Paradise City
OK, well, it’s not Paradise City but, hey, at least I’m in Mexico and I haven’t been beheaded or otherwise fatally wounded in a drug deal. Although I’m sure some of you are still holding out hope that my trip is young!
I keep meaning to check out the infinity pool (pictured). But alas, when you work in tropical locales, the emphasis is on the WORK. I did have a good 15 minutes to myself in the sun, though, so I’m counting my blessings.
We had some killer food last night at one of the hotel restaurants. I took one of our newer staff people out to dinner. And for as downright frustrated as I get sometimes, it was a good reminder that I’m here to shape the next generation. I mean, I’m here to make money for the company. And the “how” is a moving target on a good day. But consistency is for cake batter. In any case, I really do have mostly good people who actually take me seriously. 🙂
In any case, now that I’ve had authentic Mexican food, I’ll never be able to eat it again. Except, of course, when it comes to Fourth Meal. I could go for a soft taco right now. …
The trip down here was uneventful, save for one of my people choosing (in my opinion) to miss their flight yesterday due to not being called for carpooling. You don’t “forget” that your flight is on Monday, not Tuesday, without a reminder.
One of my colleagues has his money on me being impregnated by an entire mariachi band. I haven’t see any mariachis yet (whew!) but there ARE crazy Mexicans roaming our private beach, trying to sell us shit illegally.
There are several little vendors on site, and I picked up a lovely silver ring. Paid way too much for it. But it’s my souvenir. Funny, though, but they saw my big-ass blue-stone ring that I brought with me here and they thought it stunning. I paid five bucks for it at Target. I should have asked to trade!
The room is beautiful. I’m on the ground floor with a lovely deck and a view of the Gulf of California.
And we’re coming back here in Q1 for an editorial fiesta — the hotel is making us overpay by a certain amount, which will come to us as a resort credit. (The chain is independently owned outside the U.S., so we can’t transfer the credit.)
I can’t wait to come back, since my freedom ends in about an hour (working cocktail party!) and captivity proceeds through Saturday.
I don’t know who has texted me more — Obama and his damn Democrats or my idiot mother. My phone bill is gonna be nuts once again. And CVS has called the most, to remind me about prescriptions. How is it that my phone can be silent for three weeks, but then everybody hunts me down when I’m paying international roaming rates? *double-barreled salute*
Let’s see — oh yeah, I bought some black cherry mini-cigars. Which suck. And I got 200 pesos out of the ATM. And I’m learning to tip without being able to access any iPhone apps for currency conversion.
Incidentally, 200 pesos is worth about 20 bucks in U.S. dollars. Which means a $20 (in pesos) is worth about $2. I guess you could say that the same is true for the greenback, when you look at it that way!
Oh well, another half hour of work, then butt-scrubbing, then schmoozing. This is the best part of my job. Even if I’d rather be in the hot tub overlooking the Gulf instead…