I’ve probably recovered all the memories I’m going to recover without going into some sort of psychiatric treatment like the people who go into hypnotherapy to recover suppressed traumatic experiences or past lives. Suffice it to say all the memories I do have point to the fact that I had a kick-ass vacation.

From what I’ve pieced together I’ve been able to come up with a list of things for a great vacation.

1. Pace yourself
If you’re going to start drinking at 10:30 am that’s perfectly acceptable. After all, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Don’t however, start off with the hard stuff pounding shots like an 18 year old on Spring Break in Mexico finally able to legally drink. Start off slow and remember to eat lots of protein to absorb the alcohol. Plus you’ll need the energy you get from food to dial all your friends, family and exes when you’re completely wasted and tell them the business.

2. Chillax
There are vacations you take where you go visit family. There are vacations you take with the intent to sightsee and cram as much as humanly possible into the time you have. Then there are the vacations where you just want to chill and relax. If you are on one of these vacations, don’t stress. You may be in a new town but more than likely this place ain’t going anywhere and you can see the sights on your next time here. For now, pick up the phone to have room service bring you another bucket of beer and find a hottie to rub some more sunscreen on you. This ain’t a L’Oreal commercial but you are worth it. Act accordingly.

3. Deny everything
I probably picked this up from years of watching Star Jones on The View but I now add “allegedly” to damn near every sentence that comes out of my mouth. When I’m drunk I like to tell my friends that “one of us may possibly be drunk but I’m not at liberty to name names.” (Read that last sentence in a very slurred voice.) Admit to nothing. This comes in especially handy when your friends call you out on the secrets you spilled. I didn’t spill anything. I said allegedly.

4. Bring your own camera
You can’t exactly deny everything if you’ve got pictures of you snorting coke floating on the Internet, just ask Kate Moss. Bring your own camera. Take a few pics and then pass it on to a friend. This way all the incriminating pictures of you will be on your own camera and you decide what exactly gets posted to Facebook. You definitely don’t want your shenanigans tagged so that your family in Mexico sees what you’re really like. There is no need for your 80 year old aunts to see pics of you wearing bunny ears and singing karaoke.

This is the third entry in the ongoing series to piece back the memories of one of the greatest vacations I have ever taken. As the Dixie Chicks sang back in 2001 “Some Days You Gotta Dance”. A good one-man dance party in your living room after a bottle or two of the finest Target wines can do wonders for the soul. One-man dance parties have been keeping me sane for years.

At the party I attended on this last vacation, while the majority of the attendees were playing Rock Band and singing a collection of white folk songs I was only vaguely familiar with, I played for my friend V. the song that has taken up permanent residence in my heart for the past month. Young Money’s “Bed Rock”. There’s just something about hearing the line “Call me Mr. Flintstone, I can make yo’ bed rock” that brings an unbridled joy to my heart that rivals that of a child’s when let loose at Toys ‘R’ Us. Every single time that song plays I can’t help but sing along with the chorus. Whether I’m at home, in my car or at CVS Pharmacy picking up some Drano for the sink, any time that song is playing I am throwing my hands up and singing along.

My friend V.’s music choices differ from mine, so I took this opportunity to give her a taste of some of my own musical preferences. I am good at many things and have many accomplishments under my belt in my 29 years of age. Having good taste in music is not one of them. I have come to terms with this in the past few years and the Good Lord has taken my shame from me. I still have *Nsync on my iPod and know the dance moves to the Spice Girls’ songs like we were back in 1995. I am ok with this.

I played for V. the Paradiso Girl’s “Patron, Tequila” off my iPhone while we sat in the living room, each of us sharing an iPod earpiece. As we were both tipsy from our own tequila shots (Not Patron. We drank the good stuff from south of the border.) we started swaying to the music and throwing our hands up while still sitting down. By the time we got to the new Trina mixtape “Million Dollar Girl” we were not only standing but shaking our money makers harder than any video ho in one of Ludacris’ latest hits. We’d time our ‘drop it like it’s hot’s perfectly to make sure the shared earbuds did not fall out of each other’s ears. We were the 2-Man Dance Party that all other 2-Man Dance Parties aspire to be.

Our friends pointed at us and I assume questioned what the devil we were doing as they couldn’t hear what we were dancing to. I’m not exactly sure what they said as V. and I were too into the groove and I only vaguely noticed people were pointing and staring. Blame it on the alcohol or the beat within my heart but at that point I did not care what others thought.

That is the sign of a truly epic dance party.

This is the second in my multi-part series about how hard I can vacation. The memories have gotten less hazy now and as each day passes I’m slowly piecing together the events that happened. There are still some unexplained bruises that I may never fully figure out how I got, but that just comes with the package of an awesome vacation.

Growing up in a single-parent, Mexican household I never took vacations like the ones I saw on TV shows. All of our family vacations were to visit family in Mexico or Arizona so staying at a hotel was reserved for that one time my mom got completely lost on the way and refused to drive the Arizonian desert at night any more. My mom always liked when a relative moved because it gave us a chance to visit someplace new. The idea of visiting a town where we did not have a relative whose house we could stay at was unheard of.

Just before my first trip to Las Vegas I had several relatives ask me who I was going to visit. “Vegas. I’m going to visit Vegas,” I responded and received more than a few side-eye glances. “But do you know anyone there?” and “You’re going alone?” were favorite follow-up questions. I did go alone, stayed at the New York, New York Hotel & Casino and ordered room service the first night I was there. I was an adult and I’d do as I damn well pleased with my hard-earned money. It was on this trip that I would meet the woman who would one day teach me the fine art of “lounging.”

On my most recent vacation to San Diego I’d made plans to go around San Diego and see the sights with friends and family. All I managed to take in was the beautiful view from the side of the pool with my friend B. Saturday morning my plan was to see my friends B. and her husband A. and then head out for some sight-seeing. I should have known I wouldn’t make it that far when I was greeted with champagne at 10:30 in the morning. Instead of going out to a brewery tour with A. and our other friends, B. and I decided we’d hang by the pool for a while and relax.

This turned into 8 hours of relaxing and were the absolute best hours I’ve spent that still involved me wearing some sort of clothes. Who knew that being able to pick up the phone to call Kurt at the front desk to have Frank bring us another bucket of Coronas and limes would be so goddamn amazing?

I really need to start investing in the lottery. After years of searching for the perfect career path I finally found it — Professional Lounger. Granted this career doesn’t pay much but the benefits are astounding! I could intertwine this with another similar career path, Professional Bruncher. I challenge you to find a crew that brunches harder than me and my Brooklyn Boos. Go ahead, I dare ya. You can look high and low but you won’t find one.

As a way to subsidize the money I’d need for All-You-Can-Drink mimosas and an endless supply of suntan lotion I could tour the country giving lectures on how to properly lounge. I can set up shop at a learning annex and give panel discussions on how to conduct the perfect brunch. I’ll write a series of books on lounging, brunching, and shenanigating. My book tour would be the perfect way to gain more experience and write the sequels: vacationing, dining and perfecting the art of the catwalk strut on the streets of your city.

Why don’t guidance counselors let their students know about these types of careers? Lord knows they beat silly things like doctor and lawyer any day.