Cancun Chapter 2
Spring Break Day 2
I woke up in somone else's room in a bed with three other girls and a guy...you know - the typcal Spring Break wake up. Quazi was banging on the door yelling for us to get up since it was Spring Break and we needed to get a sunburn as early as possible. Slightly hung over, and moving lethargically, we got ready and I went back to my room to get dressed for the beach. When I got there Mute and Food were passed out in opposite beds, fully dressed. However, the beds had been moved apart and between them was a used condom. Despite their deceptive fully clothed seperate bed sleeping I deduced that they had engaged wild, bed moving sex, and then got fully redressed, earring, shoes, belts and all...but hey...it's Spring Break...FUUUCKINNNG A!
I headed down to the pool with Shuff, Quazi, Thor and Solo where we staked out a spot and laid down in the sun to compensate for the 8 months of winter we endure in Geneseo. Despite being surrounded by three open bars (two of which were swim up) as well as three more bars inside the hotel, I don't think too many of us got that hammered during the day, and instead saved the full blown train wrecks for the night. That's not to say we didn't try since I remember having at least three margheritas, two rum and cokes, a daquiri and a Miami Vice, and still had no more than a buzz going on. Those damn Mexicans were just too lazy to put the extra alcohol into their drinks.
A while after I got to the pool, Mute came down and came up to me with a worried look.
Mute: Do you know what I did last night? (THE cliche phrase of Spring Break)
Me: I have no idea, I left the room when you and Food were in there.
Mute: I don't even think I kissed him and I woke up and there was a condom on the floor. (THE cliche self-doubt of Spring break)
Me: Yeah I saw that, that's not yours?
Mute: No, I woke up fully dressed, shoes, jewelry and all and in seperate beds. If I had had sex with him I would tell you 'hey last night was awesome I fucked his brains out!' and I probably would've passed out naked. So no, it's not mine. Maybe it's HKo's?
What would spring break be without at least one mystery condom? We went up to HKo and asked if it was hers but she denied it since she had spent the night in the room next door. EVK had spent the night with her friends down the hall. The mystery was solved, the maids hadn't cleaned the room and the condom must have been from the previous residents. I made a note to try my hardest not to get AIDS (or SIDA) from sitting on my room floor. I did feel bad though that Mute had picked it up and thrown it out.
Around 3 I headed back up to my room to take a nap so I could go out in full force that night. I lay out a towel to take a nap on our balcony, which was not the best thought out plan. Trying to get some quiet time on Spring Break is as likely as getting a Mexican to hold a job. I woke up to our neighbors yelling off the balcony, and since I couldn't sleep I joined them in harassing the people leaving the pool. At one point Mute walked by with a group of guys.
Me: MUTE IS FUCKING HOT! (Mute looks up, waves and says something to the guys)
Random Guys: HEY RISA...SHOW US YOUR TITS!
Me: I WOULD...BUT THEY'RE REALLY NOT VERY IMPRESSIVE
...thanks Mute, that's what friends are for. As my partner for the buddy system what part of telling strange guys to ask to see my boobs (or lack thereof) seemed like a good idea? Next time we're in a club and a skeevy guy hits on me why don't you slip me some roofies and give him our room key?
When Mute came back into the room I asked her how the beach was and she told me that she had met two southern gentlemen from Mississippi and that she had invited them to come to dinner with us. When they got to the room a little while later, I was rather confused about the gentlemen part as they were shithoused, touchy feely and impossible to understand. Southern accents mixed with alcohol equates to very confused Yankees. We went to dinner with them and while they groped Mute I tried painstakingly hard to comprehend anything they said other than "y'all". After dinner I sat with Tad (one of the southern guys) at the bar for an hour and started getting a little tipsy myself - and could suddenly understand what he was saying. I had found the solution for the language barrier...massive amounts of alcohol. If only they had realized that during the Civil War then they never would've had to free the slaves.
