Tag Archives: cabo san lucas

Getting funky

Tear the roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother, sucker. Tear the roof off the sucker…

I’ve found my blog posts that mention Mexican hookers seem to have great stats. This story is not about Mexican hookers, but I promise that if you indulge me and read on that I will find a way to include Mexican hookers in this story somewhere, somehow. Seriously…

I haven’t written a lot lately. Maybe you’ve noticed. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, I haven’t written a lot lately. I just haven’t felt like it. For me that’s weird. Oh well.

I guess you could say I’ve been in a funk the past couple weeks. I like being funky, but I hate being in a funk. The words are different by only one letter, but elicit two totally different feelings in me. One feeling I love. The other? Not so much.

I guess you could say that my funk is mutli-faceted. There’s a reason for that. I don’t easily get in a funk. I’m generally a pretty happy person, so it takes a lot to get me off my game. I guess I’m just going through that “funk phase” right now. I’m sure that it’s just a phase. I hope it’s just a phase. Please be a phase!!!

Why I’m in a funk: Part one

My job sucks. I get up every morning and go to work with a positive outlook. I really do. Once I get there, however, my outlook becomes less and less sunny. Sometimes the sunny disposition goes away quickly, while other times it takes hours for the fun to go away. I try to make my job not suck, but it does. I work for a guy who changed my pay plan, but never really made it clear that he changed it. I happened to notice it one Thursday when I opened my check. Nice.

The owner and I were supposed to sit down and have a serious talk about things before Christmas. He kept pushing it off and pushing it off and the couple times we did sit down, all he did was recap the last time we sat down, then say, “I need to get going. Let’s finish this tomorrow.” But tomorrow becomes next week, which becomes next month. The bottom line? The full extent of our conversation has yet to happen.

The owner of my company is very old school in the way he does business. He brought me on because I know automotive Internet sales very well. I set up and ran a very successful Internet Sales department at the dealership I worked at in California. He acknowledges this fact to other people. When we have conversations they typically start like this, “I brought you in because you know what to do and you’re the guy who can get this going the right way. We’re way further ahead now that we were in October when you got here. So…here’s how we’re going to do this…” WTF, yo?

I need a better job for Drama Queen (D.Q.) and myself and I’m looking for one. My problem is two-fold. Part one is that there are not a ton of decent jobs available in the Buffalo area right now. The second part is that I’ve done the car thing so long, that it’s hard to get potential employers to see past that.

I’ve got management, sales, customer service and communication skills. Why is it so hard to get those skills across to employers? I sure as hell don’t know. I also hate having to work every Saturday. It sucks for Drama Queen to be alone on Saturdays and I wish I could find something where I could be around more.

I’ve found one potential job, although it will require weekends, which I’m not thrilled about. It will pay substantially more money, which I am thrilled about. I guess we’ll see what happens. If I do get it, I will have to be gone Mon.-Fri. for two weeks to do some training. That could pose a problem, as I have no clue what I would do with Drama Queen those two weeks. I’m not going to worry about that until I actually get the job offer, which is supposed to come next Friday. Please keep your fingers crossed.

My funk: Part two

O.C.B. (Drama Queen’s mom) dropped me a line a couple weeks ago. It’s been a year without any contact and to say that it surprised me would be an understatement. She asked about talking with Drama Queen and said that she has seen the blog and that she’s happy that I’m happy in my relationship with The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.). I believe O.C.B. when she says this but I’m a bit concerned about her tracking me down and she’s been pretty much MIA since right after we talked. I’m obviously concerned about D.Q. and how she will react. When I told her about her mom, she said, “I guess I could talk with her.” She didn’t seem too enthusiastic, but I think she kind of wants to.

My funk—The Final Piece:

Part three of my funk has to do with P.S.O. She’s had a lot going on in her life. I’m not going to go into any of it because frankly, it’s no one’s business but hers. I will say that she’s got a ton on her mind and she’s not feeling well. It’s not something as simple as a cold or the flu, but it’s not anything that seems like it will be serious.

Combine her stress with the not feeling well and she too has been in a bit of a funk lately. She needs some space right now to get to where she needs to be and where “we” need to be. I get that. I really do. I’ve been trying to give her the space she needs, but I guess it hasn’t been the easiest thing for me to do. Why?

