No Apologies

I've been on many diets before; I've even been on Weight Watchers before.  This time, though, there's just a different feel to it somehow.  I've never been so aware of my hunger.  And let me tell you, mama is HONGRY.  I don't mean to imply that this is a bad thing, by any means.  No, I think that it's actually helping me stay on point.  It reminds me that I'm making progress and keeps me on track.

That being said, I kinda feel like I have a new friend that goes along with me everywhere I go.  Sometimes it drifts away, but it always returns, like a witch's familiar.  I tuck it up beside me when I drift off to sleep, with dinner a distant rumble in my tummy.  I shove it aside (not now, busy!) at work, despite it's persistant tugs for attention.  When I do deign to answer it's call, it always feels like too little, too late.  Everything that goes into my mouth is promptly decimated with cries of more, more, more!  I picture razor sharp teeth springing out of the walls of my stomach like magic and reducing any nutritional material to neutrons in five seconds flat.  It's like I have a puppy with pica living in my gullet, always looking upwards with an eager, panting grin.

I don't know why this change has come about, but it's taken some getting used to.  Now that I'm a little ways into this whole thing, I feel like I'm getting betterat at listening when I need to, and ignoring it when I need to.  Bored doesn't = hungry after all.  Heeeeey!  Maybe I'm actually...learning good eating habits!  Weird.

Before the game began, we all stood around joking and saying to each other, "This is a story that we'll be telling to our grandchildren one day."  Well, I don't know if I'll be doing all that, since I don't think that I could spin the tale without cursing roundly.  I'm speaking of my attempt to be present when the city went mad; our first World Series championship in twenty eight years was suposed to come Monday night.  It didn't happen that way, though, much to the dismay of a hungry city of sodden fans. The plan started out simply enough.  Go to south Philly, hang in the stadium lots, scream ourselves hoarse when our Fightins carried the day.  Easy.  Yeah, not so much.  Nature and Bud Selig conspired to postpone the inevitable, and make us all miserable in the process. 

The night started off pretty much as it ended: badly.  It was utter chaos around the stadium.  There were cops galore, low flying helicopters, crowds to surpass wildest imagination, and, of course, the Goodyear blimp.  I was separated from the rest of the group, having driven in alone, and was totally stressing.  I must have called KV about fitty times before I actually figured out where they were parked and how to get there.  It sucked, even though I found them with pretty much no problem.

Once I got there, though, things started to suck a lot less.  Everyone was gathered around a minivan that housed a TV hooked to a rented generator (now that's dedication!), and everyone looked very cold.  It was cold, too; a windy night with a temp of around thirty.  We didn't even have to put the beer in coolers to keep it cold, and I think that was the first time I saw coozies being used to keep wine room temp and fingers warm.  Anyway, there were about fifteen people huddled in the lee of the van, avidly watching each play and calling out a countdown of the number of outs we still needed to become world champs. It was one of those nights that shouldn't be fun on any account.  I mean, I was cold, hungry, and I couldn't see the screen real well, how fun is that?  Apparently, a lot; I was having a blast.  We screamed at every good play, groaned at every bad one and high fived anyone who passed by.  You could almost feel the uphoria building moment by moment.

The conditions were rough, but our group and many others were braving the hardships with exuberance and beer.  After I had had quite a few, nature took over, and I felt like I was going to burst.  I thought that I knew all there was to know about peeing outside, but this was worse than any boatshacks pop-a-squat.  The parking lot was surprisingly well lit, and you never knew when a miscellaneous gaggle of people was going to pass by.  Luckily, one of the van's owners had placed a table strategically in front of the vehicle to cut down on the chances of providing some rando with a free peep show.  All the spot needed was a blanket holder to cut off all sight lines.  It sounds easy, but was completely complicated.  As I took my turn, it occured to me that the generator was right next to me, and wouldn't it be unfortunate if I somehow hit it and electrocuted myself from the crotch up?  Worse yet, that would probably short the damn thing out and render me the most unpopular girl at the party, not to mention that it would have deprived me of the game along with everyone else.  The picture in my mind was very clear.  That didn't happen, though I did have to contend with a blanket eager to flirt with my bare ass, and the fact that the spot was slanted towards my left foot, encased in one of my new suede clogs.  I think I managed to do all right, after all, I didn't electrocute myself and ruin the party, I didn't pee on a friend's blanket, and I managed to at least keep my jeans urine free.  I can't say my shoe fared so well, but you can't expect perfection under those conditions, especially while you're shrieking with laughter.

