I Grew 4 Inches Taller in 7 Days!

Coquetta says, "This was found in the bowels of Mechapa Mama's post and I thought it was AWFUL - but funny. So here's a redux of this one.... Enjoy, if you can!" Dear Readers: Mechapa Mama has gone off the deep end...we all saw it coming - be honest. So a Reader's Advisory in in order. Here it is:
Do not read the following unless you are in a good mood, are wearing some sort of natural fabric, have ordered take-home food in the past 124 hours - or eaten in a restaurant - have watched TV, read a paper, thought a negative thought, or a positive one, paid a bill, stepped in poo, or talked to a animal that didn't talk back.
If, indeed, you qualify, read on Loyal Reader....

Vain, self-centered, egotistical, megalomaniac, it's all about me - I am. Here's a few tips for the traveller from the Mechapa Mama. Take it to heart, people, the Mama is serious(ly deranged):
1. ALWAYS FLY FIRST CLASS. All of those little people in Coach know Nothing. They can't even fathom the depth of success that the the 1%'ers know of first hand. Fergit paying for drinks...I want to slam one down even BEFORE the plane takes off. Then...I want the Air Bartender to serve me more and more and more as we rocket through space and time. I may even mix it up - wine, then booze, then a digestif, then wine again. Why not? People of my stature don't suffer hangovers, for chrissakes ... We sleep through them!
2. ALWAYS VISIT THE CAPTAIN'S CLUB. Here, they give you chips and cheese and all the liquor you can pour through your gullet...FREE! Plus, in Houston, they have a theatre (that's how the rich peeps spell it, silly) and little wifi rooms and newspapers and workers in snappy blue uniforms who say "Ma'am" and "Sir" with wild abandon. Sure, you have to prove your worthiness before entering the divine sanctity of the Club, but if you pass muster - you're as good as a cooked goose before the Air Bartenders even get to you. Coffee and Baily's is a good option in circumstances such as these.
3. NEVER DRIVE. Under no circumstances should you drive. EVER. Enlist your little brother, your father, your mother's neighbor...whatever it takes to avoid sitting in the driver position. You are made for loftier stuff, and you probably don't have a driver's license so why risk having your Mom's 2001 Buick LeSabre confiscated? Plus, you will have the added bonus of bringing along a "TOGO."
4. ALWAYS PAY CASH. The Man is always watching, so never pay with a credit card or show ID. Cash is King, and Elvis Rules.
5. BE GREATFUL. Not a mispelt (mispealt, misspelled, written wrong..you get it.) Darn those words again!
6. ALWAYS EAT EVERYTHING. Even if it makes you sick and full and fully sick. Life is long, you'll lose the weight when the post-1st-class-travel buzz subsides.
7. FASHION COUNTS. Wear the Pashimi, the fake Coach bag, the borrowed jewelry, and flash your fabulous Whitney Houston Teeth (pre-crack cocaine and Bobby Brown times) whenever possible. No one will laugh at your horse teeth unless you let them. Plus, you will feel 4 inches taller and consider changing your name to "Giselle."
With luck, this will help you navigate what has previously been a traumatic and devastating experience whilst travelling abroad. For now, I'm trying to lose the 14 pounds I put on in 2 short weeks and learning how to say words that start with "W".

A Day On The Beach - Minus the Freakin' Beach

Since I haven't posted in 7 years (dog years, people, stick with me here) it seems that once again the real world has passed me by. Zooming by, doppler effect in full force. These bloggers have taken over the world and made it so that simple dogs like me can no longer figure out what to do! So with the best intent and with no intention of prettying up or sexying up these sporadic and word vomit blog entries I will try to navigate my way through whatever this new bloggery posting magic can do for us. Everything looks different, but if I squint my eyes and sing the Alma Mata Magna Carta backwards I think I can figure it out.) So. Today. A day on the beach, except that I wasn't on the beach, I was in the car without air conditioning (when we got stuck on the road because a thingy went kerplewy and when we replaced the buggery the inner motor phantoms ate the cooling stuff) when we got to the intersection of the end of the road and the beginning of the road. The military police pulled us over, fine. Normal. Not scary. They visit and make sure that the locals are playing nice and fishing nice. But on this day, the Big Dog happened to be carrying an Israeli Bull pistol - it was busted, of course, from when Elvis the pig had to be put down because I thought he had the Pig Flu and.... I just can't go back that far. Anyway, it jammed after the first shot, during the second shot which was at a mango and just for fun, Elvis is grateful, and we were transporting it to LRG's so that he could bring it to MGA for repair. Without a transportation license of course. That's in the inner bowels of MGA for the past 5 years in some police office that prints their documents on fax paper that actually dissolves after a short amount of time. Really, how do you explain the blank sheet of fax paper with a police stamp and no ink on it an say, "Well Officer, it USED to say yadda yadda but that was before it got Beachified" and retain any sense of credibility? So, I try to take a picture on the IPod Touch, affectionately called The Contraption, and I am told it is Prohibido. Oh crap. Now we are transporting an illegal weapon AND I am taking a prohibited photo. To top it off, the nice lady at the corner gave me a bag of watermelon and I have watermelon juice all over my shirt because, apparantly, I cannot eat watermelon out of a watermelon bag. So, they confiscate the gun, all the while looking at our sign that is posted at the intersection of where the road ends/begins and says, "So you're the owners of that hotel?" We say yes, and he says, "We're keeping this. Come back for it when you have your paperwork in order." OK. No problem. No A/C, no gun, sticky watermelon-shirt girl says, "Super!" See you in a week or so. Onto CHGA, strangely filled with Gringos! I'm handing out business cards like Nobody's business. Hey - check out this hotel! Hey - You'll love it! Hey - get your face out of that Subway Chicken Teriyaki and tell me why Amigo's for Christ hasn't come back up lately! I'm starting to bother myself, so instead I decide to window shop for things I don't need and definately don't want (they actually sell Eggies and Magic Mesh here...soothing in a way...) I now feel powerless, having discovered that I have a weird brown stain on my white shirt (white is a sad color for me) and decide it's time to meet some guests at Esso On The Run (pronounce UwnDaRown). Drive back to the freakin' beach, breath deeply, and discover two new peeps in a Cabana. Paying customers! After all, despite the everlooming Beachification threat, it's still the beach. Glad to be home. Tomorrow's a whole new day On The Beach! And maybe I'll actually be On The Beach! P.S. I had puppies last week, so be nice and hug your grandmother as much as you can. Trust me on this one.