Around 10:30 pm Mute and I headed out to the buses to get to Fat Tuesdays. Slightly sober, and on a bus of people we didn't know, the two of us stuck together and anticipated our arrival at the club. Suddenly we heard what sounded like a dying giraffe behind us and turned around. There was THAT girl, the one who gets drunk and cries, even on spring break. Except in this case, there was no boyfriend breaking up with her, no "my friends ditched me", no Grandma Maude ran over Rover...she was literally crying just because she was drunk. As she drunkenly cried, and started saying she had to puke, her friends tried to comfort her while the rest of us told them to get her the fuck off the bus or get her head out the window immedately. (Rule #3 of spring break...don't puke in public). What kind of loser had to go home by 11 pm on Spring Break?
When Mute and I finally got off the bus at Fat Tuesday's around 11 pm we immediately ran into people we knew. We smacked into Crissy and Chelsea who were stumbling out the door. Crissy had her eyes closed while Chelsea attempted to hold her up. I hesitated at the entrance to the club afraid of what kind of madness was held inside that had caused two of our own to have to leave by 11. We entered the club, got our ceremonial wrist bands, and ventured inside.
Feeling pretty sober, Mute and I headed directly for the bar and then off to find the rest of the Geneseo crew. Being the attenion whore alcoholics that Geneseo students are, we found the Clios in a prime location on the rafters between the two bars, this way everyone would notice our progression from sobriety to inebriation. The combination of our location and my condition of sobriery, ensured that I was double fisting margheritas at all times, yet somehow I was still having trouble getting drunk. After drinking heavily for about an hour, I was starting to feel a little drunk, and joined Gingerale up on the top level of the rafters to dance. I looked around at the drunkeness around me and spotted our two dancing queens, Big Boy and Badnews at various spots in the club. Big Boy had once again taken off his shirt and was doing the helicopter. Badnews had gotten up on a stage, ripped his shirt open and was crazy drunk dancing with a girl.
Despite realizing that Geneseo was 0/0 for looking like normal human beings while dancing I decided to start dancing with Crispy, a Geneseo student. Being somewhat buzzed, I didn't notice that his hand was slowly reaching for my ass...suddenly, I felt the presence of cold air, as he pulled up my skirt, exposing my ass to everyone.
"Oh my god! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" to which he responded, "Just trying to get you to moon Fluffy." Meaning...he wanted to moon his friend but had to live vicariously through me? Thanks a lot. I was starting to notice a pattern with my friends trying to get me naked in front of strangers.
After that incident, I wisely decided to get off the rafters and Mute, Gingerale and I headed towards the beach at the back of the club. As soon as we set foot on the sand Gingerale declared that she had to pee. Wary of rule #2 (no defecating/urinating in public) we looked for a discreet place for her to go potty. Considering we were on a beach, we were lucky to notice an abandoned pueblo a little way down the shore. Gingerale ran behind the house and relieved herself of the 8 or so margheritas she had consumed. When she returned, she informed us that she had just peed on someone's house because when she looked in the window of what we thought was an abandoned building there was furniture inside. "Sorry!" we yelled at the house as we ran away. And they say American's aren't considerate.
Unfortunately for other people in our party, public urination did not go as smoothly. On another part of the beach Muccdog had similar dreams of peacefully relieving himself on a Mexican beach. However, after initiating the process he was rudely interrupted by an officer of the law, cuffed, and thrown on the sand. These Mexicans didn't fuck around with peeing. The only piss allowed to be excreted in Mexico was the Corona's and Dos Equis that we were drinking. Fortunately, Muccdog was familiar with the Mexican language and quickly explained himself with 400 pesos to avoid arrest.
Fortunately for us, Gingerale's urination process had gone smoothly, and we walked back towards the party. On the way we stopped on a small empty stage to rest up for a second. We sat down with the remainders of our drinks and I lamented about how much trouble I was having getting drunk. After finishing my 2 margheritas, we stood up and headed back to our rafters. On the walk back i realized that I had fallen off the cliff of drunkeness. While 10 minutes ago I had been complaining that I wasn't drunk, I was now fully incapable of walking and was stumbling like an amputee on rollerskates. Mute had to hold me up and guide me back to the Geneseo section of the bar. Her and Gingerale resumed dancing on the rafters and I sat on the side and decided to take a nap.
