me-ow

I really want to be a cat in a bookstore.

x words

I like to do crosswords.

there.  I said it.

When I was younger, my nana used to do them all the time.  that is, until her brain went on permanent vacation.  

I used to sit with her in her little living room that never smelled like regular houses and the hard candy always stuck together in one large lump ("hard candy never goes bad", she told me). I wonder why elderly homes smell differently?  is it because there's lots of old stuff inside them?  I don't think that's it, because antique stores don't smell that way.  I'm not sure exactly what it is but I'm sure it has something to do with baby powder.

but I digress...

I used to sit with her and watch her do her little puzzles and think that she was so smart to be able to do them.  I would try to help her, and she imparted her little tidbits of insider information on the crossword puzzle.  apparently if you can't make it through on your own (besides the solution page, you cheater) they even have crossword dictionaries.  

I know !  incredible !

at some point I picked them up and began to gloat over the fact that I was obviously a genius because I was smart enough to do them, and sometimes einstein-like prowess would take over my cerebral cortex and I would even finish one all the way. 

the point of this story is not to talk about my superior intellect, although let's face it, I am pretty amazing, but to talk about my beloved crossword book.

I have had this crossword puzzle book for probably 10 years, maybe longer.  literally.  the same book.

it's finished pages are permanently peeled back from the rest of it.  it might even be a little yellowed but I can't be sure.  it's trusty sidekick is the most perfect mechanical pencil ever invented, and even though I cannot find lead that fits it, it never runs out.

it's fucking magical.

This book always goes on trips with me.  always.  it's been to colorado, iowa, montana, idaho... even more exotic locales like mexico, spain, paris, germany, jamaica and lastly, to belize.

this is where our story comes to it's tragic close.

I left it on the plane into belize city.  *runs and cries*

I can't believe it.  I'm devastated.  truly broken.  I shall never love again.

I left my beloved book like a piece of flotsam, hanging out with unsavory characters like "sky mall" and the maps of more complicated airport layouts, like O'Hare.  

did you hear what i said??  it's keeping company with sky mall ! maps ! instructional booklets ! vomit bags !!!!

I think that last part is what hurts the most.

vomit bags.  

I'm prettier than vomit bags, aren't I?

I have made a terrible mistake and I will never forgive myself.

I know, I know... timehealsallwoundsthere'sotherfishintheseayou'lllearntoloveagain, etc.

*sigh*

jan ten again

"hola!"

I look up to see a shawn austin look-alike standing over our table, poised and ready to take our order.

I chuckle under my breath in a way that says, "I'm so embarrassed for you right now but I don't want you to see it."

and this is the way our meal started at "taberna del tequila".

so we're in phoenix, had a few travel glitches to smooth out, and after our chores were finished, we wandered into this little gem.

I can't stop thinking about this ridiculous greeting, and now I'm hearing little echos of this all over the restaurant by other abashed servers.  I feel sorry for all of them and think to myself that I would never work in a place where they make monkeys of their staff.

I know this is a lie, even as I think it.  everyone has their price...

I look around.  

there's a large painting on the wall that says "zona de tequila", hot peppers, sombreros and other hispanic paraphernalia adorn the walls and tables.  our table cloth, heavily laden with protective plastic, is dripping with words like some kitschy spanish-english dictionary.  the only thing missing is the mini corona bottles that serve as salt and pepper shakers.

I sigh and lean back.  I'm breathless and agog.  

I order a beer... 

"would you like to make it a large for an extra buck?"

"yes".

"would you like to add a tequila shot to that for another dollar?"

"um, no.  no thank you".

our beers arrive, I'm fully focused on this.  the only thing that matters right now is that I have leg room and this large cold beer in front of me.  I can even happily wait for food now that I have this.  It was good enough for the monks and by-golly it's good enough for me.

shawn of course sends his back because he only wanted a regular beer.  

come on.  really?  it's like an extra ounce or two and now you're gonna make him dump it and pour you a new one in a smaller glass?  even our server can't keep the "omfg" tone out of his voice as he asks shawn if he would like him to take it back and bring him a new one.

