3 Million Dollar Biz Deals + Sex. Except There's No Sex.

I have a very important piece of advice for you.

When in a foreign country lookin' all sorts of sexy at the mall (read: for once, there isn't a mix of sweat, dirt and men's cologne dripping down your neck) and the ATM eats your only debit card?

Don't storm out of the bank like a crazy person.

It's not very becoming.

Particularly when it's the one day you don't have on waterproof mascara. Because then you look like even more of a crazy person. A crazy, drugged out person. Look out, here comes the crazy, drugged out, enraged American girl! She might have a knife. Or a chainsaw. Yes, definitely a chainsaw, judging by the size of her purse.

No wonder why I haven't gotten any ass here. *nods profoundly*

So that happened.

Furthermore, I should mention that Monday will be the day I will give up vodka forever. I spent last night hobnobbing with pineapple man and some other powerful dudes in town–while witnessing a 3 million dollar biz deal go down.

You see, me and pineapple man's thing together seems to be dirty martinis. He had never had one before he met me. (See what I do to people? I'm a corrupter of the highest degree. Here! Here's a vodka-soaked olive, and some more vodka on the side! Eat it! Drink it! Do it! What are you waiting for?! DO IT!)

Too many martinis later, I'm telling pineapple man (and pineapple man's adorable, giggling dad) how I plan to revive the entire town and its economy using the internet. I might have also swore up and down that my next book was going to be all about them–the secret (and not so secret) lives + business strategies of the most powerful men in Costa Rica.

Actually, both of those things sound like pretty good plans, so perhaps I won't give up vodka after all . (Did you actually believe me, anyway?)

The Middle Finger Project. Not Your Grandmother's Blog.