April Winchell

¿Dónde está la casa de caca?

Oh man.

Remind me never to go to Mexico again.

I am slowly recovering from a case of what I can only describe as Poo-Poo de Gallo. And mi fondo es muy rojo. Mucho fuego en mi asno. Es no gusto, I can tell you that.

The best part is that my husband and I are both enjoying this little souvenir, and we live in a house with only one bathroom. So we have that going for us.

Strangely, bathrooms seems to be the leitmotif of this particular trip. Let me tell you a long, boring story about something that happened at the hotel.

On the second day of our fiesta del doody, I turned on the light in our bathroom and the the light fixture exploded. Shards of flaming glass shot out and set the towels on fire. The room filled with black smoke and I ran for the phone.

I called the front desk and explained what had happened, and they asked me to "hold for the Concierge". I guess you need reservations if you want a fire in your bathroom.

Anyway, they eventually sent someone up to fix the light, but the guy left broken glass all over the floor and in the bath tub. There was even glass in my toothbrush.

Glass in my toothbrush is pretty much the part where I start questioning the likelihood of a return visit.

I complained to the manager who seemed suitably horrified. She asked which restaurant we were having dinner at that night, and I figured she'd pop for the meal (I think they should have given us a free night, but let's not quibble over pesos when we're enjoying our diarrhea).

After dinner, the assistant manager came over to our table and told us that the hotel was picking up our drinks and dessert (one margarita and one sorbet). Can you even believe that? How queso is that move? And of course, they waited until after we ate to tell us, so God forbid we woudn't take advantage and have a cocktail. Fuckers.

The good news is that the Tivo was bursting with goodness when we got home, so in between trips to the bathroom, we've seen some stellar television. American Idol, Mr. Personality, 5 episodes of the People's Court . . . really, it's all I've ever wanted. A fresh roll of Charmin, a can of Glade and 20 hours of bad television. Why go anywhere? If I could only get my bathroom lights to explode, it would be a real vacation.

Uh . . . I gotta go.