I’m a Jinius

So in an effort to alienate readers I decided, henceforth, that all my blog titles will be references to hip hop/r&b songs from the mid to late nineties because–in my humble opinion–(which is the only opinion!) that era is the apex of hip hop. The Apex!!!

Just got back from dc and had a much better time than on my last visit. All my long time readers will know why this is the case and unfortunately (fortunately) for the new readers I already deleted that old post. That’s the great thing about blogs. You can post the most intimate details of your life and then delete them!

Got there on monday. Walked around Dupont Circle and that whole area. So cute! I was surprised to see so many joggers in DC. Must be nice to run without inhaling car exhaust.

Decided to treat myself to a nice dinner at Hank’s Oyster Bar. I kinda felt like that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall– “We have a loner here! Just one!” I sat at the bar with this week’s issue of New York mag (represent!) and ordered a glass of Viognier.

Then I asked the bartender if I should get the lobster roll or the short ribs dinner and he said the lobster roll is pretty light and the short ribs dinner is pretty heavy so I ordered the short ribs dinner. The short ribs was as thick as a log and it came with a side of collard greens and mac n cheese. The bartender said he was pretty sure I could make a dent in it. Ummm, I didn’t put a dent in it because I finished THE ENTIRE PLATE. I even licked the cheese off the bottom of my mac n cheese dish. Cholesterol what?

The next day I went to a conference and it was really awesome. I felt like I was in that Blind Melon video when the bee girl runs into all the other people dressed in bee costumes and it’s like omg I belong somewhere!!!! So that was very cool. Meeting people my age interested in the same things. It made me think that maybe a move to DC would be a great strategic decision for my professional life. AND its pedestrian friendly!

After the conference, a bunch of us grabbed drinks at the 18th street lounge and then I had to catch my train back to ny. It was kidna sad. All the conference participants live and work in dc and I had to go back home in my bee costume. But thank god home is Manhattan and not bumble fuck. I quickly got over it when I took a cab back to my apartment. Oh, hellooo lover!

In other news, remember the whole Hills situation I felt like I was in? Well, my biggest concern was running into the people who didn’t invite me to their party and I ended up crashing the party. Ha. And then I got a text from hot bartender and all was forgotten. Except the annoying thing about him which was also the problem I had with the 25 yr old is that he texts me and then doesn’t follow through. Like, don’t keep texting me if you’re not gonna seal the deal. I’m only interested in bilateral relations here! I don’t need this back and forth of texting!

The next night I met up with Elissa and Vidya for dinner at Casimir and noticed that they also have a very hot bartender. Very scruffy and tattooes all over his arms. Hmmm. Shut it down, Jinius.

Afterwards, Elissa and I went to a fake mustache party and adorned our faces in pink mustaches. The highlight of the evening was going to this belgian bar and fifty of us in fake mustaches just storm the place and the two bartenders dont know how to react because clearly they must have never worked in an nyc bar before because they acted like we were just a mad mob of people and hello, this is a typical night at any other bar. Anyway, the bartender said he couldn’t handle my order before taking care of other people but he was just chatting away with people so Elissa told him that was not very cool and the best part was that she was saying all this with her fake mustache on.

Fake mustaches say, “Don’t eff with us!”

Oh and then I ended up chatting with this one dude because, clearly, men are turned on by pink mustaches and while the rest of the fake stache crew hit another bar, me and the dude stayed. He was Euro and in town for a week. He had on black framed glassses a la Daniel Liebskind and wore a red and white checkered kiffeyeh a la Arafat. At first I thought he was cute but then he really started to annoy me and I think it’s because, well, how do I say this without sounding mean?

I’m not attracted to European men.

And I think it’s because, well, how can I articulate this…

They are cheesy.

And they ain’t too proud to beg which is also a huge turn off. I told him I was tired and going home and he was like “C’mon, please, have one more drink with me.” And I was like, why you all up in my grill?

So lets hear it for American men, y’all. They may not always remember to hold doors or remember to shower but they always remember to act aloof and sullen. Hot!

