I arrived back home, back in the best city in the world last Wednesday. Four days later I was en route to Mexico for work. Yes, for work. What kind of work, you ask?
Currently, I'm shooting video during Spring Break in Acapulco for Maxim magazine and their advertiser, Trojan condoms.
Now, some people have said to me, "Oh! You are sooo lucky. That must be, like, the best job in the WORLD! I am so jealous."
However, some people feel differently. A friend said exactly this to me: "Dear God. That sounds like my personal version of Hell."
Let me explain to you why the latter statement is correct and the former statement is a misconception.
Let's start with the operative words: Spring Break, Maxim Magazine, Trojan condoms.
As if I have to say more.
Thousands of drunk 18-22-year olds are everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. The majority (98%) are loud and horny-- screaming from balconies and having sex in the pool. The other two percent are innocent people who wanted to go on a relaxing vacation and accidently booked a trip to Mexico during the wrong month of the year.
Understand, now, my job is to talk to these hammered college students. I need to put a microphone in their hand and prompt them to say audible sentences (plugging the Trojan brand) without slurring or falling over or trying to run into the pool with the microphone. For six hours each day, I race around the poolside and beach seeking out people coherent enough to talk to.
I have to admit, as a 28-year old woman, this is not fun. It borders on torture, actually. Especially since there is a beautiful beach that I could be lying on or a pool that I could be swimming in (though after what I witnessed happening in the pool, I would stick with the ocean).
The whole thing is bittersweet: I am in Mexico, yes. The weather is gorgeous and this is my job-- to be in a beautiful location and get paid. On the other hand, the content is... the content is... well, I'm just going to have to post the videos once they're edited. Words cannot explain the absolutely insane Spring Break scene.
P.S.A.: Dear parents, don't ever let your children go on a Spring Break vacaction to Mexico. Ever. I mean it.
Currently, I'm shooting video during Spring Break in Acapulco for Maxim magazine and their advertiser, Trojan condoms.
Now, some people have said to me, "Oh! You are sooo lucky. That must be, like, the best job in the WORLD! I am so jealous."
However, some people feel differently. A friend said exactly this to me: "Dear God. That sounds like my personal version of Hell."
Let me explain to you why the latter statement is correct and the former statement is a misconception.
Let's start with the operative words: Spring Break, Maxim Magazine, Trojan condoms.
As if I have to say more.
Thousands of drunk 18-22-year olds are everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. The majority (98%) are loud and horny-- screaming from balconies and having sex in the pool. The other two percent are innocent people who wanted to go on a relaxing vacation and accidently booked a trip to Mexico during the wrong month of the year.
Understand, now, my job is to talk to these hammered college students. I need to put a microphone in their hand and prompt them to say audible sentences (plugging the Trojan brand) without slurring or falling over or trying to run into the pool with the microphone. For six hours each day, I race around the poolside and beach seeking out people coherent enough to talk to.
I have to admit, as a 28-year old woman, this is not fun. It borders on torture, actually. Especially since there is a beautiful beach that I could be lying on or a pool that I could be swimming in (though after what I witnessed happening in the pool, I would stick with the ocean).
The whole thing is bittersweet: I am in Mexico, yes. The weather is gorgeous and this is my job-- to be in a beautiful location and get paid. On the other hand, the content is... the content is... well, I'm just going to have to post the videos once they're edited. Words cannot explain the absolutely insane Spring Break scene.
P.S.A.: Dear parents, don't ever let your children go on a Spring Break vacaction to Mexico. Ever. I mean it.
I hung out with my Dad today. Whenever my father the contractor says, "Hey, do you want to take a ride and run some errands?" I should know better by now to decline and just go to the beach. Why decline, you ask? Well, as all of my sibling (and my brothers-in-law) can attest to, my Dad kidnaps people. It's not intentional, but he has this way of holding his voluntary passengers hostage.
When he says "a few errands" what he really means is we're stopping at three banks, checking on a half dozen real estate properties all over town, going to the dog groomer and stopping at the lumber year and the aluminum place.
As long as I can remember it's been like this. You never know where you're going to end up when you agree to get in the car with him.Being hijacked isn't without its benefits, though. For example, oftentimes you can guilt my Dad into buying you stuff because he is, afterall, holding you captive. When we were little, he could quiet the entire station wagon with some Slurpees from 7-Eleven.
I passed on the Slupree today and instead opted for this sweet new beltbuckle at the local western store. Thanks, Dad. Yeehaw!
Home in the Dirty-Dirty (South)
0 Comments Published by Vanessa on Monday, March 5, 2007 at 11:59 AM.
"Final Boarding Call for Flight No. 900"After nearly missing our flight back to The States (Note to potential travelers to Buenos Aires: When they say leave three or four hours before your scheduled time of departure, they actually mean it), we arrived in Miami. First time on U.S. soil in over two months. I have to admit, I was excited to be home.
The Goodbye
After the nine-hour flight, it was about 6am in the morning and Mark and I both rented cars at the airport to get us to our destinations within Florida. Parting ways went something like this:
Me: "Ok, well..."
[hug]
Mark: "Have a good time with your family."
Me: "You, too. Drive safe."
Mark: "See you when you're back in New York."
Me: "Yep."
[turn around, each get in respective cars, drive away]
I guess after two months of being with someone for nearly 24-hours a day, there really isn't much you haven't already said.
I DID Learn Spanish!
Friday and Saturday were spent with my sister and brother-in-law in Miami. The last week of traveling was especially grueling (mentally and physically), so I thought a little pampering in South Florida would do me good.