There were all kinds of shenanegins like that going on.  I definitely caught some guy peeing on a car (which I fervently hope was his, but doubt that it was), and left him calling after me, "It's really cold out, that's all!!"  Another rabid fan was car surfing in the distance, going way too fast, unfazed and shouting "GO PHILS!!!"  Yelling fans could be heard constntly, and some of them even stopped and joined our group.  People had their hair dyed red, red clothes on, red, red, red, it was a sea of red people hopped up on booze and hope.  Red October.  It was mass hysteria of the best kind, and just exactly everything that I wanted to be a part of.  It was great.

Then it started to rain. Hard.  People quickly yanked out ponchos, slickers, umbrellas, and even garbage bags to keep the rain at bay.  While they were still playing, we weren't leaving.  Even people who had nothing were hunkered down and ready to stick it out to the bitter end.  I should have been better prepared.  I wasn't one of the ones with nothing, but a comforter and a golf umbrella were not doing the trick, or even coming close.  My Grimace raincoat was hanging safely in my closet at home, its existance forgotten until the time of need, too late.  Grrr.  I was valiantly trying to shelter as much of my bod as possible, but the slanting rain was driving up under my meager shelter with ruthless efficeincy.  A couple of us got in my car to take cover, but that proved to be a bad idea, as N had to keep getting out to pee, so I had to keep jumping out into the rain without blanket.  I also couldn't get the damn thing back on the same way, so some of the drier patches got soaked immediately after I stepped out of the car to keep watching the game.  Slowly, slowly, slowly I got more and more damp until sopping wet would have been a better way to describe me.

Still, there was the game, growing steadily more ridiculous as the weather worsened.  Nobody wanted it to get called, the fans, the umps, or the commisioner; probably nobody but the undoubtedly freezing players.  It was the top of the sixth, an official game, Phils up 2-1, and still they played on.  Jimmy Rollins fell victim of the terrible conditions and made a rare error, eventually leading to a tie score.  THEN they called it.  Once it was a tie.  Lookit - nobody, no real Phillies fan, would have wanted the series to end like that.  A win in that manner, without a complete game, would be a false victory, one besmirched by doubts and smutty innuendo.  But, the way it was handled was piss poor.  The forecast should have been enough to postpone the game, it should have been stopped earlier, Bud Selig should have followed the rules and (since the inning wasn't finished) had the game revert back to the fith inning score to be continued when the weather permits.  I'm terrified that this will be the thing that breaks them, this absolutely bizarre situation, and that we'll come out of this series with nothing but heartbreak, again.

We left as the game was suspended, with heavy hearts and severely chilled bodies.  I can pretend to be philosophical about the whole thing and say that I had a marvelous time, no matter what happens.  And, really, I did have an insane amount of fun, even with the rain and cold.  It is all for nothing, however, if the Phils don't come out of this victorious.  Period.  If I believed in God, I would pray for a win.  Since I don't, I'm going to have to rely on nine men and a little luck to bring me and everyone in this city what they've hungered for for so long - a championship.

The other day was my very firstest fantasy football draft.  I was so wound up before it started that instead of doing some last minute prep, or straightening out a plan of attack, or possibly even custom ranking my players, I just stared at the timer as it ticked inexorably towards 00:00.  Boy, I never knew how quickly sixteen minutes could pass - in total silence.  As I sat there, looking like a particularly robust zombie, my thoughts became more and more frantic, and I thought my heart was going to beat its way straight out of my chest.

