Tonight.

I´ve kind of got a thing for redheads. Don´t judge.

the UnMission presents: Maddy Berica's first official Drunk Email

Not only permissible... encouraged. Subject line: "Booty Call."

This can't be good.








or it could be VERY good.

New UnMission Rules

Neither UnMission traveler is allowed to hurl herself off of, in front of, or under anything without first leaving credit card information available for other traveler in which to continue with trip.

We'll take the room with the dead hooker please...

After a surprisingly painless 7 hour bus ride from Boquete, we arrived in Panama City. We had even made reservations ahead of time and decided that we would bite it and splurge in the city. So we got a $90 hotel room. The cab pulled up, we went into the lobby, the issued us key cards (Key cards!) and then we went up to our room. We hit one of the beds as we opened the door and I swear to Buddha we were back in the Boulevard, except that there was no hot water, and no cable. We were afraid to open the closet door lest a dead prostitute should come falling out. Talk about a major fucking buzzkill. So we went down to the lobby and listlessly scoured the internet fantasizing about our next stop.

The next day we went to the canal, which was actually really cool. A lot cooler than we expected it to be. We watched a couple of ships go through. I tried to get Mona to "wink from afar"* at the passing sailors but she refused. I really don't understand her hesitancy... she didn't have that problem with the raft guides.

After the canal we went to Casco Viejo which is a rapidly gentrifying part of Panama City. For those of you not familiar with the term, "gentrification" is the process of fixing up an urban neighborhood. The process generally involves replacing the poor, colored people with rich, white people.

Later, in an effort to avoid the depression-inducer that is our hotel room, we went to a mall and sat in air conditioning until we could avoid it no longer. When we went back to our room, we found that it had not even been cleaned, so I went down to the desk to ask what exactly our $90/night was going to if we didn't even have hot water, cable, maid service or a decent room. The guy manning the counter was a complete and total douchebag that literally laughed at me and basically told me that I was too stupid to even know if there was hot water or not, cable or not, or could tell if the room had been cleaned. The exchange that ensued was an indicator that my enraged, arguing Spanish has really improved. We went down again about a half an hour later when the manager was there and the dillhole didn't even have the decency to pretend he wasn't an asshole and continued to berate me. As I looked dumbfounded at the manager, he told me that the nutsucker wasn't even really an employee there, but that he was "helping out." In-fucking-credible. The dicklick actually charged me from across the room. I don't know who's cock he's licking to work there, but there is definately something going on. I got the owners contact information and you can all be assured that I will follow up with a strongly-worded letter. That'll show him.

If you are ever in Panama City, don't ever, ever stay at the Costa Inn. It's a dump. I will take my mouse roar to every internet feedback site I can find.

We landed in Bocas del Toro earlier this afternoon and after avoiding a scummy gringo trying to get us to pay $60 for his windowless concrete room, we found an amazing hotel with a spectacular view. I just might, maybe someday, become a half-way civilized person again. Give me a couple days.



*Wink from afar=Code for "show'em your tits!"

Two Words: Panty Puddles

We arrived in Boquete, Panama and the first thing we noticed is that there are a boatload of our pale-faced brotheren trying to take over the country. Apparently the AARP voted Panama in the top five places to retire in the world as the Panamanian governments official policy to the US is "Please Sir, may I have another?" There are more real estate agencies here than there are hotels. It is quite appalling.

So we scheduled a rafting trip for this morning. It's a beautiful place and all, but do all the gringos really need to move here, I mean, pa-lease! And then our guide walked up and the very site of him curled my toes. Good God, he is H-O-T Hot! I'm telling you. I think I may have spent two years slightly North of Latin Love God Heaven. Walking to the internet cafe I saw a guy manning a real estate office that made me want to play house.

Oh, the rafting was good too.

It is on

As may be inferred by the title of the UnMission, this trip could very well be described as an existencial experiment to test the reaches of the Almighty. The question being: If there is a God, would he really be Catholic? Or Christian for that matter? After having spent the past year bearing witness to the damage inflicted by religious organizations in Central America, we have decided that we will give the Big G one last chance to either renew our faith and/or smite us for blasphemy or excessive sinful behavior, both of which are priorities on this trip.

Yesterday, we were planning to go to Monteverde to swing through the trees on ziplines like monkeys. As luck would have it, the last rain storm wiped out the road. Could it be devine retaliation for prying the BJazz off a crucifix and attaching it to a bottle-opener? We remain unconvinced.

On to Panama.

