Tijuana, a city of poor choices

For the past three days I have been experiencing some ass-deja-vu. The last time I had this particular experience was after a trip to Tijuana….let’s revisit.

I was 21, a newly wed with a husband in Iraq. A friend from Colorado was coming to town to do some surfing and wanted to meet up. We rendezvoused at the beach and he gave me a surfing lesson (“He” being an operative word, so store that for laterz). Somehow the topic of Tijuana came up. I had never been despite us living minutes away. He was Guatemalan by birth, so somehow it was decided he would be an acceptable chaperone for my first trip south of the border.

We parked in a super shady lot on the U.S. side and proceeded to walk across. I was mentally thankful I knew where to pick-up the light-rail in case  a) we returned to find his car was stolen or b) I found myself somehow alone and needing to get back home. A girl has to be prepared for anything.

Somehow I felt more comfortable going with a man, but I came to find out later that I shouldn’t have been. So into downtown Tijuana we go. It was a wild visual experience. As an architect, the first thing you note is that Mexico doesn’t appear to have any building codes. A school bus mounted 5 stories in the air and acting as part of the “club” should set off alarms in your brain and make you think “perhaps I should have googled ‘club collapse statistics in Tijuana’ before I came”.

The buildings were a conglomeration of materials…it made me nervous, but hey let’s go with it because we’re young and crrraaaazzzzyyyy. You can go to Mexico with the best of intentions and think ‘I am going to be smart and not drink the water!’, but when the night goes on and you decide that those buy one get one blue cocktails look like fun you later realize that ice is made from water….yikes.

Another poor choice you might make after some drinking is deciding that eating tacos from a street vendor is a good idea. hmmmm. They were quite delicious going in. We club hopped. They basically pull you into their clubs. And a few times the doorman forced people out of a table to sit us down. It was the strangest experience of my life. If I weren’t significantly drunk I probably would have thought someone slipped me acid. The club experiences were intertwined with stints on the street, where I would sober up as I saw dirt covered 3 year olds selling gum at 2am.

At some point we got pulled into a strip club…ugh I still cringe at the thought of sitting on a velvet booth seat and watching very VERY young women strip…..someone wash my brain please. I think it was after this point, despite being schwastey beyond belief, I decided it was DEFINITELY time to get out of there.

Surprisingly we found the car in place….but my “chaperone”, a friend I had known for 3 years…or thought I did anyway, decided it was a good idea to make a pass at me. Wrong wrong sir. I was thankful he was quite a bit more drunk than me. He was alternating between trying to convince me we should just take a nap in the car before heading home, to telling me how much he respects Andy, to making a pass again. I sobered up quick-like. I waited a little while after telling him if he tried to touch me again I would remove his arms and thankfully he dozed off. I made the decision a white girl walking alone at 4am was more dangerous than attempting to get home with him in the car, so I retrieved the keys, left him laying in the back and crossed my fingers I could make it home without waking him up.

The closer I got to home the nervous feelings were replaced by rage for this guy. What a complete asshole. I was dumb too. Looking back now, what the hell was I thinking? So many poor choices in one evening.

As luck would have it, he stayed asleep the entire drive and thankfully I had met him at the beach and never shown him where I lived. So I decided I would park a few blocks away from my house, lock the keys in the car with him, and never see him again.

Turns out he called the next morning to see where I went. He was pissed to wake up alone in the back of his car and I proceeded to explain how pissed I was at his actions and told him to fuck off.

But I hadn’t put the entire experience behind me….there were residual effects of my evening of poor choices. I spent the next 48 hours afraid of my ass and making a dash to the bathroom whenever I felt any kind of gas bubble coming on…..it served me right.

I was painfully reminded of this night over the past few days. Not sure what the hell is going on with my ass, but apparently it is reliving the events of 8 years ago.

Natalie – 8 years smarter, yet still afraid of her own ass

 

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4 thoughts on “Tijuana, a city of poor choices

  1. Ok I have nothing insightful to say. Just that as a fan of toilet humor, I heart this post, though I am very sorry that you are afraid of your ass. I would suggest asking your husband to beat it up for you but the consequences of that act may be ugly.

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