Don't Cry For Me, Mexico. The Truth Is I've Never Been A Very Good Dancer.
Monday, January 24, 2011


Welcome to the second part of my vacation tales. 

So we left off, narrowly escaping the timeshare abductors and climbing into a shuttle van that would transport us to our fun-filled Mexican vacation. 

For this vacation, we used our timeshare week. We don't use our timeshare enough, but when we do, we've always been quite happy with our accommodations.

And that's not an easy feat. I'm rather hard to please. I'm Princess and The Pea kind of hard to please.

Now, this timeshare Mexican vacation was sort of a default trip. Me being the default. My hubs had planned a fishing trip for all the men of his clan, but then things fell through and he already had the timeshare booked so he turned to me and said, "We're going to Mexico!"

So here I was, defaulted into Mexico aboard a shuttle van. 

As the shuttle dropped folks off at their various resorts, we all oohed and aahed. Each resort was more sumptuous than the next. Attendants at each stop rushed to the shuttle, greeting their guests with icy bottles of water and Mexican hospitality, ushering them into their resort under a brigade of stately palms and misty waterfalls. I got super excited as we pulled up to each one, thinking, "Okay then! This Mexican default vacation might not be as fraught with danger and diarrhea as I thought."

We dropped off passengers at all kinds of beautiful resorts, until there was no one left in the van except my sister, my hubs, me and one elderly lady.

And then we started driving. And driving. And driving.

As the posh resorts fell away in the distance, I jovially said, "Yeah, watch our place be a dump. We're probably headed to the hood now."

We laughed as we drove on and on.

And as we drove, the elderly lady filled my sister in on her story. She was a recent widow who'd planned this vacation with her friends as a little picker upper. But one by one her friends had dropped out until it was just her, alone in Mexico.

I wasn't in the mood for talking or sad stories. I was too busy watching all the lovely resorts disappear and biting my lip as the road got dustier and bumpier with potholes.

When we hit a humongous dip that bounced me out of my seat, I thought about Traffic as I eyed my non- English speaking driver suspiciously. Did we look like the kind of people who made good drug mules? I sure knew we were more qualified than the obnoxious girl with the super greasy hair from L.A. who insisted she had to sit in front of the shuttle because she was staying at the One and Only Palmilla and then held up the whole shuttle to get change for her five dollar bill so she could tip the driver one dollar after he hoisted her mazillion bags off the shuttle.

I'm certain he was all, "I would get stabbed to death if I brought Senorita Greaseball back to the kingpins for muling."

I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned off the highway and into another town teeming with people.

Our driver brought the van to a stop across the street from a nondescript white building.

He turned and motioned to the three of us and said in broken English, "Thees ees jour stop."

I looked out the window and said, "But where is the grand entrance with the palm trees? Where are the smiling attendants with our icy bottles of water?"

And he was all, "Jes. Thees ees jour stop."

With a still hopeful heart, I climbed out of the van and trudged across the street, struggling with my luggage over the potholes.

My sister told me later that when we pulled up to the place, she gasped and said, "Really?"

The little old lady had reassured her with, "I'm sure it'll be fine. You should be grateful that you have traveling companions instead of a dead husband and friends who abandoned you at the last minute."

And I guess we did have to be grateful for that.

We walked across the street to our resort as the van roared away. And even though there was no one to greet us, the place didn't look half bad. Not grand or anything, but nice.

Our first warning sign probably should have been the padlock and key they gave us for our safe.

Our second warning should have been the snippet of conversation we heard as we walked away from check in with our big ass padlock. A woman was complaining to one of the clerks, "I am extremely disappointed. It looks nothing like the pictures on the internet."

But still, being the doofuses we are, we didn't hear the alarms screaming at us like a tornado siren.

We had to find our way to our condo, since there were no bellmen. So we took a leisurely stroll through very lovely landscaped grounds and the stunning beach view, to our place.
Which had eighteen steps leading up to it.

And as I bumped my luggage up this steps, I thought breathlessly, "This will all be worth it when we see the view."

And then I saw the view.

We overlooked the public beach parking lot and a construction site.

Still, I thought, "A view does not make a vacation."

And then we opened the door.

And entered 1975. 1975 in Mexico.

With no air conditioning.

Now, let me say this. I'm from Florida. I can handle hot. I can handle steamy. But Mexico makes Florida feel like the Arctic.

