I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news isn't really all that bad, but the good news is KICK ASS. (For me, at least. You, as usual, probably won't give a shit.)
The bad news: This blog will probably not be updated between Oct. 12 and Oct. 17th.
The good news: Because I'll be frolicking on the beach in Cabo.
Now, I know you're thinking I'm going to fritter away this precious vacation time by getting drunk and passing out face-down in the sand. Not so. I have big plans for this vacation. Here are just a few of the things I intend to accomplish while on this tranquil, beachy getaway:
-Drink 18 shots of Mexico's cheapest tequila and throw up in the sand. (That's not the same as merely passing out in the sand, see. I'll actually be accomplishing something before I pass out.) I think I've pretty much done all I can do with the concept of puking on linoleum, cement, hardwood, Formica, car upholstery and the laps of strangers. It's time to conquer the sand.
-Hit on no fewer than 4 bellboys and 8 non-English-speaking taxi drivers.
-Throw a tantrum in a restaurant and shout "I'm a rich American! I could buy and sell you with what I pay for a bottle of NyQuil!!"
Side note: Far from being rich, I'm just your average middle class citizen. But once, while shopping in the Mexican border town of Nogales, just south of Arizona, I was sent into repeated giggle fits by the trinket vendors who, at the sight of us leaving their shops, would shout after us, "Come back, rich Americans!" There have been no less than 1,456 instances since then when I've shouted, usually to a baffled group of strangers, "Come back, rich Americans!"
But vacationing in foreign countries isn't all about fun and games and abusing the locals. There are potential dangers. For instance, a friend once told me a story about his wife's two college girlfriends who gave themselves the college graduation present of a vacation in Mexico. There, they were unfortunately arrested as they sunbathed on the beach...while smoking pot. They were dumped into a squalid little Mexican jail cell for several days with no phone privileges, where it was eventually explained to them that they could either continue to rot in jail for years to come, or have sex with the jailers and go free. Seeing no alternative, they tearfully submitted to sex with the jailers--which turned out to be a sizable group. These seedy jailers were men of their word, at least, because the girls were indeed released afterward. No word on how many years of therapy and how many truckloads of prescription pills it took to erase the shame, nor how many drums of Rid-X it took to eradicate the crabs. But don't worry, a scenario like that could never happen to me. For one thing, I don't smoke pot. And secondly, I'll be dressed as a man the entire time I'm there, just to make sure I don't find myself in that horrifying situation.
Aside from Mexican prison rape, I guess I should also worry about sharks. I don't want a repeat of last year's vacation episode. Here's a picture of us, partying on the beach:
Almost as scary as the possibility of shark attack is the possibility of encountering hurricane weather. According to weather reports, there are two tropical storms currently heading for the exact spot where I had intended to puke in the sand. Now, I don't know much about tropical storms, but from what I understand, a hurricane could potentially ruin my hairdo or blow the umbrella out of my drink--two disasters I don't even want to think about. But a cursory glance at this screenshot I took from weather.com seems to indicate that there's a definite chance that when I pass out face down in the sand, I will subsequently drown in standing rainwater.
If that happens, I'll need one of you to take care of Jake for me. He won't be accompanying us on this trip (toddlers can be a real buzzkill), so in the unfortunate event of my demise, I'd like him to go to a loving home filled with responsible people. I've never actually met anyone like that, so I'll have to lower my expectations. Please leave your full name, address and phone number in my comments section, and I'll alert my team of lawyers to check this post if my mangled body should wash up on the shores of Cabo by the middle of next week. They'll call you if your name is randomly chosen from the list.
Thank you. Now I'm off to pack.