The Walls Are Too Thin

I flew from Pittsburgh to Houston (hello, Houston, my love) and then from Houston to McAllen. From McAllen, I got into a car with my folks and we drove to Monterrey. Spent all day hanging out at my dad’s office in Monterrey, listening to him yell into the nextel.

We fly out today—going to Mazatlan. Deep sea fishing and beach-combing for a week. As far removed from Pittsburgh as my family can muster.

Staying at a hotel called One, a Japanese-minimalist inspired situation with thin walls and the least amount of space per person possible. I, of course, love it. Means I got my own room. My parents, whom I can hear through though this wall, prefer more space.


The alarm clock of the guy in the room next to mine has been going off for fifteen minutes. I want to kill.

My scalp is dry. And all my clothes are somber.

My goodness, said my father’s secretary, you look just like your parents and yet you’re still beautiful.

I smiled. Sure, why not.

Google knows I’m in Mexico. Although, yesterday, for a brief moment, it thought I was in Peru. I tried to fool it into thinking I was in the UK so I could watch the IT Crowd online, but I instead found most of the episodes on Google Video and Megavideo.I really love that show. Jaime Bono has found a way for me to waste more time.

My scalp itches and that alarm clock is still ringing. But I’m going fishing in the middle of ocean. Even though the last time I was on a ship (a little cruise ship) I wretched. I plan to rewrite my book this week. It needs new ending. And, according to Lee Gutkind, it needs more cine-magic. That’s the name of the movie theater chain in Mexico. My world is becoming smaller.

I’m doing the South Beach diet. Sort of.

Hello, ocean. I’ll make you a deal. You don’t make me vomit and I won’t fish too many of your inhabitants.