22,000,000,000,000,000,000,034 sperm…more or less

August 7, 2011: Leaving Buenos Aires to go to Colonia was difficult but needed. I was on the verge of staying, to wait out the winter there and head north, south, east or west once those warmer sauna-like countries decided to share some degrees. I could see my shoe strings coming to life as they began to lace me into the city - not that it would be a bad thing…it is just that my Gilligan’s Island-like “3 hour tour” has somehow turned into a 2+ year tour with perhaps many more seasons to come.

Colonia in Uruguay is a great little place with a verbally interesting history, in combination of a visually appealing ex-colonial city luring bodies from all over the world to see this UNESCO site. My friend Monica from Spain and myself being from the United States are living proof that when you put some letters in front of some sight like UNESCO (even though we don't have a clue what it stands for)...people will come.

Once inside the old section of Colonia, the town ambushes you with restaurants, desperate money sucking museums and enough souvenirs’ that if a Chinese soldier was to replace each item “Made in China” they might have a force large enough to take over the entire continent.

The walking tour that I went on was interesting. Our guide seemed to be running a little bit late for the tour. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was on a powerful narcotic or if it was she finished enjoying a nice morning with a bus load of elderly German tourists who she picked up at the Karaoke bar from the night before. Her hair seemed to have a huge gigantic wad of some thick blob that looked like a sperm count of an estimated 22,000,000,000,000,000,000,034. It made the scene with Cameron Diaz in the move “Something about Mary” look like a dry run.

My next career move…a professional Hustler

August 6, 2011: The word “Hustler” is a noun. Encarta Dictionary’s definition is as follows. Hustler: a prostitute, especially a streetwalker or one who solicits in bars. It also states: a small-time operator who engages in illegal activities such as petty theft or illegal gambling. I am thinking more of the second part of the definition…the illegal gambling part to be more precise.
I have known for a while that I am gifted at the game, Yahtzee. What is Yahtzee? Yahtzeeonline.org said that “it was invented in 1954 by a Canadian couple who often played it with friends on their yacht.” The website also said, “the roots of the game go way back in game history. It is said to have been derived from a number of traditional dice games such as Puerto Rican game Genarala, and English games Cheerio and Poker Dice.” I will not quote the part that says…”it’s a simple game that is largely dependent on the players' luck.” This is not true…it isn’t…it just isn’t. Get a 3 year old throwing dice and they wouldn’t have a clue on what to do except for throw the dice against a wall or choke on them – good if you are losing…I suppose.

Yes, I might have lost a few games in my life in Yahtzee and I might not be champion of the world…but, with the skillz (yep, that is not a typo) that I do have, I could perhaps make a living off of it from fellow backpackers and friends that I meet in my travels.

I don’t say this without the numbers to back it up. Just within the past week I was able to continue to hold my championship title for Australia and I just added a new country to the list…Spain. I am not saying that they were easy to beat since they did challenge me…some. I am just saying that I am that good.

Now, I just need to start putting something tangible down so that when I win, there is something for me to gain. Perhaps I can first start off gambling for small items like coffee, tea, fake sugar tablets. But over time, work my way up to malaria pills or even McDonald vouchers. My goal would be to one day be playing on ESPN’s Yahtzee championship in Las Vegas so that I can be the one of the elite Yahtzee players sitting around a table supporting some strongly tinted aviators playing for millions.

Yahtzeeonline.org states that, “Currently at least 50 million games are sold each year.” With this many games in circulation, how could there not be a Yahtzee championship? Where is Don King when you need him? Yes, the average age of this hypothetical championship might be 12 years old, but really…it wouldn’t be taking candy from a baby…it would be more like taking money from a baby.

Until this happens, I will continue to practice whipping my friends. When they are tired of losing, I will just have to play it online. The best part of playing it online is that it will let me work on speeding up my decision making process if it one day becomes a timed event such as in the silly game, Chess.

If all fails with becoming the definition of Hustler that I am striving for…I guess I could resort to prostitution. Since I don’t care too much for bars, I could fill in the niche and be the small-time operator that solicits in coffee shops.

The Turdler Strikes!