On Sunday, met up with Liz and some peeps at Cafe Mogador for brunch. Even though I love Mogador’s brunch I have to say it’s not very filling. I was this close to going to Jules next door and ordering a burger. But I didn’t. Because society likes to promulgate the idea that being morbidly obese is not that hot.

So, yeah, that was my week. It was interesting to go to dc this second time around. While I was out having dinner ALONE I contemplated calling up the boy who shall not be named but lives in dc and knows I have a blog so if you’re reading this just please stop right now!

But I didn’t call cuz I didn’t have his number anyway.

Anyway, sometimes its nice to just be alone. You don’t have to share your mac n cheese and you can people watch with abandon.

And then you just appreciate it so much more when you run into your other bee people.

There are times in life when you laugh. There are times in life when you cry.There are times in life when you laugh AND cry at the same time because you are stuck in a cab with a driver who doesn’t know where the fuck he is going and you resort to schizophrenic behavior in order to cope with the utter misery of your situation.

So I was in Boston this weekend.

It was my friend Binnie’s birthday but the poor thing got food poisoning and was exiled to her bedroom pretty much all weekend. Is it just me or do birthdays diminish in amusement after your 21st birthday? When you’re young you get balloons and a clown on your birthday. When you’re in your late twenties you get food poisoning.

So while she was trying to keep the room from spinning, I was on my way to meet my friend Ilana at a karaoke bar in Boston.

Little did I know that trying to get from the Harvard Business School Campus to Downtown Boston would require the patience and endurance of a pioneer on the Oregon Trail. (more…)

2007 was a great year. Lets take a trip down memory lane and look at the events that have inspired and molded the Jinius blog. Because here at the Jinius blog, I remind you of the stupid shit we did over the past year so you don’t have to.

Lets see…we kicked 2007 off with a bang. (more…)

During my trip to Los Angeles I had a mini panic attack. I realized that I could never move there unless I had three things.

1. A job
2. A car
3. An aptitude for driving

How is it that I, a twenty eight year old third wave feminist, the eldest of three children, who went to a women’s college and studied the texts of Betty Friedan and Carol Gilligan, have an unmitigated fear of driving? How am I supposed to be independent and self-reliant when I can’t even drive myself around a mall parking lot? Actually, parking lots are okay. It’s just freeways, highways, and anything above a 30 mph speed limit that horrify me.

It’s not that I don’t know how to drive– I have a driver’s license that expired three years ago–but I’m just scared of driving. I took driving lessons after college and my instructor told me that my problem was that I didn’t know how to relax and that I needed a boyfriend to calm me on the road. He was joking ( I think) but now I could blame my driving incompetence on my singlehood. And being Asian. Apparently Asian women are notorious for being horrible drivers. Another stereotype I can fully embrace!

I realized all this as I sat in my hotel room on Sunset Boulevard. I had an entire city to explore yet I was paralyzed. There was no way that I was going to rent a car and navigate the streets of Los Angeles. And there was no way I was going to take public transportation. It’s one thing to take the bus when you’re in New York but in LA? I’d probably end up in San Fernando valley or something. So what was I to do? I had a couple of hours to kill before my friend Ally was going to pick me up for dinner. So I did what any feminist without a car would probably do.

I walked to the Mondrian Hotel next door.

I bought a New York Times and sat at a plushy couch in Sky Bar. I ordered a glass of red wine. I noticed that the gentleman having drinks to my right was none other than Colin Farrell. I texted my friend Fab about the celebrity sighting and she suggested I go up to him and ask why he makes such bad movies. I didn’t. He was engrossed in a conversation with the fellow he was with and one of the cocktail waitresses was already fawning on him. He’s not that cute in person. He kinda looks like a Nascar driver.

Later on, my friend Ally picked me up and we went to Little Tokyo for dinner. There was a 40 minute wait at Sushi Gen so we walked around and had a Japanese pancake with bean in the middle. Here is a picture of them making the pancakes:

After dinner, we headed downtown to a hipsterish bar called Bar 107.

This is the type of bar that has all walks of life–degenerates in Pirate Hats, Mexican goths who listen to Morissey, and preppy boys from USC. My friends Fab and Holt showed up. One of the guys I was with thought Holt was a homeless guy who just decided to sit next to us. He was even about to tell Holt to get lost. My friend Holt is not homeless. He’s just from New York!

