Pesos Buy Happiness

After taking quite a respite from writing due to unforeseen circumstances (mostly just too much drinking and Bravo programming interrupting my ability to focus), I'm back and ready to expose myself once again, both physically and metaphorically. And away we go.

For those of us who have never been to a magical place called Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, it can be described as what would closely resemble a gay mecca. My vacation consisted of me, my 25 year old flamingly gaysian friend Amreth, his 47 yr old Anderson Cooper lover, and their 52 year old doctor friend named Matt. This group alone is cause for concern, considering doctor Matt is more of a trainwreck than any other person I've ever met in my life. In the interest of my inability to organize anything, I'll break this shindig of a vacation down by day for your reading pleasure.

Day 1 - Arrive to PVR to find Dr. Matt already drunk in his Speedo by the hotel pool. Additionally, he had a Q-tip sticking out of his ear whilst clutching a margarita in a plastic cup. He was under the impression that everyone was staring at him because he's hot. I believe in my heart of hearts that the Q-tip had something to do with the unwarranted stares.

Sidenote about Dr. Matt - He's hysterical. Not because he says or does funny things, but moreso because the actions and words that are expressed from his awkward body are hilarious without him even knowing. He also likes to use the term "honey" a lot, as in "HONEY! I AM A MESS! Is my cock ring still on????" (Actual Dr. Matt quote). This, in turn, leaves him sounding like a 73 year old Jewish woman from Long Island with a smoker's voice and a possible herniated disk from lying on her back for so many years.

After dropping off our shit, Amreth goes up to his room to rest because he decided it would be a good idea to go skinny dipping the weekend before our trip and caught a bashful case of pneumonia. Todd, Dr. Matt, and myself go exploring at the whim of Dr. Matt's notion that he has any type of directional capabilites. After being led around in 3 distinctive circles that, from an aerial perspective, must have looked like two titties being seduced by an Asian penis, we finally determined that Dr. Matt had no idea where he was going. It was like being led around a carnival by a drunk midget in a Speedo with oversized flip flops and severe ADD. Eventually we wound up at the Blue Chairs rooftop at the gay hotel on the beach. Because it was only 5pm and a stripper named Ricky was already feeling me up by the balcony, I decided it was only appropriate to drink 4 Rum and Diet Cokes in the span of 20 minutes. The rest of my evening was quite a blur.

Day 2:
Woke up well rested yet painfully thirsty from the unorthodox amount of Rum consumed the previous night. Amreth was only half alive, so Todd threw him over his shoulders like a gay satchel/man purse and we headed towards the beach. Upon our arrival, it was clear that the gays have a universal beach outfit: Nothing. Literally they wear nothing. I refuse to accept the fact that a Speedo suited for the likes of a 3 year old and barely covering the twigs and berries of a sassy gay man can be considered a bathing suit - much less an article of clothing. It was like swimming with the cast of Blue Lagoon. Only on a gay beach in Mexico can I ever feel uncomfortable for wearing a standard issue Banana Republic bathing suit. How rude of me.

After a grand total of 32 beers consumed by myself, Todd, and Dr. Matt, as well as a tacky henna tattoo I purchased courtesy of a 5'2 Mexican man I lovingly referred to as "Paco" on the beach, we decided to head back to the Blue Chairs rooftop for cocktail hour. The thing I found interesting about Mexico is that there seems to be few boundaries for acceptable social behavior. You can be sitting on a rooftop bar watching the sunset and enjoying background music and a taquito when, all of a sudden, a stripper comes up and starts rubbing their bare penis against your leg and/or exposed extremity - much to the delight of Dr. Matt. Since it's only day 2, I, for one, continue to munch on my stale chips and salsa uninterested while Dr. Matt is sitting opposite from me with a smile that reflects a toddler in a toy store. Who knows where that penis has been? And, oddly enough, I don't see any Purell in sight. Call me old fashioned, but I'm of the opinion that a country such as Mexico should have Purell stands located every 5.5 feet, particularly on the gay beach full of salivating "daddies".

Upon return to the hotel Dr. Matt and I are left on our own to explore the nightlife of Puerto Vallarta since Todd is entirely too intoxicated to continue with the festivitatas. We decide to go to a place cleverly named "Picante's", where I meet a bartender named Marin. I'm immediately attracted to him and, for some reason, he finds me interesting. I'm surprised by this, not only because I'm severely sunburnt and look like a dried California raisin/ am slurring my words, but also because I've run out of cash and flirtaciously offer to pay for 150 pesos worth or drinks with a 50 peso bill. Marin winks and tells me the remainder of my drinks are "on the house". Fantastic. At this point, I look over and see that Dr. Matt has been put on the middle of the stripper floor and is sporting an enormous hat made of balloons and shaped like a diseased vagina. A group of middle aged blond ladies from Sacramento are clapping for him and exposing their floppy, surgically enhanced breasts. We stumble out of the bar and Dr. Matt insists that he knows his way back to the hotel. After picking up Dr. Matt from the cobble stone street three different times and traveling through various dark alleys while heading towards the mountains, I determine that Dr. Matt may or may not, in fact, be retarted. Not in the traditional sense, but more so in the directionally challenged and "unable to survive on his own" sense. I hail a taxi and force his ass into the back seat in order to make our way back to the hotel.

Day 3 - Dr. Matt has researched an antibiotic to administer rectally to Amreth. It seems to be working.

Day 4 - It's Dr. Matt's last full day with us, which saddens me seeing as how his departure means the trainwreck spotlight will be focused on me (Although Todd is proving to be better competition than I would have initially thought). He's consumed so much alcohol and guacamole that his feet have swollen to the size of a 3 day old corpse. Dr. Matt is convinced his Kindeys may indeed be failing by announcing to the hotel patio from his window, "HONEY!! COME LOOK AT MY SWOLLEN FEET! EITHER MY KIDNEYS ARE FAILING OR I'M IN MY 3RD TRIMESTER OF PREGNANCY!!"

