Yen: "I assume your plan to celebrate CT's birthday involves getting very drunk today?"
Dave: "It's the only way to make the hurt go away, Yen."
Vince: "Other people get drunk because it's the weekend, or because someone's in from out of town, or something like that. You drink like it's a personal challenge to see how drunk you can get. And I love that about you."
Happy birthday!
Showing posts with label Rampant Alcoholism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rampant Alcoholism. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
St. Patrick's Day: Hour 5
Count: (7) Guinness, (3) Shots, (3) Irish Carbombs, (1) Irish Coffee.
Pat Lynch is here!!!!!!!!
Pat Lynch is here!!!!!!!!
St. Patrick's Day: Hour 4
Count: (6) Guinness, (2) Shots, (2) Irish Carbombs, (1) Irish Coffee
Johnson and I have money on Eastern Michigan/South Carolina. Mor important: women's basketball or cricket?
Johnson and I have money on Eastern Michigan/South Carolina. Mor important: women's basketball or cricket?
St. Patrick's Day: Hour 3
Count: (5) Guinness, (2) Shots, (1) Irish Carbomb, (1) Irish Coffee
I feel a little better about being drunk now that the sun is out. Johnson and I are yelling across the bar about how excited we are for the women's basketball tournament that starts in an hour.
I feel a little better about being drunk now that the sun is out. Johnson and I are yelling across the bar about how excited we are for the women's basketball tournament that starts in an hour.
St. Patrick's Day: Hour 2
Count: (4) Guinness, (1) Shot, (1) Irish Coffee, (1) Irish Carbomb
The good thing about sitting next to Jack's girlfriend is thatshe immediately gets Jack's attention. The bad thing about sitting next to Jak's girlfriend is that she immediately gets Jack's attention.
The good thing about sitting next to Jack's girlfriend is thatshe immediately gets Jack's attention. The bad thing about sitting next to Jak's girlfriend is that she immediately gets Jack's attention.
St. Patrick's Day: Hour 1
Count: (2) Guinness, (1) Shot
I walked in at 6:55 a.m. and Adam Johnson was here. Success. I'm already sans sleeves. Let's do this, bud.
I walked in at 6:55 a.m. and Adam Johnson was here. Success. I'm already sans sleeves. Let's do this, bud.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Fun fact
On the island of Donedet, a bottle of whiskey costs $1.25. A bottle of coke costs $1.50.
To make matters worse/better, the whiskey comes in a Honolulu blue bottle. It's name is Lion Whiskey.
To make matters worse/better, the whiskey comes in a Honolulu blue bottle. It's name is Lion Whiskey.
Chris Tomke: Friend of the Common Man.
So, on my last trip out to Angkor Wat (actually, a different temple built to watch the sunset), a different driver shows up to take me. My boy Apeu, he tells me, is busy, so he’s my guy. So be it. (This is a fairly common occurrence, I’ve gathered from eavesdropping on other conversations.) Anyway, after all is said and done, my new driver, Samo (sp.), asks what I’m doing that night. Since my bus leaves at 6:30 the next morning, I tell him I plan on laying around, maybe drinking a beer or two, and then going to sleep. He then proceeds to invite me out to drink beers with him and his fellow Tuk Tuk drivers. I am unable to refuse. I mean, I’ve been to tourist bars in tourist cities, but a chance to get real down and dirty with my new Cambodian friends? Done. (And before you accuse me of being that guy yelling about “Blah blah tourists!” and “Blah blah authentic!”, let me just say that I know exactly what the tourist bars hold in store for me. I have no idea where Samo and his friends go.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).
We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.
We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.
As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!
No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).
We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.
We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.
As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!
No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Recepticon.
"'Somebody threw a beer bottle at me, I heard,' [Burleson] said.
At least it wasn't full.
'No,' Burleson said. 'If it was full, I might have chugged it.'"
I'm giving this a "rampant alcoholism" tag for the fun of it.
At least it wasn't full.
'No,' Burleson said. 'If it was full, I might have chugged it.'"
