The Vacation, part II

Thursday, Feb. 23, 2006, 6:45 p.m.

First of all, I want to extend a large internet-hug and many droopy-eyed "I'm sorry"s to you, the Ones I Love, for being so horrifically neglectful of your journals/diaries/blogs/etc. of late, and for taking two-thirds of forever to respond to your comments.

It's Husband's fault.

Every time I get on the computer, he's all "What are you doing?" and "You're totally addicted to the internet!" and "Come have sex with me" and he just doesn't understand that you all have written WORDS which I want to READ and RESPOND TO.

But I am really, for real, trying. I swear. I am sitting here typing, instead of going downtown to pay some people to turn our water back on. That is devotion, people.

Also, I just kind of forgot to do it. Good thing I'm showering at the gym in the morning!

And now, the long(ish)-awaited ...

SECOND PART OF THE VACATION [dumdumDAAAAAH!]

I have to preface this by saying that Husband has decided he has a big problem with me posting pictures of him, so there will be no photos in this entry, since all the good ones include him.

(Pssst! Stay tuned for a link to the photos.)

We drove down to Tampa to catch a flight to our destination -- which, as you may recall, was the Dominican Republic. Or so we thought.

As we walked up to the ticket counter, I casually asked Husband, "So, you have your passport, right?"

"Oh. Ummm ..."

"You forgot it at home?"

"Yeeeeah."

"GAH!"

"No, no, I have my military ID; that should work."

"Humph. It better."

Except, it didn't. Military ID does not = passport, in the eyes of the ticket counter. Or anyone. Surprise, surpise.

So there we were, all packed and ready to go on our island vacation, an hour away from our boarding time, and we are very, very ticket-less.

We had three options:

1) Hang our heads dejectedly and go home
2) Get someone, somehow, to break into our apartment and FedEx us the passport at the San Juan airport (where our connecting flight was) by the next morning
3) Return to the ticket agent, communicate to him that an island vacation MUST BE TAKEN and it must be taken NOW because I NEED AN ISLAND VACATION and please help us pretty please

We went with option three. And ten minutes later, we were the proud ticket-bearers of a trip to St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands.

Of course, since our vacation package was only good for the pre-paid resort in the Dominican Republic, we had no idea where we were going to stay once we got there, but hey, you know, whatever. Because -- island! Woo hoo!

We got on the plane, and discovered that the ticket guy had bumped us up to first clas -- at first we suspected pity, but then realized that what with all the to-do about military ID not being = to passport, he had probably done it because of the whole we're-in-the-Army thing. We are forever grateful to him, and if we see him again, he will receive kisses.

So there we were in first class (or "business" class, as they are calling it now, I suppose. Maybe because you have to own a lucrative business to be able to afford it). I had never really traveled in first class, so the majority of the flight was filled with happy little surprises, i.e., "We get wine? For free? In a glass?? Oh JOY!"

And it was a pleasant three hours.

Once we got to St. Thomas, our conversations mainly consisted of the following phrases:

"Where are we going to stay?"
"Are you booked?"
"Everywhere is booked?"
"How about the street?"

Etcetera.

Eventually, we talked to a nice cab driver who told us that Holiday Inn usually had some vacancies. So, in the spirit of our new catchphrase "Fuck it, why not?" we hopped in his van-cab and set out in that direction.

As we sat in the cab, discussing the situation with each other ("What if the Holiday Inn's booked?" "Hey, I've always wanted to be a street person!" "Haaa!") a guy in the seat behind us spoke up.

"You guys are visitors?" he asked us.

"Yep," we replied. "Can we stay with you?"

(Well, maybe not that last part.) (I don't think so, anyway ... but who can remember?)

"I know a guy who owns a guesthouse," he told us. "It's not right on the beach --"

"Hey, as long as it's on St. Thomas," we said. "We're not picky."

"-- but it's about a five-minute walk from the beach, and it's really inexpensive. I'm pretty sure there's a vacancy."

"YAAAAAY!" we said.

"By the way, I'm playing guitar at [insert name of bar] tonight, if you guys want to drop by."

"Sure!" we said. "Booze + music = we'll be there."

So he gave us the phone number to the guest house, and we went ahead and got a room for one night at the Holiday Inn, just in case it fell through.

To make a long story short (because I have a feeling this could turn into The Serendipitous Vacation Saga That Wouldn't Die), we went to the bar, met up with the guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, and got ourselves a room for sixty bucks a night. Which allowed us to have seventy dollar bar tabs every night, because "wheee, look at all the money we're saving!"

The bar that our new friend was playing at turned out to be the best bar we found the whole time we were on the island. Good food, awesome people, and very chill, lazy, we're-a-bar-on-the-beach-and-how-cool-is-that atmosphere. Yes, you read that right it was right on the beach (as it, the place had no walls surrounding it and oh, look, there's the ocean!), and it was about three-quarters of a mile from the place where we were staying.

I don't think we could have done better if God had actually reached down and turned our tap water into wine. And, of course, charged us for it. But you take what you can get.

We ended up doing some jet-skiing (which included many priceless moments of "Hey, watch th--OOWWWW oh shit that was FUN!") and scuba-diving (which yielded much amusement in the form of breathing Vaderishly into the regulator and miming, underwater, "Luuuuke [bubblebubble] I am your faaa[bubblebubble]ther") and tanning.

And by "tanning" I mean, "Husband slathered on SPF 50 and a towel, and I slathered on SPF Nothing, thus becoming the sun's bitch."

Anyway, I emerged alive and mostly unscathed, and that's the story. And here are the pictures.

*EDIT* The link to the pictures has been taken down, because Husband thinks you all are going to stalk him. Sorry! *END EDIT*

But now vacation time is done, and it's back to work I go. With the exception of Incompetent Coworker (who still is holding tight to his belief that I am "too mean"), I am working with a whole new slew of interesting people who are so cool that I can't even mock them.

Oh, that is a total lie. Mockings are forthcoming.

Big love!