Everyone should get married in Mexico. No really. My best friend planned her nuptials over there and 60 of us flew in mere days before the whole swine flu pandemic-that-never-was bored the tits off us all. I approached the event with some trepidation since a) Dave and I were supposed to have gone together b) I’d blithely assumed I’d defintely have another boyfriend by the time the wedding rolled around, and yet there were no takers c) I’d been incapapable of going to a wedding without weeping like a girl (I appreciate that I am a girl, but still) ever since we broke up. And I have to go to a lot of weddings.
In spite of aformenetioned trepidation, I’d decided to fling caution to the wind and to stay on an extra week after the wedding. By Myself. *jarring chord* Yes, this was it, I was consigned to the scrpahead, destined to a lifetime of solitude, ultimately dying alone without a soul in the world to remember me. Nothing like feeling sorry for yourself – but I am a veritable GENIUS at this as you shoud undoubtedly know by now. Anyway, I had the holiday to take and was finally debt-free for the first time in 11 years so I decided to stay in a swanky hotel to tkae my mind of ALL THE PAIN. I’m not actually feeling that much pain any longer, but why pass up a perfectly good excuse?
So the wedding went ahead and was just gorgeous. Everyone should get married overlooking the Pacific at least once in their lives. We also had the benefit of 5 days of free bar which will make any social event go with a bang. Everyone got absolutely smashed their first day then calmed down as the week went on. If only there hadn’t been so many cameras around, we mighta gotten away with it. So far the picture of me ‘flashing’ the bride in my bikini/towel combo seems to be the most viewed of any of the wedding photo on flickr. Awesome. I look good in a bikini, don’t get me wrong, but the fact that I don’t remember doing it (3-4 times, the bride assures me) is a little disconcerting. Anyway, a week of merriment ensued. And you know, I didn’t miss Dave one bit. In fact, I was relieved he wasn’t there because he would have been a giant pain in the arse because he invariably WAS a pain in the arse and didn’t travel well. The only tears at this wedding were inspired by the sheer gorgeousness of the bride – which is quite as it should be. I did maybe get a little ahead of myself when at one point I actually said out loud “i am over yooooou” (imagine Rachel getting cl-osure in friends). That night the universe sent me a nightmare where I met Dave’s girlfriend and begged him, sobbing, to choose me over her. I’m not making this up. Just a little sign that I’m getting there, but I’m not there yet. Still, it’s all progress, right?
And the misery of staying in a 5* hotel the following week proved bearable. I’m not sure if it was the hotub on the balcony, the free minibar, the 12km of sandy beach or the endless supply of guacamole that tipped the scales but I had a whale of a time. Be warned though – if you stay by yourself in a hotel in puerto vallarta, all american couples (who are many and vast of girth) will assume you are a hooker and treat you with distrust. Even the bellboy was freaked out:
[incredulous]”You are here by yourself?”
“Yes”
“No husband?”
“No”
“No boyfriend?”
“No”
“But… Whyyyyyy?”
“Ummm… I don’t really know. Don’t worry though, life is good.”
He looked at me disbelievingly. But you know what? Life IS good when you’re tanked on margaritas for a fortnight in the sun. I am disappointed to report that even though I took a special selection of 6 self-help books (yeah, they’re still my crack) I was having too good a time to read them. Not a single one was even opened. Could it be that I’m getting better? Just maybe ;o)
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