You Say Stupid. I Say Almost Clever.

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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…

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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