Of course, as usual, I had not prepared to the best of my abilities, despite the fact that my brother had kindly provided me with all the information I could ever need to have a successful draft.  I had glanced over the kit he sent me, sure.  But I didn't peruse it carefully, being busy with sitting on the couch watching Family Guy and all.  It wasn't until a couple days before the draft that it occured to me that I was up shit creek without a paddle.  Luckily for me, I read and absorb faster than the speed of light.  I also ruthlessly misuse my time at work.  Nothing like an eight extra hours a day to catch a girl up on her reading, eh? 

When I got home it occured to me that some kind of system was in order, and I decided that higlighting the players I particularly wanted would be a good start.  After I read over the player lists and rankings for about the billionth time, I had my optimal team, and many, many highlighted sheets of paper.  By this time it was about half an hour until the draft, and I nervously took my position at the computer and laid out various positions laid out neatly around me; I was ready for my first pick (as soon as the meeeeezmeriiiiiiizing clock stoped going tick tick). 

Unfortunately, I was picking in an unenviable position; second.  That's great for the first round (though fucked if Adrian Peterson got me point one this weekend), but not so great nineteen picks later.  Added to the stress of thinking on your feet, yikes, you only get a minute and a half to choose a player once it actually is your turn, and keep in mind that most of the time someone has snatched away the player that you had wanted one pick before yours and now you're completely panicking.  That little situation is how I came to pick Carson Palmer as my quarterback, along with the largest shambling, scrambling collection of malcontents to ever be called a fantasy football team.  Swear to god - it's like I drafted the friggin' Bad News Bears or somthing.

By the end of the extremely nerve wracking, exhilariating, enervating experience that was the "live draft," I felt like a wet noodle, and my kitchen looked like a paper hurricane had blown through.  Formerly neatly arranged sheets were crumpled, stained, ripped, and scattered all over the place like a monument to despair.  I was likewise rumpled and dissarranged, and in sore need of alcoholic libation.

I bet I don't win one match-up this season.  It occured to me on Sunday that even though my *real* team had won, I still felt a lingering sense of shittiness about the whole experience.  Fuck my city's team, what about *my* team?!?  It's just one more thing to worry about all week long this fall, I guess.  Though, i do have to say, even with all the angst and disappointments, there was an added savor to all the games this weekend that's left me jonesing for more.  Sneaky, that; combine tragedy and comedy to bring me crawling back, bloodied, for more.

Viva fantasy football!!

Well, as to how things are going here, I've been better, Bob (please ignore the obscure movie reference).  The last few days have been a little hectic.  Let's see...this weekend I shopped 'till I dropped - a couple times.  I hung around with friends, doing nothing of substance.  PS, that's pretty much par for the course these days.  Even when I "go out," most of the time I'm sitting my ass on someone else's couch rather than my own.  Woo.  Party.

Anyway, as usual, the weekend positively whizzed away and the week started with an abrupt buzzing noise.  Very annoying.  On Monday the thought drifted through my foggy brain that, hmm, it was creeping close to September.  Perhaps, if I wished to attend classes this fall semester, I should check my university's website to see when I should register.  You know, like sometime in a week or so.  Ha!  I say.  HA! HA!  Understandably, that day being the eighteenth of the month, it was the last day to register for the upcoming term.  Silly me.  I launched immediatetly into panic mode.  Holy shit - I wasn't set up in the system, I wasn't a hundred percent on what classes I had to take, just everything, everything - I was woefully unprepared.  So there I was, suddenly spinning and fluttering from one side of my cubicle to the other like a startled bantam hen.  Many long,  frantic calls and minutes later, I was signed up for one of the two classes that I needed.  Had I signed up for classes when I was actually able to, I'm sure the other class would have been available, but that didn't happen.  In the end, it's not a huge deal.   I can have the prof sign me in when class starts, but I just felt like kind of an asshole.

