Photos: The Mexico trip

There’s not a whole lot about the Mexico trip that I haven’t already said, but I did take some pictures while south of the border.  Granted, a lot of the social activities almost all involved water, whether it’s being in pools or being in the ocean, so to be perfectly honest, I didn’t whip out the camera very often when there was any risk of dropping it in water.  Especially with how drunk I got a few times on tequila, booze and bacon.

Anyway, a whole lot of pictures of the indigenous wildlife, and all the wacky shit available in touristy Mexico.  Crucified Predators, crucified Mexican Jesus and even a crucified Batman.  And a whole lot of weird creepy sex symbols, statues and even penis-shaped pipes.  wtf, Mexico?

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Photos: The Florida trip, second batch

The second day at Disney World, we made our way to the Magic Kingdom (of Strollers).  The weather was beautiful and the atmosphere was festive, but seriously, fuckin’ strollers, everywhere.  I know Disney World is a place to bring your kids, but I have to guess that if the kid is still in a stroller, they’re not old enough to really remember a trip to Disney World.  Regardless, it doesn’t stop legions of families to clog up every single walkable surface with strollers and poorly-watched children.  I enjoyed the company and I had fun on the rides, but after a certain point, I couldn’t wait to head back over to Epcot for another evening of Food and Wine Festival.

And back over to Epcot we ended up that night indeed, where more eating and more drinking commenced, with more drunken pictures and photobombing.  Despite it not really amounting to anything other than personal gratification, we successfully completed the “entire world” when it came to sampling at least one item from every single country.

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Photos: The Florida trip, first batch

And here I thought going through this backlog of photos was going to feel more like a chore than anything else, how wrong I was.  This is the first set of photos I took while in Florida, where my friends and I spent an afternoon at Disney’s MGM Studios, and then the rest of the evening at Epcot, where we partook in the goal of eating and drinking every single country during the Epcot International Food and Wine Festival.

Lots of the nationalities present served up some pretty good things here and there, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit that we (3/5 of us) were also there to get our drinky-drink on.  That being said, as the evening progressed and sangrias, mimosas and regional boozes devolved into beer, double-fisting and gratuitous photo-bombing, it’s debatable on whether or not we might have been some of the drunker people on the premises.

So much for the happiest place on earth.

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Desperately Seeking Shay

Whatcha reading?” she asked, coming down the lobby steps behind where I was sitting.

The voice was mostly unfamiliar, but I had an inkling of whom it could possibly be.  I looked up, and she was now in front of my table.  She smiled, and asked if anyone was sitting with me.  I said no.  She asked if I minded if she hung out for a little bit.  I smiled this time, and said by all means.  She sat down, drinking a strawberry daiquiri.  A waitress came by, and she ordered another.  I ordered another Bloody Mary.

We met briefly the night before.  Her table was next to mine during dinner.  She was in a party of three, with another couple.  When my table’s food arrived, both our tables got quiet, and all eyes were on the entrees brought out to us.  She glanced over and said to me that I should let her know how my entrée was.  I smirked and said will do.  In all honesty, despite thinking it was good initially, the more I think back to it, I didn’t really think it was all that great.  I ended up forfeiting half of it, because I was full on snack bar junk food, and the far superior seafood ceviche not too terribly long ago, and I simply didn’t want to finish this fish.

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A street merchant actually yelled that out to me.

Instinctively, I laughed.

Something NOT lost in translation down in Mexico – Racism

Other things said to me as I walked down 5th Street in Playa del Carmen:

“Are you Japanese??” I say no.  “Are you . . . Filipino??” Seriously?  He went from Japanese to Filipino?  Is it possible to go to such complete different ends of the spectrum?  Filipinos don’t even like being lumped in with Asians anymore.  They’re Pacific Islander. It’s like asking a dog if they’re a lion or a Dodge Stratus.


Hey chino, want some weeeeeed?”  I say no, I don’t smoke.  “Eets not too late to staaarrrt, amigo!”  Persuasive argument.  Be that as it may, I still say no, gracias.

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Mission 50 Cervesas a critical failure

This is a picture I took in my first night in Mexico.  Because I was laying down on a bench.  Because I was drunk.  And this palm tree was all I could see from my perspective at the time.

Prior to my trip to Mexico, I had declared to myself that I wanted to kill 50 cervesas down in Mexico.  I wanted to drink Dos Equises, Coronas, Sols, Modelos, and whatever other Mexican beers were considered local, as opposed to the Bud/Miller/Coors swill readily available in the States.  I had this ambition that I would mark all my beers as I conquered them one by one, and would have a nice album of photographs documenting my douchey conquest.

Well, that didn’t happen.  I probably had like 6-7 beers throughout the entire trip, and aside from the cans of Dos Equis, I actually have no clue to what kind it was based on the fact that they came out of a tap at one of the random bars, with no discernible handles on it.  Not to mention just about every drink served was presented in reusable plastic or glass cups, and I was pretty sure there would be a hearty objection if I were tagging the resorts’ kitchenware with numbers.

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Dormant too long, perhaps

To be perfectly honest, I thought I’d have a lot of things I’d want to write about when I got back from my consecutive vacations.  Perhaps it’s because I’ve been fairly creatively stagnant over the last two weeks, in favor of eating a ton of food, not working, drinking a lot of booze, not working out, and being a lazy vacationer, my brain feels a little mushy, in whatever part that written word comes from.

But as has been the case in the past, if I go too long without at least making an attempt to write, these thoughts and potential words ultimately vanish, and believe me I would prefer that such did not occur.  And as is often preached in any sort of writing workshops or exercises, sometimes simply just writing for the sake of writing can stimulate the brain to where something more substantial is ignited.

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