Greetings
gentle reader. The Terridactyl is the name I'll be going by in these
pages apparently although I'm not sure how flattering that is now that I
think about it. I am somewhat struthious, I suppose, although not in
an unattractive, overly avain way. At least I didn't think I was before this last
trip. In any event, I was invited to make use of this space to report
for the Goliard on the state of
travel and the single gal. I'm happy for the epistolary outlet as it so happens
although I can't guarantee that anyone will find my particular
adventures all that interesting. I've been a single gal now for some
time (about as long as I've been traveling as a matter of fact) and
while I don't recommend singleness for everyone, it does have its
advantages with the main one being that I can do whatever the hell I
want whenever the hell I want to do it. On the downside, some of the
things I want to do, I can't do when I want to do them because I lack adequate companionship
(if you know what I mean).
Anyway, such are the trade offs of life as we all know and when spring break came
around this year, I decided to book myself a trip to Acapulco,
Mexico. It was after I had returned and stopped by the Goliard
newsroom to show off my tan and see what everyone there was up to that the impetus for this column was hatched.
How it happened was that as I sat drinking beer with the
guys that afternoon and spinning some of
the yarns from my trip, I noticed suddenly that everyone
seemed to be really enjoying themselves at my expense. "I'm glad you
all find my misfortunes
with men so entertaining," I said, annoyed at first with the
group of jackasses sitting around me holding their goliardic bellies and
chortling like a bunch of Falstaffs. "Would you like to hear more
of my frustrations?"
As I started in on the one about the taxi cab and the wooden penis,
one of the editors started coughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Finally, once he was able to get enough air to speak, he suggested that I hold off
on the stories lest he crack a rib and instead, maybe turn these little episodes into
a monthly column. I was reluctant at first and said, "You guys must really be hurting for
material." They admitted that they were and I eventually agreed to do it on an
exploratory basis when they convinced me that a staff wide
case of writer's block was sweeping the Goliard and the whole enterprise was in danger of
cratering out if somebody didn't step in and fill up some space with
a healthy amount of drivel and soon. I've enjoyed reading The Goliard from time to time and
didn't want to see this group of friends become as pathetic as I
know they would if they didn't have the Goliard newsroom to hang
around in everyday so I figured I would help out. Anyway, what follows is installment number one,
this one coming to you from the
sunny, dirty beaches of Mexico.
So,
as you now know, I went to Acapulco for my spring
break this year and what I can report is that the men south of the border are
every bit as lame as the men north of it. I was complimented by many
men and stared at by many more but ended up scoring in the negatives
in the romance department. The place was beautiful though. I wish I
could afford to move down there! I wouldn't do it in a million years
of course but that's just one of the things you say when you come back from somewhere
nice on vacation right?. Very friendly, helpful locals. Great looking
bodies everywhere although sometimes they were briefly obfuscated by wrinkled, brown
vendors clamoring to pawn off their piles of crap. Warm balmy
nights. Laid-back lifestyle. A crazy coastal mentality. Of
course it was also smelly,
poor, dirty, humid, noisy, and totally out
of control! They have absolutely no regard for
any kind of safety whatsoever personal or otherwise. You
wouldn't
BELIEVE the things I witnessed. I actually saw a guy sucking
gas into his mouth out of a neighbor's boat engine through some kind of
homemade pipette and then trying to spit it into his empty Evinrude
in hopes of priming it to life. Another woman squatted on my stoop and
relieved herself while drinking from a gourd of some kind that
smelled like it was full of burnt sugar and cursing in Spanish into
a cell phone about "Puto" this and "Cabron"
that. A boy tried to sell me a
picture of a young woman who he said was his sister having sex with a llama! A female llama he
said. Ella y Ella! Can you imagine? Anyway, here's
the view from my room which by the way was worth every penny.
