Betches, 2012 marks an important year for us. It's the year that two very socially important yet culturally irrelevant holidays fell and fall on Saturdays, namely St Patrick's Day, and its hairy unhygienic cousin Cinco de Mayo. But while both holidays are synonymous with raging face all day, the latter means something more. If you've never taken a semester of Spanish (see video below) or are stupid you might not know that Cinco de Mayo is an American/Mexican tradition…so what do betches think of when we think of Mexico? Aca fucking pulco.
Nowadays, Spring Break to most cool people means Cabo, Aruba, St. Tropez, Puerta Vallarta, or Cancun if you're feeling poor that year. But a few years ago, Spring Break meant only one thing, Acapulco. It's hard to explain Pulco as anything other than fucking amazing. It is the place where heaven and hell collide, where tequila filters the pool water, where people rejoice upon hearing the words farmacia and let's go.
Unfortunately about two years ago Mexican gangs were like shooting up tourists, chopping off mad heads and throwing them into cabs….so our parents wouldn't let us go again. Assholes. But I gotta move on, thinking about this makes me like, Titanic depressed.
So what went on in Acapulco? If you were normal you stayed at the Hyatt or you stayed at the Villas. And if you wanted to get pink-eye every time you stepped into the pool, you stayed at the Copa.
Even though you basically did the same exact thing day and night, it never got old. In the afternoon you would chill hard in the infinity pool that over looked what you drunkenly thought were gorgeous pueblos but were really just underdeveloped housing, while being served cocaine and nachos by the most nimble of Mexican waiters. But remember, don't throw your empty shot glasses at them! You might knock out a silver tooth or two. But hey, what a great excuse to go back to the farmacia.
At night there was only one club that mattered, Palladium. It's like a coliseum for the drunk and drugged. Despite your commendable tan, if you went any earlier than 1 am you would have most likely found yourself feeling very fucking white. I have no pigment, I need sunscreeen.
At like 4 am you're just like, why the fuck is there a sushi bar in this place?
At like 5 am you're just like, can I have a spicy tuna roll?
At like 6 am you're in the cab with a bro making out, doing key bumps, and feeding each other ambiguous japanese food.
At like 7 am you're stumbling barefoot back in your room to find your bestie smoking a blunt on the balcony, you clearly join.
At like 8 am you're back at the pool, knocked the fuck out.
When it comes to Pulco everyone's trip is a surprise. Some of you may have had a friend or two venture to the hospital from a Corona bottle gash to the foot or perhaps a debatable miscarriage in the bathroom. Whichever way your stay went, it was undeniably a memorable one…and that's why betches fucking love this city.