Peering through the locked windows of the Arizona Addiction and Recovery Center while rolling a fat blunt and waiting for a call back from one of my favorite phone sex operators, it hits me that if I’m going to start fresh there are some things for which I need to atone.
Once, while sitting in Manolos waiting for my sancocho to arrive, I got bored and began counting ants. The ants were getting stuck on the dirty table top making it easy to get an accurate count. On my way out I smugly informed my waitress there were exactly 11 ants on my table.
It wasn’t until after I got home I realized I’d added 2 flies and 1 silverfish into my calculation, thus inflating the number of ants I’d claimed were stuck to my table. I would like to apologize to my waitress and the owners of Manolos for any confusion or embarrassment my remarks may have caused.
Another time, I flippantly told my girl baked plantain looked like monkey penis. I understand now this was culturally insensitive. I would like to publicly apologize to Panama’s plantain growers, and my girlfriend’s brother, who, it turns out, needed a monkey penis transplant after he was attacked by a vengeful Colombiana.
Speaking of Colombians. My portrayal of Colombian men as machete wielding thugs, and Colombian women as silicone stuffed whores may have strayed a bit over the line. Now that I think on it, I shouldn’t have implied Panamanian women live to get pregnant, play the lottery, and get their hair done. Lo siento.
Too many times I’ve glamorized the effects of Abuelo and Flor de Cana. I would like to sincerely apologize for getting drunk and exposing myself during Carnival of ’05, ’06’ ’07 and ’08. That should not have happened. And I regret screaming “Can a gringo get a reach around!” as I ran naked through the holiday crowd.
In 2006 I was “dating” a massage therapist named Ana when I inadvertently inserted the Cojito penis into the wrong opening. I would like to apologize to Ana, the excellent staff at Oasis, the makers of KY Petroleum Jelly, and my sainted girlfriend, who stood by me, even though I am in the final stages of untreated syphilis, and continue to have unprotected sex with random hookers.
To the Nica stripper I dated for 2 months while living in San Jose: I may have given you the impression I was marriage minded, disease free, rational, and solvent. That was wrong of me and I am sorry.
To my lawyer: I understand now that it’s part of the culture for professionals to show up an hour late to every meeting, refuse to take client calls, and charge 5 times the going rate in the U.S. I am deeply sorry for calling you an “embarrassment.” My bad.
And finally, to the ancient Kuna woman who begs with a Styrofoam cup over on Via Espania: I regret chiding you for your environmentally unfriendly use of Styrofoam, and for telling you I was broke. The truth is, you’re probably not contributing to global warming, and my pockets were stuffed with cash that day.