On my first day, this kind-hearted piece of leather named Salvador bought
me a coconut so I could drink the milk inside. I smiled sweetly and
looked forward to the treat until I swallowed a big mouthful and
found that it was salty and not delicious or flavorful in the least. He also let me try his coconut ice
cream which was a little better but still nothing to write home
about although I guess, in a way, that's what I'm doing. He
is 50 yrs old and has been giving boat rides and ski
lessons for 30 years. Later, on day four, he gave me
a personal boat tour of the harbor and went snorkeling with me, staying behind me most of
the time which, he explained solemnly when we got back on the boat
and I asked him about it, was so he could keep a close
eye on me to make sure that I didn't come into any danger. I saw more
plastic forks and beer cans than fish, but it was
amazing nonetheless probably the
highlight of my trip. Then the gas incident happened and shortly
thereafter he
said he didn't feel so well and desperately needed some Blue Agave Mescal which
he proceeded to down a bottle of when I bought it for him in hopes of calming his stomach. It
didn't work and I waited by this bait stand while he wretched over a
guard rail into
the bay. I think I hurt his feelings after that when I
guessed his age a little too high and then started laughing
when he tried to kiss me. Oh well, he was nice enough but reeked of flammables
and had a saddle bag sort of stomach that I didn't find very
appealing. Little did I know that he would end up being one of the
more attractive people that I had a real chance to hook up with.
I spent a good deal of time on the beach which wasn't all that
relaxing actually because about every three
minutes a native of somewhere approached me to
sell something or implore me to part with some pesos for this good
or that service. I got a wind chime from this
Indian woman and a name ankle bracelet that
a young man wove on the spot! A couple of young boys came by
with tee shirts to sell that said "Come Caca" on the front in the
same script as "Coca Cola" but I didn't see where I would
wear one of those in the event that I bought one. Another lady had little bags of
sand that she said would bring luck to anyone back in the Estados
Unidos who dumped it over their shoulders and sang a little
accompanying chant
that she said she would be happy to teach me for a single American dollar.
After I'd paid her she whispered something that sounded like "Hooba
Hooba Hooba Shucka" in my ear and shuffled away. A little girl with garlands
of dead flowers plopped down next to me and started to cry almost
immediately but brightened when I gave her a few pesetas. I then saw her
use this trick on numerous other sun bathers until finally she went skipping
happily away with a big bag of money. Two obviously gay men walked by and
asked if I'd seen some film they were discussing and having a
animated disagreement
about. By the end of the first day I had a bunch of stuff stacked
around me most of which I ended up giving to these two little dirty
boys who were dropping sticks in this sewer and then running down to
the end of the pipe to see who's dropped out first.
Pictured at right is Roy. He sold me four bikinis that fit
perfectly
(an impossibility in the states). He even had a green
one made for me that I picked up a few days later and also followed me into
the fitting room to make sure everything sized up correctly. This is the kind of
hands on service I got EVERYWHERE I
went in Acapulco. Americans could learn a thing or
two from these folks. Of course Americans have other things going for
them like quality control, sanitation, irrigation, transportation,
education and it is safe to walk the streets of the nicer
neighborhoods at night. Almost nobody throws up in public back home
either which is not the case on some of the streets of Acapulco.
One odd thing happened during my
stay in that I became a sort of groupie to this gang of folksingers. I watched this band four nights in a
row. They're called "Romantic" and they play
traditional Mexican folk music. Great harmonizers and
supposed lotharios except they were not very good at taking advantage of the groupie
concept. They sang four songs at my table and we had
a choppy conversation in Spanglish where I ascertained that
none have day jobs.
I invited them out dancing but not a one showed up
although another guy from the bar where I'd seen them appeared and
claimed that they'd sent him in their stead since they had another
engagement. This guy reeked of Lavoris and had a stomach that nearly
dragged on the ground and a handlebar mustache which drooped on the
ends due to all the yellowing wax. He was also a cigar smoker which I can't
stand and tried to convince me that he was the manager for Romantic
even though he had a southern accent and clearly wasn't even
Mexican. I figured out later that he must have been listening in when
we were talking at the bar and followed me over to the dance club and made
the whole thing about being their manager up. I saw him later lurking around the
bushes by the hotel pool but he went slinking away when I pointed him out to one of the
cabana boys.
Oh
I forgot to mention and unfortunately I don't have any pics of this
specimen, but I was kept awake for five hrs on
the plane ride down there by a retired produce grocer named Julio. He
said over and over that he was not supposed to be flying on Good
Friday, but I reminded him that we took off very late from
the airport so, technically he was flying on a Saturday.
