1. Hit up the ocean. Roguishly warm, swelling waves. Plus it smashed things, which was brilliant, and carried the greatest boat I've ever seen across the horizon, and now I totally have a thing for massive, ugly, complicated ships. I wanted to make out with it.
2. Read trashy books that me and Gyna bought from Osco. I'm talking like space assassin erotica, which was hilarious and awesome, and then a book about a cowboy that was so horrible I plotted to crucify the author in an angry, fiery fashion with swords and stuff.
3. Me and Emi smoked Cuban cigars while we roamed the beach at night, and the lot of us drank a slop of banana daiquiris. An obnoxious amount of banana daiquiris. I don't like bananas anymore. Or rum.
4. Kenny Rogers was there. Perhaps. He climbed into the beachside hot tub all naked and red one night, and Gyna freaked out at his dangly bits while he touched her arm and tried to soliloquize about the stars. I was too drunk to notice, and she hauled her ass out of that tub like they were handing out free Bradley Coopers by the bathroom, and then I totally couldn't find my shorts.
5. Kristy met an adorable man named Steve From Toronto who was a teacher, a volunteer fireman, and he probably invented puppies.
6. There are a fuckload of Canadians in Cancun.
7. We went to a club thing place show whatever that sucked. Luckily, we are good natured and hilarious, and completely above criticizing shitty ass bars with waterbeer and skunk tequila disguised as dance clubs for stupid Americans that apparently enjoy sirens and confetti and guys dressed like The Mask. It was fun and ridiculous and I never, ever, ever want to do it again. I am not cut out for the Cancun bar scene. I have taste buds and self-respect.
8. MoLinder did not go to the bar with us, because she is cultured and smart and went to bars like that when she was eighteen like a fucking normal person.
9. Don't get me wrong. I had an amazing time. It was beautiful and relaxing and drunken, other than that bar.
10. But I feel like I would have had just as good of a time lounging around South Dakota or something.
11. I didn't even make friends. It's no surprise, I spent my first two days there self-conscious and uncomfortable, and the rest of the time being a snob.
12. It's easy to be snobby when there's a herd of spikey-haired, raging douchebags calling everyone "bro" and not laughing at my supercomical jokes. But they thought my D.A.R.E. shirt was like the funniest thing they'd ever seen, as if I created the concept of ironic t-shirts or something. It was all, "No way! That chick is fucking drinking in a D.A.R.E. shirt! THAT IS FUCKING HYSTERICAL! Look at that! Oh my god, bro, you should get a picture with her and her fucking beer and her hot friend! That is so hysterical, bro. Seriously."
I guess it's just different in Chicago, where hipsters roam free. Because here I get responses like, "Is that really a D.A.R.E shirt? Yeah, I used to have one. I wore it for awhile like years ago, you know, before the whole "ironic t-shirt" thing really took off. I totally got rid of it, though, because then everyone else started wearing them too." And then I'm embarrassed and I wanna choke a bitch. Some of us don't give a shit if you like our clothes or not, you roadwhore, and now I never wear that shirt anymore just so I can avoid talking to people like you.
So my snobbery is somewhere between "raging douchebag" and "fucking hipster."
13. Trip = overall success.
Also, I'm going to change my template. I need to design a header image. Because this template sucks, as do all other templates. They never really fit me properly, like button-down shirts and basically every coat I've ever owned.