And then, do you remember those shoppng sprees?  Yes, my friends, that money should have been spent on my education, instead of plaid skirts.  Not that it would have been nearly enough.   After I signed up for my class, feeling vastly relieved, I went to pay.  The computer screen had a number printed on it.  The amount of money that I was supposed to shell out.  It was so ridiculous that I called the registrar once again and checked with her that that was the actual cost of one measly little class.  Oh, yes, she replied sweetly, I did owe one thousand, two hundred and eighty dollars.   Holy hershey swirled underwears, Batman!  The second wave of panic broke over me like a storm swell and rolled me under.  I did not have the liquid resources at hand, and if I didn't pay immediately, my registration wouldn't count.  Thank god for the payment plan.  Everything buffed out, but it certainly taught me a salutary lesson.  The money that used to go to booze, trips to Bigej, vacations, clothes, flip flops and whatever else struck my fancy at the time should now be going to BILLS!  Oh, yeah, those things.  Kind of tough to keep all of them stuck in my head when I couldn't even pay my monthly phone bill on time.  Even though it was the only one I had on Kwaj.

I guess stuff like this is what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the real world; the one beyond the tide lines of our safe little universe.  I'm defintely still getting used to it.  By the way, thank you a million times over, mom and dad.  Thanks for paying for my college degree.  It was very good of you, especially considering how damn long it to me to graduate.  I never quiiiite understood what it was like for you until now.  Yes, I'm off on many a new adventure these days.  Stay locked. 

Finally, finally.  I am now to the point that I am caught up with all the backlog and can concentrate on the present, which hopefully will result in some better writing.  My apologies for the huge lag in entries, but I am only now coming out of a two month period when everything was upside down and inside out.  I honestly tried to blog, but mostly I just felt like I'd been hit over the head with a mallet.  I wouldn't be surprised if not one single soul still reads this page, but I like to pretend I have a huge audience of rabid fans.  It's more satisfying that way.  So, hi there.  I'm ba-A-ck!

The first thing that I did when I actually tried to start building a life was to get a cell phone.  When I went into the store to do so, I was met by a bright eyed young man who asked if he could help me.  When I replied "yes," he asked me what I needed.  "Everything," I replied, "I just came from a place with no cell phones."  I might as well have poked him with a cattle prod.  His entire body jerked in surprise and he said in ringing tones of horror, "NO CELL PHONES?!?!?"  He said it the same way as if I'd told him "no fresh water," or "there were scorpions everywhere."  I talked him down and we managed to get me outfitted with everything that I apparently needed in order to continue breathing properly.  After I was finished paying, I jokingly said, "Now I'm a whole person again."  Well, the humor was completely lost on him, because he looked wildly sympathetic and said to me, "Yeah.  Yeah.  You enjoy that cell phone."  He seemed so relieved on my behalf that I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was totally kidding.  I hope nothing ever happens to that dude's communications equipment!  I do have to say, though, that I can understand, a little bit, at least.  I found that while I could do without a phone quite easily, not having internet access made me feel as though somone had cut off my left arm.

Getting all the other stuff I would need to live in the world again came a little easier, and with less drama.  An apartment presented itself to me with perfect timing, and I got my shipment almost right away.  A job proved to be more elusive.  Calls I had aplenty, but no interviews and no offers.  I spent most of my time sitting in a stupor of unhappiness and smoking thousands of cigarettes.  Thankfully for both my sanity and my lungs, somthing eventually did pan out, and I am now gainfully employed.  It's still tech writing, so it's still boring, but I still need money, so I'll still do it. Groan.

