Post 3: Cabo - 1, Dominique - Nada

This spring break, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to set my money on fire, or go to Mexico with friends. Since I was low on crystal meth and thought I could get a good deal south of the border, I decided on the latter.

Cabo is a great place to spend Spring Break if you: have little to no expectations, are between the ages of 18 and 25, have a high tolerance for white trash and cheap tequila, and enjoy gallivanting around half-naked, full-blackout and barefoot around a country full of locals that may or may not want to kill you.

The following is an account of my experience with Cabo San Lucas, Spring Break.

Pre-flight:

A friend I was travelling with found us a car company so we wouldn’t have to deal with bartering with a cab driver. They were super friendly. They sent us an email that said, “Have wonderful vacations!!!!!!!” (punctuation was not exaggerated here, that was verbatim) and included this really helpful map to help us find our driver once we arrived.

Let’s take a closer look. I’m supposed to be looking for this woman:

But I have to avoid these people like the plague:

¡NO! ¡NO! ¡NO!

But what I was really looking forward to was this guy:

Yes, please!

But things weren’t as friendly as they appeared in our map.

Arrival:

In my mind, I was going to get off the plane and be handed a margarita the size of my face and crowned with a sombrero by a crew of friendly locals in a mariachi band.

My dreams were crushed.

The San Jose del Cabo airport is the biggest clusterfuck since the Bay of Pigs. You’d think that with all the people actively trying to leave the country of Mexico that it would be easier to actually get in. Alas, this is not the case – we spent nearly three hours in customs before leaving the airport.

We ventured out of the airport into the desert. Before we checked our luggage or went to the hotel, we made the absolutely crucial decision to go to WalMart. Yes, the Mexicans have adopted the glorious American tradition of WalMart.

After clearing out their selection of avocados and tequila, we headed to the hotel. During this journey, we heard the new Mexican National Anthem, “Hello” by Martin Solveig at least three times (the travel time was about 30 minutes).

Not kidding, they play this song more than a frat party plays Levels.

My friend makes these. They are cool. Click here to get one.

Going out:

Went to a pretty classy club called the Pink Kitty. My natural inclination was to steal the head off of the mascot (see the first picture). Look at his face. That’s a face only a mother could love, except she probably wouldn’t even love it because it’s a face that’s high on something that would convince him to wear a pink kitty suit. It's not even an angry face. It's the halfway moment between the initial shock and the post-shock anger. Regardless, he walked us into the “VIP” section, where a girl asked us to come dance with her. Then we saw a big video camera. Then we realized they were shooting the intro to a porn. NOT DOWN.

On to Squid Roe. A three-story shitshow full of trashy college kids and overpriced drinks. Awesome.

There’s no place I’d rather be than in a sweaty Mexican club drinking tequila shots out of plastic ramekins getting pushed by drunk strangers and listening to Hello on repeat. Wait…

Despite the obvious drawbacks, it was a cool place to party. Except for when the she-devils with jell-o shots and whistles come around… they literally blow a whistle, force a jell-o shooter into your mouth and then make you pay for it.

here's one with the devil himself

I fell victim to them about four times on the first night. Total rookie move. It was all fun and games until I saw pictures from that night. That’s when I discovered this:

Despite the extremely off-putting grammatical error, this meme is horrifyingly accurate. If you’ve never been to El Squid Roe, just look at this picture, and imagine some more tequila in it. Here let me help you:

¡Ole!

The last big thing I noticed about the bars is the insane amount of US dollars used as decoration. This discovery bore my theory that the locals in Cabo don’t understand the actual value of US dollars. Not only do they charge you on a relative basis with a blatant disregard for the exchange rate ($25 for a cab ride?), but they also use actual American currency as a form of interior design. They could probably buy a house in Mexico with the amount of dollars they have on the walls. I can’t tell if this is out of reverence or obliviousness or if it’s a just a big “eff you America” protest.

(faces have been blocked to protect the innocent)

Every time I drank I tried to speak Spanish. So, every day I was in Mexico, I tried to speak Spanish. The more drinking, the more Spanish. This would have been great, except for the fact that the only foreign language I’m relatively competent in is French. Things were going well, communication-wise, until about 4 a.m. post-squidroe in a random taco shop when “Je m’appelle tacos” happened.