And these pictures do not do the place justice. Trust me. The furniture and the walls had been painted over so many times, the thick glommed on paint gave it a scary feel. A Bates Motel scary feel. In fact, the whole place had a Bates Motel kind of kitschy, creepy vibe to it.

We immediately pulled back this polyester netting that hung over our bed because when I touched it, dust fell like a flurry of snow onto the bed. It was also seriously stained which made me not want to think about what people were doing with that netting to get it all kind of stained.

And these lights really freaked me out. I have no idea why. They were just really creepy weird.

I'm not even going to talk about the bedspread, clearly made out of burlap that had to be an original from the timeshare's beginnings in the early 70's. And I definitely don't want to talk about the various stains on that burlap, either. In fact, I don't even want to think about it. I don't want to get ill.

But the good news is, there was air conditioning in the bedroom. A unit that was most likely a relic from 1975 sat mounted into the wall. And when we turned it on, it roared like a jet engine and started to spew out warm air which was a welcome addition to the already broiling air.

And then there was the bathroom.

Oh, the bathroom.

It had these weird bamboo poles for a shower door which was a relief. I figured, Normando Bates wouldn't be able to sneak up on me with his butcher knife, since you could totally see through the big gaping spaces in the bamboo. At least, you couldn't get cold in the shower, since the draft from the room was warmer than the steamy shower.

And then of course, everyone wants to put their feet on a shower floor that looks like this.

And to top off the whole, "Normando Bates is about to show up in his dead mother's dress and her best butcher knife" feel, was the giant drain in the middle of the bathroom floor. Better to let the blood drain out of the shower. Either that or they were going for a campground bathroom theme. (Which I am sorry to say, I didn't take a picture of)

My hubs said, "Oh, look a giant bathroom drain. That's handy because I never get to do this in the bathroom." He proceeded then to lean over the sink and splash a flood's worth of water all over his face and of course, onto the floor.

My sister, in a valiant effort to be the cheerleader of the group said, "Hey guys. It's not like we're going to hang out in here. Let's just make the best of our time in Mexico. I mean, it's not that bad."

And so I nodded, very weakly, but nodded all the same. Because I always try my very best to be all good sportyish in any situation.

Except for camping. Because camping is beyond my good sporty limit.

We decided to change into our bathing suits, since we were drenched in sweat anyway and go explore the beach.

As I waited for everyone, I sat down to read the informational book provided by the timeshare folks. And that's when I discovered the warning. In big black letters on the cover of the book, it warned that under no circumstances should we go left while on the beach, that our safety could not be guaranteed if we ventured to the left, away from town.

Still being good sporty, I tried to be brave as I wiped the sweat from my brow and pulled out my laptop to google "Getting killed in Mexico."

And that's when I discovered, not only were there no phones or tv's in the rooms, there was also no internet connection.

This was looking less good sportyish by the second. It was also starting to look like the classic setup for a horror movie.

My hubby and I went up to the lobby where we were told the internet connection abounded. We huddled with a group of other tourists trying desperately to find a connection. We'd get it for a few seconds and then it would crash. When we inquired at the front desk, they suddenly only spoke Spanish and couldn't understand us. They only spoke Spanish for the rest of our stay.

I was still being my absolute best good sport, when we strolled back to the condo to pick my sister up for our dangerous beach walk.

As we stepped into our sauna condo, my sister came out of her bedroom and announced,

"There are no blowdryers."

And that, that moment right there, is when my good sporty world came crashing down.

"NO BLOW DRYERS!" I gasped and screamed and cried all in one.

In my panic, I insisted, "We'll just have to run to Walmart and pick up a blow dryer, then."

But then I thought, does Mexico have Walmarts? Hard concept to fathom, a town without a Walmart, but we were in Mexico And better yet, did Mexico sell blow dryers? From the looks of the Mexican people's naturally thick, beautiful glossy hair, they probably had no need for blow dryers. And who wants to blow hot air on themselves in Mexico, when you don't have to?

So we started off our walk on the beach where we were immediately hit by the beach peddlers, who sold everything from scarves to jewelry to one dude who was walking through the thick heavy sand, with, I am not kidding you, pottery attached to every part of his body, like a mobile Mexican Pottery Barn.

It was a mite overwhelming especially when the one dude walked up to my hubs and said, "Weed? Blow? Crack?" and offered up an open palm with samples of the various recreationals.

It became abundantly clear to me, when I stared at all the drugs on display in his hand, that all of my Traffic nightmares were coming true, compounded with the one horror that had never even occurred to me. A week in Mexico without a blow dryer.