From what I'm told Mute and Gingerale spent a good portion of the next 45 minutes or so convincing me that taking a nap was not the best of ideas in the middle of a club. I agreed with them and would get up and dance, but as soon as they turned their backs I was back to my attempted nap on the risers. Finally Mute exercised her authority as the smarter half of our buddy system. "As your friend, I suggest that you go to the bathroom and puke now." Mute knows me too well. Generally speaking, I am an alcoholic bulimic. My disorder has nothing to do with food, but rather my consumption of way more alcohol than any 105 pound girl should be consuming in one night. Almost everytime I drink I end up puking...and Mute knew this. She escorted me to the bathroom where I spent 5 minutes puking and then rinsed my mouth out in the sink. "Ok, happy now? I need another drink."
By this time I was pretty much black out, and don't really remember the next few hours (or minutes) except for being on a mission with Gingerale to find pot. We walked around loudly stating "yo necesito marijuana" hoping that someone would overhear us and invite us two chicks to come smoke with them. It didn't cross our minds however, that the person overhearing us could be a cop. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for us no one took our bait. Also at some point during this time, Fluffy got hit on by a celebrity. The opportunity to bang a celebrity is an opportunity that few men would decline, however, these circumstances were a little different. D-list celebrity, Shane from the Real World was hitting on Fluffy first by coyly asking where the bar was when he was standing right next to it and later just coming flat out and saying "I want to fuck you." I guess reality TV stars aren't used to the mating rituals of the real real world.
Later that night I'm assuming that Mute and Gingerale took me home, since I the next thing I knew I was back at our hotel. Slightly sobered up (and by sobered up I mean conscious enough to remember things) I was disappointed that Gingerale and I had not been able to find our necessary drugs. The three of us sat in my room with the door open eating breadsticks when God smiled upon us.
"Hey do any of y'all ladies smoke pot."
Three, drunk, southern angels had been sent from above. The three guys strolled into our room and asked if we smoked. Hell yes. Then they asked if we had anything to smoke out of, and I began to rip apart my room searching for something to smoke with. What kind of pothead would I be without papers or a piece or something on me at all times. Apparently I was a shitty one, and didn't have anything to smoke out of, but I did have the next best thing - Gingerale. I told the guys I didn't have anything out of which we could smoke, but Gingerale was McGuyver and could probably make a piece out of anything. The guys were stoked and left to come back with the goodies.
When they came back 10 minutes later, Mute was passed out on the bed with her head on the mattress and the rest of her body on the floor. Gingerale was creating some sort of bong with an apple juice bottle, gum foil and a safety pin. Thank you Thurgood Jenkins. Unfortunately despite her best efforts, the attempted bong would not work. Suddenly, the wind slammed the door shut and then we heard a knock at the door. Shit. I went to answer it and one of the guys in my room hid in the bathroom. A security guard was at the door trying to peek into the room and saying something in Spanglish about us being too noisy and that he was going to write us up. I tried to explain in Spanish that the wind had slammed the door and that we were sorry. "Lo ciento. la ventana...uhhh la puerta...woosh!" (please bear with the butchered spanish spelling) Noticing my struggling and probably offensive use of the spanish language Gingerale explained the situation (in Spanish) and the guard let us close the door but hung around in front of it still suspicious of our activities.
Once the door was closed the guys explained that they had gotten in trouble with the guard the night before, and had to pay him off to keep him off their backs. So basically we were harboring hotel fugitives. To ensure that he had no reason to come back into our room, I wet toweled the door and sprayed the front of the room with a bottle of perfume. Meanwhile one of the guys asked if our room had a bible, and since we didn't he settled on a page out of the phone book to roll our joint. While he was rolling I asked where they had gotten the weed from. They responded that almost all of the cab drivers had some, but they would rip you off horribly for it. Since they were aware of this fact, they had asked the driver for some weed and then changed their minds. Then one guy distracted the driver while the other guy stole the pot. And southerners think New York City harbors all the pickpockets...
Soon after, we went out on the balcony to smoke the joint and then the guys headed out. Before they left, one of them informed us they had left us "a little something for the morning" on top of the TV. As they left the room Gingerale and I looked on top of the television and realized they had left us a dime bag. Screw Diane's guys, we had found the real southern gentlemen.