Once I got a job, there was only a car left on my "to buy" list, so I reverted to type and got a V-dub.  A Beetle, to be precise, and it kicks so much ass I can't even believe it.  Things are slowly starting to improve, and I'm feeling less like a disaster victim and more like a Jersey Girl.  I've put down some tenative roots, and I'm so glad.  I hate to feel transplanted.

The rest of the DR trip after the wedding was a lot less bonkers, thank goodness.  I woke up for the second time that next day and positively sprang out of bed.  At the time, I didn't have even a smidge of a hangover, and I was feeling pretty smug.  I was thinking that I was a rockstar and the most talented drinker in the world, that is, until I got downstairs to eat.  My PIC and I were basically sitting in the buffet pavillion like zombies, barely able to get up enough energy to pick at our food.

The beach was our savior that day, and I huddled in the shade to rest while PIC improved on her already stellar tan.  We didn't do much else until it was time to go eat with everyone and to celebrate absolutely nothing  (they were leaving the next day, we stayed one extra).  Brazillian food was on the menu that night, so dinner was pretty much all meat.  Aside from PIC's teeny piece of chicken, the portions were generous, and by the time we were done all our courses I felt like I could have rolled myself out into the courtyard. 

While we all did go outside and have a drink, it was clear that everyone was pretty wiped from all the revelry that had gone on the night before.  Only PIC, myself and one other girl had the chops to go to the sports bar to continue our quiet evening while sipping on some hooch.  Eyeryone else called it a night very early.

Since PIC and I had been out until about one, we woke up late again on our last full day.  It was more of the same, beach, pool and sun - with a little shopping thrown in for good measure.  PIC had also decided that she was going to get a facial, and very sweetly paid for me to get my very first one, too.  It was one of those days when nothing in particular happens, but that you feel good about, anyway.  When we figured we should get ready for dinner, we couldn't resist getting a bottle of wine to take up to the room.  That and the champagne given to us by the happy couple were a nice counterpoint to sitting out on the balcony and catching up with each other.

Dinner was great that night, and aside from a broken salt shaker demolished by yours truly, nothing of note happened.  We caught some of the burlesque show that played every night, and I was just about to leave when some rando employee dragged me out on the dance floor.  I salsa danced while PIC snapped way too many humilitaing pics, and our new friend evenntually sat down at our table to practice his English on us. Bacause I'm a mean, mean person I got tired ot that game pretty quickly and left PIC alone with a complete stranger.  She thought he was funny, so it was no big deal, but I had had enough, especially since we were leaving in the morning.

The trip home was by and large uneventful, but poor PIC had to sit next to someone vile again.  Once I got back to Jerz and had sent her on her way, it was time to actually start my new life searching for jobs and apartments and cars, oh, my! 

The rest of the DR trip after the wedding was a lot less eventful, thank goodness.  I woke up for the second time the next day and positively sprang out of bed.  At that time, I didn't have even a smidge of a hangover, and I was feeling pretty smug.  I was thinking that I was a rockstar and the most talented drinker in the world, that is, until I got downstairs to eat.  My PIC and I were basically sitting in the buffet pavillion like zombies, barely able to get up enough energy to pick at our food.

The beach was our savior that day, and I huddled in the shade to rest while PIC improved on her already stellar tan.  We didn't do much else until it was time to go eat with everyone for the last time (they were leaving the next day, we stayed one extra).  Brazillian food was on the menu that night, so dinner was pretty much all meat.  Aside from PIC's teeny piece of chicken, the portions were generous, and by the time we were done all our courses I felt like I could have rolled myself out into the courtyard. 

While we all did go outside and have a drink, it was clear that everyone was pretty wiped from all the revelry that had gone on the night before.  Only PIC, myself and one other girl had the chops to go to the sports bar to continue our quiet evening while sipping on some hooch.  Eyeryone else called it a night very early.