This is my friend Holt. He has a home!

Why am I drinking three bottles of Stella at the same time?

The bars close at two here so I told everyone to come back to my hotel room for an after party with the mini bar. Except by the time everyone got into their cars, they decided to just go home and I was stuck in a hotel room with a bald guy that I didn’t know very well. Luckily my friend Fab was also crashing at my hotel room. We were trying to give the guy subtle hints that we were about to pass out. So Fab and I climbed into bed, put on the tv, and watched an informercial on how to get clear skin. The guy left in ten minutes. No offense to the guy–he was very sweet. It’s just that when I booked my hotel room I didn’t envision myself bringing back a bald guy for the night.

The next day Ally took me to the Getty Museum.

The museum is on top of a hill and you have to take a monorail to get there. It was a gorgeous day so the views of the city were amazing.

Can you tell I also have a fear of heights?

On my last night Fab and I had dinner at Magnolia and then night caps at Sky Bar. You can sit at these pod like sofas outside and the waitresses even give you a blanket!

Here is Fab getting cozy with her night cap.

All in all, it was a great trip to LA. I met so many cool people while I was there including some blogger friends. How did people ever meet before the interweb???

Here is blogger friend Neil hiding behind seafood.

He and his friend Max have an amazing food site Just One Plate that you foodies have to check out. The photography is incredible! I also met Neil’s friend K who probably eats more spicy food than I do and likes to drink tequila at dinner. My new best friend!

So there are lots of pros and cons surrounding the move. It’s funny how evaluating a city can reveal your inner fears. Like commitment or… freeways. So before I can fully commit to LA, I’ll have to learn how to drive. I’ll just make LA my friend with benefits…for now.

The Phonecall

I received the middle of the night phone call that every person dreads.

Hello? I said groggily.
Do you have a friend named Meredith? asked the voice on the other end
Uh-oh.

The Homeless

My friend Meredith and I went to San Fran last week as part of my week long trip to California. I’ve been flirting with the idea of moving to the West Coast (it’s part of my five year plan) and this trip was a test. It was going to take more than just choosing between West Coast and East Coast rap. I had to sink my teeth into the city. Get to know the denizens. The social life. And most importantly, the food.

I’m not one of those people who turns all girls gone wild when they go on vacation. I’d rather makeout with a slice of pizza than with a dude. What is wrong with me??? But I’m trying to be more adventurous so I pumped myself up for making out with random people. Alas, my inelastic need for sleep cock blocked once again. Of course, one assumes there needs to be an actual cock in order for something to be blocked. But I digress.

I spent two days in San Fran and then four days in Los Angeles. I had never been to San Fran and was excited to see this city that many New Yorkers seemed to prefer over LA for being “more real”. New Yorkers have a thing for authenticity. The grittier the better. I’m not sure why. I bet if you asked any New Yorker if they’d rather have an apartment in Nolita or in East Harlem they’d choose the former.

Well, San Fran definitely trumps New York in the gritty category. Our hotel was on the edge of the Tenderloin district–an area that probably holds the preponderance of homeless people in the U.S. or the Western hemisphere. When we asked people for directions to Eddy street, they’d say “Make sure not to turn right on that street. It’s the sketchiest street in the world.” Great, we were staying in the Chechnya of neighborhoods. Good thing Meredith and I have a combined height of ten feet.

The homeless people in San Fran are definitely more colorful than the homeless in New York. And by colorful I mean they are fucking insane. You can’t walk two feet without a homeless person screaming to themselves or asking you for change. And unlike the homeless in New York, the San Francisco homeless are more aggressive. “Why you girls gotta be so cheap?” one homeless person argued. Dear, sir, I am not cheap! I am merely frightened by your craziness! At least the degenerates in New York do a little song and dance for your money. These people just expect you to be charitable for no reason!

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with the homeless(as long as they don’t approach me or ask me for money) but the juxtaposition of affluence and poverty in this city is disturbing. Maybe the mayor should spend more time addressing this issue instead of dating Hollywood actresses who deify L. Ron Hubbard.

