Sunday 31 January 2010

Coba

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am against most tourist activities, and am also most certainly INdoorsy. I don't partake of any water sports, I'm always in heels, I burn at the slightest mention of sunshine, and given half a chance, mosquitos would suck every drop of blood from my body.

Which is why it's so surprising that I actually had a really good time today.

The basic tour of the Mayan ruins at Coba only runs on weekdays, so I ended up signed on for the adventure tour. Ten of us packed in a van this morning, and drove out to visit the ancient city. After spending a couple of hours there, we took the van down a bumpy one-lane road into a remote monkey reserve, where many Mayan descendents still live today, keeping their traditions alive and making money off tourists.

We stepped off the van and into kayaks, which we paddled down a small river and to the edge of a forest. After hiking uphill on rocky jungle trails, we met a Mayan shaman, who performed a ceremony to prepare us for entering their sacred pool. The pool in question was a clear blue cenote, down several flights of stairs, in the bottom of a stalagtite-filled cave. I went ahead and got into the water, because although I haven't swum for 20 years, I was really good at it back then. Apparently I'm not anymore. I spent the whole time in the shallows on the rocks, rather than attempting to cross the 3-4 meter depth in the middle.

After our dip in the cenote, we hiked back out through the jungle, then had a fantastic lunch, which had been made from scratch by the residents of the village. After lunch, though, I'd had enough adventuring. I took a pass on riding a zip-line across the canyon and rappelling down the cliff.

Our tour ended with shots of tequila at the souvenir shop, and a long drive back in the rain. I'm exhausted, but it was worth it.

For once, I was glad I went full tourist.

Saturday 30 January 2010

Restaurante Jalisco

After two and a half days of eating resort buffets, I've learned one thing: stick to the Mexican food. Although they offer all manner of international cuisine, the Mexican selection is by far the best. While I'm sure it's mediocre for Mexico, it's scores better than anything I've ever had in Washington state.

Although dinner is served buffet-style, the restaurant still gives you a server to fill your drinks and clear plates. Tonight, mine was an adorable young man named Rangel. I know I'm getting old, because to me he looked about 17, and I'm sure he was much older. Anyway, when he first offered me wine and found out I was alone, he let out a sad little "aww" as he walked away.

He must've thought I needed company, because when he came back, he asked where I was from.
"Seattle."
"Where?"
"Um, the States."
"America! In spanish, Estados-Unidos. In English, United States. Gringolandia."
This made me laugh, which seemed to please him.

A few minutes later a large group was seated in the vicinity, who was celebrating some occasion that required Rangel to open 3 bottles of champagne for them. Two of the bottles refused to uncork, so he and his fellow staffer spent several minutes attempting to pull the cork from each bottle, using various methods. I and all the surrounding tables found this amusing as hell. When Rangel came back to apologize for neglecting me, I said I was totally fine, and was having fun watching the show.

He was mildly embarassed and wandered off. I wished I had a few pesos to tip him for giving me a fun Mexico story, but alas, I'd brought nothing but my room key with me to dinner.

Still, it's a reminder. Some of the best vacations are exactly the opposite of what you expected.

Caribbean Bliss

As a big fan of How I Met Your Mother, I am reminded of the episode where Robin came back from Argentina, covered in sand and with a whole new hassle-free attitude on life. Because I get it now.

I spent the bulk of my day today lounging -- by the pool, and even better, by the sea. I'm a person whose mind is always running. I never quite relax, because I always have to be doing something; I never just sit and be there. Today, I got past all of that. Sitting in a chair under the shade of a palm tree, looking out over the water, I finally found it. I put down my book and was just there, feeling the breeze and appreciating the splendor before me.

When the sun started going down, I packed up my beach tote to start the walk back to the hotel... and then lingered a few minutes more, taking it all in. As I turned my back to the beach, I felt a pang of sadness that I may never see it again. I may never be that calm again.