We head to the beach and Dr. Matt orders everyone a round of margaritas and 3 buckets of beer. I'm beginning to think that, if ever I'm stranded at sea, my body can survive off of alcohol remnants and 3-day old taquitos.

Luckily, lady Amreth is doing much better due to the suspiciously strong "over the counter" Mexican anti-biotic recommended by Dr. Matt. The Speedos are out in full force and Todd decides it would be a good idea to tan his nude, bare ass in the sun. This attracts the attention of a stealthy black woman who decides to also show her bare ass and parades around the beach in a red thong while demanding more margaritas from the waiter. I take mental note that, while her breasts are large, they seem very misshapen. Perhaps she's a tranny.

Day 5- We've decided to take a day "gay cruise" for 70 bucks - which includes an open bar and lunch on a beach village. Dr. Matt's flight is at 5:30pm so he can't join. We say our goodbyes and he waves us off as the boat leaves. From that angle and pose, he reminds me of Nathan Lane in The Birdcage, minus the gaudy jewelry. As the boat departs I order 2 rum and diet cokes for myself and, from the corner of my eye, I spy a 40 yr old blond woman who doesn't seem to fit in on this trashy little gay excursion. Eventually she approaches me and tells me her name is Tiffany from Chicago and, with enough drinks, she may indeed take her top off halfway through the cruise as per my request. I immediately knew we were destined to be friends. Her gay friend is ugly so I ignore him. The gay cruise is full of every stereotype in the book - strippers doing drugs in the bathrooms, an old man with a cock ring tanning naked on the roof deck, naked swimming in a deserted beach, and me clinging to Tiffany for dear life as I'm afraid and put off by all of the above. Upon return to land, we're sufficiently intoxicated and Tiffany exchanges contact info with me. Her busted gay friend wants to hang out later, but I quickly tell him I'll most likely be facedown in the hotel pool by sundown and will, therefore, be deemed utterly useless company. Upon our return to the hotel, a young, flirtatious, and decently attractive couple that has been talking to me all week start buying me drinks by the pool. I'm starting to wonder what they want from me, but for the time being I appreciate the free drinks. Todd and a group have gathered around me to convince me to call the airline and extend my vacation. Since I've been drinking all day, this sounds like a fantastic idea to me. Upon calling the airline the agent tells me that I can change my flight for a small fee, but my return flight has me going through about 8 different cities and taking me a grand total of 17 hours to fly home. One more Rum and Diet and I change my flight, to the cheers and applause exploding from random groups of people in the pool, with Todd in the center of them grinning. And completely nude.

Later that night, Todd, Amreth and I head back to "Picante's" where I see Marin the bartender again. We talk for most of the night while Todd pole dances for a rowdy and unfortunate looking group from the Midwest. Eventually we head back and Marin comes with us to the hotel. From what I can recall, there was extensive swimming and late night cocktails involved. Mexico is fantastic.

Day 6 - My body is rejecting any alcohol, yet somehow I have the shakes as I eat my morning scrambled eggs. I'm scared that I might vomit at any moment and receive judgmental, angry stares and points from the gays. Todd, Amreth and I head to the beach and run into Tiffany. She asks to sit with us and brings along her very obnoxious gutter troll of a friend once again. Since I'm on the brink of death laying like a beached whale on a chair, Tiffany buys me a $15 foot massage from a small Mexican man on the beach. I wish I had friends like her at home. Since it's our last day, I spend most of it sitting in the sun trying to re-tan my peeling forehead so I don't arrive home looking like I spent my vacation in a leprosy ward in Mumbai.

For our last night, we go out to a nice restaurant with Tiffany who is becoming increasingly friendlier towards me. At one point, she tries to coerce me into a bathroom to expose her breasts to me (which I've been requesting to see all week). I told her there was no need to go to the bathroom, as breast exposure could occur from the comfort of our own bar stools without having to travel all that distance. After several bars, I randomly run into Marin the bartender on the street. It's his day off so he hangs out with us and carries a conversation with Todd in broken English. Marin seems very much into me, which always catches me off guard for some reason. We make our way back to the hotel and spend most of the night hanging out and eventually I part with my Penguin-shaped silly band so he can have a little taste of the real America. We also became Facebook friends via the 1992 desktop computer with dial-up internet in the lobby.

Day 7 - As usual, all good things come to an end and it's time to take my sunburnt, alcohol infused body back to reality. We had time to spend the morning at the beach, so I went in a frantic rush to expose my skin one last time to the sun, all the while thinking how disappointed my SPF 100 wearing friend Carol would be in my ritual of dousing myself in oil whilst baking underneath the Mexican sun. Eventually I said bye to Tiffany and Marin (and my Penguin silly band, which I kind of wanted back. But only because they seem so hard to find at the last three 7-11's I've been to).

On my 18.5 hour plane trip home and about 15,000 pesos poorer, I kept reliving all my experiences in my head. I concluded that I am a completely different person when on vacation. It seems I let my guard down more often and have a more carefree attitude, and maybe that's what attracts people. Or maybe it was the fact that I was really tan, which is notorious for making us all look at least 10 lbs thinner. In any event, it's just my luck that the only people I like, or more importantly like me back, exist thousands of miles away from this God forsaken city of DC. I felt like I was in Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love" - except without all the stupid bullshit of "finding yourself through pounds of pasta and useless meditations with monks in Nepal". Fuck you, Elizabeth. My experience was cheaper and far dirtier than yours.

- A