Holy Freakin' Hell.

We walked the beach, getting bombarded by restaurant solicitors, timeshare salespeople, beach peddlers and various bar employees who tried to lure us in with their talk of free shots, men's swim suit contests and the one dude who tried to get me into his bar by offering us free drinks if we would do body shots.

Off of my body.

I was all, "No, because people would be vomiting in their shots, if they had to slurp off of this body and besides, I am officially no longer a good sport. I don't have a blow dryer. Sob."

At this point, I was seriously regretting being defaulted into Mexico because if I wanted to go to Spring Break, all I had to was drive a couple of hours from my house to the seedy strip of Daytona.

Here we are on our dangerous walk. You can tell how hot it is by the copious amount of perspiration on my goofball-gazing, Hubby's shirt.

Here's where we stopped to have a drink and sit on these cool swings, but avert your eyes from my hideous humid wrecked hair and saggy boobs and check out instead the glazed-over look in my eyes as the thought pounds into my head like an anvil, "I have no blowdryer. My hair will look like ass for the next week."Also, know that I'm not pregnant nor have I eaten an entire 40 pound turkey in this picture. My dress is billowing in the hot wind. That is not my stomach, for the record.

We decided to stop and have a little snack at one of the beach restaurants and as we perused the menu, my hubby said, "How about some guacamole?"

Guacamole is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It's up there with Jesus and wine and Bono.

But I remembered the warnings about staying away from the fresh fruits and veggies, so I said weakly, "But what if we get sick?"

And both my hubby and my sister said, "Who cares? How much worse can it get?"

And I just shrugged my shoulders and was all, "What the hell. At least if I get the diarrhea, I won't have to worry about my ass-looking hair."

It was the most delicious guacamole I have ever tasted. If there is one thing I miss about Mexico, it is that that guacamole and of course, the guy with the pottery hanging from his arms.

The guacamole was so delicious and the host promised us that their Las Vegas type dinner show was not to be missed. So we decided to brave the drug peddlers and body shot pushers, return to our room to change into clothes and come back for the show and dinner.

By the time we made it back, our condo was akin to the fires of hell.

With a muffled sob, I tried to use my products the best I could to perk up my humidity flattened, bad- wavy, ass hair, but it was of no use.

My hubby took a shower to try and cool down and then of course, he couldn't resist the urge to jump out of the shower without a towel, flinging water everywhere in an attempt to use the bathroom drain to its max.

We trekked down the beach through the maze of pottery and drug selling peddlers to the restaurant.

By this point, my good sportiness was buried under a layer of sweat, fear and ass looking hair.

We made it back to the restaurant, just as the show was beginning. The restaurant was outdoors, right at the edge of the most beautiful scenery in the world. Our waiter was charming and very hot, not sweaty hot, but great hair, beautiful accent kind of hot. But even his hotness and the beauty around me couldn't pull me out of my funk.

As I perused the menu, I didn't even see the words, I only saw a week without blow dryers, a week without air conditioning, some crack in a peddler's hand, a big ass drain in the middle of my bathroom and the inevitable body shots I knew were just a few drinks away.

The waiter came over and said, "What can I get you, Blondie?"

Blondie would become my universal name everywhere we went in Mexico.

By now, he could have given me roasted crack with a side of sauteed weed. I didn't give a rat's ass about anything, anymore.

I just shrugged and whimpered, "I don't care. Whatever you think I should have."

And he said, "Then you shall have some fresh sea bass."

And I was all, "Fresh? Bring it on because I'm actually looking for some diarrhea, about now. I'm sure the hospitals have air conditioning and maybe if I'm super lucky, a blow dryer."

He asked, "How would you like it prepared, Blondie?"

I shrugged again, "You decide, Hottie." I really didn't say hottie, but I wanted to.

He smiled his big white toothed smile and said, "Then you will have it with a little lemon, olive oil and garlic."

I was all, "Whatev" as I settled in to watch the hot male dancers and the Mexican showgirls who were simply out of this world amazing and had not an ounce of dimpled fat on their g-stringed asses. How does one get an ass like that, I wonder? Because I would like to acquire an ass like that.

The sea bass came and the fresh flavors exploded in my mouth. It was out of this world delectable. From now on, I'm letting the waiters order for me wherever I go, even the pimply faced boys at McDonalds. I'm gonna be all, "What do you think I should have?"