Beet salad makes people horny

When we weren’t being accosted by degenerates on the street, we indulged in San Fran’s night life. The first night we had dinner at the esteemed Slanted Door. The views at this restaurant are insane. You are dining in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. We had a 9:30 reservation and our food arrived at 9:45. Was the kitchen trying to kick us out? The food was tasty but luke warm in temperature. Will have to try again at an hour that is not near closing time.

After dinner we had a night cap at the Clift Hotel.

The bar is gorgeous with all the oak and leather furniture. It was there this 50 year old European gent named Alex just sidled next to us and didn’t stop talking for about half an hour. I even mimed tying a noose around my neck. This usually sends the message that I am bored. He presented his theories on how beet salad makes people more gregarious. He asked if we wanted to go dancing. We declined. Then he took down our names and number.

The Curious Incident with the Nachos in the Night-Time

The next day we walked around Chinatown which is infinitely nicer than the Chinatown in New York. For starters, it doesn’t smell like dead fish. And the sidewalks aren’t dotted with loogies. We had lunch in the North Beach area that is like San Fran’s Little Italy.

We walked around Telegraph Hill and caught a glimpse of Alcatraz, then ambled toward Ghiradelli Square and Fisherman’s Wharf. Then we took a trolley back to our hotel, cascading along San Fran’s hills with the city’s skyline glimmering in the foreground. No one does night time like San Fran. The city is simply gorgeous.

Oh, and that Euro guy ended up calling Meredith and asked if we wanted to go dancing. We can never go back to The Clift Hotel.

For dinner, we went to Luna Park and ate enough food for a family of five and split a bottle of wine. And instead of dessert we had an Irish coffee. This is an important detail. Because bad things happen when I drink Irish coffee. The last time I drank Irish coffee I went to a club called Discoteque at 5 in the morning with my guy friends and I made out with an engaged man. I simply cannot handle coffee spiked with whiskey!

We were in the Mission District which is similar to the East Village in New York. There are alot of bars and young people. We went to a bar called Casanova and had vodka sodas (are you keeping tabs of the alcohol count here?). Then we went to Kilowatt and had more vodka sodas. Then Beauty Bar where we had beer and danced with a group of black men. (or were they South Asian?) Then we went to a place called The Makeout Room where strangely enough the clientele did not look like people you would want to makeout with. Then we went back to Kilowatt. And then we split up.

This was probably a bad idea. You know how in horror movies, bad things when the friends go their separate ways to find out where the strange noise is coming from? Well, this was like that. Only instead of a grisly fate we were greeted with nachos.

I got to the hotel and passed out. At about five in the morning (or was it three? I wasn’t wearing my glasses) I get a phone call. It is the front desk of the hotel. He tells me that Meredith is trying to get into the hotel room.

The next day we woke up and tried to remember how the night ended. Meredith swears that she was eating a plate of nachos in the hallway. I opened the door and was greeted by a sullen house keeper cleaning up the remnants of what appeared to be tostitos. We are still trying to figure out where Meredith was able to get nachos at five in the morning (or was it three?) We suspect that she bought a taco salad from the Carl’s Jr. that was next to our hotel.

The Homeless Convention

We spent our last day walking around Haight Ashbury. It was gorgeous outside so we headed to Golden Gate Park. Apparently I never got the memo that there was a homeless party at the park. I had never seen or smelled so many transients. In New York, the bums usually just cluster around Port Authority or are spread out over the city. In San Fran, the bums all live in this park. You can’t make this shit up.

Don’t get me wrong. San Fran is a charming city and it gets bonus points for being pedestrian friendly (score for people like me who don’t know how to drive!) I will definitely visit again. But would I move there from New York? I’m not sure. I like a city where the homeless people are friendly and don’t insult you. But it’s images like this that seduce me back to the West.

