At least the free sub, and the 6 cans, had me in the mood to head out that night. I went along to supposedly the best club, Christine, another all you can drink place. Lo and behold, the hotel crew all seem to be there again like the night before. Canadian dude, Gary 1 and 2, Tom Cruises, Bon Jovis, couples, the whole crew, minus the hot wife, not that I’d do anything now I know, of course. The place is strange to say the least, old bald dudes everywhere, majority wearing their sunglasses in the club, lots of old asian women in young asian women clothes, some had to have been grannies, and one guy who was doing the most elaborate dance moves while on his own on the dance floor, something to watch at least.

While watching him in bewilderment, and wondering what are the chances MTV might show up here to film this version of Spring Break, Gary 1 and Gary 2 come over to me, asking if I’m here on my own. I can join them at their table for drinks if I like, do I like to dance? Sweet lord, I need help, the Germans want a threesome. Thankfully, over comes my buddy from the night before, the little Canuck, round of shots in hand, and two women flanking him. He introduces me to them, two English girls. A bit of small talk here and there, when one asks me if I’m 16 too? Pardon me, what do you mean? Your Canadian friend is only 16, you’re not 16 too are you? What the funk, he’s only 16?!!! I am, eh, I’m here with my parents, anyone want a tequila, eh? I’m being drunk under the table by a 16 year old, happy days, booze on boss, booze on.

The little Canuck heads off to get plenty more rounds of shots for us, and I try to talk to the blonde English girl (she’s 28, not 16 too, thankfully), the one who looked like she had more interesting conversation in her, and I suppose, far and away the hotter of the two. Not that I noticed, obviously. After a while, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, be right back. I tell her to be careful of the lock, and I’m left with the, sounder, frumpier, grumpier looking friend. She tells me straight off “I hope you know this is going no further for you tonight?” Eh, pardon, what do you mean. “With my friend, nothings going to happen tonight for you there.” She then kindly tells me, not asks, time, month… nothing is going to happen for you with her tonight. I think its a p**s take because of the night before, has to be surely, oh jesus, is the husband in the house?!!! “Fine, ask her yourself when she comes back, or else I will just to prove it.” So, the frumpy, grumpy, sound friend does ask her hotter friend when she comes back, or states the fact of time, month for her, in front of both of us. Turns out she wasn’t lying, her friend does enough to confirm, at least there’s no denial. The frumpy grumpy friend is fine though, she informs me, hers was last week. Lovely. I’m not sure what to say to either of them after that, nice bit of awkward silence, weird enough.

I decide I should really go help the Canadian dude with carrying the round of shots. In the end, I never did manage to get to talk to either of those English girls again though. It was a big club, and I ended up losing them. Eventually. The frumpy, grumpy one was far harder of the two to shake off I must say, ha.

Song of the day, the first Subway bathroom song that came on my tripod, is this savage new one… Snookered by Dan Deacon

Forgive Me Father!


The game of bridge carried on until the wee hours last night so I never got to finish off my story from the first night. As I was saying, I was having breakfast the first day, noticing all the old folks that were in the hotel too, when I noticed a hot chick amongst the sea of grey hair. And I noticed that she noticed me too. So I noticed her back. And also noticed her boyfriend staring me out of it, how’s it going, nice tacos for breakfast, huh. So I let it go, although I did think they didn’t really seem to act like a couple, kind of looked like they might actually be related. He was a beast though, so I held back with all my noticing.

It was the same that day by the pool. Myself, Andy and Colin were sitting only a few seats away from them. They weren’t really talking to each other, she looked bored, he looked boring, I was starting to think they were just brother and sister, here on holiday together, thats it. Plus she was hot as funk, dark, Mediterranean looking, nay too shabby in a bikini, the more watery vodka I had the more I started to think they definitely weren’t going out with each other.

That night the hotel had some club lined up for cheap if you wanted to go along, all you can drink place. Andy was feeling sick, Colin had sun stroke, so I decided I’d go along on my own, cant waste my nights in the hotel room. We get to the club, which I had great hopes for, seeing as it was called Zoo, but sweet lord, it was horrendous. Im pretty sure Cher was playing as I walked in the door. The club was like FX in Cork, but Mexican style. There was a cage in the middle of the dance floor too, Surfers style. MTV would not be showing up here tonight for a Spring Break Special.

I’m mingling with the hotel heads at the bar, checking to see if Sue and Jim came or stayed behind playing cards, oh great my German buddies are here too, when this Canadian guy comes up to me fairly twisted. He’s got his bandana nicely tied up, his pink Speedo sunglasses on top of his head, and he’s freddie funked drunk. “Are you Irish, eh?” – I am boss – “I was just talking to another English person over there, we should all do shots, eh” – Are you Canadian? I was just talking to another American person over there, shots sound good though… off we go to the shots bar. The little Canuck starts to pound back the tequila, it was impressive enough. After a few, I’m looking for a breather and wander off for a stroll. 