August 1, 2011: 2 out of the 3 public toilets at my hostel were marked by the Turdler. I don’t know if the person does it to make a statement or some mental condition. He/she or shehe/heshe must have been doing toe touches while defecating to get it that high up on the once shinny white porcelain like that. This might be a good day for the maid to call in sick or come to work drunk.

The travelers here are quite talented and impressive…really impressive.

The sad thing is that I was thinking about going upstairs to get my camera so I could take a photo to show you…but thankfully for you and the mental trauma you might have sustained, I didn’t want to wake up my 3 roommates that have a sleeping schedule like 6 year olds.

A bomb goes off in my roommates mouth

July 30, 2011: The last few days I have been wandering around Buenos Aires, stopping in and visiting old mansions, cathedrals and buildings mirroring those in France while lounging around plazas absorbing the way of life in this gargantuan city. This is clearly a nice tourist orientated city with beautiful people and things to see. It even has a great McDonalds with an excellent view from the full glass wall on the second floor overlooking the Plaza de la Republica making it a great spot for studying Spanish and people watching. With all this to write about in more detail, I have come to notice that most of the material I am writing about lately in my journals are directly related to what happens at the hostel.

American del Sur in Buenos Aires has been one of my favorite hostels in South America. It is not just the facilities but the amazing staff that works here. Though for some reason, this place seems to attract international entertainment on a daily basis whether you want it or not…and it is all included in the price of renting a bed.

Switching rooms yesterday, I no longer wake up to stars. Instead l woke up this morning hearing some splashing on the ground near my bed. I later noticed this clear thick liquid was on a direct path to my backpack, but fell short when a bomb when off in my roommates mouth. It would have struck my backpack if she would have had a better arc, but fortunately, the girl who was fully dressed in her prostitute-like stockings, missed.

For the next hour, I had the luxury of hearing wet belches. I worried that if I fell back asleep, I might have a dead roommate from choking in her bed that was cleverly transformed into a water bed – actually it was more like a…vomit bed.

I guess…I guess I was not that worried about her since I ended up falling back to sleep during my voluntary shift as I had my bed sheet covering my face to withstand the smell. She woke me up around 830am when she stumbled into the restroom, miraculously dodging the blast zone to release the 10 or so gallons that she somehow fit in her small frame. I felt that even though I did a bad job taking care of a person I never meet, my shift was over…so I headed out of the room that smelt like the stench of a filthy sobriety tank to enjoy some breakfast.

I was happy that I was able to eat this morning and even happier that my roommate was not on the top bunk above me. As for her…it is going to be a long day…a bomb did go off in her mouth and she lives to tell about it – no thanks to me.

Girl pulls up her shirt in bed to show me her two stars

July 28, 2011: I wasn’t going to post anything about the girl the other morning that showed me her 2 stars after lifting up her shirt – but, I just decide to modify my journal entry a bit and post it.

At 8am I shut off my alarm and headed to breakfast – after 30 minutes of pushing snooze. When I returned I noticed one of my 3 other roommates who got in quite late was awake. Sitting up to talk to me, she seemed to have been still impaired from a late night of celebrating her birthday that understandably morphed into an early morning.

She told me that she was worried about me since she saw that my bed was made, thinking that I never made it back from the Brazilian embassy yesterday. After about 40 seconds of conversation, she got all excited and wanted to show me “them” – I will take full blame…I asked if I could see them. Then there she went reaching for the bottom of her shirt and pulling it up and over “them”…her tattoos. She didn’t just have one star…she had two of them.

What is it about girls these getting stars? When I was younger I saw constellations of stars all the time while looking through the magazines my friend’s parents hid throughout the house – though they were so inappropriately photo shopped, covering the main thing a boy wants to see – needing to leave everything up to my imagination.

Now it seems to me that the star tattoo is becoming quite a popular tattoo, taking over the infamous red rose, tribal tattoo, barbed wire and even the Chinese signs. The advantage to the star though is that it has no boundaries. They find their way on chests, necks, backs, backsides, wrists and even the face such as the Belgian 18 year old decided to do one thoughtless night. She was a quitter thought…she stopped at a mere 56 stars.

Yes, I saw stars today, but today, I just saw two. I don’t think I will never understand tattoos…but who knows what tomorrow will bring.