He went through some kind of praying ritual anyway during taxi
and departure, then went right back
to talking my ear off about the kinds of vegetables that I reminded
him of and how he wished his daughters were nice like me. They wouldn't even
talk to him anymore apparently and had moved off with these
caballeros and were having bunches of little babies without his
blessing. He finally fell asleep just as we were landing with
his head lolling onto my shoulder and his false teeth protruding so
he looked like an ailing camel. I got off the plane without saying
goodbye to him only to have him come up to me in the cab line
and accuse me of stealing a corn cob pipe out of his shirt pocket.
He tried to get in the same cab with me but the driver assessed the
situation and blocked him stiffly with a forearm shiver to the
throat. I saw the pipe stem sticking out of his back pocket as we
drove away. That was when I noticed that something was digging into
my back, something which turned out to be a big carved wooden penis.
The driver acted like he'd never seen it before and I'm still not
sure if it was his or it had been left there by a fare from the night
before but I can report that he took me the long way to the hotel
supposedly to
show me the sunrise which was beautiful as you can see. He parked on
an overlook and told me to come up front and sit with him so I could
see better but looked immediately uncomfortable when I brought the
penis along and set it up on the seat between us. After that, he
seemed to be in a hurry to drop me off almost like he didn't want me
to see him in the daylight or something.
I went out alone on that first night but
didn't get asked to dance by anyone in two hours. I must have
looked depressed because my waiter finally took pity on me and set me up
with the
doorman, a 23-year old native named Hugo. He drove me
in reverse down three streets in the dark at 3 a.m. in a dilapidated car to avoid being seen by
his boss. Hugo didn't speak any English and wore
a gold necklace with a machine gun medallion
on it. Yes, a machine gun. Ok, so
here's a 23-year old who doesn't seem at all
bothered by the ten year difference in our ages and drives me to a city overlook and after a couple
hours, kisses me. We're making out in this tiny VW Rabbit
piece-of-crap and the cars are flying by on the winding road honking
and yelling things that probably meant something like "Get a
room" or "Take her somewhere proper and slip her the
bone". We finally did decide to go back to my hotel and I kept
saying to myself what the hell, stay in
the moment, stay spontaneous, fight your inhibitions...right?
So he wants to leave the machine gun necklace on since his father
gave it to him....fine. He takes his jeans off and he's wearing
teddy bear boxers. No kidding. To make a long story short, he was
impotent and nothing happened. How do ya like them apples? I'm not
making any of this up....it all happened. How many women can say they can make a hormone-filled
youngster limp? I know, I know....his ED has nothing to do with me,
right. Regardless, it doesn't do much for my self-esteem when the
only young one interested can't get it up, and all the other suitors
are relics. I don't know why I thought my luck would be any
different down there than it is up here.... And furthermore, a week
before I left I had broken down and decided to try eharmony.com. I took
their stupid 200-question survey and was going to restrict the
search to the Bay Area, but at the last minute, thought
what-the-hell, try the whole world. The tutorial states that the
more you restrict the geographical region, the less likely the
computer can find a match. Well....it's been over two weeks now and it
still can't find me a match on the entire globe. I'm serious.
I
did make it down to watch the cliff divers one evening and let me
tell you those guys are some fearless muchachos. They must have iron
testicles and skulls as well because I dove off a cliff that was about fifteen
feet high once at Lake Powell and it took me about twenty minutes to
get up the nerve and then I had a splitting headache for the
rest of the weekend. I asked a young man who was watching near me
and who I thought might be a diver himself if he knew anything about
how they toughened their heads and he said that if I knew what was good for me I'd
take my own head back to
my hotel room since he was getting ready to "go loco on somebody's
ass". Apparently one of the famous divers everybody was there to watch
had made inappropriate suggestions to this man's wife the night before
as they were all out salsa dancing and
he was now packing a pistola and waiting for the diver to come up
through the crowd to collect tips. "Instead of tips I'm going to ram
the tip of my weapon right into his speedo and blast off his tiny peenay,"
the man said laughing like somebody who'd had a few too many Mescal
worms. I caught a cab out of there
figuring with my luck I'd have been seen talking to this lunatic and
end up spending the night in the local jail trying to explain that I
didn't know the guy. I tried to ask this cab driver about the wooden
penis incident I'd had in the other cab and if it was maybe some ritual or local tradition
but I'm not sure he understood what I was getting at and seemed to
think I was asking to see his unit which he made clear he wasn't
about to allow. He then dropped me in some mercado and drove away
before I could pay him and with a bag of souvenirs I'd bought still
in the trunk.
