I’d take it all back.
If I could.
If only there was some way to undo it.
Some way to travel in time and warn myself. Check the can a little more closely. Get a second opinion. Slow the pour.
If only somehow I might have realized that what I thought was coconut milk was actually some kind of horrible, artificial white sugar and MSG-based tempura paint concoction used in Pina Coladas intended for brain damaged tourists.
If only I could slow time and go back to the moment I dumped the entire, vile contents of said chalky chemical sludge into my otherwise presentable Pad Thai creation.
And if only I could have resisted the temptation to taste it.
Just in case. Somehow.
If perhaps. By some miracle.
It was edible.
Edible or even choke down-able rather than the horrific Reeses’ Peanut Butter cup on acid that assaulted my mouth and left a burny aftertaste that lasted about an hour.
Oh, the humanity…
It can really only be described as a crime against my taste buds. An abomination. And a potential blitzkrieg on my digestive system.
Make no mistake.
It was hard core.
A cry of despair rang out in the Mexican desert tonight, I can tell you.
There’s a Turkish proverb I very much appreciate: “No matter how far you have gone on a wrong road, turn back.”
I get that, and needless to say, the vile mess is in a trash bag now, but still… I mourn for what could have been a night free of beans and avocados and tortillas…
Duped by my own stupidity.
This being St. Patrick’s Day you may wonder, ‘Hey? Where’s the corned beef? What about the cabbage? Or the Guinness?’
Well, if you’re sporadic about reading my infrequent posts, you may be interested to learn that I’m in the the middle of goddamned nowhere Mexico poisoning myself on cheap cocktail mixer-based pasta dishes while trying to write a new book in record time. That’s what happened!
Speaking of poisoning, I would just like to say that I have now been brushing my teeth with tap water for two weeks, and I am fit as a fiddle. Not so sure about the double shot of MSG now swirling through my veins, but I can rumble with the best of South of the Border bacteria and come up a winner.
In other news, all things technological have gone to hell in a hand basket.
Yahoo thinks I’m a spammer and is blocking me in kind.
Not every day, mind you, just in 48-hour chunks during which I have to write them and plead my case and then they let up for a day and then, you guessed it, start blocking me again.
I can receiveth, but I cannot giveth.
And I’m really bad at those ‘guess what warped letters these are to prove you’re a human’ puzzles. And they don’t work anyway. I still get a message that I’m blocked even when I finally slog through the painful alphabet test six times. And it’s aggravating. And a waste of my time. And I hate to waste time. And I have a few candid thoughts for you Yahoo mail: Bite me. Suck it. Go to hell. Yo Mama.
But that’s not the worst of it.
Far from it.
That was the worst of the technology struggles until yesterday when it was trumped. The stakes were raised when my laptop gave me the message that the “USB device is drawing too much power and the port will be shut off.”
Ever since then, the modem is totally shot to sh*t.
And it was kind of a POS (not to be confused with Point of Sale, from my old background in debit/credit card processing) in the first place, so saying it’s shot to sh*t is really saying something.
It will log on for 2.3 seconds and hang up…27 times in a row.
And each time I log in, I have to type a password, and then I’ll sit there and hit ‘send, send, send’ on an email I wrote perhaps an hour ago, but 2.3 seconds is not enough time for it to go through and…argh.
Oh, and I had to buy a new USB cable for the damn thing. The old one had a slice in it (given to me that way) and the wires were frayed (probably the source of the problems) and kept shocking me once in a while when it would land on my thigh (and yes, sweat was involved. What can I say? It’s really hot here.)
Anyway, the guy charged me 150 pesos ($12) for a cable that would run for $2.99 in the US, but I was at my wit’s end, so I paid it.
You can’t find anything in this country.
He knows it.
I know it.
He could smell the desperation coming off me like Pad Thai made with pina colada mix.
So what could I do?
Give the man what he asked for and thank him for the fleecing.
And listen to a pitch about how I should bring my blankets down to be cleaned by his super-size washing machine.
But the thing of it is – through no fault of Daniel at the Neptune Laundromat and strange array of computer parts shop – now it still doesn’t work.
The modem itself seems to be fried.
And is in the freezer right now.
Taking a breather.
Cooling its heels.
Hopefully soon to acquiesce to my will that it work.
As this blog is already a day late thanks to its antics.
It’s still St. Patrick’s Day somewhere.
The worst of it is, the smell of that horrific meal is still lingering in the air.
And it kind of smells like Easter.
Easter is now totally ruined.