(star photo pulled from http://weeklyworldnews.com/headlines/9062/girl-has-56-stars-tattooed-on-face/)

Howler monkeys drops stink bombs and golden showers from above

July 20, 2011: While visiting Colonia Pellegrini the past 5 days, we located a family of howler monkeys that had this habit of going out of their way so they can publicly go #1 and #2 in front of us voyeurs. There is nothing like taking photos of a monkeys sphincter as is opens and pushing out some hot steamy stink bombs while giving us golden showers.

Colonia Pellegrini has a whopping population of 1,000 people. I could not imagine living in a town that is this small in addition to being as flat as Iowa and marshy as Louisiana. To get here was not as easy as jumping on one bus. It was more like jumping on 5 buses including a nice nap at a bus station. From the bus over here we even caught a glimpse of vultures that enjoyed putting on a free aerial show resembling a slow moving tornado they floated above the trees in the distance.

Hiking, driving and boating around this place that contains all of this amazing wildlife, like the world’s largest rodent, caiman, spotted cats, otters, owls, armadillos, animals I dont know the name for, boring deer, piranha road kill and eagles without hair loss…made it worth our bus sores. Seeing certain animals in the wildlife that are not common for me in North America except for at the zoo…makes experiencing regions such as this, that more rewarding.

The “Million Man March” at Iquazu Falls?

July 10, 2011: Traveling to the northeastern region of Argentina to take in the views of the infamous - almost king of waterfalls, Iguazu Falls, I obviously had high expectations. I did not just expect to see an uncountable number of gallons shooting off great heights but I also had a vision of the “Million Man March” along the trails leading to the falls.

The millions of individuals that I envisioned making it to the falls the days I was there, never transpired – ironically, just like the Million Man March.

Exploring the waterfalls on the designated trails and seeing some of the surrounding area has unfortunately curdled my brain. It will from now on be hard to appreciate another waterfall again – unless someone is jumping off it. Seeing Iguazu will definitely trim my “Waterfall Expense Fund” since when there is some sort of tour to see a dinky pencil like waterfall…I will be more apt to forego it.

At the base of the Iguazu, there was a trip in which you could take a boat to bring you extremely close to the suicidal gallons of water dropping from above. For the select few who beat the odds, they received more than the 12 minute tour, such as those Americans who died in March. Supposedly the skipper of the boat had a heart attack and hit a rock capsizing the US Minnow. It sadly killed those who did not make it to an exposed rock in time.

“Did I take boat ride?” you ask. Please…don’t asking silly questions. The only injury I sustained was that my mouth tore at the seams with the smile it produce.

There seemed to be an unruly gang of Coatis running this region - a striped tailed mammal that is visually and behaviorally related to the thieving, raccoon. They effectively terrorize the park visitors, quietly waiting for the exact moment when someone was not paying attention, so that they can steal your $5,023 USD overpriced park sandwich or other edible human treats – kids are included when I say, “edible human treats”.

The infestation of these animals are so bad, that an employee had to be hired with the mental and physical strength to put fear into these rouge beasts, chasing them around with a wooden stick all day while he oversaw the cleanliness of the messy travelers.

I think it would have been more effective if he could have given the Coatis an eye washing with some mace or even set them up with some electrified food…but, what do I know…I have a degree in business and I am not anywhere near the level of the Coati Whisper.

Besides the Coatis, I was fortunate enough to see some monkeys, overgrown cat sized tailless rats and a Toucan flying in the extreme eye squinting distance.

A few months ago I hiked with Jesus…today I saw Jesus

July 5, 2011: About 6 months ago in the Lakes district of Chile I met a man that looked like Jesus and hiked with him (BLOG POST: Hiking with Jesus). The past 2 days, I have been exploring the ruins of the Jesuit missions in Argentina and Paraguay and the last place I went to see, happened to be, Jesus. As with most ruins…I am glad that I saw them, but I don’t get too excited over small amounts of rubble that you have to put heavy amounts upon your imagination.