As the show wound down and as I was just beginning to think I might be able to endure a week with ass hair if everything tasted this good, the emcee of the show announced from the stage, "AND NOW, WE WILL HAVE AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION. IT IS TIME FOR A DANCE OFF!"

And I knew.

Just like I instinctively knew, each time I was pregnant. Just like I knew when I laid eyes on my hubby for the first time, that I was in for a crazy roller coaster of a ride. Just like I knew that Clay Aiken was gay before the denials even fell from his glossy mouth.

I knew.

I picked up the menu and slid down in my chair, shaking my head and frantically murmuring, "No. No. No. No."

We were in the back of the restaurant, as far away from the stage as you could get.

But I knew.

I covered my face with the menu, continuing on with my frantic chant of, "No. No. No. No."


I slid down even further, ready to cry as I gasped, "No. No. No. No. No. No."

And the next thing I knew, the emcee was standing next to me, taking my hand, pulling me out of the chair and announcing to everyone over his microphone, "GIVE A BIG HAND TO BLONDIE."


There I was, in a Vegas show on a stage in Mexico with beautiful show girls with perfect g-stringed asses, as I stood next to them with my hair that looked like super ass, forced into a dance off. I stood there, ready to cry, as they dragged other participants onto the stage. I could see my hubby whistling and applauding from our table in the back and after I mouthed, "I hate you" I motioned for him to bring out his camera.

He held his hands up in an empty gesture and that's when I remembered, we had all agreed to padlock all of our valuables into the safe and carry as few necessities as possible on our potentially dangerous beach walk.

So, not only was I humiliated beyond compare, I have no pictures of it.

And to top it all off?

It was an applause conditional.

I came in second.

I lost to a handsome black man named Brian, who was just as mortified as I was.

And for the record, it was close, but because Brian's extended family was with him, my best sweet moves combined with the hot male dancer who helped me shake my groove thing, didn't stand a chance against his big honkin family's massive applause.

There I was, a dance off loser with flat hair.

We trudged back to our resort, already indifferent to the plentiful offerings of drugs. We were even offered "gong".

I have no idea.

And as we walked up the eighteen steps to our hacienda, I made the mistake of thinking, "Well, I've lost a dance off on a Mexican stage. It can't get any worse than that."

And that's when my hubby pointed over at our neighbor's place and said, "Check it."

Some of the condos had their own pool. Ours didn't. And I was bummed about that.

Until I saw where my hubby was pointing.

And right next to us, our fine neighbor had his woman up against the side of their pool, giving her a little beef in her taco.

She waved at us while he tended to business.

That night, as I laid my head down on my straw pillow, (seriously, I think it was made out of straw), sneezing my head off from the layer of dust now coating me and trying not to move, so I would sweat less, I thought, "I wish the diarrhea would hurry up and hit me, so I can move on up to hospital accommodations."

Coming soon: Part Three of My Mexico Adventures. Stay tuned for more fun and assiness.

Today's Definite Download: I went to the movies yesterday with my girls. They wanted to see Country Strong. And I have to say, even though I find Gwyneth Paltrow insufferable, she was fantastic. And so was Tim McGraw. But why oh why did that handsome, rugged man go and get himself some hair plugs? It just drives me to utter distraction. Embrace it. Matt Lauer it. But don't plug it. Ugh.

And even though Gwyneth sparkled in her role, I was blown away by the two young-un's in the movie.

Leighton Meester is not only a naturally beautiful girl, she was a perfect fit as the newest pretty little thing, trying to make it big in country music.

And then there was Garrett Hedlund.

Oh My.

Surprisingly, I was not aware of this big drink of gorgeousness. I thought I had my finger on all the hotness in Hollywood. He plays a country singer who is more interested in singing and writing songs than being famous. He is also very interested in Leighton Meester.

I was shocked to learn that he didn't sing before making this movie. His only training was hanging out with Tim in his studio for a couple of weeks.

This is a video, right here, of the two young-uns, singing a duet, called "Give In To Me."

Hot song made even hotter by the two of them. Check it out and check out Country Strong. It wasn't The Fighter, not by a long shot, but it was girl movie good.

Especially with that Garrett Hedlund and his hunky raspy voice.


That's all I have to say about that. 


Shell said...

I don't mean to laugh at your misfortune, but the way that you describe everything is just so damn hilarious.

And I really need to see that movie.