Anyway,
as you can imagine I was getting somewhat desperate on the day before I
was supposed to leave and decided
to make my moves with the men a little more proactive. I had been going to
this gym each morning and was hoping to score with
a weight lifter named Jose who had
a great butt and a sexy pair of legs, but when I went up to ask him
if he'd like to get together he
turned out to be a Catholic priest. Later that morning a 31-year old boat worker
named Nino stopped me on my beach
walk and invited me to a club that night. When I said that I'd
be glad to meet him there he immediately remembered that his sister
was getting married down south somewhere and said he was sorry but
he had to leave that afternoon. I finally broke down and asked
the concierge guy at the hotel where a girl could go to meet
available men and he directed me to some back building where his
cousins were sweeping up a bunch of feathers and rinsing blood off
these rickety makeshift bleachers so I didn't stick around to find out if they
were nice guys or not. Finally, on the
flight home, a 70-year old widowed man with a cane, bad breath, and
rotted front teeth named Raul told me I was beautiful
and asked me for my phone number. I'm not kidding. All in
all, I had terrible luck with the men unless they
were grandfathers. But I have no regrets other than I
ran out of time and didn't get to parasail.
It was only $20 and I'm still kicking myself for
not doing it even though I saw one of the sailors that did go
up get slammed into the dock, the result of the all to common
combination of gusty wind and inebriated boat driving. Anyway, I
would recommend Acapulco to anyone who likes the sunshine and cheap
cervesa but not for those trying to meet a man eager to demonstrate
any sort of aptitude with a functioning organ. I thought I'd heard that Latin men were supposed
to be all lusty and vigorous but the only evidence of firmness I saw
in this area came
from a carved wooden dong that I found in a cab. Oh well, next
weekend I'm going to a naked parade so we'll see what the future
brings. Adios for now!
Greetings
gentle reader. The Terridactyl is the name I'll be going by in these
pages apparently although I'm not sure how flattering that is now that I
think about it. I am somewhat struthious, I suppose, although not in
an unattractive, overly avain way. At least I didn't think I was before this last
trip. In any event, I was invited to make use of this space to report
for the Goliard on the state of
travel and the single gal. I'm happy for the epistolary outlet as it so happens
although I can't guarantee that anyone will find my particular
adventures all that interesting. I've been a single gal now for some
time (about as long as I've been traveling as a matter of fact) and
while I don't recommend singleness for everyone, it does have its
advantages with the main one being that I can do whatever the hell I
want whenever the hell I want to do it. On the downside, some of the
things I want to do, I can't do when I want to do them because I lack adequate companionship
(if you know what I mean).
Anyway, such are the trade offs of life as we all know and when spring break came
around this year, I decided to book myself a trip to Acapulco,
Mexico. It was after I had returned and stopped by the Goliard
newsroom to show off my tan and see what everyone there was up to that the impetus for this column was hatched.
How it happened was that as I sat drinking beer with the
guys that afternoon and spinning some of
the yarns from my trip, I noticed suddenly that everyone
seemed to be really enjoying themselves at my expense. "I'm glad you
all find my misfortunes
with men so entertaining," I said, annoyed at first with the
group of jackasses sitting around me holding their goliardic bellies and
chortling like a bunch of Falstaffs. "Would you like to hear more
of my frustrations?"
As I started in on the one about the taxi cab and the wooden penis,
one of the editors started coughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Finally, once he was able to get enough air to speak, he suggested that I hold off
on the stories lest he crack a rib and instead, maybe turn these little episodes into
a monthly column. I was reluctant at first and said, "You guys must really be hurting for
material." They admitted that they were and I eventually agreed to do it on an
exploratory basis when they convinced me that a staff wide
case of writer's block was sweeping the Goliard and the whole enterprise was in danger of
cratering out if somebody didn't step in and fill up some space with
a healthy amount of drivel and soon. I've enjoyed reading The Goliard from time to time and
didn't want to see this group of friends become as pathetic as I
know they would if they didn't have the Goliard newsroom to hang
around in everyday so I figured I would help out. Anyway, what follows is installment number one,
this one coming to you from the
sunny, dirty beaches of Mexico.