Meeting a young woman who didn’t have enough of the local currency to see Jesus after visiting the ruins in Trinidad…I exchanged some money for her so that we could all see Jesus together. Estimating her age and by what gravity has not yet done to her, I would say that she was about 20 years old. This person should be a role model for other young women that you can travel alone. But if you do decide to travel alone…you can follow her footsteps but don’t follow her actions. Such as…carrying around your laptop under your arm while exploring in a protective sleeve, or say…leave it on some stairs while you look around the ruins expecting that nobody will happily borrow it.

I am unable to give her the gift of common sense, but I did ask her if she owned a backpack for her computer hoping that it would, compute.

Would you like some Cockroach’s with your coffee?

July 2, 2011: Eating a late lunch after a 12 hour night bus to Posadas, a border town next to Paraguay, I decided to skip a solid dinner and enjoy a liquid dinner. My dinner consisted of cup of coffee, while Cecile ate an excitingly healthy salad containing loads of nasty tomatoes and green stuff at this Italian restaurant.

During Cecile’s meal, she looked up at me a bit terrified, telling me that there was something big on my arm. Looking over, it happened to be a nice sized cockroach enjoying an elevated view of the dinner table as I drank my coffee. Brushing it off onto the floor, she scurried under one of the tables. At first, I thought that the cockroach might have fell on me while this homeless man handing out cards for money. I then noticed that the cockroach’s child was looking at me, at about eye level on the wall, waving its antennas as it tried to communicate with me…perhaps upset that I interrupted its class on the art of begging from foreigners.

The rest of the evening, I happened to feel like an imaginary jungle gym for the cockroach community as my mind would falsely sense them crawling up under my pants on the back of my legs.

My two high pitched squealing backpacking lesbian roommates…

July 2, 2011: I have a feeling that I might have been traveling for so long I am having a hard time distinguishing the difference between traveling and living. One week has passed and not much feels mentally different from here (Argentina) or there (United States) – besides the native language being Spanish and that I had two high pitched squealing backpacking lesbian roommates, I so happened to walk in on the other day while they were performing a metallic bond under the pile of blankets in my dorm room.

Traveling with a lot more clothes now than before my break, I find that I am wearing the same stuff even more now than before. It has been over one week and I am still wearing the same pair of pants and socks (miraculously passing the smell test) and just changed into my second t-shirt two days ago (which unfortunately for others, didn’t pass the smell test – even after day one). Being the excellent problem solver that I am, I changed deodorant and the problem was fixed – maybe – just maybe, I should use this example to show my problem solving abilities during an interview when I decide to get back to the workforce.

From now on, I should be getting at least 5 days wear out of each shirt – reducing labor and reducing the harmful chemicals that are emitted into the environment every time an item is washed, thus reducing my carbon print –blah – blah – blah. For everyone who knows me…yes, I am lying…it is more about the cost of someone washing my clothes.

“You are a strong leader,” she whispers in my ear.

June 29, 2011: “You are a strong leader” she whispers in my ear. Truth or Lie? I am not sure, but it made me feel good as I would step on my partner’s feet with my wide mammoth shoes as I attempted to perfect my infantile tango skills after finally making out of the Atlanta airport. Now back in Buenos Aires, I am ready to get readjusted to tramping around South America.

The others 35 individuals, who were not taking Tango classes and actually performing the vertical Tango, seemed to be a…unique crowd. I am not going to mention the anorexic looking prostitute with a leather mini skirt, but I will be happy to mention the Asian woman who might have been a retired bar-girl from South East Asia who is now working her trade, picking up older men while supporting a one piece red short puffy miniskirt with a hoodie. When she would raise her arms the air she would give all of us a free peep show, seeing her complete black non-granny panties. Okay…a slight exaggeration…92% of her black non-granny panties. Thank goodness she shaved!

It takes two to Tango…and steroids

March 3rd, 2011: For four days I tore through Buenos Aires. As most people know, Buenos Aires is known for its shopping, Tango, world famous meat and stunning women – which to some, stunning women is the same as world famous meat.

With plenty to do and a limited amount of time till my return back to this enormous city, my friend and I decided to do a little, a lot and a lot a lot of shopping with a side trip to a tango class and show.

Playing follow the leader with my friend Sabrina, she reminded me of the great joys of clothes shopping with a woman. It has been a while but, she let me show off my previous skills of being a professionally purse/backpack holder as she would disappear in the dressing rooms for extended periods…at times wondering if she might have escaped out the back window when I wasn’t looking.