Dazee Dreamer said...

omg. I was laughing so hard, and trying to answer the phones here at work. No good.

I can hardly wait for chapter 3.

Sandy said...

Growing up we vacationed in Mexico every year for 1 to 3 months. We stayed at the some hotel year after year but I heard stories from other guests about similar bad hotel experiences. I can't wait to hear more about this trip.

Moooooog35 said... recommend this place to stay, then?

LisaPie said...

I really hope this vacation turns around. There is nothing worse than being hot, sticky and miserable with no relief. I get so crabby and grumpy that I am not fit for human companionship.

Oh, also it is very common to find shower drains in the middle of bathrooms, laundry rooms and any kind of room that might have an overflow that would be disastrous. It made me wish I had one in my living room so I could just hose things off and be done with it. : )

Kate Geisen said...

Oh, Joann...I'm both sorry that you had to endure this and thankful that I get to hear about it. And, for the record, I don't think your hair looked bad or your boobs looked saggy, but I most certainly would've been clapping harder for handsome Brian. Sorry. :)

TesoriTrovati said...

I would travel to Mexico with you and your ass straight hair anytime. And thanks for the gorgeousness alert. I have to say that I have never been the biggest Gwyneth fan, until after her turn on Glee. That girl can blow!
Enjoy the day!

Unknown said...

I love your vacation story so far! (I wouldn't have wanted to live it, but it's funny reading material.) Looking forward to the next post!

JoAnna said...

Oh my CHRIST. IF ever I have thoughts of visiting Mexico, this is the exact kind of thing I think of. And I can't believe you actually had to go through this. I would have cried and I don't cry. BUt traveling and then having a shitty room just ruins everything. I could do without the hairdryer but everything else would have had me running down the street for anything better. Wow. I cannot even imagine part 3. It's no wonder you've been so quiet lately. Trying to recover from this will take years of constant therapy.

Anita @ GoingALittleCoastal said...

So I'm reading this post on my tiny phone so not the best pictures for my twitching eyes and get to the part about the butcher knife. I then see the picture of links of kielbasa hanging from your shower. I'm thinking, why did they go to a butchers shop?

The shower is was would have creeped me out the most. You were so brave to go without a blow dryer for a week. Or did you find that Walmart. Or is that Walmarto?

Anna said...

OH MY. This is horrific and I'm having a mild anxiety attack just from reading this. I seriously don't know what I would've done - other than throw up all over everything from being entirely grossed out. ICK. But yet, like a trainwreck, I can't wait to read the next installation.

Baby Sister said...

Wow, I'll be sure to add this place to the "do not stay" list. Parts of it looked bearable, but the parts that didn't made up for that and it's definitely a no-go.
I'm excited to see Country Strong. I've heard it's good!! Especially with a bunch of hotties in it. :)

The Furry Godmother said...

Oh, dear. I would have left them in my dust as taxied out of there to one of the other resorts. Bad sport? Absolutely.

That was not a hotel. That IS camping in Furry's world.

Unknown said...

Okay, honestly? You lasted WAAAAY longer than I would have. I would NOT have made it for more than five minutes if the BED WAS STAINED! AHHAHHHHHH. It's killing me.

Can I just say, as I go over my own recent vacation in my head, and actually write what I was thinking during said vacation, that it's nice to know I am not the only high maintenance woman in the world? After a weekend with my hub's family, I was starting to think I needed to chillax. I was the most whiny, difficult, crying person there...but that was without stained sheets. EEK!

Cathy Olliffe-Webster said...

I mean laugh out loud funny! I mean, make me cough up a lung funny! Ass hair? Buahahahaha!
Can SO hardly wait until part 3.
Joann, you should be charging for stuff this good!

Unknown said...

My hubby said apparently that was the original time share down there and from the profits of it they built the pretty ones you saw before you got there lol.. I am sorry I would have hopped the first train out back home

Judie said...

Joann, I am almost embarrassed to tell you that we had a two-bedroom penthouse in Cancun, with a view of the ocean and the fabulous pool (one of them), and we had TWO hair dryers--one for each bathroom.

I am also embarrassed to tell you what the social part of the week was like--so embarrassed, in fact, that I never want to talk about it again.

Admit it, Joann! You had a great time in Mexico! And just look at how much mileage you are getting out of it!!

Anonymous said...

