March 9, 2011
So I Went To Mexico. I Also Gained 6 Pounds. Even In Paradise Margaritas Have A Buttload Of Calories.
Ok, so like I told you guys, I was on vacation last week. And I sat it that chair all day. And I didn’t announce it on here beforehand, because (a) The Hub got mad that I recently announced that he was out of the country and invited murderers to come and have a drink with me and get all murdery on me, and (b) I wasn’t sure that his parents (who were watching the boy) could really handle themselves against murderers or kidnappers if it came down to that. They’re just really nice, and I really don’t think that they possess my extreme ass-kicking skillz. So I just refrained from talking about my trip on here. And it was hard. Because I like to blab about everything. EVERYTHING. So this was really something huge, you guys. The fact that I didn’t tell you. Also, I thought if I told you then some of you would want to tag along. And while I would have enjoyed that, The Hub probably wouldn’t. And he’s the one who’s paying. So anyway, now you all know that I can keep a secret. So feel free to tell me some. Please. And I promise I (probably) won’t write about it. Unless, you know, it’s really, really juicy.
Anyway, if you are a friend of mine, then you know all about a wonderful creature called “Vacation Steve”. This is a magical creature more rare than a unicorn, although not quite as amazing, due to the fact that Vacation Steve is a person and not an awesome white horse with a horn and a rainbow mane (yes, my dream unicorn has a rainbow mane. And wears a crown. And can dance. And also talks in a british accent). But he’s still pretty great. “Vacation Steve” rocks my world. He is super-relaxed. Super-agreeable. Super patient with all of my antics. He seems to think that almost everything I do or say is cute. Vacation Steve doesn’t really comprehend money, and is not able to do the maths. He even asked me to do some maths. ME! Vacation Steve is also kinda clueless. Vacation Steve really, really, REALLY sucks at scrabble (I kicked his ass multiple times, even after many margaritas, and even though he would not accept the word “weenieflaw” thereby costing me 30 points…Dude, let’s say someone’s weenie has a scar or something -I don’t know how or why someone would have a scar on there, maybe because they denied their wife her rightful Scrabble points, I don’t know, but let’s say they do- THAT would be called a weenieflaw. Duh). Vacation Steve is the perfect man. And by the time we were in the air on the way to Mexico, I had Vacation Steve all to myself.
The first day at our resort, we had a few (too many?) drinks and then went back to our room, where Vacation Steve made me the happiest woman in the whole world. Get your minds outta the gutter, people. He made me happy by trying to sexily swagger into the room and walking straight into the glass sliding door. Hard. With me on the other side, witnessing the smackdown up close. One second he looked sexy, then the next second he slammed his face into the glass, then looked confused, then angry at the nerve of the door for being in his way. And I literally fell down and laughed harder than I think I’ve ever laughed. Sure, I guess my reaction made him feel like I didn’t care, because he kept saying “Don’t worry, I’m OK. Thanks for asking.” But holy crap you guys, that was one of the funniest things that I have ever seen in my life. And every time I thought about it last week, I laughed so hard I cried. Literally. So… Thank You, Vacation Steve. Best. Thing. Ever. Oh…and I’m glad you’re ok.
I told Vacation Steve that if we chatted up any fellow vacationers (which is usually my main thing to do on vacation), I was to be referred to as “Striker”. Striker is a pro-bowler (due to the carpal tunnel wrist thing I have to wear looking like a bowlers wrist thing, according to my friend Stephanie) who gave birth to 10 children for the sole purpose of being able to use them as human pins so she could practice at home, thereby saving money on bowling alley use. Cuz duh….Striker has 12 mouths to feed and not a lot of extra cash to waste. I asked Steve what his story was, and he said he was a mute/catatonic, I suppose because he is not a chatty kinda guy. Even when he’s Vacation Steve. Bo-ring. But unfortunately, the fellow resorters were not chatty. At all. And Steve found it somewhat disturbing and out of character for me that I was not talking to everyone in my path. And so did I. But these people gave a definite “Don’t talk to me” vibe. Which usually makes me wanna talk to them even more, but since they all looked very coupley and honeymoony, I decided to leave them alone. Which Steve also found surprising, since I really don’t have any boundaries or respect for other peoples boundaries. Even though I was dying, DYING to know their stories, I refrained from invading their space, and instead I just made stories up. Which is fine with me. But they may have come off better with the truth than they did with what my imagination told me. Oh well. Their loss.
We had two women at our resort (mother and daughter, we think) who liked to go topless. Which was interesting. And hard not to look at. And this gave me an amazing amount of entertainment every day. Especially after I finished my book and had nothing to do while Steve read his. Vacation Steve is very relaxey, but he’ll still shoot you a death glare if you try to talk to him while he tries to read. And since Vacation Steve is not super smart, it takes more concentration for him to read. I totally get it. So I entertained myself for days by laying in my beach chair and watching men walk by, and seeing how long it took for them to notice that there were naked boobies on full display. I would narrate (what I believed to be) their thoughts as they made the amazing discovery. It generally went something like this: “Oh, what a beautiful day! Boy, I’m having a nice stroll! Look at those waves. Amazing. And this sand! It’s so white and….Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Two sets of boobies! That’s four whole boobies! Boobies! Boobies! Now look back at the ocean so the wife doesn’t know you’re looking at the boobies. The fantastically naked boobies. Now smile at the wife so she thinks you’re thinking about her. Ok. She bought it. Now turn back to the right…Boobies! Boobies! Boobies! I! Love! Boobies!” So basically, you guys, in case you didn’t know…men like boobies. A lot. And you know what? I like watching men discover boobies. It’s like watching a child open a Christmas gift that they really, really wanted. Watching tons of men, one by one, discover these naked boobies…well, it brought me joy. They’ve been looking at the same old boobies for God knows how many years, and here were some surprise beach boobies. Like a gift from Heaven. The joy was contagious. But I will tell you one thing that I learned about boobies: Naked beach boobies and water shoes don’t mix. Walking topless across a beach with big rubber water shoes on is NOT sexy. They’re like clown shoes. And a naked clown in clown shoes would look ridiculous. Although there’s probably someone out there who thinks that would be hot. But they’re stupid.
So I have more vacation stuff to talk about, but I just realized this is really long and my stupid carpal tunnel is acting up. So I will continue later, and just leave you with 2 more photos:
|This is me at THE BEST BAR EVER! Drinking beer + swinging = happiness in my book. Plus, when people really get their drink on it has got to be amazing to watch. Cuz what could possibly go wrong combining swings and drunk people?|
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