1. I should take valium
2. Why do people compare turbulence with riding a rollercoaster? Um, yeah, a rollercoaster that is 30,000 feet in the air!
3. How come I never sit next to anyone hot?
4. Always the single moms reading Nora Roberts books.*
5. Or people who talk to themselves
6. My flight attendant is a transvestite
7. Great, I’m spending the last minutes of my life with a trannie and a woman talking to herself. **
8.Ooh, cute passenger in row 12.
9. Well, helloooo, Mr. Hottie McPassenger
10. The phrase “balls to the wall” is hilarious
11. I’m going to start using “balls to the wall” in the vernacular
12. This flight is balls to the wall
13. Happy thoughts. Tra-la-la.
14. WTF?!?!
15. How can you people be so placid? And watch Ratatouille as if you don’t feel the plane shaking? I’m going to ignore the fact that the flight attendant pronounced it “Ratooly”. What if they used cats in the movie instead of rats? It would be Catatouille. Or if they used jackals? Jackalatouille. I am laughing at my own jokes. I am so lame!
16. If this turbulence stops I promise to be a nicer person
17. And take more risks
18. And stop dieting
19. And makeout with more strangers
20. A burrito for lunch was a bad idea.

*Grain of salt
** Two Grains of salt. Please don’t sue me I have no money.

I just booked tix to go to cali at the end of november. I’ll be in San Fran and LA.

So that means I have two months to do some solid research on the best places to eat. So far I have Slanted Door, Zuni, Delfina, and maybe Chez Panisse (if I have any money left) on the list for San Fran. And I definitely want to go back to Magnolia in LA for their mint chip icecream sandwiches.

Anyone recommend any inexpensive hotels to stay in san fran? I’ve never been and didn’t really think about the hotel situation while I was frantically purchasing my tickets on Orbitz.

The wedding was held on Palm Sunday. The bridesmaids were walking to “Here comes the sun.” We were instructed to walk in a certain rhythm, hold our flowers at chest level, smile, look up, and sit down at a certain time. There was more choreography than the Miss America pageant. As long as we didn’t trip and fall into someone’s lap we were good.The ceremony was officiated by the bride’s father. He is the most adorable, polly pocket sized, Portuguese man. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

The reception was at a house on a hill, surrounded by an infinity pool and overlooking the ocean. There was a sunset on one side and the pale glow of a full moon on the other. There was a mariachi band singing besame mucho and servers passing rose water champagne cocktails. There were stations of coconut shrimp and ceviche. The setting was so romantic that I almost started making out with myself.

Meredith and I lucked out and weren’t seated at the “singles table”. Instead the whole wedding party sat together which means we broke into song every 10 minutes and kept cheering “ole, ole, ole!”. You should have heard the music they were playing. It was the kind of music you hear in your dentist’s office. Lionel Richie. Captain and Tenille. Linda Ronstadt.

Even though I wasn’t that hungry, I forced myself to eat everything because bad things happen when I drink on an empty stomach. It wasn’t a difficult feat. The main course was lobster and steak so tender that you could cut it with a blade of grass.

Then they started passing around shots of tequila. I only drank half of a shot because I wanted to try and actually remember the rest of the evening. But our friend Kaki said that it’s bad luck not fo finish a shot. So I finished it. Then she said, “I’m just kidding. I just wanted you to do your shot.”

Why must I believe everything I hear?!?!

After dinner we all gathered on the dance floor and the dj started playing persian music. We all did the limbo. At one point I returned to the table because the servers had just put out flan. I love flan! I’ve already decided that when I get married I’m going to have wedding cake made of flan. And another one made of ferrero rochers. Now all I need is a boyfriend.

The DJ, and I’m not exagerrating, was 10 years old. He insisted on ignoring the playlist and playing cheesy, Mexican house music. We finally had to corner him and threaten we’d break both his legs if he didn’t play Sexyback. Okay, we didn’t do that. But we were all thinking that.

Apparently our friend Henri caught all the dancing on video tape. I wonder if he caught himself doing the white man’s dance. You know, when white guys dance with both arms raised in the air.

After dancing, we all decided to change into our swimsuits and get in the infinity pool. Actually my roommate Victoria threw me in the infiinty pool.

Meredith and I befriended the three single guys at the wedding and we all did more shots. In the pool. I think Meredith almost drowned. At one point everyone vacated the pool and it was just me and some random guy from Colorado. I asked him what he thought of Rep Tancredo. I should not be allowed to make small talk.

The next morning I woke up and found myself still dressed in my wet bathing suit from the night before. I looked over at Meredith and she was still in her bathing suit too. This is how I spent my last few moments at a 5 star resort. Sleeping in a wet bathing suit.