You see, for my last day tomorrow I'm paying an exorbitant price to go out to the ancient Mayan city of Coba. The trip also includes activities such as snorkeling, kayaking, and riding a zip line off of a cliff. When I mentioned that this portion of the trip didn't interest me, the tour man said, "Ess no mandatory. You mebbe jess do lill hiking!" While I am excited to see the ruins and get away from the resort for a day, another part of me just wants to go back to the beach. That part of me wants to live at the beach, despite the gallons of sunscreen I have to slather on every morning, and the special pyramid shape my hair takes in this humidity.

Yeah. The feeling of calm really is that good.

Friday 29 January 2010

My Mid-Thirties

Today I am 34. And it's a full moon. And I'm semi-drunk.*

While I never thought I'd spend a birthday alone in a foreign country, I have to say it's kind of awesome. I slept in until 11:30 this morning, then took a leisurely stroll down to the beach. Because it was so packed there, I didn't stay. Instead, I came back to the hotel for lunch, and lounged by the pool reading a book until they started some sort of loud water polo game. The noise caused by the crazy drag queen polo referee didn't amuse me, so I got a snack and came back to my room for a nap. I then went back to the beach for a while, showered off the sand and sunscreen, then headed out to a 3-course birthday dinner. I'm considering going back out to sit in the bar or dance in the hotel nightclub, but I don't think I have the energy to chat up my fellow tourists on this particular occasion.

Although, to their credit, most of them are not Americans. I have been hearing a lot of German and French around the resort, along with a few other unidentified languages. When I do hear English, about half the time it's spoken with a British accent. I talked with an Irish woman at dinner, who was (understandably!) impressed with the decadence of the food here. Whatever their nationality, though, I have never seen so many terribly sunburned white people in one place.

I have plenty of time left to be a social butterfly on this trip, so I think I'll end my birthday in the room with the minibar, watching American TV with Spanish subtitles. Since I already finished off the scant quantity of Dos Equis the hotel provided (refills are only every other day, more lies!), I'm left with the liquor dispenser. It consists of tequila (Cuervo), gin, vodka, and an unidentified but strong brown liquor called Trono.** I think I'll stick with my vodka and Mexican orange soda for the night, but you just never know.

Stay tuned for the hangover report tomorrow...

*To be fair, despite the availability of alcohol, I haven't drank heavily so far on this trip. I have, however, drank steadily from the moment I got here. Until tonight when I had 3 glass of Table Red during the half hour I spent eating dinner. Happy Birthday to me.

**Yeah, I'm adventurous. I didn't know what it was, so I took a shot. It's not whiskey, but it's not terrible. My interest is piqued.

ClubHotel Riu Tequila

All-inclusive resorts are kind of like Las Vegas, only paid upfront. You're surrounded by cheap liquor and bountiful buffets. The weather causes people who should never be seen wearing swimwear in public to wander around scantily clad, basking in the sun. Also like Las Vegas, anything besides lounging in the low-rent luxury will cost you. Everywhere you turn there are people out to make a buck off the tourists.

That being said, the relaxation and lack of attention on daily necessities is well worth the price. All I have to do is wander into one of the restaurants in the complex and take my pick of several cuisines. The minibar is restocked daily, and while I slept in too late to get breakfast (read: coffee*), I started my day with a vodka & orange soda on the patio, avoiding any caffeine-deficiency headaches.

I took my first step on the white sand beach around noon, and had my breath taken away by the neverending turquoise sea before me. I also immediately decided the sunbathing crowds and sweat from the noonday sun weren't worth the walk on the beach, although I did briefly reconsider before coming back to my room. I'm now off to lounge (in the shade) by the pool with a book, and will hit the beach again closer to sundown when everyone else is heading back to their resorts for dinner and the disco.

My only complaint is that I'm completely cut off technologically. The hotel website indicated free WiFi (although not in my room) which is an outright lie. They have a single hot zone in the bar, but there is a charge to connect. My Blackberry also deceives me about its ability to connect, saying that it has 4 bars using a Mexican cellular network, then switches to no signal and refuses to send a text. I've also stopped wearing my watch in this sticky climate, so without my phone, I have no concept of time.

