Some nights you go out with the worst of intentions, hoping to get drunk beyond belief, “accidently” insult some locals, and end up barely dressed on a beach somewhere. We had one of those, in Rosarito (near Tijuana, Mexico); as our previous attempts at a night out on the town had failed completely we were determined to have an absolute horror of a time. Naturally, the town was a ghost town and the busiest bar we found had two other patrons within, one of which sat by the jukebox playing successively more depressing songs, so we failed, and returned defeated to the hotel still mostly sober.
Some nights you go out with the best intentions, hoping to prove to the locals the virtues of the western man, maintain a relatively sober head, and finish the night in your own bed with time ahead for a good night’s sleep. We had one of those, in La Paz. With a ferry journey very early in the morning ahead of us, getting slaughtered was not on the cards. Naturally however, fate had other plans. And thus begins the tale of Reason 24.
It was a Friday, and we were in La Paz, one of the most beautiful cities in all of Mexico (certainly the most beautiful that we’ve witnessed so far), so staying in like old losers wasn’t an option. Strolling the Malécon (beach-front road) we came upon a lively looking club, called “The Jungle”, in front of which locals were throwing a tantum because of the outrageous cost to get in (£1.50 I believe) so we snuck in for a cheeky look around. The place was humming! Filled to the brim with locals, so much so that we could barely move out of the way of the door, letalone get to the bar.
However get to the bar we did, and in good travelling spirit we ordered the most common local order; a shot of Tequila each and a Corona and lime. My mate (let’s call him “Tiger” in the interests of anonymity) then disappeared, so I moved on to acquire more drinks and perhaps stumble upon someone with at least a modicum of English. Tiger returned to where we had consumed our beverages, and inquired about my location with an very attractive pair of young Mexican women; one of whom spoke English near-fluently. Anyway, events transpired, and I ended up the far side of town, in a distinctly dodgey area in a flat with a load of locals that spoke no English and an English student. After a lot of free beers, and a few hours of getting to know these lovely locals, I began the walk home. The 2 hour journey, comprised of an hour of jogging, some climbing and fast paced walking saw me through a naval base, the edge of some slums and finally to our hostel where I found Tiger.
Whilst I had been accidentally bouncing around La Paz with complete strangers, Tiger had had his own adventure. He’d stayed at the club for a few hours after I’d got lost, then adamantly struggled with one of the girls as she attempted to drive home. I should point out that by this point she’d had as many drinks as us, which was significantly more than the recommended dose for drivers. Anywho, like a true gentleman he’d insisted that if she were to drink drive he’d accompany them to moderate her and make sure they got home safe. I wasn’t there, but from his recounting of the journey it wasn’t disimilar from dodgems.
Having watched this young lady curb the car several times on the extremely short journey the Police pulled her over, conveniently right outside our hostel. The poor girl’s friend immediately fled from the car, into our hostel, summoning Tiger to her. He tried to protest. He tried to insist they should look after her friend. But he was only human, only male. He too ran away from the car, into the hostel, for frivolities and other such pleasures, whilst the poor girl outside was left to deal with the Police alone. To be honest though, “dealing with the Police” means handing over a tenner, so it wasn’t the end of the world.
So if you find yourself in a dire situation, with “the man” breathing down your neck, slip inside for a sneaky dodge.
(Disclaimer: Being involved with the Police is a serious deal, and I do not endorse running from them under any circumstances. Also, as I have no witnesses or evidence, for all I know Tiger and the beautiful (and she was stunning) local just had tea and biscuits within the hostel, who knows!)
I promised that I’d update this site regularly as I travelled… but that hasn’t happened. To be fair, I’ve only been on the internet twice since I left England, and both times for less than 5 minutes. This time I’ve had half an hour (which I’ve already used up but the lady here hasn’t noticed) so I managed to get on here.