So,
as you now know, I went to Acapulco for my spring
break this year and what I can report is that the men south of the border are
every bit as lame as the men north of it. I was complimented by many
men and stared at by many more but ended up scoring in the negatives
in the romance department. The place was beautiful though. I wish I
could afford to move down there! I wouldn't do it in a million years
of course but that's just one of the things you say when you come back from somewhere
nice on vacation right?. Very friendly, helpful locals. Great looking
bodies everywhere although sometimes they were briefly obfuscated by wrinkled, brown
vendors clamoring to pawn off their piles of crap. Warm balmy
nights. Laid-back lifestyle. A crazy coastal mentality. Of
course it was also smelly,
poor, dirty, humid, noisy, and totally out
of control! They have absolutely no regard for
any kind of safety whatsoever personal or otherwise. You
wouldn't
BELIEVE the things I witnessed. I actually saw a guy sucking
gas into his mouth out of a neighbor's boat engine through some kind of
homemade pipette and then trying to spit it into his empty Evinrude
in hopes of priming it to life. Another woman squatted on my stoop and
relieved herself while drinking from a gourd of some kind that
smelled like it was full of burnt sugar and cursing in Spanish into
a cell phone about "Puto" this and "Cabron"
that. A boy tried to sell me a
picture of a young woman who he said was his sister having sex with a llama! A female llama he
said. Ella y Ella! Can you imagine? Anyway, here's
the view from my room which by the way was worth every penny.
On my first day, this kind-hearted piece of leather named Salvador bought
me a coconut so I could drink the milk inside. I smiled sweetly and
looked forward to the treat until I swallowed a big mouthful and
found that it was salty and not delicious or flavorful in the least. He also let me try his coconut ice
cream which was a little better but still nothing to write home
about although I guess, in a way, that's what I'm doing. He
is 50 yrs old and has been giving boat rides and ski
lessons for 30 years. Later, on day four, he gave me
a personal boat tour of the harbor and went snorkeling with me, staying behind me most of
the time which, he explained solemnly when we got back on the boat
and I asked him about it, was so he could keep a close
eye on me to make sure that I didn't come into any danger. I saw more
plastic forks and beer cans than fish, but it was
amazing nonetheless probably the
highlight of my trip. Then the gas incident happened and shortly
thereafter he
said he didn't feel so well and desperately needed some Blue Agave Mescal which
he proceeded to down a bottle of when I bought it for him in hopes of calming his stomach. It
didn't work and I waited by this bait stand while he wretched over a
guard rail into
the bay. I think I hurt his feelings after that when I
guessed his age a little too high and then started laughing
when he tried to kiss me. Oh well, he was nice enough but reeked of flammables
and had a saddle bag sort of stomach that I didn't find very
appealing. Little did I know that he would end up being one of the
more attractive people that I had a real chance to hook up with. 
I spent a good deal of time on the beach which wasn't all that
relaxing actually because about every three
minutes a native of somewhere approached me to
sell something or implore me to part with some pesos for this good
or that service. I got a wind chime from this
Indian woman and a name ankle bracelet that
a young man wove on the spot! A couple of young boys came by
with tee shirts to sell that said "Come Caca" on the front in the
same script as "Coca Cola" but I didn't see where I would
wear one of those in the event that I bought one. Another lady had little bags of
sand that she said would bring luck to anyone back in the Estados
Unidos who dumped it over their shoulders and sang a little
accompanying chant
that she said she would be happy to teach me for a single American dollar.
After I'd paid her she whispered something that sounded like "Hooba
Hooba Hooba Shucka" in my ear and shuffled away. A little girl with garlands
of dead flowers plopped down next to me and started to cry almost
immediately but brightened when I gave her a few pesetas. I then saw her
use this trick on numerous other sun bathers until finally she went skipping
happily away with a big bag of money. Two obviously gay men walked by and
asked if I'd seen some film they were discussing and having a
animated disagreement
about. By the end of the first day I had a bunch of stuff stacked
around me most of which I ended up giving to these two little dirty
boys who were dropping sticks in this sewer and then running down to
the end of the pipe to see who's dropped out first.