So with that, I shrug and work on acceptance. I'm away to TRY to let go of the everyday world and embrace this timeless land of sun and sea and relaxation...

*I later discovered a Starbucks a block from my hotel, in a small tourist trap shopping center, but dripping with sweat from the sun and humidity, I decided against drinking coffee.

Thursday 28 January 2010

Paradise

I woke up at 3:00 this morning, after sleeping less than 4 hours, and headed to the airport. My first flight landed in Denver, where I had just enough time to get to the gate for boarding on Flight Number 2, which then spent 30 minutes sitting at the terminal having minor repairs before finally taking off toward Cancun. Four hours later, I touched ground, and spent over an hour getting through the neverending lines for immigration, baggage, and customs. From there I spent an hour in a van with the 3 friendliest Minneapolis residents in history, to finally reach my hotel -- a gorgeous complex set amongst a forest of palm trees in the upscale gated community of Playacar.

Thirteen hours and two time zones later, I have arrived. It is warm and breezy here, even now in the darkness of the evening. My room is spacious and fully stocked with liquor, and the balcony looks out on a courtyard under a clear sky, bursting with stars. Relaxing on the terrace with my shoes off, I quickly spotted several bats overhead, and watched an unidentified opossum-like animal scurry past.

I truly am in a Mexican Paradise. But after the day I've had, all I want to do is drink a beer and go to bed.

What a waste. Oh, the humanity.

Seat 20A*

I recently read an interview with Jason Reitman about his film Up in the Air where he referred to air travel as (I'm paraphrasing) "the last refuge for people who like being alone."

He's right, and has made me realize why I like to fly. I often say that I don't mind it, or I'm jaded about it, but the truth is that I actually enjoy my time in the air.

During my teen years, my friends and I would occasionally run out of things to do at night and go wander around PDX. When you're underage, an airport is one of the few places open late where you can go run amok. Airports are always open. They're always busy. Even in the dead of night, people are around, business is happening, flights are coming and going. And despite the hustle and bustle, it's quiet. Everyone keeps to themselves, focused on their final destination.

In the air, it's even more peaceful. As the plane climbs to its cruising altitude, each passenger enters their own world. It's a whole population of solitary individuals. There's no compulsion for connection among the strangers, and thanks to the FAA, no one-sided chatter of cell phone conversations. I like it. I feel at home.

And there's nowhere else you can quite get that feeling in today's world. It really is our last refuge.

*Actually written on the plane, but not one with WiFi, so published later

Monday 25 January 2010

Neverneverland

Over the last couple of weeks, I've had a nasty cold and as such, tried to make good decisions for my health and recuperation. Sadly, my inner Whoo! Girl continually took over and undermined all attempts to be sober and go to bed early. I finally had to find the parent in my psyche, and tell myself I was grounded.

It makes me wonder, do some of us just never grow up?

I've known people who were completely responsible and had it together by age 14. I also know other folks who are completely immature, and/or out partying every night well into their golden years. But for the most part these people also have respectable jobs, pay their bills on time, have kids, pets, spouses, their own residences... all the usual grown up life accoutrements. And as I get older, but remain the same mental age, I get to know more and more of the latter group.

So is there really an epidemic of Peter Pan syndrome? Or am I failing to properly define adulthood?

A college professor of mine said there are three paths to adulthood: marriage, children, or financial independence. But she never told us where you got at the end of that road.

I've followed her path, so maybe I'm here. Maybe adulthood is what we make of it. Maybe I am a grown up.
But I'm still grounded.

Wednesday 20 January 2010

Haiti

I will be the first to admit that I am more self-absorbed than the average person. I'm probably more self-absorbed than the average stadium full of people. But that won't stop me from taking part in a bake sale to benefit Haiti's recovery.

No, seriously. I'm making mini cupcakes.

Typically I'm too cynical to give money to most charities. I give stuff that they can use, because it's more likely to end up with those in need, unlike cash which could go anywhere. That goes double for the Red Cross, because I've listened to my 92 year old grandfather gripe about them endlessly. He's still harboring a grudge over the way they treated him during WWII. But to be fair, listening to the story, he's got a point.