One evening after completing a Tango class, I was issued my official certificate of completion. With my confidence being really high…too high…I thought that somewhere my future, I had a smidgen of hope to become a successful Tango dancer - giving me an opportunity to get some legitimate cheap feels without the need to serve time or explain my actions to anyone.

After folding up the certificate which was going to make it in the trash shortly following the show, the other graduates and I were then corralled into another room to see the professionals perform the Tango… crushing – more like nuking my hopes to ever be able to Tango – that is unless I believe in dropping the age limit on who I will date to 12 year olds. I say this because the men would easily toss the women dancers around with subhuman strength as they somehow did playful ball kicks between the guys’ legs without fazing them.

I don’t have any future plans dropping my age limit on who I will date to an imprisonable age, nor do I see myself spending half my life in the gym oiling my body and shooting up on steroids so that I can toss an average size woman with curves and some junk in her trunk around on the dance floor. So, I figured I will forgo learning how to tango at a high level of expertise and just continue holding up walls next to the dance floor. Better yet, I need to simply stick to my original plan and...learn to salsa.

I predict a major boating accident in Antarctica…

February 14th, 2011: “Is there a photo of the Explorer?” I asked the travel consultant. Quickly looking up from her computer she fires off, “Don’t let them hear you say that.”

You see, I mistakenly asked for a ship that is no longer...in use, by GAP Adventures (the company I am I will soon be traveling with) thinking that the Explorer was the name of the ship I am going on - when it is actually the Expedition. Until November 17th, 2007 at 1900 hours, this ship no longer belonged to GAP Adventures, since at this time in submarine fashion it dived off the coast of Antarctica and parked itself at the bottom at a frigid depth of 1130 meters after hitting some less forgiving ice – making the insurance company its proud new owners.

I enjoy being reminded about things like this...30 hours prior to my departure on my 10 day expedition to Antarctica - it certainly makes things more exciting. But unfortunately, something extraordinary like this is unlikely to happen to me. My reasoning is quite simple…my parents pray for me too much.

I was just recently stripped of experiencing “Mr. Ferry meet Mr. Island” at 3am as the Navimag’s hull was torn during their introduction…taking in water, it created a delay on getting to Puerto Natales on its scheduled time. If I waited until just the next departure (7 days later), I would have been able to dawn my life vest awaiting for the signal to abandon ship creating a lifetime of better ferry stories besides my post about “Thong Girl.”

In addition to this boating mishap, I was about 2 weeks off when I was in the Galapagos Islands to experience the exciting emergency exit in the wee hours of the morning as the Comorant II (a different boat than what I was on) broke into pieces, sinking right after everyone was saved.

On this trip of mine to South America I have seemed to miss some rare sinking’s or boating accidents by just 2 weeks or less. With this said…I predict a major boating accident in Antarctica to happen in the next few weeks, but not involving me - that is unless, I kindly ask my parents to kindly cut down on the prayer.

*Photos: Explorer (Wikipedia), Navimag (La Prensa Austral) and the Comorant II (Sangay Touring)

Anthony Supertramp / Beaver Hunter

February 13th, 2011: Today I set off in Terra del Fuego National Park with a goal. My goal was to see a nice wet destructive furry North American Beaver. After about 5 hours of hiking I reached the Hoover dam of Beavers. I made myself a comfortable placement along its side and was ready to wait all day until a visual sighting.

After about 30 minute of patiently waiting with my camera along my side, ready to take a shot of a beaver as soon as it surfaced for some air, or better yet…watch its tail in action, back tailing her loved one who might have given her some lip – in this case, given her some teeth - laughing...I can think/write of the most supudist things.

Thinking about my positioning and lighting, I was reconsidering if I was in a good spot...until I thankfully overheard a tour guide’s spiel stating that beavers are...nocturnal. Being only 3 pm, I was not wanting to believe him so I stayed a little bit longer, hoping there was an insomniac beaver or even a workaholic so that I could still see one of them. I even tried to telepathically ask a beaver to show herself - obviously not working.

