iTrip.

8 Feb
*~*OkAy, so here’s what 2 do…. put ur iPod on shuffle, and the first ten songs that pl@y are the soundtrack to your li—–Oh wait, I forgot I’m not a faggot with no life.

Greetings, folks. How do you do? Neat. February has been hectic. HECTIC I tell you. I’ll begin with Cancun.

I was to drive out to bumblefuck, Missouri to spend the night at my friend Ann’s house the night prior to our departure to Mexico, seeing as our flight left very early (7 a.m.) and we had to be at the airport by 6 a.m. Instead I went over to my boyfriend’s where I got drunk and went unconscious, meaning at 3:45 a.m. I had to get up and make a hazy one hour drive out to her house so we could leave on time.

We arrive at the airport and excitedly board our flight. I sat behind a woman who shared my affinity for Werther’s Originals and the Weather Channel. We bonded. Soon enough I see the beautiful white, sandy coastline slinking along the shore miles below. I am very excited. So excited in fact, that I fear I may wet myself. We land and go through customs and sprint off to our shuttle, antsy to get to our resort, The Riu Palace, and more importantly, to begin drinking.

Our Mexican shuttle driver drops us off at the resort. Our rooms are not yet ready, so we take a seat in the lobby area. A Mexican woman promptly approaches us with a tray full of drinks. We down them and get seconds, and decide that instead of waiting around for our rooms, we should sneak into our luggage, don our swimsuits and hit the beach. So we did. The resort had a perfect layout. The front of the hotel led out to the street which was lined with souvenier shops, restaurants and bars, and the back of the hotel walked straight into the infinity pool, 24 hour restaurant/snack bar, and the beach. We commandeered some lawn chairs and flagged down the nearest Mexi we could find to bring us beverages, which he did.

Soon we discover that other fellow Vector people were arriving, and decided to go back inside and check into our rooms, which by this time should be ready. I was delighted to find that not only did our room have an excellent view of the ocean and pool area, but there were also four bottles of liquor near the vanity.

On tap.

Mel Gibson would have been tickled pink. Lush.

We were excited. Since the hotel was all-inclusive, that meant that everything our selfish hearts desired was ours for free. Completely free. We immediately ordered 4 plates of nachos, compliments of room service, and began guzzling drinks and slapping on the SPF. In my haste, I knocked over my vodka-soda, smashing my glass and slicing open my pinky finger. Due to my thinned blood, I bled without hesitation. Ann and Hannah dressed my wounds and we continued down to the beach to soak up the sun and increase our BACs.

I become royally tipsy and somehow stumble across a group of middle-aged flight attendants and their pilot. His name was Charlie. I called him Larry. I learn they are from Canada, which I was very excited by seeing as I too am Canadian. The flight attendants–Pamela, Ana, and Maria–quickly fall in love with my charm and inebriation and invite us to party with them later that evening, instructing us to meet them at the bar in the hotel lobby. I agree, take a picture with them, and proceed with the girls to get ready for the evening.

We shower and get ready. Our room becomes the place to pre-game so everyone congregates there, glasses and bottles in hand. We’re all looking pretty sexy at this point seeing as we haven’t had a chance to fall down or puke on ourselves yet, so we take five million pictures and then meet Kyle Smith, the organizer of our trip, in the lobby for dinner.

I am drunk at this point. There’s no denying it. When I’m drunk, I choose one individual to hate on relentlessly. Unfortunately that individual was Todd Berger. He ruins half of the pictures I take and I yell at him.

I remember few details about dinner, although at some point, my friend Kevin and I get up to go browse the desserts, and on the way I paused at an unsuspecting couple’s table and apparently fancied their french fries. Without hesitation I matter-of-factly introduce myself and then start eating their food off of their plates. They are not pleased. Kevin ushers me over to the ice cream and pastries to distract me. The couple is angry. They storm up to Kyle who appears to be in charge of us, and are infuriated with me.

“Are you in charge of a girl named Becca?” They demand.

“Kind of,” Kyle replies. “Can I help you?”

“SHE just RUINED our night,” they steam.

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?” Kyle inquires.

“Well—-” they seem frustrated, “FIRE her!”