San Diego (which is German for “a whale’s vagina”) was amazing; possibly the nicest city I’ve ever visited, though it’s been a while since I was last in Venice, my old favourite. We stayed at the most awesome hostel I’ve ever heard of, letalone stayed in, called Lucky D’s. If you go to San Diego, even with a large budget, hit this place up. It’s cheap, and filled with cheery outgoing travellers. We were only there for one proper evening, having arrived at 2am the morning before, but still managed to play Beer Pong and enough drinking games to make a young America lad chunder significantly.
The San Diego zoo is most definitely the best zoo I have ever seen, and thus in my mind, the greatest zoo in the world. Featuring Giant Pandas (which we saw), a Skyfari (which we rode across the park) and constant tour busses around the huge park you can easily spend an entire day here and not get bored. Also, they pair up Cheetahs and Wolves with domestic dogs, which is cool. Unfortunately we didn’t see any fight to the death… =(
My apologies for the irrelevance of this post and lack of true reaons, but essentially what I’m trying to say is; San Diego is so awesome that you should feel obliged to honour it with a good lay.
As may or may not know I had a bit of a rough October last year, and consequently started to (occasionally) smoke. Mostly on nights out or socially, to start with, but the habit developed as exams reared their ugly heads, and further drama unfolded around that particularly nasty ex. However, there’s always light at the end of the tunnel, and I have quit now (with a little help from some amazing friends, y’all know who you are!) and haven’t bought a cigarette in over a month.
However, as any of you current or ex-smokes know, there’s always that slight craving in the back of your mind. That little voice, chirping up whenever you let your guard down, “Go on, just one! It won’t hurt. You’ll feel great afterwards, and then you’ll never have to smoke again!”. That little voice, that gets a little bit louder each time you buckle.
It’s not too hard to silence the voice, especially if you do it with a promise; you tell it “I’m not going to smoke now, but I will have one when… [insert reason, such as 'someone dies', 'someone is born', 'my birthday', e.t.c]“. And this promise becomes even easier to make when you couple it with a socially accepted (although I have no idea why society accepts it!) reason; after-sex cigarette.
Somehow the media has shown time and time again that it’s perfectly acceptable to light up a smoke after sex, despite the fact that someone is most likely to kiss you (and thus smell/taste stale tobacco) soon afterward, or that you’re surrounded/trapped with highly flammable material and are just about to fall into the fabled sex-coma.
But despite it’s foolishness, and disrespect for Health and Safety, perhaps the post-coitus cigarette is a blessing. If you don’t have sex terribly often (i.e., are in a long-term relationship ) then smoking only after sex, and not during the day or on regular nights out, will dramatically reduce how much you smoke. Plus if you have for all intents and purposes otherwise quit, then hopefully that rare but explicitly scheduled cigarette could stop you from falling back into the habit.
So with all my heart, I hope that those of you that are struggling to quit can use the post-coitus cigarette, or perhaps one of those better reason (death and birth seem to be rare enough, and worthy enough), to your advantage. However, more importantly, I hope that those of you that don’t smoke take this ‘tribute’ to quitting as a powerful example of the pains that a smoker inevitably ends up enduring, and never touch a cigarette in your life.
Whilst attempting to ‘prove’ your confidence in your own sexuality is virtually the most obvious sign that you are not actually confident, it is still something that most people find themselves doing from time to time. Perhaps you’ve just had a bit of a “gay day”, let’s be honest they can happen to all of us, even the most macho of macho men, actually, especially to the macho men.
Or maybe your friends have caught you off-guard with one too many gay traps:
Friend: “Wait, what’s the name of the ginger one in Sex and the City?”
Regardless of the reason, it’s fine to give yourself a little extra certainty of your gender-preference. People seek confidence boosts for themselves all the time, why not have a sexual-confidence boost? And while your at it, you’ll probably give your regular confidence a healthy boon too.
So go on, feel free to reassure yourself, and hopefully you’ll end up like Grayson:
PG-13+ Warning – This post contains mild swears.
