By: Tom Rau
Migrant sex workers; something about that phrase kills me. Partly because it’s a funny play on words and partly because there is this strange ghost of a woman with enormous third world nipples who just walks up and down the street all day with a blank look on her face and the reddest lip stick I’ve ever seen on brown skin. The only thing she ever wears is a red belly shirt that says, “American Boys” and a pair of short aquamarine corduroy shorts. After seeing her walk up and down the street about dozen times the phrase popped in my head; migrant sex worker. My brother and I just refer to her lovingly as “the street walker” though. However, now I realize she is more than that. Either way, it’s pretty spooky. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of curious in a morbidly sexual way.
I’m four days into an eight day trip to Honduras with my family celebrating my sisters 40th birthday. Days 1-4 have been primarily marred by bad weather. Although last nights mini-bar crawl by my brother and I turned out to be quite entertaining. The highlights being the local chick dancing on the bar in a skirt so short that the only thing left to the imagination was how terrible it would be to have sex with her[^1]; that and watching a guy ask a hot bartender for her phone number ten times in five minutes only to finally be shot down in a way that can only be described as a bris.[^2] I will say this, walking home from a bar in a completely dark third world town after last call with no paved roads directly behind two cops with guns who seem like they might be as drunk as you is a completely unnerving experience. For one of the few times in my life I felt relieved that I had not bought any fun bags[^3] from the local who was attempting to browbeat me into a purchase. Memories of the movie *Broke Down Palace*[^4] danced in my head.
Today the sun finally arrived in Central America and my brother-in-law and I decided to go snorkeling. It was my first time. I love the water, but breathing it through your face kind of sucks. However, before we even started there was the obstacle of procuring gear. He had scuba gear, experience, and was well prepared. I, on the other end of this spectrum, found myself squeezing into a pair of women’s 7 water booties owned by my mom, her short woman flippers, and a mask that I found under the stairs that seemed to be trying to slowly train me to breathe water through my nose instead of air through a tube. The only advice i was given was to take short quick breaths, which to me translated as put your head underwater and hyperventilate as quickly as possible. After about fifteen minutes of pain, panic, and regret I finally relaxed and saw a bunch of stuff I’ve seen in an aquarium a thousand times. Yay. That being said there is something inherently cool about being in the middle of a school of large tropical fish and basically just feeling like you are another part of the show. Still though, pretty sure it’s not my thing. But I’ll let you know after I go again tomorrow. C’est la vie.
Meanwhile, back on the home front the girl I had up to very recently been seeing informed me that while watching my dog she had looked deep into the recesses of my computer[^5] and found a file of mine which contained all kinds of inappropriate pictures of an ex I’m still close to. Oddly, me and the ex had recently had a few discussions on whether or not we could possibly ever cohabit again. Needless to say, I’m a curious guy so I updated the old file and had recently checked it out a few times.[^6] Sue me. And while I can totally understand her feeling shitty about the whole situation it’s probably not as soiled as I feel knowing that while I’m gone someone is sitting around digging through my shit. Fuck that noise. Have we no sanctity? I mean there is something dirty about having your privacy desecrated by another person, especially one you think should give a shit. But whatever. She’s good people, and we all have issues. It just so happens our issues butt heads. Lesson learned. Well that and I’m a scum bag. So I guess we all learned a lesson. I however, have never really claimed otherwise so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to any parties involved.
So here I am, finishing up my first full day in the sun, with a swollen chip on my shoulder, wondering what’s next in Honduras. The weather is ripe. The tone has been set. I’m feeling morbidly curious. Maybe I’ll see a ghost.
To be continued…
[^1]: She was a deadly pole grinder. It would be wrong for me to refer to her as remotely attractive however.
[^2]: It was like watching him have the head of his dick cut off; awesome and surprisingly fun to watch.
[^3]: Yet.
[^4]: Why do I mentally default to this movie and not the male version, *Return to Paradise* with Vince Vaughn.
[^5]: Note: in all fairness she claims she found it while looking for Photoshop in “recent places”. She also once claimed when reading an email of mine that was about twenty pages deep that it was open on the screen when she opened my computer. So who knows.
[^6]: She’s still got it. Even though at least half the time i want to punch her in the boobs.