Yep. Sounds like the Mexico I remember from our trip back in 1996. Coincidentally, it was a timeshare experience, too. BUT - (and you aren't going to like this part) - they were "remodeling" the dump we were supposed to be stuck in and we got upgraded to a posh (read: It had a/c and no dead bodies in the pool.) place across the street.

Funny in My Mind said...

After I read this post to myself I re-read it to my husband from my iPhone while we were sitting in the car wash. I was trying to fill him in on who wrote the blog and I said, "you know the girl who's husband wears the funny t-shirts?" and he said, "oh yeah, the one who wore the husbands t-shirt to take her kids to school with no bra and was embarrassed"
Who says men don't listen.
That being said, you made me laugh so hard!
We are going to Hawaii in a few weeks and I pray there are no weird men on the beach selling blow. Now if they are at the airport before my long ass flight (I hate flying) I might have to imbibe.

sandra said...

I cannot believe how it could keep getting worse, but it sure did. I hope it turns around and will wait for your next installment with bated breath!

Gigi said...

Your life cannot possibly be this funny.

But you are correct that many Mexican places have burlap sacks for bedding (speaking from personal experience) and gross showers (also P.E.).

I love your husband's face in that photo...he's gonna have a damn good time no matter where he is.

And the guacamole? Yeah, you can't get better than in Mexico.

Sorry about the dance off, though. I'm sure Brian paid the audience off.

Noelle said...

What I want to know is how long did it take you to write this???

This was awesome!!! And who needs to travel when we have you as our tour guide???

Heather said...

This is hilarious. I can't even decide what my favorite part is....maybe the ac blowing welcome warm into the already boiling air. HA!!
I thought your hair looked fine!

Also that guy is a hunk, but I am getting old or is he also like twelve??

Lori said...

Oh wow - you are soooo funny. Dudeboy Garret is seriously hot but I feel a little like a cradle robber admitting it.
Can't wait to here more about your Mexico adventure - those swings seats are cool. Wonder where I can get those? Wouldn't they be cool on a patio??

Rebecca Grace said...

I didn't know there were any nice resorts in Mexico -- I thought the whole country was like the slums from the Traffic movie and that's why the Mexicans risk life and limb to cross the border to the USA. So that's one thing. Second, I swear your hacienda from hell must be an evil chain because I stayed in identical digs in St. Lucia a few years ago when my sister got married there. I had a breastfeeding baby, a toddler, and my eighty-year-old grandmother with me, though, and for me the worst part was no lattes to be had anywhere at the resort rather than no hairdryers. But still, I feel your pain.

And I had to read this to my husband, who laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, because he was imagining what I would do to him if he ever took me to a dive like that timeshare!

Just for the record, ass-hair notwithstanding, I think you look at least a tiny bit happy in some of those pictures. When you feel bad about your hair, just remember that there are a lot of women at Walmart whose hair looks much worse than yours!

Dawn in D.C. said...

Your trip to Mexico sounds a little like our trip to Egypt, with the passing of all the really cool resorts to get to our little run down, no ice serving, a/c breaking in the middle of the night, no internet, time share resort. We had a great time and secretly? I know you did, too. If for no other reason than you have some GREAT stories to tell!

(Man, I need a vacation)

Unknown said...

Oh my gosh, this was so hilarious. Haven't we all had vacations like that? Well, maybe not exactly like that. Once in Ethiopia, we were somewhat impressed with our hotel until we each got into a twin bed and the mattress folded us in half like a falafel.

Amanda said...

Oh my Lord, this was so funny.
I can NOT wait to hear more. Also, my hair is giant and curly, you should have seen me when I volunteered in Haiti for the better part of a month and washed my hair in a bucket. I'm surprised they didn't ask me to leave the country.

Amanda said...

Oh my Lord, this was so funny.
I can NOT wait to hear more. Also, my hair is giant and curly, you should have seen me when I volunteered in Haiti for the better part of a month and washed my hair in a bucket. I'm surprised they didn't ask me to leave the country.

Rae said...

You sure know how to pull people in! I was really getting into that story! You should write a book about Mexico! Love it!!!
I know what you mean about the hair dryer. I have to wash and blow dry my hair daily or I look like Albert Einstein!
As for the dance moves- I have none!
Sounds like you had fun despite the accommodations!
Tell us more!!!We can handle it!

Green Monkey said...

I'm new here... what an adventure you had Blondie! Loved your line ...move up to hospital accommodations!

fun, fun, FUN, READ!

Hulk (Willing to try Cabo to see Sammy, but other than that, staying in the States, baby!) said...