With the tequilas giving me a merry spring in my step, I see that the hot chick is here, and, let me check, no sign of her brother, wuu duu. I head over to order a drink next to her at the other bar. Small talk on “Yeah, I love this Cher song too, its great they play it so much”. It turns out she’s from Hollywood, and she was not a fan of the club either, we were bonding already “God, I miss Hollywood, don’t you miss it, I miss the sign a lot, this club is crap, yeah they’re waaay better in Hollywood.” So, its going well, ha, when I remember the brother/boyfriend scenario. I casually ask her if her boyfriend is not out tonight. “John? Thats not my boyfriend, he’s back in the hotel though, he’s sick.” Poor John must’ve picked up the same bug as Andy. I knew he was her brother! The Canadian swans over with a round of shots, perfect time to celebrate, the club is picking up!

The night progresses, the Canadian is feeding me shots, and I end up in the cage doing my “Anyone see Timmy the rabbit?” dance. It’s a hard dance to resist really, she wasn’t to blame, it was the lure of the moves. So the two of us get a cab back to the hotel, anyone up for some watery vodka, sprung broke isn’t so bad after all! Alas, it was not to be. She asks me the time. 4.30. What month is it? March, I think. Time? Month? Oh, right, you were telling me something, not asking me. Oh right. Thats great. Balls. She gives me her number, tells me she’s checking out in the morning, give her a call when I’m back up in Hollywood. I surely will, good night to you.

Not a bad night, feeling dodge after all the tequila, pity that chick was leaving today but at least there is Hollywood. I force myself up for breakfast before the 11.30 cut off time. I am goosed, hungover, sun is blinding, head down, sunglasses on, I’ll get some breakfast and then back to sleep. I’m making some coffee for myself at the buffet, when I notice Hollywood girl and her brother walking along by the pool, the bellboy behind them with their bags, they must only be checking out now. Kind of weird that I see they’re holding hands, maybe he’s just making sure she doesn’t fall into the pool. And now they’re kind of walking with their hands around each other waists. Interesting. So this morning, they do not look like brother and sister. They seem like a couple. But she said he wasn’t her boyfriend. Oh Jesus.

I have moved onto making toast at this stage, noticing all this, putting two and two together, finally, and getting a bit freaked. She doesn’t come into the restaurant, goes on with the bellboy. Oh great, in he comes, heads to the buffet, straight in my direction. Did I mention he’s a beast? Oh Jesus. Is Jim around, I might need back-up. So, I’m at the toaster, and he’s now getting coffee next to me. I glance at his left hand quickly just to make sure, and yes, of course he is, he’s wearing a wedding ring. Oh Jesus. He hasn’t swung for me, yet, so I’m presuming he doesn’t know about his WIFE being unable to resist my dance moves the night before. Oh Jesus. At this stage I want to scream at the toaster to hurry the funk up and TOAST THE STALE BREAD FASTER!!!!! But I stay cool, he leaves before the toaster pops, brings two coffees out to the reception. One for him, one for the missus. She takes the coffee, kisses him on the lips, maybe they’re just an affectionate brother and sister? Thank Joseph they’re checking out there and then, could’ve been awkward and detrimental to my health if they hung around much longer.

As hot and all as she was, it looks like I shall have to break my promise and won’t be calling her when I get back to Hollywood. Probably not. I might text just to make sure she got home okay, ha. I just hope it wasn’t their honeymoon. I’ll never be ordained at this rate. Forgive me Father!!!

Song of the day is this mighty song with an apt song title for me…I Need A Life by Born Ruffians

Here’s a cool remix of the same song too, sounds way different… I Need A Life (Four Tet Remix) by Born Ruffians…

Sprung Broke

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I was getting withdrawal symptoms not updating the blog, plus there have been too many incidents going on, so I need to jot them down. If you’re looking forward to hearing about how unbelievable Spring Break is, with the thousands of hot women, free booze flowing, crazy parties, savage clubs, time of your life and all that, I apologise in advance. If you want to hear about OAP’s, German dudes in thongs (stereotype on!), not so all-inclusive, and married/incestuous women, read on!

This is my second time flying to Mexico, and both times I clapped like an ape when I landed. This first time flying to Cancun, I noticed the pilot was actually in the bathroom when the plane was descending and close to landing. With a dodgy hop, skip and a jump, the plane landed, just about, so I presume there were two pilots but still dodge. I joined in with the over-enthusiastic Yanks who were hooting and hollering that the plane had landed.