As my flight departed Mexico on Sunday, I felt a little sad to go but also rejuvenated. I was only away for 4 days but in those days I learned so much.

I learned that the adventure is in the lesson. I learned that instead of being so afraid, I should just surrender and relish the moment. I learned its all about the moments. The tiny ones like seeing a butterfly floating out your window. Or falling asleep to crashing waves. Or waking up to a vast horizon. Or just using any excuse to do silly dances. I learned that it’s okay to fall. And if you do, your friends are there to pick you up. In my case, they literally have to pick me up off the floor.

I learned how not to be so angry all the time. Because I think beneath the giggly facade was a bitter self. But I think it melted under the Mexican sun (not to be confused with the Tuscan sun).

During the ceremony, one of the speakers said that marriage isn’t just about finding the right partner, but being the right partner. That line really resonated for me. I try to write everyday not just to become a better writer but a better person. And my friends have helped me navigate that journey. I’ve never met such a fearless, impetuous, headstrong, passionate, wickedly smart, hilarious, brilliant group of people.

You know how some spiritualists have a theory that you pick your family? Like you’re in the waiting room of life and select which mom and dad you want to be with? I think you pick your friends too. They come into your life at times of great struggle or heartache.

I think for the first time in a really long time, I’ve regained a sense of peace and adventure and romanticism.

I was talking to a friend in Boston the other day and she said, “I can tell from reading your blog that you’re growing stronger with each day.” It’s true. If you rewind to the archives I was such a mess back then. Crying myself to sleep. Feeling guilty for wrecking two relationships. Convinced that I was never going to get over it.

But I did.

Okay, one last small confession. My roommate has some video footage of us all dancing only you can’t really see anything because it’s too dark outside but you can hear Kelly Clarkson’s song “Since You’ve Been Gone” playing in the background. And you can hear me sing, okay screaming, along “Since you’ve been goooooone”. And girls, you know how the rest goes. “I can breathe for the first time, I’m so moving on, yeah yeaaaaaah. Thanks to you, now I get, what i want. Since you’ve been gone.” And, well, there’s a reason I was belting that song.

This trip has injected me with a new sense of optimism. Life is too short to be bitter. You might as well spend it dancing and eating more flan. Ole!

(A photo of me dancing with the bride’s mother. Probably to Sexyback.)

I am like the Scooter Libby of the Mexico trip. When people ask me what I remember from Saturday night, I artfully dodge the question and plead “memory lapse”. But unlike Mr. Libby’s disingenuous claim, I truly do not remember much from that evening. So let’s retrace our steps and start with Saturday morning.

While the boys went mountain biking, the bridesmaids got up bright and early to go horseback riding. I have never been on a horse before so I requested the tamest horse–preferably a burro. At first I was terrified. I mean, wouldn’t you be if you were straddling a 1200 pound animal between your legs? I had thoughts of Christopher Reeve’s accident racing through my head. I mean, do Asians even ride horses??? But I suppose the Mongols expanded their empire by riding horses so perhaps I possess some riding genes.

We all rode in a line and I was, of course, last. We had one staff member riding in the front and one in the back to keep the pack together. I had a lengthy conversation with the staff member since I was riding in the back most of the time. He asked me when I was going to college. I thought I misunderstood his spanish. I told him that I graduated from college ten years ago. He was stupefied. “I thought you were 14 or 15!” Hmmmm, I suppose this means I can continue drinking and smoking without guilt.

We rode past the crocodiles and saw Zebras up close, then rode across the beach. My horse kept stopping every two seconds to eat grasss. “Slow horses eat,” Meredith said.

By the end though I was ready to go faster. “Mas rapido, por favor!” I kicked my horse on the side but he wouldn’t budge. The caballero said I wasn’t kicking hard enough so he broke off a branch and told me to hit the horse with it. Then the horse started riding. I loved my riding whip. Every woman should keep a whip in her bedroom. Andale, Andale! I wanted to go faster, but alas, I did request the tame horse.

