If we had spoken last Monday, hypothetically, and if you had said, "Dude, you are such a fucking douchebag" I might have defended my honor with ruthless abandon.
If you had texted me last Monday, hypothetically, and said, "All inclusive resort in Cancun + flight + transportation limited offer $500" I would have laughed at my phone and responded with my highly opposable thumbs, "you are a fucking loser" or whatever.
If we met at a bar last Monday, hypothetically, and our barversation ripened into an excited debate on vacation destinations, I would not have brought up any place in Mexico. Mexico isn't even in my top twenty-five Places To See While I Can Still Walk Moderately Quickly.*
Mostly this is because anything south and west of Kansas, in my brain, is "The Tropics."
And I'm not very tropical. I'm not one of those yellowy pink coltish girls that always wear flip flops and smell like sunshine. People don't look at me and think, "I'd bet the farm that that girl wears Hawaiian-hibiscus-print dresses," although they may perhaps think, "I'd bet this Hawaiian-hibiscus-print dress that that girl works on a farm."
Secondly, I don't go on vacation. I take trips: there's a difference. "Vacation" implies relaxation. Usually I'm on a trip. Where I like...do stuff. Route 66. New Orleans. Alaska. Vegas (okay, maybe not Vegas).
But the fact is somewhere between last Tuesday and yesterday, we decided to go to a resort in Cancun. I couldn't pass this shit up. Six days, five nights, all-inclusive, flight, transportation, decent hotel, with a ringing total of $503.47 including tax.
I've had unintentional $200 bar nights before, where you wake up on the floor of your kitchen in the late afternoon with a fistful of corndog and a pocketful of receipts and an ankle-ful of sprain, and you swear upon green earth and stone that if your car is hopefully where you left it when you were sober twenty hours earlier, you'll swear off alcohol to preach the Word to heathens, and this time you mean it. Not like last time.
But that's not going to happen this time, no fucking way. This time I've already paid for alcohol. Because that shit's included, suckah.
And I know what people are going to say: don't go to Cancun, go to this place, where there are Mayan ruins and cave-diving, or go to this one place that is more beautiful and much more like the "real" Mexico. Or go to fucking blahgiddy blahgiddy blah blah blah, because the beaches are better and there are less tourists and more to see and do. Don't get kidnapped (exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point).
You do not understand.
I am going to sit on the beach and get drunk on exotic pink things with umbrellas in them and read really trashy novels**, and I'm going to fucking like it.
I am going to lay around in a goddamn bathing suit, and no one is going to be able to see me because I am the same color as the sand, and I'll constantly forget where I put my sunglasses.
I am going to create a playlist in my head that alternates between "Kokomo" and "This Is It" and "Knights of Cydonia" and "Panama" and basically anything by Weezer, and I'm going to play it over and over again with my brain, because I don't own an iPod, and I don't care if you don't like those songs because you can't hear my brain anyway.
You have no idea how excited I am for this. I never do stuff like this. There's usually a point for things. There are mountains to climb (yeah, I totally bagged a peak) and long infamous roads to drive, drinking local brews, kayaking, legendary cuisine, church spirals and Irish pony races, biking along canals, wandering through Roman ruins, seeing monuments and palaces and the streets where they filmed Full House (everywhere you look, everywhere there's a place...somebody who needs you). Yeah. I've done all that business.
But I have no such expectations of Cancun, except for white beaches and booze. Booze that I have already paid for.
* List to come.
** Okay, so I have to buy some trashy novels. I've never been a trashy novel person, but I'm single and sneaking closer to thirty every day. It's about that time.