Volume 3, Issue 23
November 8 - November 21, 2001
by Stephanie Glenn
What's the best way to get over a broken heart? I scoured the self-help shelves in search of the quickest remedies to get over a man. Since there was nothing on diabolical, torturous revenge, I decided to go over to the travel section. As I sifted through the books and guides of tropical places I saw a hot, Latin man walk by.
"Hmmm, what an idea!" I thought, grabbing a book on Cancun and racing straight to the checkout. My mind was made up; I was going with or without a travel companion. As I drove away my phone rang and, ironically enough, it was a friend of mine who had just caught her loser boyfriend in bed with a hideous excuse of a woman. He, just like so many other men who use what's between their legs to think, had obviously fell victim to my abyss theory. I'm sure my poor friend heard him issuing the typical pleadings... "Oh, I'm so sorry, it was a mistake. Really, I didn't mean to do it."
Putting sugar in the flour jar is a mistake. Believing what the politicians tell us is a mistake. Banging some hag, for whatever reason, is intentional, and might I add pathetic. These kind of men are quite familiar with my idea of the abyss. In fact, they would really like us to think that their members are mysteriously and magnetically pulled to every gaping hole the weak and mindless slabs encounter. They just can't help it! They are just walking along, penis first, and they trip and fall in. And for some reason, it's always with someone ugly, fat or dumb. Perhaps if we were cheated on with super model rocket scientists we might at least understand the motivation. So unfortunately, all we are left with is the abyss theory.
Needless to say, my friend was receptive to the Mexico idea. One week later we were on our way with another disillusioned and jilted babe in need of an attitude adjustment of the liquid kind. We all talked on the plane ride there about how great it will be to get away from men, and then in the same breath, Janice added, "Do you think there will be hot men there?"
"Of course! And from what I hear there are at least twice as many men as there are women," Sarah said. "And don't forget that they come with names that are difficult to pronounce. Especially the ones who don't speak much English, my personal favorites!"
"Ello, my name is Sergio. May I kiss you from head to toe?" I whispered in her ear.
As soon as we arrived we fell in love. In addition to the amazing south of the border babes everywhere, the natural scenery was breathtaking. Water of the most vivid shades of turquoise, white sand that melted beneath my feet and the smell of fresh air. Oh, and the beautiful men. Did I mention that? Our ex-whatever-you-call-its were already looking really pasty to us. I believe the exact description was curdled milk.
The first men we saw were two hot Argentineans playing ping pong at the pool. Tall, and oh so exotic. Sarah approached them and asked them if they would take our picture. They looked at each other dumbfounded. She showed them the camera and they both smiled. Either they were hoping for an erotic photo session or they just didn't speak much English. Sarah glowed at both possibilities. Those of us who love foreign men collectively understand that some things are universal, no talk is necessary!
A couple of hours later we discovered that these two studs had six other friends with them. I do believe that all of their names ended with an "O". Frederico. Armando. Francisco. There were two others, and SERGIO! Guess which one I liked? Suddenly I realized that if my boyfriend HAD kept IT in his pants I would have not had this fateful meeting with my Sergio. Isn't life wonderful?
That night out at the ever-exciting club, Coco Bongo, Sarah met this stunning guy from Brazil named Eduardo. She immediately began to have a memory lapse of her recently dismissed cheater. Since she had already consumed more booze than I usually do in a year, she was less than subtle. Eduardo spoke almost no English, so she appointed Sergio as translator. You should have seen the look of shock on his face when she asked him to tell Eduardo that she wanted to "fuck his brains out". Eduardo, on the other hand, was undressed and ready the moment they hit the door.
Janice was off flirting with Bruno from Paraguay. He was a professional basketball player and had the body to prove it. I saw them kissing on the dance floor and I could have sworn he was licking her from ear to ear. She looked to be telling him something like...." My mouth is in the middle!" I'm not sure if he understood English, but he did speak well enough to tell her that he was leaving for his country in the morning and "Time was awasten'!" She was MIA for the next 24 hours.
Sergio was more of the romantic type. He buttered me up with sweet compliments, held my hand and gazed into my eyes. When he did go to kiss me, I thought he was going to swallow my face. If suffocation by tongue was a crime, I suspect there would be a lot of South American men guilty as charged. Instead of getting annoyed, I assumed my teacher role and taught him the proper way to kiss. By the end of the week he was a pro. By the way, that aggressive tongue did come in handy in other areas where absolutely no instruction was necessary.
I'd like to say that the rest of our vacation was spent relaxing, soul-searching and nursing our broken hearts, but I cannot tell a lie. Every night was an adventure! But, I can say with absolute certainty that we all came back with one clear understanding...
The names end with an Oh! for a reason!
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