Vignettes from my bizzare MexiLife

Is it my imagination, or did my masseuse Rocio work my upper inner thigh a little longer than she needed to?
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Yesterday my neighbor presented his 24-year-old daughter to me like she was a side of beef. It went like this, in English, "I'd like you to start dating my daughter, please. She's shy, and she'll pretend like she doesn't want to date you, but she truly does. I think you can see that she's quite attractive, and she's a good woman to keep around. She's never had any kids, and she's relatively unspoiled. Perhaps you two could arrange something for later in the afternoon. I hear the beach is a lovely place to take a date. Anyway, she's always here, next door. She'll be waiting."

My response was, "Well, actually, I do need a Spanish tutor. So..."
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The armed services prepare you for a life of rugged travel. I hung out for a few days with a surfer-dude from Wisconsin who was a veteran of the Iraq War. He was driving alone from Wisconsin to the bottom of Mexico, and taking six months to do it. His hotel was only $6 a night, and we stopped by there to pick up some of his stuff. I looked at the bed and saw a line of small bugs, dozens and dozens, traversing the bed from head to foot. I said, "Hey, man, you've got a bug problem in here."

Without looking over at the rope of bugs crawling across the bed, he replied, "Yeah, they don't bite, so they don't bother me none."
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I was recently chased down the street by a man carrying a big papier-mâché rat that was shooting sparks, fireworks and rockets into the crowded alleys around us. These things were fucking dangerous: I saw a rocket land in someone's clothes, resulting in burnt clothes galore. Everybody was shrieking with glee. Mexicans have a much better sense of humor than we Gringos.