However, every aid organization in Haiti is saying the same thing: Money is the only useful donation in this situation. So in this case, I'm going to say principles be damned, and give money to the Red Cross. Please do the same.

There are so many options. You could click on the big button at left.

Oh, filling out an online form too hard? Then text HAITI to 90999, and $10 will automatically be charged to your phone bill and given to the Red Cross relief effort.

Don't like pushing buttons? Until February 18th, you can go to your local Starbucks and donate at the register when you get your triple latte.

It's so easy, how could you not?

Thursday 14 January 2010

At the End of the Bar

So last night I was sitting in my usual spot down at the ol' Bar and Thrill, when some dude noticed me from the well and came over to talk.

He said, "I have to tell you, you look like the girl in the music video, who's sitting at the bar."

I don't think either of us knew what that meant. I believe my response was, "Ummmm...?" He told me that I didn't look depressed or anything, added, "You're just very pretty and that girl is exactly what you look like sitting here."

I was still confused. "Uh, thank you? Is that even a thank you?"

"Yeah, it's not really a compliment is it?"

I shrugged. "No, but it's not negative either, it just is what it is."

At this point the guy wandered away, leaving me to ponder what this meant. He never talked to me again or even introduced himself, for the rest of the night. Maybe he does this on a regular basis. Guerrilla attacks on strangers' psyches in bars. What an odd pasttime.

I still don't know what he was on about, or what to do with that information. If you have any suggestions, send them my way, and they will be duly ignored... I mean, read dilligently and considered carefully...

Wednesday 13 January 2010

San Francisco

The night I got back from San Francisco, Denny D looked at me and said, "You look so relaxed! WAY more relaxed than I normally see you." Apparently my calm and happiness threw off some sort of cosmic balance, because between plumbing and work, ever since then life has been non-stop drama!

So fuck living in the moment. Let's take a look back at the weekend that was...

I take different kinds of trips. Some are about the location itself, others are for getting a moment to myself, and a few are about the company. San Francisco was the third type. As such, I don't have much to say about the city, because all I remember is hanging with my boy and getting our party on!

During the day, we did manage to see a few of the sights. There was a view of the Bay Bridge (I think) from our hotel window, but we didn't get a glance at the Golden Gate until we spotted it from the plane on our way home. We did visit Golden Gate Park, though, where we stumbled upon the Tutankhamun exhibit at the de Young museum, which I'm sure I'll remember better this time than when I saw it as a toddler. We wandered the few blocks through Chinatown, and rode the street cars down Market Street both nights.

The tourism was nice, but the best part was the nightlife. We spent our evenings in The Castro.

I can't possibly tell all the stories, describe all the people we met, even remember the names of all the bars we visited. Besides, I'd rather tell it in person. I will say, however, that if Ryan and I lived in The City by the Bay (woh-woh-wohohoh), we'd be regulars at Harvey's. Named after Harvey Milk, it's a really laid-back neighborhood bar. It's exactly the kind of place I love to hang out. You can have a drink, maybe some pub food, chat with your friends, and get to know the bar staff. It's friendly, casual, and of course, a proud gay establishment. It was our starting point each night, and my initiation into the Tuaca Club.

After we'd had our quiet drinks and started feeling feisty, we got our Party on at Badlands. It's the kind of place you can only go if you're a scenester, or if you've had enough to drink that you're not annoyed by scenesters. Even so, booze was relatively cheap, it was always busy, and people were chatty.

We went to various other spots on Castro, but it was always at Badlands that we met the best characters. It was there where Party Ryan became Lady Tatas' hero by pulling toilet paper off her shoe. We had a friend for life. Or at least for the rest of the night.



I guess it comes down to this: In my mind, our trip to San Francisco defies description. But I'll never stop telling all the great stories.

And that is the sure sign of a well spent vacation.

Tuesday 12 January 2010

The 7th Circle of Plumbing Hell

Don't worry, I will soon return with more Tales of the City. But first, a detour through H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks.

