Hola! As I write this I’m laying on a beach in Punta Cana. Gah, I sound so pretentious. I’m really not. Remember, I’m just a beer out here in this martini – er, margarita – world.
Mom and I plan one big vacay together each year. It’s tradition, this year is episode five or six? You lose track of time when you’re having fun. And drunk. If you’d have told me at 15 that I’d want to travel with my mom and spend every waking moment for 7-10 days with her, I’d have called you a liar. I’ve mentioned it before, but mom and I didn’t get really close until I stopped being such an a$$hole, grew up a little, and went to college. Now she’s basically the peanut butter to my jelly, and the compass that keeps me on course. Although she might be described better as a bullhorn. Anyway, this is not to say she doesn’t aggravate the crap out of me sometimes, and that we don’t get into at least one spat per vacation (typically minor and we’ve got a quick rebound rate). But anyone who knows us will tell you we’re frighteningly similar and polar opposite at the same time. Not sure how we do it, but it works.
Anyway, we’re enjoying our trip together, it’s day 2ish and already been an adventure. To start with, we may have cut it a little close getting to the airport… only to find out my gargantuan suitcase weighed 66 pounds. That will be an EXTRA $100 ma’am. Oh, and we’ve oversold the flight and you don’t have an assigned seat. Yet. But not to worry, it should work out. Cue me wanting to shank someone. To be fair, the lady was right and I did get a seat. Thank God. Or I’d have had to bring the hammer down on the old lady with the cane. I think I could have taken her.
Five hours, a plane switch, and another 3 hour flight, we have landed in the Dominican Republic. Beautiful. Now to get the 66 pound suitcase to the hotel. The men are strong down here, I’ll give them that. They hoofed and heaved that thing without so much as a grunt (let’s just say this is contrary to anytime mom and I have to relocate this bad boy). Finally everyone and everything is loaded. Off to the hotel we go. Driving in foreign countries is always a source of awe and entertainment. Seatbelts are appreciated, and you should leave the driving to the professionals aka locals. Honk honk, beep beep, almost take out a couple on their dirt bike, nothing new to see here.
We roll up and our hotel looks great. Bright colors and beautiful foliage everywhere. Unfortunately the rooms weren’t ready when we got here (with travel we arrived well ahead of check-in time), but that’s okay because we’ll switch into some ‘kinis and hit the beach. Which is great. Minus the fact that we each had a 20+ pound backpack to carry. Since it’s got our iPad, computer, dinero, and valuables, we figure it’s worth keeping close by. Backpacks in tow, we’re beelining it to the beach. As we’re a few short steps from the sand, a gal calls out asking if we want a massage. Sold. Within the hour we were getting massages on the beach, listening to the waves and an occasional child screaming. Delightful and a perfect start to vacay. Once we’re all greased up, we head to the lobby to get our room number and the rest of our luggage.
This is where things take a turn. Do you know anything about the weather in tropical regions? Let me sum it up for you. F^%king crazy. A massive thunder-lightning-rainstorm kicks into high gear. Still high from vacay-mode and our massage, we’ve got smiles on our face, our room key in hand, and take a ride to our room where the poor man heaves our luggage up the stairs. Next step: settle in. Sort of. You see it was raining really hard outside. But there was also rain inside. You might be thinking “what in the world…?”. Us to. Four hours later, 10+ calls to the front lobby (6 or so of those to the supervisor’s direct line, I think someone got fired for giving us her number), and Jamie berating the supervisor… we are getting a new room. While the insults and dramatics really took a turn, I decided to find my happy place and make the best of the situation with a nap and the Andy Griffith Show. I can’t make this up.
Finally the 66 pound monstrosity is settled nicely into a new room with a balcony overlooking the ocean (we’re assuming on this last part because it’s dark and you can’t actually see the ocean, but we feel pretty close to it and can certainly hear it). All is well, we hit the buffet for dinner (I feel like a real hillbilly saying that, but it’s an all-inclusive resort so buffet life it is) and have our fair share of drinks. The night ended well, as we drank on the balcony, laughed, and pictured the ocean that we think is right outside our room. It is at this moment Jamie and I thought up a post-vacay blog of which she will be co-writing. Get ready people, a little something to look forward to.
The next day I decided was a beach day. Normally I hate laying by the beach, I’m too high strung and need some activity. But, I ran five miles at the gym and that chilled me out enough to enjoy some beachy relaxation. Which was great, but we’re total knuckleheads. Sunscreen is for losers and we’re exercising our right to burn. Well, fry really. We did end up taking a break from the sand to hit the spa. All around no ragrets.
As we waited for dinner last night we got two shows, a third to come later. First, was the topless woman walking Baywatch-style up the beach donning giant areolas and a thong bottom. I swear mom and I were the only ones with our jaw-dropped, like wtf? We’re like school children and started giggling uncontrollably, at which point I turned around to see where the topless bandit was, only to find she was bent over, and um, I see London, I see France, I almost see your butthole.
Once we’d recovered, we were headed to the boofay. On our way we pass a blonde gal and I try to gently whisper, “mom she’s f*#ked up”, code for keep your eyes peeled. Either it was the all-inclusive bar or the water bottle-sized vape canister of something rather, but she was toast. With blonde hair and the drunk wobbles, she reminded me of Tara Reid. Picturesque. We have inconspicuously watched as she came up on the hot tub. Everyone on the opposite side of the pool is watching and giggling, so naturally we settle in and get ourselves a seat. At one point she tried to re-tie her bottoms and about showed her cookie to the whole pool, but “regroups” and stumbles into the hot tub (I was anticipating a full header, however she had pretty good drunk coordination). Her only fault is as she gets in the hot tub she shows her entire vageen (for an extended 30+ seconds) to the hot tub residents. Everyone in the audience is dying laughing. We don’t speak Spanish, but from our estimates one of the hot tubbers yells at her husband to get up and come get their daughter. Fair enough. No child needs a full crotch shot. However, he is laughing so hard it takes him awhile to make his way over. Again, we don’t know Spanish but think the mother really ripped Tara Reid a new one for the vagina show. Being as I had no children and no full frontal shot, I have no qualms about our pre-dinner entertainment. Encore.
Once we finally got away from the Emmy award-winning performances and made it to dinner we saw all of the elaborately dressed show people. I’m talking sequins and feathers and fabulousness everywhere. Come hell or high water I decided I was going to that show. And we did. After a nap. Because we’re old, sunburned, and mom needed to recoup from her stint in the pool drinking gin tonics (buzzed burning). Fast forward to the most splendid, high-paced, shake your cucaracha, sequin-y, feather-y dance show ever. Picture Miss Congeniality 2 outfits. If I actually had some rhythm I would demand an opportunity to be a part of one of those shows.
After the show we cruised around ultimately landing at the 24 hour bar where we ate a couple plates of fries, pizza, a shot, and lots of beers/gin tonics. Glorious. Until we got in a scuttle-y disagreement. All’s well that ends well. Quick rebound and today we spa-d, avoided the sun, read, and slept.
Now it’s time to get ready for dinner (we actually got reservations, adios buffet, until tomorrow morning), I’m thinking some more drinking, and preparing for golf lessons tomorrow. Wish us luck. I totally plan on being a snotty broad at the club drinking ‘tinis. I will finally be a Martini in a Martini world!
Beer in a Martini World 