... Menu in hand, I motioned for the waiter and attempted to tell him in my most authoritative butchered Spanish that I was ready to order. Unfortunately, I committed a small error in pronunciation which changed just slightly the meaning of the phrase. Instead of saying, "Waiter, I am ready to order," I said, "Waiter, I am ready to urinate." My wife turned beet-red with embarrassment and the waiter politely pointed out the general direction of the bathroom.
hotels de luxe Kranjska Gora "Bathroom?" I said indignantly. "I don't want the bathroom. I want to urinate. Right here. At the table."
pai gow regeln The waiter looked confused and a little sad. My wife kicked me viciously under the table - twice. This was not the first time I had embarrassed my wife, who had lived in Puerto Vallarta for many years and spoke excellent Spanish, by my insistence on practicing my new language at every opportunity. The week before, at a party hosted by an important government official, I had verbally stumbled with even greater abandon. The gracious host had taken me aside and inquired how I liked Puerto Vallarta
"I love Puerto Vallarta," I replied sincerely.
"And what do you like most about Vallarta?" my host asked.
"The sun, the people, and the ... " At this point I had intended to say how much I loved the seafood (mariscos). But I became confused and substituted unwittingly the word maricones, a sadly uncomplimentary term for gay men.
hotel rooms Siena "I love the gay men!" I told my startled host. "They are delicious. The best I have ever tasted. And so inexpensive!" I concluded, beaming with enthusiasm. My host nodded somberly, turned and walked away.

When his five-year old daughter Ana handed him his morning glass of ice water, Max Whalen had no idea that a terminally depressed cockroach was paddling sluggishly about amid the rapidly melting cubes.

Like devotees of daytime television (most of whom, we understand, are registered Republicans), Max and the roach were at that precise moment largely without consciousness--Max, due to a brutal hangover, and the roach because that is its destiny. Little could they have known then, that their fortunes were about to become inextricably entwined.

Ana loved to bring her daddy his morning glass of ice water. It made her feel like a big girl, and daddy always made the funniest faces when he was waking up. Ana was pretty sure that daddy was going to make an especially funny face when he saw the cockroach.
But Max Whalen did not see the cockroach. He was, as we say, only dimly aware of his surroundings. He was also very thirsty.

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... As I stood there prying away futilely with my fingernails (at the tortillas plastered against the windshield of my car), my body saturated with super-viscous effluent and dressed from shoulder to ankle in hefty-sized garbage bags, a federal highway patrolman cruised to a halt behind our car. The policeman climbed cautiously out of his vehicle and approached, hand on holster, to within ten feet of where I was standing. For a full minute the dismayed policeman stood staring silently at what had to be the first American he'd ever seen up close covered in pig shit and dressed in matching black plastic garbage bags. On and on he stared, never uttering a word. Finally, I felt compelled to say something by way of explanation. So I pointed to the windshield and uttered one of the few Spanish words I could pronounce without difficulty. "Tortillas," I said. The policeman, apparently concluding that this was not a situation he wished to become involved in, shook his head, climbed back into his patrol car and sped away.

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