I don’t normally like to swear, especially in titles, but unfortunately “Trinket Bitch” sums up this Reason better than any long-winded and ill-fitting sentence ever could. A Trinket Bitch is someone willing to ‘put out’ and/or ‘provide services’ for the acquisition of small shiny things, such as rings, necklaces or brand-name handbags. Normally associated with the female-side of the human race, these Magpies will happily endure a “Pearl Necklace” to obtain an actual Pearl Necklace.
While this awful act is essentially just prostitution without the paperwork, I would be surprised to learn that any less than half of you (my wonderful and beloved readers) have done so in the past, knowingly or not.
- Perhaps it was the day before your anniversary, and you had caught your partner eyeing up that trinket that you have been craving for so long, and just want to provide a little extra incentive to make sure your partner makes you happy.
- Or maybe you just wanted to be allowed to wait at Tescos for the midnight release of Super Smash Bros Brawl (I for one have definitely never done this!).
- Or one evening after clubbing your partner had dragged you home when you were still ready for more. Passionately loving them into a sex-coma so that you can sneak back out to the club still counts as being a Trinket Bitch.
As always, none of this comes from personal experience, and is all entirely hypothetical.
Hypothetically speaking, of the more evil Reasons, this is the one I would be most likely to perform.
“If a man says something, and no woman hears him, is he still wrong?”
From time to time we all say something stupid, something we regret, that turns the conversation down a path we’d rather it didn’t go. Classic examples include “You look so beautiful in that dress!”, which often begets the response “Do I not look beautiful normally?”, or after you’ve bumped into that-ex-you-don’t-hate and had a nice catch-up you foolishly say to your partner “You’ll never guess who I bumped into today, it was really nice.” before your subconcious has time to remind you that your partner still isn’t cool with you having contact with that ex.
In an instant your brain flashes through a collection of snapshots of how this conversation is about to go, and you quickly come to the conclusion that it’s not going to end well for you.
As your partner’s pupils dilate, their irises already turning a bright shade of red you know your time is running out. How to survive? Strip. Strip as fast as you physically can. If you’re a lady trying to calm your boy start with your bra then your top. They won’t realise you’ve already done the bra, and the surprise of your boobies being under a single layer of clothing will shock them out of any conversation path. If you’re a man trying to calm your she-dragon, just be quick. This is one of the few times where “under 3 seconds!” is an acceptable relationship-related boast.
Obviously, with any strategy there are downsides to this. Firstly, should the argument start in a shopping mall you’re going to have to stomach a lot of embarrasment and a subsequent out-kicking from the premises. Secondly, it doesn’t always work (60% of the time, it works every time) which can leave you standing cold and naked whilst being berated, and now you can’t even argue back because let’s face it, you’re naked. And lastly, and this applies more to men than women, some people get violent in an argument, and other than child-birth the only thing that hurts more than getting kicked in the goolies is being kicked in the goolies when you’re naked.
So use with caution, and good luck!
At 5.46am GMT today an 8.9-magnitude earthquake occurred just off the coast of Japan, causing terrible tsunamis that have so far taken approximately 60 lives, with the death toll continuing to increase. I’m not going to attempt to make light of this; it is an awful tragedy, and I can only hope that the world will step up and lend a hand to all of the people affected today, especially the people of Sendai closest to the quake.
To put this quake into perspective, 9.0 is generally accepted as the upper limit for local quakes, with the largest recorded tremor (1960 Valdivia, Chile) reaching 9.5. Today’s earthquake in Japan is the 7th largest in recorded history.
However it has made me think how lucky all of us are that haven’t been affected. I know a few of my readers have relatives and friends around the Pacific (some of you may even be there yourselves!), and Australia is due to be hit by the Tsunami in 3 hours and New Zealand in 5 hours, so my best wishes to all of you and I hope that the relatively early warning will help them protect themselves and everyone dear to them.
But once the final wave has passed, and everyone has been found safe and sound, what better way to revel in the continuity of life than to perform the act that represents procreation?
Humour aside, please spare a thought for the victims of todays catastrophe, and contribute in any way you can to help Japan and the surrounding area recover.