I swear... I'm gonna have to either start leaving him at home or start drinking a whole lot more when we go out.

january 10 and all is well except the bitchy bus driver

captains log, stardate 1.10.2009.

we woke up very early.  I called a taxi to take us to the airport shuttle even though it's only a couple blocks away.

shawn protested, but with a little dissent I explained that I was not going to schlepp my luggage the few very long blocks to the station.

he was alert enough not to argue.

we arrived, purchased entry to the almighty bus, and waited...

no sooner than all of this happened does shawn realize he's left his sweater at home.

a little background on shawn...

this man is never cold.  okay, rarely anyway.  as long as he's got a hat on he can run around in snowy negative weather in shorts.  I've never seen anything like it.  this guy is a veritable heater.  sometimes I can't even lie next to him because he's too hot to the touch.

you get the picture...

so anyway, when shawn tells me he's forgotten his sweater and we're bound for belize, i think, oh well, no big deal.

wrong

apparently he does need his sweater, although by this point I'm convinced that it's got more to do with the sick pleasure of inconvenience than actual necessity.

the bus leaves in 15 minutes.

"I'm gonna go back to the house and get it".

what?

*man repeats himself while female tries to put the boggled pieces of her brain back into cognizant order*

"do you think you can make it there and back in 15 minutes?"

"yes", he replies, in a manly confident tone.  as if to say, "of course I can, after all, I'm faster than a speeding bullet and can throw a football over those mountains."

ok fine, but hurry.

I drag our accoutrements into the little lobby area of the station.  it's cold outside and I want moxie coffee.  so, I wander over to the coffee station, grab a cup and fill it with powdery "creamer" and a little sugar, blah blah blah, and sit down to relax while I listen to the two women behind the desk complain about an absent co-worker.

I take a draw off my peewee coffee cup and inwardly worry about whether or not shawn will actually make it back in time.

hm.  there's something in my mouth.  I fish it out, it's like plastic or something, must be from the cup.  

I take another sip, this time wondering if there are any more people taking this shuttle, maybe if there are they can slow things down a little and give shawn time to make it back.

hm.  another little plasticky thing in my mouth.

finally I look down from my musings into my "coffee cup".  hm.  there's a kind of oily film floating on the top, greasy coffee, eh?  no sooner do I think this than the reality of what's really going on in the microcosm of my cup hits me.

it's wax.

I put my fucking coffee in a waxed water cup instead of a foam one.

what a retard.

I have the ladies dump it for me.  I make myself a new, wax free, no build-up kinda coffee and find my seat again.

no sooner do I do this than a cranky sounding gwamanian (or something) barks out, "OAKLAND!!!!".

geez, alright already...

I stall.  

This guy is obviously up too early and was kicked off the wrong side of his futon, and now I have to figure out a diplomatic way to explain to him that my partner is not here and I don't know when he will be, without causing his head explode, flinging thousands of sharp pieces of skull through the lobby like a frag grenade, and killing all of us where we stand.

"AREN'T YOU GOING TO OAKLAND?"  

"um yes, I am... only, well, here's the thing..."

He mutters something indiscernible.  It's not that it's too quiet to hear, it's just that it really doesn't consist of words, it's more like a collection of carefully selected growls.

The lady behind the desk tells him to relax, the way a wife might say in that roll-your-eyes kind of way to a grumpy husband of 20 years.  he grumbles again and goes outside.

mk, 5 minutes after scheduled lift off.  where are you?  

feeling I can't stall inside anymore I tote our belongings outside to drag my feet in a new location, closer to the bus.

He loads up our bags.  he asks where he is.  I tell him.  he wants to know what my definition of a couple of blocks is.  he wants to know how much longer.  he wants to know why god hates him and has put us on his bus.

finally he informs me that we are leaving and that I better hope that I've told him the truth about which direction he's gone so that we can pick him up en route. 

I think it's funny that he thinks I lied to him.

So here we go, down the street, slowly so we can find him in the dark and there he is, walking down the street toward the station.  

walking

now I love my man very much, and I know that he was probably winded from running, but right at that particular moment it did not look very good for us.

not at all

home

well well well...