Pictured at right is Roy. He sold me four bikinis that fit
perfectly
(an impossibility in the states). He even had a green
one made for me that I picked up a few days later and also followed me into
the fitting room to make sure everything sized up correctly. This is the kind of
hands on service I got EVERYWHERE I
went in Acapulco. Americans could learn a thing or
two from these folks. Of course Americans have other things going for
them like quality control, sanitation, irrigation, transportation,
education and it is safe to walk the streets of the nicer
neighborhoods at night. Almost nobody throws up in public back home
either which is not the case on some of the streets of Acapulco.
One odd thing happened during my
stay in that I became a sort of groupie to this gang of folksingers. I watched this band four nights in a
row. They're called "Romantic" and they play
traditional Mexican folk music. Great harmonizers and
supposed lotharios except they were not very good at taking advantage of the groupie
concept. They sang four songs at my table and we had
a choppy conversation in Spanglish where I ascertained that
none have day jobs.
I invited them out dancing but not a one showed up
although another guy from the bar where I'd seen them appeared and
claimed that they'd sent him in their stead since they had another
engagement. This guy reeked of Lavoris and had a stomach that nearly
dragged on the ground and a handlebar mustache which drooped on the
ends due to all the yellowing wax. He was also a cigar smoker which I can't
stand and tried to convince me that he was the manager for Romantic
even though he had a southern accent and clearly wasn't even
Mexican. I figured out later that he must have been listening in when
we were talking at the bar and followed me over to the dance club and made
the whole thing about being their manager up. I saw him later lurking around the
bushes by the hotel pool but he went slinking away when I pointed him out to one of the
cabana boys. 
Oh
I forgot to mention and unfortunately I don't have any pics of this
specimen, but I was kept awake for five hrs on
the plane ride down there by a retired produce grocer named Julio. He
said over and over that he was not supposed to be flying on Good
Friday, but I reminded him that we took off very late from
the airport so, technically he was flying on a Saturday.
He went through some kind of praying ritual anyway during taxi
and departure, then went right back
to talking my ear off about the kinds of vegetables that I reminded
him of and how he wished his daughters were nice like me. They wouldn't even
talk to him anymore apparently and had moved off with these
caballeros and were having bunches of little babies without his
blessing. He finally fell asleep just as we were landing with
his head lolling onto my shoulder and his false teeth protruding so
he looked like an ailing camel. I got off the plane without saying
goodbye to him only to have him come up to me in the cab line
and accuse me of stealing a corn cob pipe out of his shirt pocket.
He tried to get in the same cab with me but the driver assessed the
situation and blocked him stiffly with a forearm shiver to the
throat. I saw the pipe stem sticking out of his back pocket as we
drove away. That was when I noticed that something was digging into
my back, something which turned out to be a big carved wooden penis.
The driver acted like he'd never seen it before and I'm still not
sure if it was his or it had been left there by a fare from the night
before but I can report that he took me the long way to the hotel
supposedly to
show me the sunrise which was beautiful as you can see. He parked on
an overlook and told me to come up front and sit with him so I could
see better but looked immediately uncomfortable when I brought the
penis along and set it up on the seat between us. After that, he
seemed to be in a hurry to drop me off almost like he didn't want me
to see him in the daylight or something.
I went out alone on that first night but
didn't get asked to dance by anyone in two hours. I must have
looked depressed because my waiter finally took pity on me and set me up
with the
doorman, a 23-year old native named Hugo. He drove me
in reverse down three streets in the dark at 3 a.m. in a dilapidated car to avoid being seen by
his boss. Hugo didn't speak any English and wore
a gold necklace with a machine gun medallion
on it. Yes, a machine gun. Ok, so
here's a 23-year old who doesn't seem at all
bothered by the ten year difference in our ages and drives me to a city overlook and after a couple
hours, kisses me. We're making out in this tiny VW Rabbit
piece-of-crap and the cars are flying by on the winding road honking
and yelling things that probably meant something like "Get a
room" or "Take her somewhere proper and slip her the
bone". We finally did decide to go back to my hotel and I kept
saying to myself what the hell, stay in
the moment, stay spontaneous, fight your inhibitions...right?
