November 7, 2011

So… some people don’t believe me when I tell them the places I have been.

I assure you that this post will be 100% true. No stretching the truth this time, okay?

When I was sixteen, I went to Russia. Yes, THAT Russia.

We stayed in a tremendous hotel beside the Red Square. Yes, THAT Red Square.

We sampled the local drink of choice with real Russians. Seraphim was one of my favorites. He was quite the ladies man.

I learned much from him… ladies.

After a few ::AHEM:: helpings, we took to the streets, found some drunken locals with small sleds and spent a few cold hours sledding on the hills behind the Kremlin, taking time to touch (and even kiss) the outer wall of the government facility, realizing that if we had done that just a few decades earlier, we would have been terminated on the spot.

Yes… THAT Kremlin.

Pile on top of that a meandering trek through the metro system, a brush with Russian Police during a Russian Orthodox Christmas Eve service and a horrible bout with food poisoning (don’t even brush your teeth with the water. Seriously.), and you’ve got yourself a story that many people will never completely believe.

That’s why I usually don’t even bother mentioning the hotel prostitutes and the ::AHEM::… discount cards that they passed out to each of the young men. True story. I still have my card.

Of course, this is probably all boring to you. I’ll move on.

Recently, I went to Gettysburg for a few days. We checked out the diorama and the battlefield and…

What? That’s boring? You want something better?

Alright. Let me spin you a few tales about Mexico.

In Mexico, the tequila is cheaper, more plentiful and of higher quality than any water you will find. At least, that’s what the drunks say to explain their behavior.

Now, I took two years of Spanish in middle school and high school. Why? Well, I was told that I’d need a second language to get a job.

Also, I had a bit of a thing for the teacher, Senorita Lobon.

It was 8th grade. Don’t judge me.

Regardless, in the time that passed between middle school and Mexico, 2009, I had forgotten everything but the numbers, how to ask for a bathroom and a variety of crude phrases and pick-up lines.

Basically, I knew enough to get by.

I knew enough to realize that the luchadore mask saleswoman was making fun of me for having a head that was “muy grande.”

I knew enough to realize I was only paying about $8 USD a piece for the masks.

I knew enough to tell girls that they had “buenas nachas”, and I vividly remember throwing around the phrase, “Yo tengo un chorizo grande.”

I think you can gather what that means.

Ahhh… what a trip.

Of course, there were plenty of shenanigans, but I’ll have to save that for another Five Hundred Words.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Diane Petraitis for another challenge.

Also, sorry about lying at the beginning of this post. I guess this wasn’t 100% true, because there are some things that will NEVER make it on to this site. Seriously.

Sometimes, things that happen in Mexico just have to stay there: over the border and in the past, exactly where they belong.

Now… I won’t name names, but those ladies (who don’t read this blog) know who they are.

I’ll keep those goings-on to between us.

Truly ghjr


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