Hey, ya crazy nuts! Sorry for the long hiatus. We’ve been super busy with work and school! I studied my wonderbutt off and got a second teaching credential! I also got accepted into a master’s program! Yup, we’ve been working hard, but we definitely have not stopped traveling. So, without further ado, enjoy some more (very real) tales of travel from The Wondernuts.
Remember when you were younger and Santa would leave you all these amazing gifts on Christmas morning? Life was good. Then one day, a parent, or an older sibling, or a pissed off cousin let the big one slip: there. is. no. Santa. And just like that, the dream was dead. Spirits were crushed. Life became a soul-sucking abyss of sad truths and Great Aunt May’s itchy-ass sweaters.
Damas y Caballeros, welcome to Mexico City, aka: Great Aunt May’s itchy-ass sweaters.
Now, I’ve said lots of times on the blog that I’m Mexican. I feel like I should give this disclaimer because everyone’s going to get riled up if Whitey starts saying stuff about Mexico being unsafe and generally sucking. I get it, I can’t stop you from unjustly judging others by putting your social justice spin on everything I write. But, for the sake of the next two minutes (or twenty, if you’re slow), stop being politically correct for a moment. Or–as they say in Spanish:– stop being a puto for a moment. Oye, tú, here goes:
Husband and I visited Mexico City–ironically at the same time that Papa Francisco was visiting Mexico for the first time! We stayed at the Gran Hotel de la Ciudad de México, a historical, swank, hotel in the heart of Mexico City. It also happened to be the hotel featured in the latest James Bond movie (::winky emoji goes here::).
Anyway, let’s start with the beginning: the Gran Hotel de la Ciudad de México is located in the historic center of Mexico City. There’s a lot of businesses around the area and we were also in front of the place Papa Francisco was expected to visit. There was a lot of setting up and a mariachi band took the opportunity to practice their music very pinche loud from 11:00 pm to around 1:00 am. Don’t worry, we’re just feigning sleep here.
That same day, my husband decided to inquire with the hotel about the best way to see the pirámides. They suggested the bus or their hotel packages. There was some back and forth decision-making and we decided to take the bus and the train to the pirámides. As we left, the front desk lady said — AND I QUOTE –“Ay yay yay.”
Now listen, people, “ay yay yay” is like the gringo equivalent of “jesus christ” accompanied with an eye roll. Or the southern equivalent of “bless your heart.” It’s rude. Furthermore, if you can’t deal with people, oh I don’t know, asking you questions, maybe you shouldn’t work at a hotel?
The next day was when all the mierda hit the fan. We took the train to get some food. The train was so packed that there was literally no room to move. I could not move. And that’s when a creepy-ass puto rubbed his junk on me. Yes, you read that right. And I’ll make this real easy for you so you don’t have to go back and reread it: A creepy-ass puto rubbed his junk on me.
And, I don’t mean: “Oh, sorry, señorita, I whipped my dick out and accidentally touched you with it” (as if that’s ever an acceptable scenario). It was more like: “Señorita, I’m the reason why public transportation is gender-segregated because I’m a sick fucking creep and I get off on rubbing my dick on women.”
There is no excuse for harassing, accosting, or assaulting women. Ever. Period. I don’t care what cultural excuse you want to come up with. I’m Mexican and I have never felt like rubbing a dick on someone. Nor have I –or anyone in my family –ever felt like being a creep. I also have a very low tolerance for any patronizing: “well, you’re a women, you have to protect yourself” caca you want to spew. Because, the fact still remains: there is never an excuse for harassing, accosting, or assaulting women ever.
Also, as if having someone rub their dick on you isn’t bad enough, we got ripped off precisely 25 American cents (or about 4 pesos). Over a churro. A churro! Come on, Mexico City, that was the last straw. ¡¿Qué chingados?!
Now enjoy some semi-decent photos of an otherwise dickish city:
Historical Center
Post Office
Mercado Coyoacan
Pink roof church!
Let’s us know what you think in the comments section below!
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