“Okay. Becca, you’re fired,” he says. I laugh and accidentally drop my hands in my bowl of ice cream. The couple leaves, unappeased.

Our group finishes our free dinner and decide to go downtown and experience some clubs. Partway there, I realize I am too drunk to have a good time at a club where I would inevitably have to talk/mingle at all, so I just sit down on some steps. Kevin and I decide to smoke Cuban cigars instead of continue binge drinking, so Ann, Hannah, Kevin and I return to our hotel to blacken our lungs instead of poison our liver. I go to bed.

Day Two.

I wake up around 5 a.m. My first thoughts: Fuck, I’m thirsty. This bed sucks. I slept in my makeup, didn’t I. This blanket feels like a table cloth.

I stumble to the bathroom and drink a glass of water. My first mistake. I then discover not only did I sleep in my makeup but I also chose to sleep in my swimsuit. I take some preemptive Advil and go back to sleep for a couple of hours so I’d be ready to rock by 8 or 9.

The group is up and about by 9 a.m. We head down to the dining area and take advantage of the breakfast spread. They have everything from fresh fruit to pancakes and french toast to omelettes and pastries. We stuff ourselves and head down to the beach to induce skin cancer. We sign up to go scuba diving the following afternoon and decide to rent waverunners. A good dozen of us head out on the open sea to race around aimlessly. Josh crashes into people and gets kicked out.

We spend the next few hours tanning and getting sand in our buttcracks. We get bored and decide to organize a game of sand volleyball. Unfortunately I am no better at volleyball than I am at being sober. I attempt to get out of participating, I inform the group that a fair game of volleyball is not possible without a referree, and I would sacrifice my position to sit on the sidelines and make sure the game was played by the rules. My proposal is denied and I am recruited to the team.

Ironically enough, I turn out to be an asset when my underhand serving skills prove to be unstoppable. I would go as far to say that I led my team to a victory with my skills and performed as the team muscle. Anyone who objects to that statement was too drunk to know what they were talking about, so don’t listen. The game ends when the ball goes over a tall fence and is lost forever. We opt not to retrieve the ball and ruin the fun for everyone else on the entire beach who intended on playing.

After all this activity, some grub is in order. We all shower and get ready and head down to the dining area as a group. They have so much food at these places, it’s ridiculous: pasta, nachos, chicken, shrimp, potatoes in every form, salad bars, desserts, pizza, fries, it’s endless. We eat dinner while Todd rapes Kyle Smith. Then we venture into the bar area to get our drank on. Next door there is a Michael Jackson impressionist show going on. This guy is amazing. I’m pretty sure he was Hispanic but with makeup and bright stage lights, he pulled off being Jacko pretty convinceably. After watching renditions of Thriller, Billy Jean, and my personal favorite, Will You Be There from Free Willy, we wandered out to the lobby bar and continued to drink.

A creepy old man who had been performing pelvic thrusts in the direction of women half his age during the Michael Jackson performance begins to prey on Hannah, making crude comments about the fact that she is a redhead, including, but not limited to, “I love redheads….Is it true?” This man was disgusting and old. Mainly he was old. The type of old that has an over-developed beer belly, all white hair, wears button up shirts partway open with no shirt underneath to expose his also gray and hairy chest, and vacations alone to stalk drunk girls and molest them in hotel bathrooms. I was offended and bothered by this man to say the least, so I did the most practical thing I could think of and started blurting out blatantly offensive commentary about him to his face.

Creepy Old didn’t like this. I could tell he was very angered that I was ruining his “game” with Hannah, so he attempted to be rude back to me, making a half-ass attempt of a comeback, waving his hand in front of my face. I slapped him. Hard. He got mad and told Hannah to go to the club Dady-O’s with him. We are appalled at his proposal. They scurry off. Kyle Smith and I then make jokes about his age behind his back and to everyone else around us including our Mexican bartender, Abundio.

Kyle: “How old do you think that guy is? That’s scary.”

Me: “Oh god, at least 55.”

Kyle: “Really? I would have guessed over 60 for sure.”

Me: “They’re not even going to let him into the club. ‘Sorry sir, I think you’re confused. Granddady-O’s is actually down the street around the corner, so hop back onto your Hoveround and make your way toward Bingo Night where the rest of the retired wheelchair-bound seniors are.'”