Leaving the park today I was unable to see a North American beaver here in South America. With better timing, a little work and a smidgen of luck, perhaps the next time I go beaver hunting, I will score some…photos. With some persistence and some good timing, the odds will hopefully be in my favor.

The great peaks of El Chalten and my roommates…Ms. Peaks

February 6th, 2011: Walking into my 6 bed dorm at precisely 4:47pm after a long day of tramping around and taking photos of the numerous spectacular peaks that horseshoe the town of El Chalten…I overheard two girls whispering on the bottom bunk on the other side of the dorm. It sounded as if they were having a serious talk - thinking that girls are funny that when they have problems how they can just lay in single bed with each other just chatting away…if guys do something like that, you are gay.

Tired and not being in a social mood to talk to the two girls from Berkeley (California), I dug out my backpack from my locker, preparing for an exciting time of giving my backpack an abortion so that I can close it – yes, my backpack somehow got to be pregnant again. Hearing one of the girls asking me a question, I looked over to answer her - I was taken by surprise.

There she laid in bed naked with her arms behind her head exposing her peaks with a sheet covering only her shrubbery with another naked girl who supported hairy armpits next to her side - but she was fully blanketed. No, I don’t have Superman or TSA supervision to see through the sheets…Ms. Pits changed in front of me yesterday as we went over the basic dreaded backpacker questions with a topless twist on what is my name, where I am from, how long I have been traveling for, shoe size – blah, blah and blah.

Turning back around after I did a double, triple, and a quadruple take as I tried to bit on my inner checks to keep from smiling and to not laugh. What do I do to get myself into these strange hostel predicaments? - this can’t be happening…it just can’t be. What I walked in on was not just a casual conversation about a new design (god forbid) or knot used for their hippy bracelets/necklaces they must secretly sell on the side. What was taking place right before my ears was what lesbians MUST do better than guys after sex…talk. I should have listened to this conversation of theirs so that I could have picked up some pointers - instead of just asking the typical backpacker questions…what is your name, etc – laughing.

Ms. Peaks continued to talk to me as I leaned against a bed on the floor with my back turned as I multitasked, continuing to go through with my backpacks abortion. It seemed strange talking to them with my back turned, so every so often I would turn around and try to look at the girl with hairy armpits in the eye…I had some success. Then I would turn back around right before I couldn’t hold a straight face any longer. Ms. Peaks said I must have seen a lot while traveling as long as I did. I agreed and wanted to say that what I am seeing now might have been the weirdest, but I refrained.

Not finished, I zipped my backpack, deciding that it was time for me to take a well needed shower, so that they can finish…talking. I wasn’t even sure if I should have taken a shower so soon after our conversation because I didn’t want them to think it was because of them…but at this point, it didn’t seem to matter.

Dorm life…today was filled with peaks and adventure outside and inside my dorm. Traveling has a tendency to hand you stories without the need to even search for them…they seem to just happen at the weirdest times and places.

National Geographic photo shoot with a disposable camera

February 2, 2011: Today I was able to see the Perito Moreno Glacier via boat, bus and by my very own two 12 inch flat feet as I walked on the boardwalk of unbelievable web-like proportions. Observing what I could only have dreamt or watched on the National Geographic Channel in the past…I was so close to this huge-chunkus glacier, which according to Wikipedia is 30 km (19 mi) long, 5 km (3 mi) wide and 74 meters (240 ft) above the water with a total ice depth of 170 meters (558 ft).

When a section of ice would pull itself free from the glacier, it would do a spectacular cannonball like dive into the frigid water sending water shooting up to great heights disappearing before eventually resurfacing as it would come up for air. This was so unbelievably dream-like; it would cause my legs to shake – though I can only speculate that my shaky legs were the result of my eyes seeing something so surreal, that my body did not know how to react. Thankfully for me, my body didn’t decide to cry a river so I will not complain about my leg shake - though if compromised…can easily be covered up by a nice little lie by saying that I was cold.

Today, I truly felt as if I was right on a National Geographic photo shoot with my disposable camera slung around my neck. Photo or no photo…it was one of the greatest shows on earth.

2 cups of fruit a day…does that mean 2 Double Gulp sized cups?