This time around, I did a one handed clap to myself as I could get off the plane. I’d say about 5 minutes into the flight, I detected that the guy next to me had to have just s**ted himself. The smell was horrendous. Either he did, or I did without knowing, the smell was that bad. Then again, if it was me, I wouldn’t really be divulging it on the blog. He was an older, gruff looking Mexican, and didn’t seem to care or notice. Even though I was happy with my seat – aisle on the emergency row, awful pains in the legs, any chance? -I had to move. So I scoured the plane for an available seat, its full to the brim, happy days. In the end I had to go down the back of the plane for the flight and hang around by the toilets. The stewardess gave me her seat for parts, parts I spent sitting in the toilet (funnily enough I wrote my first stand-up pieces when in the toilet), but mainly I was just hanging around the back of the plane. Small plane too so I could more or less hear what person did what in the toilet, it was great. The smell was better down there at least. It was a mighty start to my priest get-away!

My first morning at breakfast was when I kind of thought I picked the wrong place to stay. Firstly, the hotel was split in two, grand and club. Grand was nicer, more restaurants, bars etc, the better place to stay. Club was cheaper, it’ll be grand, club on! So I’m eating some dodgy buffet food in the club section, waiting for the hoards of college girls to trundle in for breakfast, some dude to give me a beer bong and the music to blare up, my Spring Break would be under way. Just like they do on MTV. And here they come, hoards and hoards of old people, mixed with people wearing Muubuu’s, Homer Simpson fat camp style. The job. Sprung Broke all the way. Felt more like Radio 1. There were a splattering of hot women at breakfast, but mostly couples, or are they brother and sister, I’ll come back to that.

I moseyed way up to the pool after breakfast, at least it was roasting, the chicks will all be up here, come on the beer bong! The pool was cool enough, bar in the middle, younger crowd up there, might not be too bad. It was then when I found out that all-inclusive does not include water. Or the majority of drinks one would probably drink. One beer, one watery vodka, one dodgy mixer (there were more but that was my menu). The pool was full to the brim with apes as well. They were either Tom Cruise wannabes, or Bon Jovi lovers. The Tom Cruise dudes were all small, pumped up, finger pointing, gun motioning, high fiving, cringe worthy, rooting tooting apes, with none of his good movie lines. The Bon Jovi dudes were bandana’d up to the max, with their florescent, Speedo, too-tight-for-their-heads sunglasses. And the women, who weren’t part of couples-ville, were… sound looking. The music was pumping, but sweet lord, it was horrific. Cher’s classic, Do You Believe In Life After Love, must have been on loop every third song. I liked it the first 7 times but after that I had to have a word with the DJ, the world renowned Senor Miguel, all night long, requests are welcome, as long as its Cher or Bon Jovi!

After a fair few watery vodkas at that pool, I decided I should really sneak into the grand section and see what the fuss was. So I cleverly walked across a path, and I was in, tough enough. The pool was better in fairness, plus it had a better selection of watery spirits to choose from, so I hung around a while. Chilling with all the grandparents there. Having small talk about the books we were reading. Saying how glad we were that we had all brought cardigans, as it does get quite chilly here at night.

One granddad ruined all the small talk. His wife was telling another set of grandparents, and me, of how great it was that they brought their young granddaughter, she can interpret for them, she’s only 6 but speaks Spanish so well. The other granny must have said “Isn’t that awesome, really awesome, good for her, and for you, that is really awesome” about 9 times. She was interrupted, however, by the girl’s granddad, who had said nothing at all up to this point, until he pops out with “I wish the little c**t would shut up if you ask me”. Ha, it was brilliant, I was the only one laughing though. Cue awkward silence, which was a lot of fun, followed by the fighting about calling her that name in front of people, followed by the granddad calling his wife the same name too.

That fun was then followed by my brief meeting with Ze Germans. So, sitting at the bar in the swimming pool, grandparents fighting to my right, I decide to swivel to my left. Two big fat German dudes, in red thongs, both looking like Gary Glitter with their beards and caps, and who were holding hands I should add, a post wouldn’t be complete without some gay paragraph, at least I can talk to them about Harvey Milk. I kind of overhear them talking in German and looking at me. It takes a minute for my German ear to tune in that they’re saying something about my hair, mocking it I think. Little did the know about my previous life as a translator! So, I say nothing, let them mock on, make sure, I can get that they think I need a haircut, something like that. So I finish my drink, then in German, ask them where they bought their thongs, and inform them that hair is actually a wig, don’t tell anyone. Brutal comebacks I know, but it was the best I could do at the time in German. I finished off with a “Ja, VOLL!” alright which Germans don’t like, I showed them to mock me to my face in a foreign language!

I’ll have to blog on tomorrow about the brother and sister/boyfriend and girlfriend tomorrow. I’m late enough as it is. The game of bridge starts over in Sue and Jim’s room in 5 minutes! Sprung Broke on!!!

Song of the day is not cheesy DJ Senor Miguel’s choice but this savage one… Courtship Dating by Crystal Castles