Blackmail From the Old School Vault: Vol. 1

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These old school pictures are from 2002. I spent the majority of my summer studying abroad in Mexico with eight of my closest classmates. How we survived I’ll never know. I did a lot of stupid things in Mexico. These pictures prove it.

How I know these pics are old.

  1. They were taken with a throw-away camera. Poor millennial generation. You don’t even know what a throw-away camera is. You’ve always used digital cameras, or better yet, a phone that has a camera squeezed right inside of it.

    Well, earlier this century, we didn’t have those luxuries. We had to use throw-away cameras if we went on vacation and then walk five miles in the snow uphill and barefoot to take the film to Wal-Mart to get developed. Gasp. We did not get to enjoy the pictures instantly. And, I still had to spend an entire afternoon scanning each picture just so I could have an electronic version of it.

  2. I had not been introduced to Photoshop yet. Heck, no one had been introduced to Photoshop yet. These pictures are in their raw, glorious form. Complete with fuzzy focusing and nice little red numbers that told you the date the pictures were taken. As if I’d ever want to forget when these pictures were taken.

This photo is awesome because we’re making hair nets look sexy. And, there is absolutely no discrimination going on here. Only the girls had to wear hair nets. I mean, short hair can’t contaminate produce. Only long, girly hair.

I spent a lot of pesos on souvenirs. I mean, how can you go to Mexico and not bring back a picture of a burro (which is framed and still hanging in my kitchen as we speak) or this monstrous sombrero (which came in handy when Brady needed a last minute quirky costume idea for Fish Camp). Yep, don’t let me loose in a Mexican market. Or I will buy awesome things like this.

So I admitted doing a lot of stupid things in Mexico. One happened this night. The girls all decided to go salsa dancing at a local club not far from our dorm. We met up with some of the local college guys we had met earlier in the trip. Apparently in Mexico, you are unknowingly paired up with one dance partner for the night. I got left-footed Magee (far left). It was a joyous experience. Trust me. I wanted to go home. So I did. Alone in a Mexican cab. Stupid, I know. But, just look at him. What part of He. couldn’t. dance. do you not understand?

Aggies in Mexico like to make everyone feel welcome. We like to make everyone an honorary Aggie. We like to show people how to Gig’em and Whoop. And we made everyone at this restaurant an Aggie for life. Even our poor roommate Maggie (far right). She made a good Aggie too. Just look at her form.

Why this picture is important. Because you have to focus in on my feet. My bandaged, held together by some purple dye and cloth, feet. I got attacked by a large cow with horns that was at least 9 feet tall and 5,000 pounds. Or maybe it was just a little calf that happened to trip me up with it’s rope, causing me to scrape my feet in the dirty, rocky Mexican dirt. I got a tetanus shot in my butt in a Mexican hospital because of this calf. And my poor roommate Shawna had to duct tape plastic bags around my feet just so I could take a shower. And, I kept the X-rays and glued them in my scrapbook.

I like sombreros. And so do my friends. And after calling my mom from a pay phone in Mexico City a few nights before we returned to Texas, I had to think of a creative and inexpensive way for my mom and dad to find me in the Houston airport. So, the three amigos wore our over-sized sombreros on the flight home. And through customs. And through baggage claim. And my parents had no problem finding me. Remember, this was the 17th century, so there were no cell phones.

My dad really liked my sombrero. And he liked my double-taped luggage. Apparently, in the five weeks I had been gone, I bought a lot of souvenirs. Apparently, I should have brought bigger luggage. Cause I had to leave some American clothes behind in a Mexican hotel just so I could fit all my “can’t live without” gifts in my bags. Why do you think I had to wear the sombrero at all times? My head was the only place it could fit.

793 words.