Soda Puta

Yes, you did not read wrong. We had lunch at a brothel! How can you hate a town whose best dining options also offer a backdoor to snatch vendors? This brothel comes complete with a parrot. We decided that if we had the time, we would teach it to say things like:

"Polly wants a piece of ass, SQUACK!"

"Here comes your wife. SQUACK!"

"Old Nasty Gringo, SQUACK!"

"That was quick. SQUACK!"

But, alas, it is time to move on...

The Brothel and Other Places My Mom Has Worked

Maddy and I ate at a brothel for lunch today in Costa Rica and it gave me that warm fuzzy that most people get when they see a beautifully decorated Christmas tree or smell freshly baked bbq meatloaf. Call me a softy but maybe I just miss my mom today.

I LOVE WISCONSIN

For the first time since coming down here I haven´t had to describe Wisconsin as a State where it is really cold, near Chicago, and close to Canada. All I said was Wisconsin, and one guy yelled, "I love Wisconsin." Which was odd, since the people who say that are mainly the people who have never left Wisconsin, and are driving by on their John Deere tractor drinking a PBR with a mouth full of cheese curds and just want it to be known, they love Wisconsin. This guy, though, was clearly from El Salvador. Seconds later all my questions were answered when he broke into the the theme song for That 70´s Show. Right. No one really loves Wisconsin. Two bottles of vodka later and it was still funny. It was a good night.

We´re in Costa Rica now and I keep repeating the mantra, I no longer want to be an active participant in Central American life, I just want to be a spectator. Which can loosely be translated to, The devil (nuns) have crushed my spirit and now all I want to do is to stay in nice places, drink drinks with fancy names and lots of alcohol, make the sht-sht-sht sound as good looking men walk by, ask people to take my picture next to signs that say, Tienda because I once had a friend named Tienda and she will just think it is the funniest thing (that´s not even a true story), and buy lots of tourist crap (like a nice Pura Vida shot glass from Costa Rica, or a I saw the Panama Canal shirt...). That´s all I want.

Oh yeah and for the record: I do love Wisconsin and vodka.

Sin Wagon

The UnMission is off to an appropriate beginning. The bus left San Salavdor at 3am. We had two choices, go to bed early and then get up and head to the bus, or....

Dine on $1.50 beers and bocas, meet up with la mara, polish off two bottles of vodka, stumble in to the busstop, realize I forgot my camara, taxi back to the house, grab camara, stumble back into busstop, then passout on bus. Suffice it to say that we did not go to bed early.

As far as 20 hour bus rides go, this one was pretty smooth. (Apparently Skyy has discovered a process for de-goma-ing the vodka. So drinking copious amounts of vodka directly before getting on a Central American bus is not nearly as bad an idea as it sounds. Let that be a lesson to you.) We stopped for lunch in Managua and a particularly amorous couple joined us for the remainin ride to Costa Rica. She climaxed just over the border in Costa Rica and then we had a collective smoke, rolled over went to sleep.

The Puerto is much how I remember it, hot, sweaty, and bug infested. As I have often commented; "It is a seedy port town, but it is MY seedy port town." We made the rounds in my community and are now seeking refuge from the heat in the air-conditioned internet cafe. Later, I shall introduce Mona Sinclew to the official porteño passtime: Cervezas, Ceviche y Patacones. Oh the memories.

First official rant: I was in the country all of about 7 minutes before remember with clarity that Tico efficiency, apart from being an oxymoran, is the strongest argument against state-run anything. I bought a phone card, and went through four different phones before I could find one that would actually work. Tico PCV's, all together now: Fucking ICE!

Rules of the UnMission

1 - What happens on the UnMission, will be told, re-told, elaborated, and made legend.

2 - Twat-blocking is the only identified sin on the UnMission and shall be punishable by death. One hand gesture warning will be given.

3 - Sloppy seconds are encouraged and appreciated

4 - Any and all emotional weaknesses and/or breakdowns will be referred to rule #1.

5 - The phrase "He wasn't that bad looking" shall replace the traditional "good morning."

6 - Illicit drug use is encouraged and will be referred to as "Body of Christ."

7 - All references to sexual acts will be addressed in the original biblical reference of "feet washing".

8 - Elaborate untruths explaining presence in Central America is mandatory.

9 - Stupid drunken mistakes are only permissible if both parties are too drunk to remember, otherwise refer to rule #1.

10 - UnMission will be immediately followed by being Born-Again so pretty much anything goes. (Except rule #2, even Baby Jesus (B-Jazz knows better.)

Name Dropping

I hearby Christen you Mona Sinclew.

The Naming

And you shall be called Maddy Berica.