Day 2 marked Bandaid’s 22nd Birthday, so we figured the only way to celebrate was to head to the beach to quaff drinks. The day was already brilliantly marked with a blue sky and a warm breeze. When we discovered five loungers lined up neatly in a row on the beach, we took it as a sign from God, crossed ourselves, and undressed.

 

We tanned. We rotated, we stretched, we sprawled. In my mind, tanning is the most absurd social activity in the world, just because the obsession with being a certain colour just seems so unnecessary. But damn, that healthy, freckly glow I end up with is just too tempting. After growing too hot, I stumbled over to the bar, tipped the waiter $10, and was served pina coladas for the rest of the afternoon. I extended my toes to the sea and wallowed in absolute pure joy and happiness. Just because of sunshine. Sunshine and water. I immediately reconsidered everything I felt about resort vacations.

 

The girls and I went for a swim in the sea, sat among a school of fish near the dock, and floated on our backs. Bandaid and I were the only two lushes willing to get drunk, and so we wandered off to make friends with Diago the tattoo artist. We promised him over and over that we would return for a tattoo…we never did. Instead, we discovered a snack bar where drunk Bandaid dropped her pizza on the floor and tried to compose herself long enough to pick it up. It is hard trying to act sober in daylight when in fact you are plastered. She passed out in her lounger 15 minutes later. I suffered from sun exposure and ended up walking into the closed patio door later that evening.

 

Perhaps my favourite part of that whole night was when Bob accidently locked us out of our room. We waited for security for over an hour, but took the occasion to rob the other girls’ mini-bar for beers. Then we hooked up Lottie’s iPod and danced a jig to “Donkey Ridin’” around the balcony until somebody showed up.

 

Anyway, to continue our celebrations, we went to the fancier Cozumel buffet for supper where we had incredible service. Our waiter routinely brought us a random assortment of drinks, including some we’re pretty sure he just made up to get us wasted and to leave him bigger tips. It worked. What happened next was the ultimate girlfest blunder: we discussed the raunchiest of topics for at least an hour… everything from past penises to recent PAPs. We did not realize the volume of our voices, however, until a man from the table next to us got up and said: “Ladies, that entire conversation was just recorded.” He laughed, but still…creepy.

 

The Hacienda don Isabella was our next stop, an amazing complex located between all three resorts with stores, bars, and major entertainment. We sat at a table where we were served a constant flow of drinks…the novelty of this NEVER wore off, despite most of those surprise drinks having a large dose of tequila in them. Unfortunately for us, there were no attractive guys in sight unless they were hanging off the arm of an ugly. A Mexican band performed in the square while everyone danced around the tables. Albertian and Lottie were the first to join the dancers in a conga line.

 

When the disco opened at 12, we made a beeline for the entrance. For some reason the resort likes to launch its young, male employees out into the crowd to prey on girls like us. I got grinded so hard by a guy named Adrian that I might have the clap. On my knee. The sweatiest man in existence grinded with Lottie, while another one of their mates tackled Albertian from behind. Altogether though, the music was great and so was the environment. We were drunk and happy and in Mexico! Aiyieyie!

 

 

Later, on our way home, we met some friendly folks from BC. At that point, however, my brain was melting under the stress of a day of sunshine and booze, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed while the girls went late-night swimming with their new friends. The BC people told the girls I seemed pretty lame. I have officially reached a turning point in my life.

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