So I suppose I have to begin somewhere. It was my senior of college, and I was set to go on my senior spring break trip to Acapulco. Unlike most people, or most students should I say, I was not traveling with a large group of friends, rather my ex-girlfriend, but of course, girlfriend at the time. Believe me, I tried to get other people to come on the trip with us, I even changed our original destination of Jamaica to Acapulco because I had some friends from MSU that were going to be there. You see, the problem with having a lot friends that smoke pot, is the inability to depend on them to plan far ahead. Despite not being in love at the time, and a near certainty that an all-inclusive trip (which for me is a different brand of trouble than others) to the Las Vegas of Mexico would result in “some serious shit hitting the fan,” I booked this trip in lust for a week of paraíso mexicano. In the weeks leading up to the trip I recall numerous occasions where I was but a breath away from breaking it off. The only thing holding me back, the idea of spending a week in a hotel room in Mexico with the girl I recently dumped and deemed a psycho, lacking the necessary talent or intelligence to further maintain my interest.

So I bit the bullet. I even had the audacity to look her in the eye when confronted about our declining connection, i.e. my interest, and say,

“Maybe we just need a week alone together to be reminded about why we fell in love.”

I must slightly digress. The L word made its first and very akward appearance after the usual round in the sack. She looked at me, blankly, softly, and I knew I was screwed. She spoke my name, and the next words were as inevitable as shitting your pants when unknowingly ex-laxed.

“I love you.”

Son of a bitch. The moment that so many of us have been on either one side or the other. Am I suppose to lie? Should I be polite and thank her? Those 30 seconds will perhaps go down as the most awkward and longest 30 seconds of my life. In an instant Einstein’s theory of relativity makes so much sense. Trying to be as sensitive to her feelings as possible I respond,

“You mean so much to me, and just because I don’t love you today, doesn’t mean I won’t someday.”

Talk about a load, but hey, it’s easier than being honest, all parties considered. She immediately jumped out of bed with a blanket, and ran out of the room crying.

Fast forward, back to the part of the story you care about. Bags are packed, passports stamped, on our way to Mexico.

We arrive at the Avalon Excalabur and its open air lobby looking out onto the beautiful North Pacific. It is important to the story that you’re aware that I speak some Spanish. Not a lot, but enough to get by, and miles more than the “hola” in her repertoire. After spending thousands of dollars, and traveling hundreds of miles, we were so warmly greeted by a concierge who had no record of our reservation. Not exactly the greeting one hopes for, but on a trip doomed for disaster, not exactly a shocker. After 15 minutes or so I was able to straighten things out. Well I shouldn’t say that, but they did find my reservation. There was one small/major problem: their records did not indicate that we had purchased the all-inclusive option. Now you must understand the varying levels of ass kicking which this presents. (A) When I booked my senior spring break trip with the certainty that it would result in the welcomed death of my relationship, I envisioned myself at a tiki bar, 15 shots of tequila deep by noon, melting under the mexican sun, numb to any loss or thoughts outside my immediate pleasure. (B) We were on a budget. A budget that depended on free meals and drinks on the hotel premises. We were off to a rocky start, but in light of the recent conflict we seemed motivated to persevere through it, and enjoy our trip, together.

My birthday is March 2nd. We arrived in Acapulco on March 3rd. We had agreed to celebrate once we got to Mexico. Our first day was spent exploring how intoxicated we could become, with as few pesos as possible. In case you don’t know, 10 (or diez) pesos equals one U.S. dollar. This concept seems simple enough — an item costing 50 pesos is the equivalent of five dollars. An understanding very useful on the beaches and mean streets of Acapulco. In case any of you imagine vacation as being undisturbed in a serene state while lying weightlessly in the soft sand, don’t go to to Acapulco. Fully aware of the flea market-like beach, and eager to put my Western education of español to the test, I made friends quickly with all of the vendors.

“Quieres mota? Tengo mota.”

You want weed? I have weed.

“Quieres quesadilla? Tengo quesadilla.”

Without moving from our seats, we enjoyed the many pleasures of Mexican service, and even managed to have some fun in the bedroom, on at least one of our 7 nights…

The plan was to go out for dinner Sunday night, her treat, for my birthday. Part of our new budget, well at least my new budget, included eating as little as possible, while maintaining heavy consumption of booze. My logic: So long as I mix in a few beers for every six or seven shots, I would be satisfied and nourished enough to maintain my rampid but ever so delightful pace. We viewed the guests of our hotel as two classes: those with all-inclusive bracelets, and those without. Food was being constantly served poolside, rounds of shots, Coronas, and of course margaritas were being handed out like beads to big-breasted women at Mardi Gras. Utterly demoralizing, unless of course, you had a plan B. We strolled to the nearest OXXO, the Mexican equivalent of Seven Eleven, and for 120 pesos, bought a styrofoam cooler, bag of ice, fifth of vodka, two cartons of orange juice, and a frickin’ Coke. My kind of deal. I grabbed a few Sols for the road (because in Mexico there is no such thing as open intox), and felt like I was finally in a country that could facilitate the type of partying that I was put here on this earth to do.

Daytime had come and passed. We were both pretty lit, and hungry as can be. Time for the birthday dinner. We were hoping we both just needed food in our systems; perhaps that would ease the tension. There was much aggravation throughout the day as we (she) played tourist and shopped for souvenirs. In case you have never been to Mexico, everything is a negotiation, which becomes a recurring theme. I served as translator and negotiator in her every attempt to make or inquire about a purchase.

“How much is 200 pesos? I don’t understand.”

Eventually we (I) got through the painful experience, but by no means can I claim innocence of the arising agitation. I am not tolerant of stupidity, nor am I patient with it. I also do not like individuals who prefer to point out every aspect of a situation which they loathe, rather than trying to understand it, and ultimately enjoy it. It is this combination of intolerance that led to what turned out to be a fantastic birthday dinner. Cough. Cough.

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