¡Hola, amigos! Greetings from Puerto Vallarta.

Frothy´s extended hiatus was just one casualty of the incredible pressure I've been under, and after I realized that my relationship was suffering as much as frothy (and that yes, i was becoming more and more of a bitch) Sam sort of insisted that we take a real vacation. She currently works at the Restaurant 4 days a week in addition to 4 days at the tattoo shop, as well. Both of us are developing permanently creased foreheads and squinty "don´t fuck with me" glares. It´s city life that starts to get to you.

Anyway, Sam got us this package deal. Having had zero time to do any research we left a freezing and raining SF and arrived here on a hot Monday night. With a casually friendly !bievenidos! our SunTrips-arranged cab driver cavalierly deposited us at the Hotel Rosita. ¿Was that a barely-detectable apologetic undertone we heard? ¿Was that a teeny-tiny scoff tickling somewhere in the back of his throat? !Yes, there most certainly was, amigos! Hotel Rosita should properly advertise itself as the loudest hotel in all of fucking Puerto Vallarta. Judging by the throngs of jiggle-bellied gringos stumbling in and out of Carlos O´Brian's and Señor Frog's and all around the 'Malecon,' some people really like that sort of vacation. Truthfully, there were also plenty of endlessly externsive Mexican families and lissome young honey-skinned hotties in midriff-baring tank-tops preening about, but being gringas ourselves it was a little bit harder to be judgemental of them.

It did take a while to stop hating everyone and wishing they would get the ¡fuck! out of the way, but many margaritas, piña coladas and Coronas later, we have finally relaxed into Mexican life.

Ear plugs have been a boon, too.

Once we got into the spirit of things we figured out how to have a good time. Sam 'Good Ideas' McWilliams suggested that we get out of PV for NYE, and so acting on the sound advice of several eye-witness accounts, we split to ATM-lacking Sayulita (about 40 mins south).