I’m living in an area where I don’t know a lot of people. I knew two people when I moved here in September, but they were only acquaintances and they have their own lives already in full swing. I don’t do much with either of them and I really haven’t met many other people to socialize with. These two are now my friends, but not what I would call “good friends”.

I know the parents of one of D.Q.’s friends, but the dad is going to school full time and working, so between school, homework and work, they really don’t have much time to do anything. That pretty much leaves P.S.O.

As you may recall, I just mentioned that she has been going through things in her own life and needs a bit of space, which makes it kind of difficult for me to talk my stuff out with a local good friend/best friend type of person.

The two good friends I have back in California are great guys, but not the kind of people that are into a lot of “sharing”. The few times we’ve had deep conversations, booze has been involved and it’s been face to face.

Please don’t take any of this as bitching or complaining because it’s not. This is just a statement of fact and some cheap therapy for me. Getting this out on virtual paper helps me see things as they are and will hopefully help lift me out of my funk. Plus it has the possible added bonus of reminding P.S.O. that I really do get it and that I’m not just an insensitive douche bag. I may be a douche bag, but I’m not insensitive. I love her a lot and I’m sure that she still feels the same way.

As far as I can tell, the relationship with P.S.O. is good. We both still have “in a relationship” on our Facebook pages and we’ve recently made mention of things that we want to do together in the coming months. We’re going out tonight and I’m looking forward to that. We’ve only seen each other once in the last couple weeks and I know that I’m looking forward to a big hug and a couple nice kisses.

At the beginning I promised you Mexican hookers, so here goes. Once P.S.O. and I get out of our funks and back to us both being crazy happy in love, I would really like to take her to Mexico for a few days (with the money I make from a new job). She’s never been to the Pacific side and I’m thinking that a few days in Cabo would really do us some good.

If and when we do that I think that we should definitely hit a couple of the hooker bars and keep tabs on a ho or two so that we can come back with some fresh new stories of Mexican hookers for you, the loyal reader. I have no need for the services of a prostitute, but in the name of research and entertainment I will observe them from a barstool.


P.S. What does my opening bit have to do with my funk? Absolutely nothing. The words are the opening lyrics from Give Up The Funk by George Clinton and give up the funk is exactly what I want to do right now!!!

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For more Mexican hooker stories check these out:

Tijuana with The Kings Fan

Drinking in Cabo San Lucas



Filed under General, Phone Sex Operator

Drinking in Cabo San Lucas

He was pissed and asked, “Who are you gonna believe, a Mexican prostitute or me?”

Rewind to 2005 when I was living in California.  I was the Internet Sales Manager for a small, successful Chrysler-Jeep dealership, was writing part time and had just started doing some radio.  My Internet sales team was crushing the retail guys month after month.  My group of 5 was putting out as many or more cars every month as the retail crew of 10 was.  I was making money.  Life was good.

On April 1 the owner announced a sales contest for the retail department: whichever team of five sold more cars during the month of April got to go to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico for three nights during May—all expenses paid.  Nice!

I informed the owner that I wanted my crew in on the contest and was told absolutely not.  The idea of the contest was to get the retail guys motivated and he already knew that my crew would easily beat each team.  I told the owner that I wanted to go on the trip as a reward for all the money my staff made him each month.  He thought about it a second and said no.  This was a retail contest and he didn’t know that he could afford to send me along with them.

I was not taking no for an answer and I countered back with this question, “If my team can sell more than the retail department AND if we can out-gross them, can I go?”  He finally relented and said ok, but we had to have more cars and higher gross.  Fall short by one car or by a dime and I wasn’t going on the trip.  Suffice it so say that my team had a record month and in mid May I was packing for three nights in Cabo San Lucas!

There were seven of us going on the trip—five sales guys, the General Sales Manager and myself.  We met at the dealership on a Tuesday morning and were driven to the airport for the short flight to Cabo San Lucas—the southern-most city on the Baja Peninsula.  We landed, grabbed our bags and headed to customs.

Mexico has a very scientific way of figuring out which bags get checked and which ones don’t.  As you go through the line at customs you push a button on the bottom of something that looks like a stoplight.  If it lights up green, you get to go on through.  If it’s red, they search your bags.  I consider it to be technology as its finest.