I'm giving this a "rampant alcoholism" tag for the fun of it.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
I am in terrible drinking shape.
David,
After hearing your tales of debauchery in NOLA, I couldn't resist the urge to hit the sauce a bit myself. And, since last night I had a Skype date set with Logan and Abbie for 2 a.m. Brazil time, I had plenty of time to kill, and a full bottle of cachaca. So, for about four hours, I sat in my room, alternating between reading and playing Secret of Mana, all while drinking coffee mugs full of this Brazilian moonshine. By the time 2 a.m. rolled around, I was good and thoroughly drunk. This was confusing to me, as I'd only consumed about half my bottle. Then I realized that a.) I've been drunk only twice in the past two-plus months and b.) my diet for the day consisted of granola and bananas.
When I went into the main part of the pousada to get ready for my date, I was alarmed to discover that there was no Internet access. The late-shift worker directed me to the lobby computer, where I stared at Skype and tried to figure out how to use it. After 15 minutes, I managed to log in (by this point, my ability to type was almost nonexistent) and could not figure out what was going on for the life of me. This, of course, prompted strings of vulgarity, which of course prompted the late-shift worker to ask me what was wrong (I think). As he only spoke Portuguese, the next five minutes consisted of my pointing at the screen and making angry grunts and occasionally saying "nice fucking Internet," all while he stared at me, totally confused. In the end, technology defeated me, and I stumbled back to my room. I then proceeded to have another cup of cachaca, which I pounded in anger. Then, I laid down, which was a terrible mistake. I'm not sure for how long I'd been asleep when the need to vomit struck. So I jumped up and proceeded to try to open our door to the lawn, which was locked (you need a key to open it--I was obviously past the point of rational thought). So, I stood there like half-moaning "Please just open!" when Katie finally woke up and asked what I was doing. I told her of my intentions. She said "the bathroom is behind you, you know." I responded "...Oh. Yeah."
I got out of bed at 2 p.m. today.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Traveling, Dave-style.
Hey, brother,
I know how your intimate knowledge of your own mortality and unreasonable fear of foreigners works against you exiting the borders of the good ol' U.S.A., but the other night, I had a truly Dave Tomke-esque travel experience.
I went out to meet the Brazilians I'd met earlier that day. They suggested I come meet them at their hostel for a few drinks. The name of said hostel was "Loki," so right away I had a good feeling about things.
First of all, the hostel itself if goddamn gigantic. I'm pretty sure it takes up damn near a city block. But, the bar in the hostel is what truly distinguishes it. Every night, the bartenders are different, as the hostel grants free room and board to any travelers who volunteer to tend bar for anywhere from one to seven nights (I believe there's an application process involved). But, the rules of the bar seem dependent on the bartenders that night. During my brief stay at Loki, the bartenders were pounding shots, grabbing random bar patrons (mostly women wearing short skirts) and having them dance up on the bar in front of me, and in once instance, vaulting over the bar to tackle some dude.
There were no rules, David. So, with a bit of bartending experience, you could come to Cusco and have the week of your life. Think about it.
I know how your intimate knowledge of your own mortality and unreasonable fear of foreigners works against you exiting the borders of the good ol' U.S.A., but the other night, I had a truly Dave Tomke-esque travel experience.
I went out to meet the Brazilians I'd met earlier that day. They suggested I come meet them at their hostel for a few drinks. The name of said hostel was "Loki," so right away I had a good feeling about things.
First of all, the hostel itself if goddamn gigantic. I'm pretty sure it takes up damn near a city block. But, the bar in the hostel is what truly distinguishes it. Every night, the bartenders are different, as the hostel grants free room and board to any travelers who volunteer to tend bar for anywhere from one to seven nights (I believe there's an application process involved). But, the rules of the bar seem dependent on the bartenders that night. During my brief stay at Loki, the bartenders were pounding shots, grabbing random bar patrons (mostly women wearing short skirts) and having them dance up on the bar in front of me, and in once instance, vaulting over the bar to tackle some dude.