I knew you fuckers would be right where I left you.  hanging on my last word in the hopes that I would brighten your filthy dreary days with my poignant musings once again.

well I'm back now so for the love of god get a glass of water and wash your fucking face. 

yes, that's right.  I have returned from my vacation and am live to entertain with my wacky adventures.  

I kept a notebook, I told you I would, and so I will systematically go through the randoms to paint you a pretty picture or two.

good day, sirs & madams.

*side note

haha, while typing in my labels for this post my mac smart-finished "home" with "homer simpson".  it's like it knows me or something... 

update for now

still here.

I'm not the least bit sorry about it either.

I will fill everyone in on the full details but so far we've...

flew into belize city, stayed the night.
caught a taxi and then water taxi to san pedro on ambergris caye, stayed three days, met some canadians and some local prostitutes that we hung out with.

caught water taxi then bus to guatemala. stayed for a couple days, visited Tikal, hung out in a local faire and then in flores.

took a bus to san ignacio, met awesome locals, stayed in a thatched roof tree house in the bush for three days and visited xunantunich.

took a bus back to belize city, water taxi to caye caulker.
spent yesterday snorkeling hol chan, coral gardens and ray and shark alley of the great barrier reef. saw crazy shit swimming around.

spent today doing JACK SHIT, drinking one barrel rum and reading in a hammock.

that's all... for now.

you better belize it

ok, that was lame.

haha

we traveled all day yesterday. this began with me up too late the night before, as per the usual, and just checking my email by random coincidence.

it's a really good thing that I did because they rescheduled our flight 2 hours earlier than our original departure time.

I swear those fuckers are trying to dupe us any way they can since we're traveling on free tickets.

as if the aforementioned glitch wasn't enough they had us on different planes for our connecting flight, so we had to iron that out too.

anyway, we flew to phoenix and then to charlotte yesterday, which is where we are right now, and then on to belize this morning. we got in at 930 last night, flight doesn't leave until almost 10 today so we got a room at this disgusting motel called the "royal inn and suites". they outta be blugeoned in the town square for calling it that.

for shame...

I half expected cockroaches to spring from the corners and dance a jig for me, but I've been fortunate and that hasn't happened. yet.

So anyhoo, I am sitting in the darkest corner of the roach motel with free wifi and complimentory sludge coffee, trying my best to be quiet so that shawn can sleep in a bit.

fyi, I also brought a notepad along with me so as to capture every detail of our trip. boring or no, you hooers will have to hear all about it in due course.

in keeping with my regular outlook that drugs are awesome and solve everything, I drugged myself yesterday with a "don't get motion sickness and pass the fuck out" pill that I chased with 2 pints of beer.

so naturally I cannot sleep anymore and am up typing at the most ungodly hour of 5ish am.

I'm trying to be quiet but I'm pretty sure that I'm keeping shawn up anyway...

ah well, my entertainment comes first this morning since I cannot possibly be expected to spend yet another hour staring at the ceiling.

ah well, he'll get over it.

death sandwich

I'd like to relate a strange little story that ends with me doing the running man while eating a sandwich in my living room and humming "death sandwich, it's your birthday.. go sandwich...".  

A sandwich that I will hereafter refer to as the "death sandwich".

Perhaps I should start at the very beginning...

We have known our neighbors since we were old enough to remember anything at all.  they are really awesome people, great neighbors.  Anytime you need a hand with anything, they have the tools and assistance you need.  Anytime they bake anything or make too much food, they bring us some.  They even cart our trash cans out to the curb for us each week before we can get to them ourselves.

So today, in keeping with their generous nature, the lovely lady from next door came over with a little treat for us.

"Hi"

"Hello"

"We brought you some sandwiches", she proclaims, holding out a large ziploc baggie filled with croissant sandwiches.

"Oh! thank you so much..."

"Oh, it's no problem.  We were at a funeral and they were just going to throw them out.  I thought you might like some"

"um oh... thank you very much"

*door closes* 

these death sandwiches are fucking delicious