On the day I was supposed to fly out, I woke up at 4:30 AM to catch a 6:30 flight. I moved with the panic and fury of Rick James on Free Cocaine Day. I drove like I was auditioning for Fast and Furious 7--More Fastester More Furiouslyer. Once I got into the security line, I realized two things: I forgot my toothbrush and I'm wearing flip flops. A sign of someone who's bad at traveling is the wearing of flip flops at an airport. You know you're going to have to take off your shoes, who wants to walk barefoot through security? People who wear laceless slip-ons, those are the pros. I got there right as they were boarding, but it didn't matter because the plane was delayed from taking off. Not good if you need to catch a connecting flight, as I did.
|Okay, wearing flip flops isn't as dumb as wearing these shoes like this woman in New York did, but it's still pretty bad.|
Once I made it to my destination, I immediately was riddled with mosquito bites and suffered a severe sunburn the first day. In deference to Mayor Gia, sunburns suck. But they are a good test of your relationship, "Honey, will you apply aloe to my back, and while you're there, will you peel off a large chunk of my epidermis?" I don't know about you, but when I start to peel, I want to peel off the largest amount of skin at one time, like it's a game. My goal is to peel off one solid layer of my entire body that can then be used to stuff like taxidermy, then I can finally consummate the flirtation I've been having with myself all these years.
I also met Nobel prize winning writer, Derek Walcott at the premier of his new play. He was sitting in the reception area all by himself, I was a couple glasses of wine in, and said what anyone would say to a master poet, a wordsmith of the highest order, "Hey man!"
Some things I noticed while on vacation:
|Why would the cross have wings? Is this some|
douche logic I don't understand? Image source
- Tramp stamps for women have migrated from the small of the back to being a tiny tattoo right behind the ear.
- The male equivalent of the tramp stamp is the tattoo on the back between the shoulder blades.
- On that same subject, why is it that people with large tattoos of crosses look like the least pious people in the world?
- Even in a tropical setting, the number one fruit in any fruit medley is the damnable cantaloupe. No one gets excited for cantaloupe. Give me more pineapple, or if you must, a couple more grapes, but throw that cantaloupe out, you know it's just going to go to waste.
- There seems to be a rule that every jungle setting necessitates a zip line. I don't generally hate a zip line, but it's a rainforest, filled with the wonders of nature, some yet to be discovered and catalogued, do we really need the added "thrill" of a zip line? It would be like going through the ruins of ancient Greece then suddenly there's a slip-and-slide.
The flights back were similar to my flights there, running to catch connecting flights, endlessly taxiing around the Atlanta airport, but this time it had the added bonus of me suppressing the urge to say "please, for the love of God, shut the f*ck up," no less than a baker's dozen times.
Regardless, I'm back, I'm still peeling like a snake with leprosy, and I was greeted back at work by a female coworker dropping a fart in my cubicle that smelled like Steven Seagal's used gi. That will teach me never to go away again, it was my penance.
|It's Steven Seagal with a panda, you're welcome.|