There were no rules, David. So, with a bit of bartending experience, you could come to Cusco and have the week of your life. Think about it.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, brother. I have one coming (probably tomorrow) with my thoughts on how the Inca civilization was so goddamn metal.
Alas, with Katie out doing her "spirituality" and "being a good person" thing, I have to go party with some Brazilians. Perhaps that can be a topic for another post, as well.
Alas, with Katie out doing her "spirituality" and "being a good person" thing, I have to go party with some Brazilians. Perhaps that can be a topic for another post, as well.
Monday, October 31, 2011
I know you have the day off. Write something.
David,
As you know, the Lions definitively disproved the existence of God yesterday by humiliating Tim Tebow in Denver. One could argue that "maybe God is a Lions fan," but Jon Kitna is no longer the quarterback.
I know from the interwebs that you don't have work today. I assume you're going to do laundry, lay around hung over, and maybe eat some sort of microwavable food. Why not contribute something of value to society by writing on this blog? Sometimes, we are actually funny, and the commoners do so love to hear of your adventures.
-Dogg
As you know, the Lions definitively disproved the existence of God yesterday by humiliating Tim Tebow in Denver. One could argue that "maybe God is a Lions fan," but Jon Kitna is no longer the quarterback.
I know from the interwebs that you don't have work today. I assume you're going to do laundry, lay around hung over, and maybe eat some sort of microwavable food. Why not contribute something of value to society by writing on this blog? Sometimes, we are actually funny, and the commoners do so love to hear of your adventures.
-Dogg
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Equal Parts Busy, Drunk and Lazy
I am so sorry that I worried you, my boy.
As the headline suggests, my time has been consumed by work, drink and general lounging (which is much more time-consuming than one might think). I will try my best to maintain some sort of consistent posting from here on, so that you don't have to worry about my safety. It really gets back to our discussion as to who is more likely to die (or come to serious bodily harm) during the next year: you (by traveling the world and being in generally dangerous situations) or me (by drinking more than is recommended or safe).
The Passion Tsunami lost 9-7 this past week, although if you take out the first inning (which you can't), it was like 7-4. Or something like that. Look, the score doesn't matter, because I kicked a goddamn home run. And I realize that if we had an official scorer, or this was baseball, it would have been scored a triple with an error, but THIS IS KICKBALL. HOME RUN. Unfortunately, our team continues its tradition of not knowing the rules or generally having a knowledge of sports, so we lost. You know I only play for the personal statistics, though. I'm holding out for a lucrative contract in the offseason, and if Brandon doesn't show me the money, I am out of there.
The Lions also lost, unfortunately. I think you saw the game against the Falcons, so I really don't need to go into much details. Stafford is back practicing, despite the injury, but he really needs to step his game up. Him and the offensive line have looked bad. So has the defensive line to be completely honest. They can't stop the run, and everytime they do, it's a penalty.
I visited your sweet Squeaks and Olmsted on Monday, just to verify that they are still alive. They are, but they also mourn for you. We all do. I also got a haircut while I was up there, and Colleen tried to give me a shot, but I didn't want one. Now that I think about it, your apartment seems much less dude-like without you. I mean, Squeaks and Olmsted were there, but they were outnumbered by females (not counting Brandon and I). Colleen, X were all there, doing distinctly feminine things (drinking fruity drinks, gossipping, cooking), and it really set me aback. I need Spartacus to start up so I can go there and just see dicks. So many dicks (and blood).
I got pretty ham-jammed on both Friday and Saturday evenings in the town of East Lansing. I don't know if you caught the Michigan State-Wisconsin game, but if not, you should do some research. When they caught that hail mary at the end of the game, shit got wild. I didn't go to State (as I hope you know), but I still partied like it. The shots were flowing, and thanks to our connect at the bar, I barely had to pay anything for them. Needless to say, I indulged. At the tailgate on Saturday, I came perilously close to fighting a girl. She poured a drink on my head for no reason (seriously, I didn't even say anything to her!) and then ran away. After that, I tried to fight her husband, but he was not up to the task, plus Arj didn't want me to. Arj is a man of peace, as you well know.