So he wants to leave the machine gun necklace on since his father
gave it to him....fine. He takes his jeans off and he's wearing
teddy bear boxers. No kidding. To make a long story short, he was
impotent and nothing happened. How do ya like them apples? I'm not
making any of this up....it all happened. How many women can say they can make a hormone-filled
youngster limp? I know, I know....his ED has nothing to do with me,
right. Regardless, it doesn't do much for my self-esteem when the
only young one interested can't get it up, and all the other suitors
are relics. I don't know why I thought my luck would be any
different down there than it is up here.... And furthermore, a week
before I left I had broken down and decided to try eharmony.com. I took
their stupid 200-question survey and was going to restrict the
search to the Bay Area, but at the last minute, thought
what-the-hell, try the whole world. The tutorial states that the
more you restrict the geographical region, the less likely the
computer can find a match. Well....it's been over two weeks now and it
still can't find me a match on the entire globe. I'm serious.
I
did make it down to watch the cliff divers one evening and let me
tell you those guys are some fearless muchachos. They must have iron
testicles and skulls as well because I dove off a cliff that was about fifteen
feet high once at Lake Powell and it took me about twenty minutes to
get up the nerve and then I had a splitting headache for the
rest of the weekend. I asked a young man who was watching near me
and who I thought might be a diver himself if he knew anything about
how they toughened their heads and he said that if I knew what was good for me I'd
take my own head back to
my hotel room since he was getting ready to "go loco on somebody's
ass". Apparently one of the famous divers everybody was there to watch
had made inappropriate suggestions to this man's wife the night before
as they were all out salsa dancing and
he was now packing a pistola and waiting for the diver to come up
through the crowd to collect tips. "Instead of tips I'm going to ram
the tip of my weapon right into his speedo and blast off his tiny peenay,"
the man said laughing like somebody who'd had a few too many Mescal
worms. I caught a cab out of there
figuring with my luck I'd have been seen talking to this lunatic and
end up spending the night in the local jail trying to explain that I
didn't know the guy. I tried to ask this cab driver about the wooden
penis incident I'd had in the other cab and if it was maybe some ritual or local tradition
but I'm not sure he understood what I was getting at and seemed to
think I was asking to see his unit which he made clear he wasn't
about to allow. He then dropped me in some mercado and drove away
before I could pay him and with a bag of souvenirs I'd bought still
in the trunk.
Anyway,
as you can imagine I was getting somewhat desperate on the day before I
was supposed to leave and decided
to make my moves with the men a little more proactive. I had been going to
this gym each morning and was hoping to score with
a weight lifter named Jose who had
a great butt and a sexy pair of legs, but when I went up to ask him
if he'd like to get together he
turned out to be a Catholic priest. Later that morning a 31-year old boat worker
named Nino stopped me on my beach
walk and invited me to a club that night. When I said that I'd
be glad to meet him there he immediately remembered that his sister
was getting married down south somewhere and said he was sorry but
he had to leave that afternoon. I finally broke down and asked
the concierge guy at the hotel where a girl could go to meet
available men and he directed me to some back building where his
cousins were sweeping up a bunch of feathers and rinsing blood off
these rickety makeshift bleachers so I didn't stick around to find out if they
were nice guys or not. Finally, on the
flight home, a 70-year old widowed man with a cane, bad breath, and
rotted front teeth named Raul told me I was beautiful
and asked me for my phone number. I'm not kidding. All in
all, I had terrible luck with the men unless they
were grandfathers. But I have no regrets other than I
ran out of time and didn't get to parasail.
It was only $20 and I'm still kicking myself for
not doing it even though I saw one of the sailors that did go
up get slammed into the dock, the result of the all to common
combination of gusty wind and inebriated boat driving. Anyway, I
would recommend Acapulco to anyone who likes the sunshine and cheap
cervesa but not for those trying to meet a man eager to demonstrate
any sort of aptitude with a functioning organ. I thought I'd heard that Latin men were supposed
to be all lusty and vigorous but the only evidence of firmness I saw
in this area came
from a carved wooden dong that I found in a cab. Oh well, next
weekend I'm going to a naked parade so we'll see what the future
brings. Adios for now!