The story goes, my sister asked our parents for a bunch of money so that she could take a trip to Vegas, the same year I went to Costa Rica to learn Spanish. As a result of their refusal to her and their allowance to me, she stayed in Farmville, CO, and I had the first (of many) drunken months of my life.
I stayed in Sta. Ana, Costa Rica with a great family who never questioned my comings and goings. I learned enough Spanish to get me from here or there, as long as the next drink was at its end. Also, it was my first foray out of the country, so it was opening my eyes, left and right. It was, as an aside, also a great place to escape my own escalating faggotry (however there was nothing faggoty about Central America). I remember only parts of my last night there. It was the fourth of July, we were celebrating. I took us home with my great skill for direction. They say I was hitting the bottle and ended up naked in a bath tub. I saw it the next morning. The mirror and toilet seat were busted. And so was I. The only thing I remember is putting a bottle to my mouth, and then I woke up with this tight-bodied straight guy against my face between Dallas and Colorado Springs. Suffice it to say it was a long twelve hours of flying.
But my sister wanted to go to Vegas. She had been before. She likes to think I am the favored one, but I have news for you:
I am!
She will never know.
Also, I will never tell her I went to Vegas. That Is my secret.
It hasn't happened yet, which means it might not! But with God as my witness, I will prevail!
But my fucking sister...