It wasn’t intentional. “Quiero quesadilla,” came out correctly. But I didn’t get a quesadilla. I got a tiny taco with some cheese and meat. My reaction was far from pleased:

So I ordered more tacos. Quesadillas aren’t as common as I thought. Also, burritos aren’t Mexican either. Found that shit out the hard way.

Day-drinking:

Cabo Spring Break is what I like to call a rolling blackout. You blackout at night and prevent the nastiness of a hangover by doing it again during the day. It’s a lifestyle choice, really.

After a night of the aforementioned shenanigans at Squid Roe, you head to the beach, where thousands of the “inlanders” (an overarching term for people not from California) come to bite the hair of the dog (like… all of the hair. That dog is now bald) and shake their hangover by shaking what their mommas didn’t give them (like I said, half-naked, full-blackout gallivanting) at a place called the Mango Deck.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, I don’t know), this occasionally surfaces in the form of wet t-shirt contests. I learned a lot of things on this trip, one of them being that if you’re from Minnesota, you want EVERYONE to see your boobs. Who woulda thought. I’m not mad about it. Whatever blows your dress up. Some people want to dance with their friends, some people want to flash 400 strangers on a beach in Mexico. I get it, it happens.

If you’re not into public indecency, fear not. You can bide your time by getting a henna tattoo of a shark on your chest. Maybe a playboy bunny or some male genitals. Stuff your parents would LOVE to see. I tried to get “ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass” on my lower back. A friend who was more…. cognizant…. convinced me to forego my cosmetic endeavors and go banana boating instead. My dignity says thank you.

All in all, Cabo was a blast. I think I’m mostly pleased that I didn’t die. I may be suffering from acute liver failure, but I’m considering it a victory.

I don't know why I put this in here. But it felt right at the time.

I wasn't kidding...

(see Post 2 if you don't know what I'm talking about)

Post 2: Girl Scouts USA = Major Drug Cartel

Most of you may have noticed the miniature Columbian drug lords around town, using their cuteness to convince you to buy narcotics from them. They only come around once a year, but when they do, all hell breaks loose.

If you don’t know what I’m referring to, you’re about to have a HOLY SHIT moment when you realize that you’ve been conned into buying crack cocaine in bulk quantities every February/March.

I’m talking, of course, about Girl Scouts.

I guess they technically wouldn’t be drug lords, but more like the Falcons. Or, Halcones, as they call them in Columbia. The Girl Scouts of the USA organization was founded in 1912, but in the late 1930s they decided to really get in the game and form an underground drug cartel as a big “eff you” to the men who had been running the show prior. This eventually would help fuel the women’s rights movement 30-ish years later. Their business is black-market but their product is mainstream – maximizing profitability while capitalizing on vulnerability. Sell cookies, but put DRUGS in them. Genius.

Girl Scout cookies are the most addictive product on the market since crystal meth. I’m surprised the FDA hasn’t put a warning on them yet. I heard Nicorette is actually creating a sub-brand aimed at helping addicts alleviate their cravings. ThinMinterett. It’s a work in progress, don’t judge them.

Think about it – you can’t just eat one cookie. You have one, and then seventeen cookies later, you’re in the fetal position, crying in a fit of self-loathing, clutching an empty box and cursing the demon-child that sold it to you.

The only logical explanation is that Girl Scout cookies are actually laced with crack cocaine. And the real problem isn’t just that they’re addicting, but that there are approximately 47 grams of saturated fat in each cookie (I potentially overestimated). So not only are they addicting, but they’re also LETHAL. It’s like hooking up an IV of butter to your carotid artery. Except you love it.

I recently bought a box of Samoas, but promised myself I wouldn’t eat them till after spring break. I hid it from myself in my textbook drawer, since I never open it, and prayed that I’d forget it was there. You want to know who behaves like that? Drug addicts.