See, blow dryers to you are what air conditioners are to me. I'd have been like your sister, all "Oh, it's not so bad. Who cares about the dirty shower and dusty bed. Let's make the best-what? No air? THAT'S IT. WE'RE OUT!"

Just A Normal Mom said...

Where can I buy a timeshare at this place? Because at this point, I'm totally ready to sign up. Seriously? I would die without a hairdryer for a week! LOL

Meg at the Members Lounge said...

OMG! I gasped when I saw the bamboo shower curtain! I can't wait to hear the rest of the story, which has me alternately horrified and laughing at the same time!

Bossy Betty said...

Thanks to you, I now have many ideas for redecorating my bedroom in a 1975 Mexico theme. Off to get some bamboo poles!!!!

SoMo Mom said...

My last trip back from Mexico consisted of the bride in the ER for salmonella poisoning and the other 13 of us bringing in stool samples to the family doc for a week. Needless to say, it will be my last trip to Mexico.

On a happier note, It's good to know I'm not the only one who enjoys some {practically illegal eye candy. Nice.

Missy@Wonder, Friend said...

Laughed out loud, spewing Yogi Granola Crisp all over my laptop:

"I'm sure it'll be fine. You should be grateful that you have traveling companions instead of a dead husband and friends who abandoned you at the last minute."


Your condo reminds me of this hole we stayed in in Zihuatenejo once. It was right next door to a gorgeous resort, and I spent my days looking longingly at their pretty, striped beach towels, laid out in neat rows on the lounge chairs.

Unknown said...

At least crappy vacations make for interesting/hilarious writing, no? (I'm looking at the good sportyish side of this debacle) My last trip tp Mexico was also a calamity, though not as big a one as yours. Please don't ever stop writing. Your writing makes me laugh and inspires! Can't wait for part 3!

Anonymous said...

OMGoodness, you are so funny.

Turns out I posted about a hotel room in Japan on my blog yesterday.
What a contrast to yours. I love your visuals either the photos or as you create them in words.
My idea of camping is a luxury hotel.
I'm germaphobic and would have totally freaked.
You did not have one ounce of dimpled fat on your ass hair -- that doesn't sound right. I liked how your hair looked, all casual like Garrett Hedlund's hair.
Looking forward to part three. Bless your sweet heart.

julie said...

For 16 years, when I'd teach my high school English classes, I'd ask my students what they thought the most important quality in a potential life partner was. They would invariably ask me back and without question, I'd answer "a sense of humor."

So I swear to Bono, if I weren't already married, I'd drop to my knees and ask you.

No. I'm not a lesbian. But you are that funny.

Plus I really like guacamole, too.

Deborah said...

OMgoodness! Where the heck did you book this vacation from?? Awful!

I've been to Mexico three times and loved it every time. Copious air conditioning, lovely towel-animals from the housekeeper, and as many hair dryers as I wanted.

I am laughing my arse off though.

Tracie Nall said...

Maybe you should have talked one for hose time share hawkers into letting you try one out for free for a few days.

I'm thinking that the bathroom drain is there too keep you from drowning yourself. I'm not sure why you would be trying to drown yourself in the bathroom (except for the fact that the shower was too small for drowning) but I'm sure that at some point around 1982, guests tried it as a way to get out of the scary-timeshare-hell and they had to install those drains.

MrsJenB said...

Funny and heartbreaking at the same time. I'm cringing for you as I chuckle. Although I have to point out that I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered whether or not you had a dryer since that humidity probably would have rendered all attempts at hairstyling null and void anyway. At least, I know that's usually the case for me! Can't wait to read more.

jayayceeblog said...

Beef in her taco ... I've never heard it phrased that way before. Gives a whole new meaning to taco night!!! Love your whole vaca story!

randine said...

Oh I hate being the last to comment, I feel like such a slacker, but I can't not comment on this.

I have to admit, that when you said "nightmare accomodation" I was pretty much thinking you were just exaggerating the situation. I mean, how bad could it be?

But then I saw the pictures.

I should know better by now not to read you blog when I'm at work because I was laughing out loud.

Thanks for the laugh! You're hilarious. I hope your vacation got better. It could only go up, right??

Anonymous said...

May I just say, you have a way with words. I enjoy most of what you write, but you have an ass-fixation. You rely too heavily on that one word, when there are a wealth of words that would be much more descriptive. And I don't mean other gutter words...

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