After horseback riding, we went back to the house and lounged around the pool. I love that the only decision I had to make was deciding between a pina colada or margarita. Lunch consisted of the juiciest grilled steak, shrimp as big as your palm, the fluffiest rice, and more margaritas. I decided I didn’t want any more tequila and asked if they had rose vino. And voila! It appeared.

At night, we all went to this outdoor restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. This is where things start to get a little fuzzy. I think the only thing I ate was an anemic chicken skewer. But I did manage to consume monumental margaritas.

After dinner we all started dancing. And by dancing I mean me, Meredith, and Dev started running after eachother in a circle–like how dogs chase eachother in a dog park.

If Andrew Dice Clay and Britney Spears pro-created, then I was their love child that night. Apparently I started doing the robot. And I kept going up to the DJ and requesting Sexyback. The DJ was like, “You already asked me that 10 times!” Apparently when the DJ started playing Coldplay I sat in the middle of the dance floor and started pouting. Wouldn’t you if you heard the reed thin vocals of Chris Martin and all you wanted was Sexyback?

On our car ride back Meredith and I started singing Journey and got booed. Or maybe it was the Hall and Oates that got us booed.

The next day, the first thing people would say to me was not “how are you” but “I loved your robot dance.”

As wedding guests kept recounting my tales of tomfoolery, I just wanted to crawl into a cave and hide like Osama. But Anais placated my worries when she said, “Look you had a good time and we all had a really good time. So it doesn’t matter.”

I suppose the saying is true. “Those who care don’t matter and those who matter don’t care.”

We embarked on our adventure on Friday morning. Me, Sam, Meredith, Dev, and his wife Jessica all flew together to Mexico. As the regular readers know, I have an intense fear of flying but it’s much easier to forget about the plane falling out of the sky when you are reading US Weekly magazines with your friends. Actually, it was just Dev reading the US Weekly because he was hogging them all.

We arrived in Puerto Vallarta and picked up our rental car. The drive to Cuixmala is supposed to take about three hours because of the one lane, windy roads but Dev got us there in two. Actually we would’ve gotten there faster had we not mistaken the security post of the house for a police station.

The property is like the Taj Mahal meets Morocco meets Jurassic Park. Once you enter the property, it takes about 30 minutes just to drive up to the house. On the drive you pass crocodiles (yes, crocodiles), zebras, antelopes, these strange monkey/rat hybrids, plantations, and fields full of coconut trees, agave, and other vegetation. Everything we ate and drank that weekend was grown on the property–including the tequila.

When you are inside the main house, you feel like you are walking through the pages of Elle Decor. There were fountains, a library room, a smoking room with hookahs, and rooms that I didn’t even have time to see. The family stayed in the main house while the friends stayed in these little bungalows. Apparently in Cuixmala, bungalow is spanish for the largest and nicest house I will ever stay in my life.

Envision white walls and floors; ceilings so high that a giraffe can fit; and a terrace overlooking the ocean. And each room comes equipped with an emergency margarita button. You press it and someones brings you a margarita. Perhaps I can train my roommate’s cat to do the same.

We went down to the pool and inhaled margaritas and chips and guacamole. We hadn’t eaten anything on our 12 hour trip so we pounced on the guacamole like lions on a gazelle.

Afterwards, we drove to El Careyes hotel for the welcome reception and dinner on the beach. Dinner was an amazing buffet of quesadillas, beef fajitas, ceviche, cake, icecream, and other goodies. I went up for refills THREE TIMES. And had cake AND icecream. So much for my diet.

Most of the girls were tired and went back to the house but the boys stayed and evidently they started getting rowdy and decided it would be a really fun idea to jump over the bonfire. Luckily no one singed their limbs off but unfortunately a certain someone did suffer first degree burns on his feet.

So that was the first night. Tomorrow I shall recount the night that I can’t actually recall. But don’t worry my friends apparently remember and documented everything I said and I did and proceeded to tell me while I was like “No, really, you don’t have to keep reminding me.” Hello, it’s called selective memory for a reason. While the wave of embarrassment slowly recedes, I can at least be relieved that I wasn’t the person who puked in a hot tub and then passed out in it. That’s jinius.

Related Posts:

Cuixmala Adventure: Part two of three
Cuixmala Adventure: Part three of three