We laugh at his expense and continue to drink throughout the night. I am too tired to go out again, so I head to bed around 1 a.m.

Day 3

We wake up around 9 a.m. and go get breakfast. At 11 we are all to meet down at the scuba diving place to go through a practice course in the pool so we were prepared for the dive that afternoon. I don a wetsuit probably made for a 4th grader because of its size, and we all load into boats and head out for our scuba excursion. It was pretty awesome. We saw some giant sting rays, lots of brightly colored fish, some baracuda, lucky people saw the sea turtle; I didn’t.

Later that day, I snag a picture of the closest ape relative left on Earth. Darwin almost has me with the existence of this man. Hairiest homosapien I have ever laid eyes on. I am repulsed, but this doesn’t stop me from drinking.

Ann and I decide to scamper across the street to get money from the ATM. Instead we enter a souvenir shop full of obnoxious hats, shot glasses with clay figures of people 69ing on them, and t-shirts celebrating the existence of alcohol. Outside of this shop, a dirty, slightly overweight Mexican named Juan stood. Juan was trashed. Juan also reeked of marijuana. Juan was crude and inappropriate. Juan also possessed coupons to get into clubs for free.

He began to haggle me as I browsed through the dozens of cowboy hats this shop had hanging around the entrance. Unfortunately all I was wearing at this point was a swimsuit since I had not planned on doing more than quickly visiting an ATM with Ann and returning to the hotel. For some reason I did not resort to being unforgivingly rude immediately, and I was friendly to Juan. He took this as a free pass to violate me in public. He asks and I tell him my name. He makes inappropriate comments about my ravishing looks (I don’t blame him) and asks me what I am planning on doing later that evening. I inform him I will be getting hammered at a club. He asks me what club. I tell him Dady-O’s. He ponders for a moment and then pulls out a coupon for $20 to get into Dady-O’s since it’s $50 to get inside. I am very excited. I am less excited when he grabs me and sticks the coupon inside my swimsuit bottom. I am very alarmed. I weasel away and thank him for his coupons and rush inside to hustle the owner of the shop for a pink cowboy hat and a Corona t-shirt.

Ann purchases many gifts for her family and we head out of the shop to go back to the hotel. She is jealous of my free coupons, and I tell her that Juan is creepy and would definitely be down with giving her some coupons as well if she acts like she likes him. Sure enough he is still standing outside, waiting to pounce on us like a big ugly jungle cat, but slower on account of his hefty size. I tell Juan he should give a coupon to Ann also because she is my friend and it would only be fair. I also add that it would be a nice bonus to give me a second coupon so that I would only have to pay $5-10 of my own money to get in the club tonight. I should have known I was asking to be sexually assaulted. The man actually draws me in for a hug and bites my neck. I squeal “RAPE!!!!” very loudly, and sprint away, but not before he asks me if I want any weed, which I decline. I lie and tell him I’ll be back later if I want any, and Ann and I return to the hotel to take an acid bath.

This is my last night here, and I HAVE to make it to the clubs tonight, so I take a power nap between 5 and 7 p.m. so that by midnight or so I am ready to rock. Some clubs in Cancun don’t even OPEN until like 3 a.m. just to give you an idea. Crazy Mexicans. I love it. I nap and begin binge drinking with the rest of the crew. We make our way downtown and wait in line for five hours to get into The City, the biggest club I have ever seen. I didn’t know clubs this big existed. It was 3 HUGE floors of drunk people being slutty and dancing and spilling drinks on each other. I get humped by a girl with a squirt gun full of liquor. She shares, so I’m not mad. Lots of drinking and dancing and sweating ensues. We take eight billion photos. I get drunk and walk home.

The next day I wake up with a hang over strong enough to kill a family of four. We sadly pack our bags and force down some breakfast, which I regret later when I am on the verge of projectile vomiting in the airport. I drag my dehydrated, alcohol-poisoned carcass through the airport and board the plane. I have no chance to recover seeing as literally 5 hours after I land, I leave to return to the airport with Trent to fly to Idaho. That’s another story.

End for now.

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One Response to “iTrip.”

  1. Hmm... March 15, 2010 at 7:25 pm #

    Interesting. Transparency?

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