Anyway, my lunch break is up, so I should probably get back to work. Just know that I need you!
Dave
As the headline suggests, my time has been consumed by work, drink and general lounging (which is much more time-consuming than one might think). I will try my best to maintain some sort of consistent posting from here on, so that you don't have to worry about my safety. It really gets back to our discussion as to who is more likely to die (or come to serious bodily harm) during the next year: you (by traveling the world and being in generally dangerous situations) or me (by drinking more than is recommended or safe).
The Passion Tsunami lost 9-7 this past week, although if you take out the first inning (which you can't), it was like 7-4. Or something like that. Look, the score doesn't matter, because I kicked a goddamn home run. And I realize that if we had an official scorer, or this was baseball, it would have been scored a triple with an error, but THIS IS KICKBALL. HOME RUN. Unfortunately, our team continues its tradition of not knowing the rules or generally having a knowledge of sports, so we lost. You know I only play for the personal statistics, though. I'm holding out for a lucrative contract in the offseason, and if Brandon doesn't show me the money, I am out of there.
The Lions also lost, unfortunately. I think you saw the game against the Falcons, so I really don't need to go into much details. Stafford is back practicing, despite the injury, but he really needs to step his game up. Him and the offensive line have looked bad. So has the defensive line to be completely honest. They can't stop the run, and everytime they do, it's a penalty.
I visited your sweet Squeaks and Olmsted on Monday, just to verify that they are still alive. They are, but they also mourn for you. We all do. I also got a haircut while I was up there, and Colleen tried to give me a shot, but I didn't want one. Now that I think about it, your apartment seems much less dude-like without you. I mean, Squeaks and Olmsted were there, but they were outnumbered by females (not counting Brandon and I). Colleen, X were all there, doing distinctly feminine things (drinking fruity drinks, gossipping, cooking), and it really set me aback. I need Spartacus to start up so I can go there and just see dicks. So many dicks (and blood).
I got pretty ham-jammed on both Friday and Saturday evenings in the town of East Lansing. I don't know if you caught the Michigan State-Wisconsin game, but if not, you should do some research. When they caught that hail mary at the end of the game, shit got wild. I didn't go to State (as I hope you know), but I still partied like it. The shots were flowing, and thanks to our connect at the bar, I barely had to pay anything for them. Needless to say, I indulged. At the tailgate on Saturday, I came perilously close to fighting a girl. She poured a drink on my head for no reason (seriously, I didn't even say anything to her!) and then ran away. After that, I tried to fight her husband, but he was not up to the task, plus Arj didn't want me to. Arj is a man of peace, as you well know.
Anyway, my lunch break is up, so I should probably get back to work. Just know that I need you!
Dave
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Hindsight
Things you should do between a Tigers ALCS night game and an undefeated Lions morning game:
1) Sleep
2) Drink fluids
3) Eat something
Things you should not do between a Tigers ALCS night game and an undefeated Lions morning game:
1) Go to Excalibur with Olmsted while Colleen is working until 4 a.m.
Details to follow after today's victory by the Lions.
1) Sleep
2) Drink fluids
3) Eat something
Things you should not do between a Tigers ALCS night game and an undefeated Lions morning game:
1) Go to Excalibur with Olmsted while Colleen is working until 4 a.m.
Details to follow after today's victory by the Lions.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Taking advantage of strangers' kindness and local products: Tips for the traveling drinker
David,
The Lions' 5-0 start has effectively shrunk my pants to child-size. Is there a greater human being in football than Calvin Johnson?! Probably not! Is there a greater defensive end in football than Willie Young?! Probably!
I'm glad to hear you celebrated the Lions victory among like-minded individuals, but I think that violates the spirit of Tomke sports antagonism. I suffered the insults of Bears fans for too long to barricade myself in a Detroit bar while the Lions dropped dick. So, instead, I left the country, where literally no one gives a shit about American football. (On a side note, I met some friendly Canadians who were avid Saskatchewan Roughriders fans.) Moving on...
