Back from Mexico. With a boatload of stories. But the most interesting one, begins Saturday...

We go to this club called Baja Cantina. It's $15, all you can drink, and PACKED. This night it was just the girls, so there were 5 of us. We walked around, partied, met people, danced, etc. Mind you it was like a mini high school reunion for anyone who attended high school in AZ. The girls from Prescott ran into their old friends. Crazy. So we start heading out, and I get separated from the group. So I continue to make my way through the crowd, walking in circles, trying to find the girls. This was a fruitless effort because they were walking around the rest of the strip looking for me, at Manny's, Pink Cadillac, etc. So needless to say, I did not find them. Eventually, I figure I should head back to my car, maybe they are there.

When I get back to my car is when I realize that I no longer have my purse. Fuck. It contained my car keys. So luckily, my back hatch was unlocked so I sat down in the back of my truck trying to concoct a plan. I am FREEZING cold at this point, so I am shaking, crying a little (that's what I do when I freak out, cry), and planning. All of the sudden I hear at a distance, "Jessica, there she is." All of the girls at this point had gone back to our condos. One of the Prescott girls, also named Jessica, had one of her friends, who was also looking for his buddy, drive her around to try to find me. He had to continue looking, so the scene now bears two Jessicas, sitting in the back of my truck, scheming. We decide to go back to Baja, to see if a purse had been turned in. The guy in the office said that he saw a purse, red, small, described exactly like mine, but he just didn't know where they had put it. He told me to come back in the morning and the people then would be able to help me better. We took a taxi home.

Sunday...
The girls got up before I did to check on my purse and go get my car. I wake up to Stephanie saying, "Jess, your truck is gone." Ok, I'm up. What do you mean it's gone? Gone? So I got up, and we went back to Baja (for the third time now) to ask about my purse. The guy said it wasn't there, but as we asked him, the two maids in the office looked at each other conspicuously. In my mind, they took it.

Which on a side note, I don't really care too much about my purse or its contents. All I wanted back were my keys, the film in my camera, and the knife that my dad gave me. They can have my money, my camera, my purse (I have plenty), my ID (if that will do them any good). The things that I want back are of the least value, with exception of the knife, to whoever got them. Back to Sunday.

So we leave Baja, and drive over to where my truck was parked to see if maybe the owner of the property had had it towed. He was an American, painting a door, and a real nice fellow. He said it wasn't him, but we should go to the police station, whether it was towed or stolen, and directed us there. So we go to the police station. arriving at 11:00 a.m. It was pretty cool because we got to hear all of these stories from people bailing their friends out. But I go in and talk to the first guy who I need to speak with. He asked me if I had a '98 white Jeep Cherokee. I said it was a '99, but yeah. Well, apparently what happened was someone came to the police making a claim of a hit and run by a white Cherokee with AZ plates. Which obviously is mine, because I own the only car of such description. Assuming that I was the responsible party, my truck was impounded. At about 3:30 they finally were writing out my papers to get my truck out of the impound. The "judge" looked up at me and said (in Spanish), that'll be $50. $50, for what? Because you assumed incorrectly and wasted my day? Hell no. I told her that I did nothing wrong, so there is no reason that I should pay $50.

This caused one of the many little spats between Steph and I, because as I came out of the "judge's" office to go talk to the other guy about not paying, she asked what was going on. I told her that they wanted me to pay, and I had to go talk to the first guy. She said, "Jessica, it's an impound fee, just pay it." My response was, "Steph, I didn't do anything wrong, their system is fucked up, and I am not going to contribute to it." She was getting ancy because we all had been there so long. "How long is it going to take?" "I don't know, but I'm not going to be a part of their corruption. No one is keeping you here. If you don't want to wait, go." And I walked away.

I went and found the first man. He came back to the judge's office, and I told him that I didn't understand why I would have to pay, I hadn't wronged anyone. He said I did not have to pay. So they gave me my papers to go to the impound to get my registration to come back and get my papers to go to the impound and get my car. Whew, 4 and 1/2 hours later, we have gotten a piece of paper.

Now here comes the next problem. My purse is gone, my keys are gone. So we have to find a locksmith. But there are no phones ANYwhere. Seriously. We dropped Steph and two of the triplets off back at the condo, so they wouldn't have to deal with it. And so Steph and I wouldn't leave hating each other. So Bridget and I continued on our adventure for a locksmith. Everyone knew where one was, and sent us all around town. They were all closed, but had a phone number available. Too bad we couldn't call them. So we ended up at Cyndi's Beach House Rentals, and I asked the guys at the counter for any direction they could give us. They were WAY nice. They took the number from us and offered to call the guys for us, so I wouldn't have to be worried about my Spanish. The locksmith comes, we get my car, we get back to the condos, and it is 7:00 p.m.

Did I mention that I was dehydrated the whole day? So as soon as we got back, I found myself bolting in to the restroom, to relieve myself. I hate throwing up. But I did feel better, so I suppose that it was for the best.

In summary, I refused to pay for their fucked up system, and I came out on top. I have had my fill of Mexico for a while.