Everyone got the green light, except for The Comedian.  I call him The Comedian not because he was funny (he really wasn’t) but because he did stand-up a couple times a week at open-mic nights and occasionally he pulled a gig at a bar where they paid him $20 and threw a couple drinks his way.

His bag was searched and we grabbed the van we had waiting to take us to our hotel.  I was set to room with The Comedian.  This was going to be an interesting trip.  The Comedian was a total horn-dog.  He spent the entire 25 minute van ride from the airport telling us all how we was gonna be getting laid every night and how the senoritas weren’t going to be able to resist him.  We all begged to differ.   I had no plans to get laid in Mexico and I wasn’t dating anyone back home.  I was an American Free Agent and I figured I would lay low and just take things as they happened.

We got to our room and no sooner was my bag on the bed then The Comedian was asking if I had an empty Red Bull can.  I turned and looked at him with a bit of surprise and asked if he was serious.  He apparently was totally serious and I told him that as a matter of fact I did have an empty can in my pocket.  “Really?”  He asked.  “No,” I replied.  “Why the hell would I have an empty Red Bull can in my pocket?”

I asked why he needed the can and immediately The Comedian whipped out a bag of weed from his suitcase.  Dude brought marijuana from California into Mexico on a plane and was gonna make a homemade bong!  “How the F did you get that through customs?”  I asked him.  Apparently he had the weed in a Ziploc bag and the bag was wrapped in tinfoil, which was in another Ziploc bag, which was stuffed inside a jar of Vicks.  He said the menthol smell would mask the weed odor and he was pretty proud of himself for getting it through customs.

The leader of the pack was our GSM, El Jefe.  El Jefe was a nice guy and a bit of a party animal.  He was a little on the hefty side and very goofy.  He enjoyed regaling us all with his stories of what he and his wife had done the night before along with the details of how and where.  On a normal day it wasn’t fun to listen to, but it was even worse when he spent three solid days drinking.  I tried to put as much of it out of my mind as I could, but suffice it to say that when we returned, I probably could have given her gynecologist a complete run down on her inner workings and been pretty accurate.

The last full day in Mexico we took a four-hour booze and snorkeling cruise.  For the low price of $15 each we went on a boat for four hours and saw the tip of Baja (which was kind of cool) and they took us snorkeling.  As an added bonus, we had all the Dos Equis that we could drink.  Let me just say that seven car guys can put away a lot of beer in four hours.

After the cruise we made it back to the hotel, got cleaned up and went out for a nice dinner.  We were grubbing away when El Jefe announced that after dinner he had a special bar to take us to celebrate our last night in Paradise.  I drank just as much as everyone else that day and I found it odd that I was the only one who thought the scenario sounded a little iffy.

Of the seven of us, four were married and three (including myself) were single.  When we arrived at the bar we each got a beer and El Jefe gathered us in a group and announced that this was the best bar for getting laid in all Cabo and that whatever we wanted that night was on him.  I looked around the place and my first reaction was that it was not nearly as classy as the place in Tijuana and that the women in here seemed to be of a below average look.  WAY below average!

The only two that decided to take El Jefe up on his offer were The Comedian and El Jefe himself.  Each picked out a woman and they were off to some unknown place.  The rest of us laughed at how stupid they both were and kept drinking (on El Jefe of course).  15 minutes later El Jefe came strolling in through a door and had a big smile on his face.  I asked him how it went, considering that he was married and all.  He got a serious look on his face and informed me that he would never cheat on his wife, so he just got oral sex.  Freakin brilliant!

It was another 15 minutes before The Comedian came back from his rendezvous and he too had a huge smile on his face.  He started telling everyone how he “nailed her hard”.  I looked at him for a second, and then went over to one of our group who was Mexican.  I told him to go ask the hooker what happened and he came back and informed me that nothing happened because The Comedian couldn’t even get it up!

That of course was information I was unwilling to keep to myself and I informed him that I knew what happened, or rather didn’t happen, in the room.  He was pissed and asked, “Who are you gonna believe, a Mexican prostitute or me?”  It was a unanimous six-of six.  Each of us believed the ho.

There was much more drinking that night and when it was time to leave for the airport The Comedian was still in the room, trying his hardest to smoke every last bit of what he brought with him.  Once back at the dealership everyone wanted to know how the trip went and of course the first story was how The Comedian couldn’t get it up with a prostitute.  The weed story remained our little secret.  Until today…


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Filed under General