December 9th, 2010: I have been happily stuck in Mendoza for about 1.5 weeks waiting for my new Visa card to arrive. Needing to pass by time I happened to visit about 10 wineries during 3 of those days to help me exceed the United States Department of Agriculture’s suggestion of consuming 2 cups of fruit daily - with them carelessly not clearly noting on how big or small the cup suppose to be – thinking that maybe they meant 2 Double Gulps (64 ounces each) sized cups from the convenience store 7-11 in the US. Trying to be healthy this also assisted me in getting through the incompetence of my bank, Wells Fargo who might have been more effective if they moved their call centers internationally to the Helen Keller Institute for the deaf.

From the two blurry self guided bicycle tours to the decrepit horse that took me to a few of the grape manufactures, I at one time effectively lost enough brain cells so that my body forget how to process my prior items of consumption in the proper order - which is typically the mouth, stomach and bowels to the miniature porcelain pool. Instead, I somehow miraculously reversed this order going from my mouth, to stomach and back to my mouth skipping the porcelain bowl and going directly to…to…it is not that important.

Needless to say, I think I was trying to be too healthy and will continue to try to be healthier consuming my 2 cups of fruit a day, but maybe…just maybe I will need to look further into what the United States Department of Agriculture means when they say two cups of fruit.

Shoulder bag accidently stolen…or not

December 4th, 2010: New traveling security rule created. Rule #1234: Don’t approach subject who has possession of your belongings until 90% certain of the intentions for the subject in question.

I say this because when soaking in the water I noticed a group of seemingly law abiding individuals in their early 20’s or late teens place all of their stuff around my shoulder bag that I had sitting next to a rock wall. One oddly even placed their shorts on top of my bag. As time passed they ended up moving to different hot springs and one guy seemed quite awkward by how he was looking around and then casually grabbed my shoulder bag with about $800 USD in belongings and walked away.

Perhaps it was a mistake I thought, confusing my stuff for one of his friends? Not giving him enough time to make it clear if it was a mistake or not, I came up behind him, putting my hand on his shoulder telling him that was my bag. He apologized saying something else that I didn’t understand.

Was it done on purpose or…not? It would have been nice to know his intensions but I would like to think that it was an accident thinking my filthy shoulder bag was one of the many girls he was with. This reminds me that I need to not relax my personal security policies, if anything, add a few more rules. So this was how Rule #1234 was created: Don’t approach subject who has possession of your belongings until 90% certain of the intentions for the subject in question. This will in turn then give you greater options as for what the next step will be…whether it is legal, verbal or physical.

My roommate worships satin

December 1st, 2010: My roommate worships satin. Okay…I cannot confirm that he worships the beast…but, when you have a male tramp stamp that covers half of your lower back and it is the face of satin (I am not joking or exaggerating) he must at least like him a little bit. It is a safe assumption; because why would you say…get a tattoo of silly parrot on your arm or a tattoo that says mom, if you didn’t like them?

Since he does sleep all day and leaves late at night, not coming back until 4 to 5 in the morning…I might have to restructure my sleeping habits. As for tonight I will practice sleeping like a fish…with my eyes open.

Do you want it…Monkey Style?

November 30th, 2010: Going to another animal prison, this time in Mendoza, I observed that this monkey compound was much different than in Cordoba. This one had a lot more activity, reminding me of a horrific porno I once accidently clicked on when searching for…camping gear.

With an overcrowded cage of about 100 nasty looking red bottomed monkeys, the males ran around chasing the females doing indecent activities in public right before my very own eyes…pulling off the 4 to 5 second “doggy style” position with such finesse. This made me think…why is this position called “doggy style” and why are men called “dogs” for that matter when we look much more like “monkeys” performing this act. Then why are we not called “monkeys”? There is a closer link between men and monkeys than dogs anyhow.

So…from now on, you should properly label men as “monkeys” not “dogs.” Perhaps the positional name changes will be expedited with help from the porn industry by expanding the vocabulary of the stars to 16 words instead of the standardized 14. Another effective way to quickly implement these needed changes could be by the Pope authorizing one more acceptable position besides the missionary.

Before you know it the term “doggy style” position will only used between the grey carpeteers, with the majority of the population soon to be identifying the act as “monkey style.” These new aged labels are much more accurate and should be changed immediately.