Oh Yea, That Time I Got Dysentery In Mexico

I’m putting on the cloak of honesty right now.  It’s not even mine, I borrowed it permanently from a friend.  But still, you know what’s coming.

Please listen carefully:  All my Facebook amigos, I love you.  Really, I do.  Because of this ingenious billion dollar idea, [that again, I couldn’t seem to have thought of because I was too busy planning other people’s weddings or dating inappropriate men or getting dysentery in Mexico] I’ve gotten in touch with a lot of you who I probably would have never heard from again.  Ok, so maybe it wasn’t so genius.  That being said, you should know that the very moment you completed one of those ridiculous quizzes you were deleted from my status updates…

You have not and will not be given a second chance.  I apologize, I wish I were as kind as God.  I have so many tragic and exciting updates to scroll through, that I can’t take time to read about “What Your Favorite Color Says About You” or “What Breed Of Dog Are You Most Like.” Well guess the heck what?  That’s pretty fricken lame and you’re never gonna be a Jane Austin character OR a country.

So back when I was 19, I was in a wedding. Three weeks later I ended up in Xalapa, Veracruz with a girl who was also in the wedding.  Alright, well I guess that’s it.  Have a good day!  …So this girl had studied abroad in Mexico and wanted to go back.  For some ungodly reason, I cleared out my bank account and volunteered to go with her to a foreign country, known for human trafficking and drug smuggling.

hair-gel-mexicoI’m going to go ahead and say that this was one of the best times of my life. We had absolutely no agenda for our trip except eating enchiladas, getting tan, not throwing up, and salsa dancing every night.

I’d like to take a moment to point out some of the the highlights of my trip.  If you’ll notice in the picture, that is me standing atop one of the oldest and steepest Mayan Pyramids, which was a five mile hike from civilization, in 100% humidity and 110 degree weather.  Have I mentioned that I can’t usually walk to my kitchen without needing a puff from my inhaler?  You’ll also notice that I’m wearing platform sandals, which I wouldn’t recommend for such an ambitious feat.  You should also know that I’m scared of heights. You should also know that this is the exact moment when I started to get amoebic dysentery, or something akin to it, from accidentally using tap water to brush my teeth.

I had to be carried half of the way back.  Oh, did I mention there are no toilet seats in this part of Mexico? And did I mention that a mean lady rations you one square of toilet paper when you walk in the bathroom?

We stayed with some college guys.  They were possibly the nicest and most hilarious people I’ve ever met – I couldn’t understand a word they said.  Hold the phone…I may have just discovered the secret to marital bliss. They constantly played these ridiculous Cd’s of American top 100 love ballads – like the discontinued ones that they throw in the dollar bin along with Amy Grant cassettes. They tried to sing along.  It sounded absolutely ludicrous.  You better believe when I left, I gave them a Michael Bolton Greatest Hits CD.

I spent the majority of my days trying to get them to say the word Walmart, because they couldn’t pronounce the letter “w” and for some reason, I found it to be the best free entertainment I’d ever had.  Actually I think I might pull out those videos tonight, I could use a cheap laugh.

mangosOh yea, then there was that time that the boys took us to a random person’s mom’s house and she cooked us a Mexican feast.  I happened to mention that I liked mangoes and some guy spider monkeyed up a tree to hack some down with a machete. I have no idea what his name was.  He was forever memorialized as Tarzan mango guy.

I have so many more stories, it’s a shame.  Honestly though, I’ve never met kinder people in all my life.  It was a fabulous time.  I’ve never been so sick, yet so afraid to seek medical help.  I thought I was going to throw up my spleen.

Paris Can Bite Me

I want you all to know that it’s so deliriously late right now that I don’t even have any midnight oil left, I’m running on fumes.  Or smoke.  Or whatever would be left after you’ve burnt a crap ton of oil.  Coldplay is my only companion at such an hour, so consider yourselves a priority.  And I’m about to mesmerize you with an amazing story much like the late night infomercial I’m currently watching that has rendered me speechless with it’s magical powers of persuasion.

But, wait, don’t you always burn the midnight oil, therefore, this blog right now really isn’t much of a sacrifice?

What is this CSI?

So. Paris guy.  I’ve briefly mentioned him a couple times, and many of you have asked for further detail.   Well, I’m going to give it to you so you can stop your begging already… you’re more pathetic than my Italian grandma on Thanksgiving.


grandma:  Look at all this food.  Oh goodness sakes, what am I gonna do with all of this FOOD?  Will someone eat something, please?  Britteny,  can I dish you up some more potatoes, doll?

me:  I can’t breathe.

grandma:  [sounding as if she might burst into the ugly cry] Well, what did I make all this food for then? I don’t have anywhere to put it.  I thought I told you kids to bring your appetites.  Doesn’t anything taste good?  Oh, now it’s going to go to waste.  We can’t waste food, God won’t appreciate that.

me:  It tastes great. Exactly like every Thanksgiving for the past 26 years of my life when we’ve had this conversation.

grandma:  This is terrible. And so is my food. [welling up]

So Paris Guy and I dated a little over a year. He would also be the ex that inspired the blog “Teenage Acne and an Italian Boyfriend” in case you’re wondering.  I discovered he had proposed to his previous fiance in DisneylandWha?

ex: You haven’t ever been to Disneyland?  I can’t BELIEVE that!  I’m taking you there soon.

me: No you’re not.  I am not going to Disneyland.

ex:  But it’s so much fun.

me: How would that be fun for me?  I throw up on rides and Mickey Mouse creeps me out and I hate fairy tales.

Anyway, things were getting rough.  I needed to breathe.  I did what any sensible girl would do in my situation:  I ran away to London.  Of all the great lengths I’ve gone to in my life, I’d have to award myself 5 stars for pulling off this shennanigan.  But then, he came to take me to Paris on Valentine’s Day and my roommate accidentally told me he wanted to propose.  Great.


I had specifically warned him that I was not ready for marriage.  I wanted to be done with school first.  When we arrived in Paris, I came down with influenza almost instantaneously after setting foot on French soil (my stomach was either rejecting the vast amount of grease I was about to consume, or the impending proposal, or just the French in general).  As we toured the city, in pouring down hail, I could barely hold my head up.  He then took me to see a show at the Moulin Rouge, which ended with him leaving his wallet in the cab and us wandering around the red light district for several hours with no money or way to get home.  The romance was so thick in the air, that I nearly said yes.

cinderellas_castleHe left me with the ring, I don’t know why. Then he went off the deep end and tried to sabotage all my friendships back home… some of the not as close friends actually fell for it.  After I got back, he coerced me into couple’s therapy, but I eventually tried returning the ring, but it got stolen out of my glovebox when I let one of my friends borrow my car.

And I lived happily ever after without him.