Since PIC and I had been out until about one, we woke up late again on our last full day.  It was more of the same, beach, pool and sun - with a little shopping thrown in for good measure.  PIC had also decided that she was going to get a facial, and very sweetly paid for me to get my very first one, too.  It was one of those days when nothing in particular happens, but that you feel good about, anyway.  When we figured we should get ready for dinner, we couldn't resist getting a bottle of wine to take up to the room.  That and the champagne given to us by the happy couple were a nice counterpoint to sitting out on the balcony and catching up with each other.

Dinner was great that night, and aside from a broken salt shaker demolished by yours truly, nothing of note happened.  We caught some of the burlesque show that played every night, and I was just about to leave when some rando employee dragged me out on the dance floor.  I salsaed, PIC snapped way too many humilitaing pics, and our new friend sat down to practice his English on us. Bacause I'm a mean, mean person I got tired ot that game pretty quickly and left PIC alone with a complete stranger.  She thought he was funny, so it was no big deal, but I had had enough, especially since we were leaving in the morning.

The trip home was by and large uneventful, but poor PIC had to sit next to someone vile again.  Once I got back to Jerz and had sent her on her way, it was time to actually start my new life searching for jobs and apartments and cars, oh, my! 

The first thing I did on the day of the wedding was leap out of bed and check the weather.  I always do that when I'm part of an outside event, which is stupid, because no matter how quickly I check it, I won't be able to change or control it.  It's just a silly habit.  Much to the relief of all eighty guests and the bride and groom, though, the weather was surpassingly gorgeous.  Incidentally, how kick ass is it that so many people came to LB's destination wedding??  I don't think I could round up eighty guests if they all lived within five miles of the church!

Since we got up around noon, it was already past time to hit the water when we made it down to the beach.  We were fortunate enough to snag two chairs (the competition was vicious for those suckers) right near K, and settled in happily to sip froo froo drinks and get some color.  I got a little too much color, and ended up lobster red on my chest and shoulders.  I just got cocky.  I was thinking that being so much farther away from the equator meant that the tropical sun had nothing new to teach me.  I thought, "I got this!"  Well, the tropical sun certainly did have new things to teach me, and it schooled my ass good.  I was frizzled to a crisp.  Talk about being hot for teacher, hee!  The only thing that made me feel even a little bit better was that eveyone else was similarly affected.  Still, it was a jackass move.  I should have known better than anyone else what burn your skin o'clock would do to me; after all, I was the one with the island experience.

Our late start meant that there wasn't much free time before we had to head back up to the room and get ready for the wedding.  After rushing around like loons, PIC and I glided serenely back down to the gazebo on the beach where it was going to be held.  I know I raved before about how gorgeous the resort was, but it bears repating.  It was so goddamn picturesque, and the gazebo was one of the prettiest spots on the gounds.  They had it decorated just beautifully; it was really lovely.  Everyone was so excited, snapping pictures and waiting anxiously for the bride to appear.  I have to say that this groom looked a lot more relaxed than the last one.  When LB finally arrived, it became clear that her guests weren't the only ones who were thrilled about the wedding; she had picked up an entourage of  bathingsuited hangers on.  D noticed that one guy in a speedo actually sprinted over so that he would be in time to take a primo shot of the bride.  It was crazy - a total paparazzi move.  I was very glad that by the time the father of the bride was giving her away all the uninvited gawkers had lost interst and sauntered away.  The acutal wedding ceremony was sweet and funny; it was wonderful to see my Philly girl so happy.

After the ceremony was over, Dominican Lou (the official wedding photog) herded the newly wedded couple and all their guests down to the water's edge for lots and lots of pictures.  There was a stray dog kind of hanging around on the fringes of the party, and jumping into the picture from time to time.  Some thought it funny, but I wanted to kick that mangy thing into the next country.  I know that's not very nice of me, but all I could think about was how I would feel if it were my wedding.  He eventually scrammed, with much encouragement to do so, and all the pics that needed to be taken, were.