Not gonna lie, Samoas are hands down my favorite food in the world besides In-N-Out. Tasting a Samoa is like experiencing a miracle. You never knew something could ever be so good. If I didn’t have a relative understanding of physical health and/or a decent amount of self-respect, I’d be a f*cking whale right now. I would literally die because of my dietary choices. Each time the little drug dealers came around in their green skirts and berets, I’d stock up like a nuclear winter was upon us. And I’d follow up each box of Samoas with a Double-Double. Mmmmm.

Thank God I’m self-conscious. Without that, I’d have diabetes in like two weeks.

Part of what helps me maintain some semblance of self-control is the timing. They sell in the month leading up to spring break. This just proves how evil they truly are. They’re selling you a box with enough fat content inside to nourish a third-world country for a month, RIGHT before the one time you’re about to prance around half-naked for a week. Cabo diet? Whatever! It’s Girl Scout cookie time.

Not.

Don’t let these little girls victimize you. They may look cute, but they’re inherently evil. Remember: DRUG CARTEL.

Post 1: Biebs.

It is a very important person's very important birthday today. Justin Bieber is finally legal in the United States. In honor of this, I present to you:

Post 1: Biebs.

If the man of my dreams offered me either an engagement ring, or tickets to a Justin Bieber concert, I’d have a very similar if not identical emotional response.

Having this is as my first post is probably blogger self-suicide, since 90% of the people reading this probably hate Justin Bieber, but I don’t care. I love him. Anyway...

It all started as a joke. I, too, was among the “haters.” I didn’t beliebe the hype. I literally said, “who is this 12 year old douche,” to a roommate while she watched him dance with Ludacris on YouTube back in ’09 (He was 15… I’m such an idiot). In a campaign of self-amusement (which is pretty much how I go through life… making jokes for myself), I took the role as a belieber and pretended to be a fanatic. It was hilarious (but only to myself).

In the time that I spent pretending to love JB, I actually fell in love. It’s like that movie, where the girl pretends to like the guy and ends up falling for him… only we don’t actually know each other and I’m pretty sure we’re not going to get married in the end. Whatever it was a good analogy for the most part.

Quoting one of my favorite YouTube personalities, Jenna Marbles, Biebs sings “like a angel sliding down a rainbow.”

If you don’t beliebe us, listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQOFRZ1wNLw&feature=fvwrel

That, there, is raw talent. I don’t care if you don’t like his style of music or songwriting. His voice is unreal. How many kids do you know that can sing that well? And for everyone who thought the angelic sound wouldn’t last post-puberty, get this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXoN5kN6tjY

FF to 8:06. Did you hear that?! Freaking STEVIE WONDER thinks JB sounds like him when he was a little boy.

Back to the song. I feel like Christmas music is an accessible genre for anyone. If you love Christmas, you undoubtedly love Christmas music. It’s easy to like an artist when they successfully perform a song you already like and are familiar with. I love Christmas. I also love Justin Bieber. Hence, this song = boner.

His jacket and earrings in that video kind of make him look like a lesbian. I like it. I hope that doesn’t make me a lesbian. Oh well. I guess it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing if you’re performing with Stevie Wonder.

My main point is that you can’t argue talent. I’m not saying you should start liking bubblegum pop music aimed at 8-16 year old girls. You can leave that to me.

But at least respect talent when it slaps you in the face in a purple American Apparel hoodie.

Justin has been compared to Elvis, MJ, Stevie, and even the Beatles (not sure how I feel about that last one). I’m guessing this offends their fans, since whenever you idolize an artist or public figure, you think no one else could possibly compare. How dare they compare this little pre-teen douche to MJ?! Trust me… I know how you feel. I was once there. Before I reached enlightenment. Bieblightenment. That didn’t work…….  Justinlightenment. Maybe. Whatever.

It wasn’t till I appreciated Biebs as his own artist – and stopped comparing him to everything else in my musical reference – that I became a belieber. His movie also helped just a little bit. You should watch it sometime.

You never know. You might become a belieber yourself. Never say never (OmG LoL what a g00d Pun!!).


So happy birthday, baby Biebs. You're a real man, now. I think.