[Cut to me entering the nail salon in downtown Miami]
Background: I was scheduled for a pedicure at 4pm, but arrived a bit early. I inquired to see if I could sneak in a manicure before my scheduled appointment. Simple enough, right?
So, I ask. In English.
They answer me. In Spanish.
I answer them. In Spanish.
It just flew outta my mouth! And they knew what I said! Well, sort of. It took about 10 minutes to get everything sorted, but we worked it out. I got my mani and pedi... and to use my freshly-learned Spanish. Tee!
What's In the Bag
The contents of my bag changed constantly throughout the trip. For example, it only took me two weeks to realize I didn't actually need those two extra pairs of shorts, a wifebeater in all three shades of blue or that second bathing suit. Also, I had a rule: If I bought something, I had to get rid of something. So, over the course of the 63 days, adjustments were made daily. Here are some new important additions to the bag:
- leather heels from Buenos Aires
- sweet green Nike kicks (also from BsAs)
- two Peruvian instruments (friends with children, these are for you)
- some trinkets from the witchcraft market in La Paz
- thr-- (... err) two Argentine malbecs
- bottle of olive oil from Mendoza
- an ugly (but lovable) long-sleeve orange shirt
- four pairs of jeans
- handful of new tops
I outright refused to do purchase any clothes for the winter season... because I am a badass like that. Although, I just peeked at the forecast and it looks like there will be flurries in New York the day I arrive. Ok, so I admit: not buying that leather jacket and getting those cute tanks instead probably wasn't the best way to rebel against the cold. Anyway...
Currently, I'm in Fort Pierce with the 'rents where I remain until Wednesday, when I head back up north to reality: work, cold and apartment-hunting.
(sigh)
However, I know as soon as I see the New York skyline, I'll get butterflies.
No matter how long I'm gone for-- two day or two months--
I get 'em everytime I see her.
This morning we woke up to pouring rain. Like the streets-were-rivers kind of pouring rain. It didn't let up until about 2pm. It is the first time we've seen rain in Argentina. Coincidence? I think not. We head back to The States tonight and the city is upset. It's understandable.
Mark was all "It's raining so let's go to a museum!" Good enough idea, I thought. He headed there before me and we were going to meet up. Then, what I like to think was divine intervention occurred: I got into a cab and asked the driver to go to the MALBA Museum. He had no idea where it was. Neither did I. I mean, when you get into a cab and say "Take me to the Met," the drivers know where to go. I thought it'd work the same here. Guess not.
The funniest part is I sat in the (stopped) cab for the next 10 minutes trying to figure out with the driver what I was talking about. He didn't want me to leave. Next, we brought some poor unassuming girl standing on the street into the mix. She didn't know what I was talking about, so then she goes into the store we're parked next to and asks them. She comes back and says they don't know, but then she produces this little city map-book from her bag. Can't find it in there, either. (I suppose it would've helped if I knew that MALBA stood for Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, but whatever).
Regardless, this to me was a sign. A sign that today was not a museum day. It was, in fact, a SHOPPING DAY!
And shop I did.
I am sitting here with five bags full of stuff (presents, perhaps...?!) and now need to figure out how the hell I'm getting all of this on the plane. Speaking of, I need to go catch it...
Mark was all "It's raining so let's go to a museum!" Good enough idea, I thought. He headed there before me and we were going to meet up. Then, what I like to think was divine intervention occurred: I got into a cab and asked the driver to go to the MALBA Museum. He had no idea where it was. Neither did I. I mean, when you get into a cab and say "Take me to the Met," the drivers know where to go. I thought it'd work the same here. Guess not.
The funniest part is I sat in the (stopped) cab for the next 10 minutes trying to figure out with the driver what I was talking about. He didn't want me to leave. Next, we brought some poor unassuming girl standing on the street into the mix. She didn't know what I was talking about, so then she goes into the store we're parked next to and asks them. She comes back and says they don't know, but then she produces this little city map-book from her bag. Can't find it in there, either. (I suppose it would've helped if I knew that MALBA stood for Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, but whatever).
Regardless, this to me was a sign. A sign that today was not a museum day. It was, in fact, a SHOPPING DAY!
And shop I did.
I am sitting here with five bags full of stuff (presents, perhaps...?!) and now need to figure out how the hell I'm getting all of this on the plane. Speaking of, I need to go catch it...
Sixteen hours on a bus there. Sixteen hours on a bus back.
Yeah, we rocked it.
Iguazu Falls swallows any other waterfall I've ever seen. I kinda had the urge to jump into it. I don't know why. It seemed like it'd be fun. But I didn't.
Words don't do this wonder justice. Heck, photos hardly do, but here are some to look at anyway. And if you want more info on the falls, consult my little friend Wiki.
Headed home tomorrow. As in flying to Florida. Two months. Over. After an nine-hour plane ride. Holy crap. Giddy-up!
*** See update below****
Garganta del DiabloI have nothing to say except I love the clouds in this pic. Oh, the falls are nice, too. Fun fact: Garganta del Diablo means "throat of the devil."
***UPDATED*** [March 1, 5:55pm]If you are wondering why this post looks all wonky, it's because... how do I say this? It was because it was written at like 2am in the morning after two margaritas, one Argentine version of a vodka gimlet and a beer Mark made me drink. I remember exiting a bar screaming the words to Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer." Evidently, Mark and I were the only two who knew any of the words. Woke up this morning with a horrible headache.
So, there you have it: I was busted blunking. Yes, I was blogging drunk. I am ashamed and have made a mental note to not attempt to upload pictures and/or update blog after two or more drinks.