How I Became the Intentional Gringo

I have not always been the Intentional Gringo. Not quite sure why I feel it necessary to preface that yet nonetheless it feels like the appropriate thing to do. Nor have I ever aspired to enter the blogosphere. In fact, the mere action of punching those keys onto the screen in that seemingly incongruous combination of letters makes my stomach turn a but sour. Maybe bilious, for I'm not quite sure of the actual substance traipsing its way up my esophagus at the moment.

No matter.

The important thing to take from this little sojourn is that I have only recently become Intentional Gringo and I am fairly uncertain as to how this persona will fare in comparison to my previous persona, Nondescript Male. Nondescript Male (who I may refer to as N.M in the future for brevity's sake) was a pretty good look for me for quite some time if pressed for the truth. Not that it ever brought upon me riches heaped upon a glimmering bed of infamy and privilege - those things are reserved for the true elite and I, alas, have never been a permanent member of the Club. Yet Nondescript Male (N.M.) certainly WAS given partial admittance on certain instances to some of the Club's functions and WAS privy to a limited range of the Club's perks when the governing body saw fit to bestow them upon me. These limited forays into the enviable life of the Man of Leisure were certainly relished when they were offered and even now are quietly stowed away in the icy cockles of my heart like a secret pre-school crush whilst I lay upon my pillow at night. And that pillow now belongs to the Intentional Gringo, for the pillow of N.M. now lays in a storage space many thousands of miles from the home of Intentional Gringo.

And that far-off pillow, while perfectly contoured to my headshape after years of solemn service, will probably never feel right again.

That's the thing about abandoned pillows. They're sort of like jilted lovers who, despite their desire to reconcile and put history behind them, nonetheless harbor a subtle lumpiness born of indiscretions past. And that lumpiness, Ladies & Gentlemen, is never going to be smoothed no matter how many impassioned thrashings or gentle proddings it is given. Not even the Drool of the Gods will make that motherfucker relevant again.

So now I, Intentional Gringo, set about to tame a new pillow while leaving N.M. and his comfortable garb by the wayside.