(more from April 19...forgot to cut and paste this...)
10:41 p.m. – Trying to do some quick, Full Moon math. Which number is higher: the number of miles I’ve walked or beers I’ve consumed? It’s probably 6-2-and-even.
Trying to muster up a second wind, but after a day with about 12 beers consumed and 12 miles walked, that’s becoming awfully difficult.
11:15 p.m – I think I’m not up to five yawns in the last five minutes.
12:24 a.m. – Still at the Full Moon party and – quite frankly – I feel crippled by my lack of Spanish. Seriously, it feels like one of those silent retreats. Would that make me the Dalai Lama? (big hitter, the Lama)
Allow me to paint the picture of this place. Beachside hotel/resort/with bar. It’s a round building, with an upstairs, a deck, and a downstairs. Tons of people everywhere, techno music, and short of two dogs that got angry with each other after a full inventory of smelling each other’s dog parts, everyone is in a good mood.
Quite frankly, this could never work in the U.S. People would fighting at the bar, talking too loud, pissing in the sand, and just making all-around asses of themselves.
And the worst part about the Berlin Wall of language? There’s a hippie chick sitting with her other hippie friends and they’re all playing drums. And I’d like to ask them: why the shampoo did you bring a drum to Full Moon beach techno party? I think it is “Quando esta stupido? Taco.”
12:42 a.m. – Ok, I’m still baffled as to why you bring the drum…but at least you can play it. Why do you also bring your emaciated dog? Why do you not feed your dog? Shampoo this, time to go home. And I’m not friggin’ walking…