My Life in Ziplocs

Mexico City Travel Blog

 › entry 1 of 36 › view all entries
We're only a few hours into our indefinite adventure, high above the craggy western US, flying toward San Francisco as part of the world´s most awkward-yet-affordable route to Mexico City, where we'll touchdown this evening.

Jackson and I are a like-minded pair. Both left-handed, tacos, beer, and chicas are the sole motivations for our journey into and throughout Mexico, Central America, and wherever else impulse carries us. While devouring tacos and hoisting beers, held in our left and right hands, respectively, our handedness will decrease the likelihood of our bumping elbows. And where are the chicas, you ask? Ah, the imagination...

My High Sierra Compass travel backpack finally arrived at 5:22pm yesterday evening, a full 12 hours before we were to depart Davidson to catch the first leg flight. I was taking one final hot shower at the time, relieving the stress of minutes before witnessing the UPS man drive directly past my house. My contingency plan involved assualting Jackson and stealing his bag, but I´m glad to have him along in full capacity. I´ll need someone to trip to distract and occupy our pursuing kidnappers, or as a friendly offering to the chop-and-burn ritual killers who my mom keeps suggesting are gonna get me. Let 'em try, momma! In a land where full-sized adults rarely stand larger than American kindergartners and carry fractions of the fast food padding, I´ll finally be the towering, fearsome foe I´ve always pretended to be on internet message boards or whenever I´ve been lucky enough to confront an unaccompanied minor chutes-end of some playground slide.

I´m going to miss American beers, the myriad, superlative microbreweries spotting our drinker´s landscape; Kalamazoo, MI´s Bell´s Brewery and Ashville, NC´s Highland Brewery foremost on my tongue. I won´t miss American beer prices, however, except happy hour specials that render palate-awakening microbrews affordable, or Charley´s of Ann Arbor´s nightly pitcher specials of LaBatt, which fall in line with Mexican affordability.

Come to think of it, I should´ve poured a Bell´s Two Hearted Ale or six into the assortment of plastic grocery bags and recycled Ziplocs I have emcompassing nearly every non-clothing item in my backpack(s) -- one becomes two with the detachable daypack/carry-on. When I walk, I crinkle like I´m wearing and smuggling a year's worth of Pampers. All I know is I wouldn't approach any adult I suspected of wearing diapers, so maybe my waterproofing measures will prove crime deterrent too.

Unfortunately, my apparent Pamper-donning might repel precisely the type of illicit behavior I hope to attract. I tiptoed into a women´s restroom at Charlotte Douglass International Airport this morning, occupying a stall and expecting my toe-tapping sex signals to snare a lascivious stewardess for a toilet-top tryst. The tested methods of closet-homosexual republican congressmen have no noticeable effect in Charlotte Douglass' concourse B. I repeat: concourse B is not a hotspot for foot-flapping fuckfests.

I apologize to the uninitiated for that vulgar outburst. ¨"Toe-code hookups" doesn´t breed the same impact.

Jackson and I will soon be recording a weekly for-pay video segment tentatively entitled "Dos Gringos Desnudos." However unlikely, in my porn-star fantasies the tapings will employ the surplus box of contraceptives I´m hauling and an array of libidinous latinas.
Join TravBuddy to leave comments, meet new friends and share travel tips!