(If you haven’t had the chance yet, check out the “About The Trip” page to the left)
Before I get to more Mexico stuff, I need to pause and take credit for something.

Sex.

Alas, not any that I was involved with. But rather a recent “session” (as it was described to me) had by some friends of mine. They’re married, with kids, which limits the opps, but apparently the gravesite/live-for-the-present stuff inspired them to take a moment out of their hectic schedules to, well, seize the day.

With that, I proclaim the trip a rousing success already. Whatever happens going forward, there’ll always be those 10 minutes (make that 30… I’m sure my man Gord was good for at least that) of good ol’ fashion East Coast love making brought on by this trip’s mojo. If increasing my friends’ sex lives isn’t worth circumnavigating the globe, then what is?

Offers have been pouring in to kick in a few bucks for a bet here and there. Much appreciated, but instead-like the people that put a donation in your name-all I ask is you give yourself an extra roll in the rack for me.

See, I don’t ask for much, now do I?

Okay, back to Mexico…

As I mentioned the other day, I was off to see the Rooster. And let me just say, the Rooster did not disappoint. I’ve attached a couple pictures-one circa 1960. The other circa 1:30 yesterday.

The old man did alright for himself, no?

My godmother and I stopped over to see her, and from the moment we entered, the rapid-fire Spanish flew out of her. She would plow ahead for a minute or two, stop to allow my godmother to translate, but after about 3 or 4 seconds of translation would dive right back in. My godmother would just be getting to the part about late nights out at the Waikiki Club or Globos and then all of a sudden this woman would break into song. Songs she apparently used to sing in old Mexican dive clubs when they made the rounds as youngsters. Again, I got very little in the way of translation time, but I do know she’s keen on singing about carving her lover’s name in a cactus and demanding the moon stop shining. Or keep shining. I don’t know. The moon was to do something.

Great lady though. And I can see what my father saw in her… and not just the fact she was smokin’ hot in all the photos she showed me. Even today, with a busted hip, limping around with a cane, she was still breaking into little cha-chas and laying that coquettish, soft graze along the arm move on me as she led me around her house.

I tell ya…if I was ever going to date a 75 year old…

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There’s much more, but I’m a bit drunk right now (I’ll explain tomorrow), so I’m going to wrap things up shortly.

One more thing though. I’ve been noticing lately how people seem to revel in telling me about all the horrible things that might happen to me on this trip. Everyone’s very supportive and enthusiastic, but after telling me how fun it’ll be, there throw in a “…you hear about those three Red Cross workers who were abducted in the Philippines?” or “…my cousin got malaria and couldn’t move for 3 months…” or “don’t get rolled by some bookie”. And of course, “are you effing crazy???”

As much as I like to go with the ’seize the day’ approach, one part of me-the “lying-awake-in-bed-at-3AM” Hector-thinks about all the stuff that could go wrong on this trip and wonders if he should re-think this whole thing. Luckily though, the “mid-morning-jacked-up-on-caffeine” Hector is the one controlling the purse strings and isn’t about to allow that wussy to buy a ticket back home.

Not yet at least.