Traveling on a budget is hard, particularly when you enjoy the food and drink as much as we do. However, when you're visiting a region in which rum is a local export, why not take advantage of the cut-rate prices? You're supporting local businesses, experiencing exotic local products, and if you have no standards regarding your mixer, you can get a buzz on for next to nothing!
Katie and I went out to Caye Caulker this past weekend. It's essentially an island getaway, and as some would call it, "touristy." When compared with Belize City, I assume "touristy" is synonymous with "clean," "safe," and unfortunately "expensive." Not to worry, though: Before boarding our water taxi, we had the foresight to buy our supplies in the city. So, we purchased a fifth of Traveler's Rum for the price of $11 BZ ($5.50 US), along with some packets of Tang ($0.58 BZ/0.29 US), and with the water taken from the surprisingly clean taps, we were off to the races (of drunkenness)!
Speaking of Tang, Central American countries have an uncanny fascination with the shit. We selected our packets from among a dozen or so different flavors (our selections: Mango, Strawberry-Orange), but the aforementioned Canadians told us that in Mexico, there are entire aisles with nothing but Tang. It's a cornucopia of artificial flavor!
Other than that, it definitely benefits you be around people who also drink, and are sympathetic to your budgetary issues. For instance, we're currently in the capital of Belmopan, staying with Katie's friends Joan and Andy (who are awesome people, incidentally). When we pulled up yesterday, Andy and his boys were drinking and playing Dominoes. Immediately upon saying hello, Andy offered me a beer. It was barely past noon, but who am I to turn down an offer of such generosity? That beer turned into another three or four, which then turned into a couple fifths of rum. Total cost: $0.
Anyway, I don't know what else to write here that I won't write in my other, more respectable blog. Go Lions.
-Doggins
The Lions' 5-0 start has effectively shrunk my pants to child-size. Is there a greater human being in football than Calvin Johnson?! Probably not! Is there a greater defensive end in football than Willie Young?! Probably!
I'm glad to hear you celebrated the Lions victory among like-minded individuals, but I think that violates the spirit of Tomke sports antagonism. I suffered the insults of Bears fans for too long to barricade myself in a Detroit bar while the Lions dropped dick. So, instead, I left the country, where literally no one gives a shit about American football. (On a side note, I met some friendly Canadians who were avid Saskatchewan Roughriders fans.) Moving on...
Traveling on a budget is hard, particularly when you enjoy the food and drink as much as we do. However, when you're visiting a region in which rum is a local export, why not take advantage of the cut-rate prices? You're supporting local businesses, experiencing exotic local products, and if you have no standards regarding your mixer, you can get a buzz on for next to nothing!
Katie and I went out to Caye Caulker this past weekend. It's essentially an island getaway, and as some would call it, "touristy." When compared with Belize City, I assume "touristy" is synonymous with "clean," "safe," and unfortunately "expensive." Not to worry, though: Before boarding our water taxi, we had the foresight to buy our supplies in the city. So, we purchased a fifth of Traveler's Rum for the price of $11 BZ ($5.50 US), along with some packets of Tang ($0.58 BZ/0.29 US), and with the water taken from the surprisingly clean taps, we were off to the races (of drunkenness)!
Speaking of Tang, Central American countries have an uncanny fascination with the shit. We selected our packets from among a dozen or so different flavors (our selections: Mango, Strawberry-Orange), but the aforementioned Canadians told us that in Mexico, there are entire aisles with nothing but Tang. It's a cornucopia of artificial flavor!
Other than that, it definitely benefits you be around people who also drink, and are sympathetic to your budgetary issues. For instance, we're currently in the capital of Belmopan, staying with Katie's friends Joan and Andy (who are awesome people, incidentally). When we pulled up yesterday, Andy and his boys were drinking and playing Dominoes. Immediately upon saying hello, Andy offered me a beer. It was barely past noon, but who am I to turn down an offer of such generosity? That beer turned into another three or four, which then turned into a couple fifths of rum. Total cost: $0.
Anyway, I don't know what else to write here that I won't write in my other, more respectable blog. Go Lions.
-Doggins
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