Spring Break in Rosarito beach, Mexico- you’re probably thinking of sun, cheap beer and erotic grinding with hot members of the opposite sex. And for good reason. Legend has it that Rosarito has provided these three commodities for generations. Unfortunately, I missed the sign on the drive down which reads “Sun, cheep beer, and erotic grinding for Greeks and peoples not named Luke Filose.” Seeing that sign would have saved me a whole lot of frustration. Instead, I got two days of constant rain, $2.50 beers (enough to fill a thimble), and lonely I nights in the corner of “Rock’n’Roll Taco” wallowing in the sucking vortex of my own pathetic existence. In this article I plan to present the myth of the Rosarito dance club, and then reveal the truth, so that you don’t end up like me.
The Dance Club- Myth
Here’s how its supposed to work from the male perspective. You get on the dance floor and start gettin’ down to the funky sounds of the DJ. Next, you situate yourself near a nice looking girl and place a hand on her buttocks. If she doesn’t slap you or vomit, you proceed to grind her like a cheap block of cheddar cheese. After a few songs, you ask her if she would like a drink. The desired response is “Yes.” After the drink, you talk to her a little. If she’s still with you, you’re home free. You can then spend the rest of the night making out by the pool or dancing with your hands down her pants.
The Dance Club- Reality
While the above tactics might work if you’re a beefy stud with Greek letters on your shirt, its a different story for us regular folks. First of all, the music is horrendous and nearly undanceable. Its always the same exact crappy thumpa-thumpa bass-line with different words stuck in, of which I found three main variations to be present: 1) The Pu-Pu-Na-Na 2) The Donchawantmenow and 3) The Real Phenomenon. There are inevitably three types of females on the dance floor: 1) greasy, skankoids hog-chicks, 2) girls already dancing with guys, and 3) really gorgeous girls in large groups. Obviously, group three is the only intelligent option. But when you start dancing with them an interesting thing happens, which my friends Benn, Markk, Milees and Steeven (name changed to prevent embarrassment) and I named the “disappearing act.” One by one, each girl will leave, until you are dancing completely by yourself.
I will now abandon my obnoxious Jowittesque triplets. (Speaking of Cal’s beloved Poli-Sci 2 professor, you might want to read his recent article on clubbing in Rosarito. Pay special attention to his sections on “Applying Punctuated Equilibrium Theory on a Crowded Dance Floor” and’ ‘Consolidating Your Regime in a Hot Chicks Underpants.” However, like most political science, this stuff will never work in practice.)
After about an hour of making chicas bonitas disappear, it becomes clear that the only solution is to get really piss-drunk. However, even this is impossible. The clubs are so packed and the lines for the bar so long, that there is no possible way to consume alcohol fast enough to sustain a buzz. Kind readers, these words come from the heart. If you are a smart, unmuscled guy with a nice personality, DON’T go to Rosarito for Spring Break. If you are a vacant, uncultured piece of man-meat, go right ahead. And please, touch some butts for me. Pigs.
