This hotel has a make-your-own-bloody-mary bar. Yeah, you read that correctly. I know.  What’s missing from this bar, however, is a hearty piece of bacon to top off and stir up my 3/4 vodka, 1/4 Worcestershire sauce bloody. Luckily, I was able to locate the perfect crispy slice over in the make-your-own-omlette section of the breakfast buffet, and I promptly stuck that sucker in there like it was a straw.

Waiter (eyeing my drink): “Señorita, is that BACON in there?”
Me: “Si señor! Es muy americano!”
Waiter: (laughs, then walks away and mumbles to another waiter something about a corazón.)
Me (to Gabi): “He totally just told that other waiter I’m going to have a heart attack.”
Gabi: “No he didn’t.”
Me (insistent and insulted): “Yes he did!  Corazón means heart!”
Gabi: “He was saying ‘girl after my own heart.'”

Oh. Well. In that case, Gab, if you see a hairnet on our door tonight, don’t come a knockin. (Because it’ll be his hairnet. The one he’s wearing right now. On top of his dark, slicked-back Mexican mane. You get where I’m going with this.)