While my weekend trip was super fun and brought me back relaxed, I didn't get anywhere enough sleep. I never sleep enough on those kinds of trips. So I was exhausted and went to bed at about 10:15 last night, planning to catch up before heading back to work today.

The Lord of the Hairy Clog Underworld had other ideas.

Around 11:30pm, I was pulled out of my deep, restful sleep by a loud sound. Of rushing water. Coming from my bathroom. I staggered in there to find a geyser coming out from my sink drain, into the tiny basin, and over the edge, flooding my whole bathroom.

My first thought, was GROSS! But immediately following that, was Holy Hell that's a lot of water! How am I going to get it out of here? I grabbed the first bucket-like object I saw and bailed the sink into the tub, until the water stopped rushing forth. Then I went into a 30 minute process of trying to mop up at least an inch of standing water. And let's face it, I live in a small apartment, I don't have a wet/dry vac out in the garage, just for these occasions.

So by the time I was done, I was amped up from the workout and irritated. This type of clog explosion has happened a few times in my current apartment. I'm not here to complain about that, my manager was there at 9am this morning to get it resolved, I'm just over it. So despite my exhaustion, I couldn't get back to sleep for a couple of hours after the ordeal. And now, it hurts to keep my eyes open.

But thank the Gods of Dysfunction that I grew up the way I did. Christopher Titus had a great bit on his sitcom about screwed up people dealing with problems. I know I can't do it justice, so I won't try. The gist is that people who've had screwed up lives never get rattled. They just shake their heads and solve the problem at hand. Well-adjusted people do the opposite, even in the smallest crisis. So when the apocalypse comes, all the Normals will be dead first. And we'll live forever.

I proved he was right the day an ex of mine, who came from a very functional family, called down the hall that the toilet was clogged and about to overflow. While he stood with plunger in hand, cursing the heavens and shouting a stream of expletives, I reached past him and shut off the incoming water valve, threw an old towel on the floor, and went back to watching television.

So, do your worst, Plumbing Demons. I'm a screwed up person. I can take it.

Monday 11 January 2010

The Jersey Shore

Does anybody here know The Situation?

I've just returned from a fantastic weekend with my gay husband in San Francisco. Even though we were on the opposite coast, our whole vacation had a Jersey Shore theme.

But in our defense, we didn't have a choice. It was fate.

We flew out of Seattle Saturday, on Virgin America, which is the best airline EVER, and which allowed us to watch MTV on the way to SanFran. So what was on for the whole 2 hours of our trip? The "Guido" train wreck known as Jersey Shore. We couldn't control ourselves. And we were so inspired by the show that we spent the whole rest of our gay-cation calling everybody Jerk-awfs and going creeping.

Late Sunday night, after creeping through every bar in the Castro, we proceeded to drunk dial/text everyone we could think of, saying nothing but inebriated asshattery and Jersey Shore references.

On the way home, our flight television options were less exciting.... until about 10 minutes before landing, when Jersey Shore came back on! Realizing that the Universe had brought us full circle, we accepted that this was truly the theme of our trip, and a fun new part of our lives.

Given this, Ryan and I already have a Jersey Shore date next week. And we've given several members of our gang new Jersey Shore monikers. I am (of course) The Situation, Ryan is Snookers, and Seth has been dubbed P-Woww. Rounding out the group so far are Joey D and Denny D, but the longer this goes on, the more of our friends will be brought in. I can't WAIT!



Now, stay tuned for another very special episode, where Snooks and The Situation go into full creep mode...

Thursday 7 January 2010

Seattle

Look, here's the thing.

I live in Seattle. It's not really a terrible place, but me... well, me personally, I hate it. So rather than moving away, I spend as much vacation time and money as possible escaping the doldrums of rainy Washington state.

I also need a good excuse to write, hence the new blog. So now you'll always know where in the world I am.

Because if I can help it, it won't be Seattle...


But Wait, why Girl 2? you ask. Because my Hetero Life Mate and I are collectively known as The Girls. She's Girl 1, I'm Girl 2. Duh.