I was surprised to see that the reception was going to be on the beach, thinking that somthing like that would be messy and difficult.  It wasn't like that at all.  The tables were set up beautifully and everything was just really well done.  It was an inspired choice.  Once we (there were about nine of us who palled around all weekend) got settled at a table, it was time to have a drink!  D and I had a master plan to drink only beer and keep things in control, but that went all to hell when we discovered that no such animal existed at this wedding.  So, booze it was.  I made the mistake of being nice to the bartenders, and they, in return, poured my drinks generously.  I appreciated the sentiment, but the results were not pretty.

Unwisely, I chose to drink rum, which for some reason always sneaks up on me.  You know, the kind of drunk that happenes when there's no stage between completely sober and trainwreck.  It's much, much harder to regulate your drinking when you don't have buzzy warning signals to gauge by.  Sigh.  Anyway, we were having a good old time, eating delicious food, drinking adult beverages and dancing strange line dances.  The dancing was my fave part, though having never danced on sand before, I hadn't known what a good workout it was.  Once we attacked the non-English speaking DJ with our iPods, people really got up in groups and started to move.  LB was holding court in the center of it all, and eveyone was having a blast.  I was still fine at this point, and pretty much for all of the dancing.  It was when people kind of spread out onto the beach that I lost it.  The limbo is the last thing I remember.  If you look at pictures of me after that, you can see that nobody is home in my eyes.  That's never good.

I was able to piece the rest of the night together from both my pictures and witness accounts.  Apparently the dog came back to a much warmer reception, the boys all jumped in the water, and my partner in crime wandered off to follow her own agenda.  I drifted off myself, and Annflan had to have a couple of the boys to go find me in the lobby, where I was doing a perfect impression of a lost lamb (and probably about as smart as one).  She then took me up to the room, where instead of going to bed, I decided to change and come back out.  Annflan washed her hands of me, and I went right back to the beach so that I could pass out in the "wounded solidiers" area.  Thankfully for my pride, I was not even close to the only one in bad shape.

I probably was the only one who had to be tucked in twice, though.  Just by sheer luck, K and E found me on a beach chair passed the fuck out (shocker), and in a completely different outfit than anyone had seen me wearing at the wedding.  They were puzzled by this, but decided that no matter what had happened, I really needed to go to bed.  Thanks for your help, ladies.  Like my angels of mercy, I was unsure of my outfit when I woke up in the morning, and also of why I was wearing it to sleep in.  Deciding that I would find out later, I changed into my jammies and passed back out. 

Despite my spectacular descent into sheer drunkinness,it was a practically perfect night.  I hope the bride had as much fun as all of her guests did.  Congrats, baby!

Barely a week after I arrived in the Dirty Jerz, I flew away again to hit the Dominican Republic for LB's wedding.  I was excited to go and see everyone, but, honestly, I was so tired at that point that staying home would have been okay with me, too.  I guess that makes me sound spoiled and unappreciative, but I'm not, honestly!  I know how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends and opportunities, but right now I think that that particular breaker needs to be reset in my brain.  There's just been so much going on in my life that it's fried all my circuits.

I picked up my Partner In Crime the night before the flight and then we came home and went straight to bed.  Back in the day we would have gone out and raged the night away, but I guess you have to slow down some time.  It's not that thirty is so very old, but it is not twenty, by any means.  That next morning I felt like I had been out into the wee smas, but I guess that's pretty normal when you get up at a disgusting cow milking hour of the morning.  My body doesn't like being awake a four AM unless I haven't gone to bed yet.  Actually, scratch that - it doesn't like me very much in that situation either.  Jeeze, tangent.  I'm kind of spacey today. 

N-E way!  The first leg or our trip was uneventful, for me, that is.  PIC was apparently seated next to a farter, which I can say from personal experience is beyond awful.  I missed the whole thing while whacked out on valium.  (I'm telling you - it's the only way to fly.  You take two of mama's little helpers and bam, you're conked out for the whole ordeal.  It's like it never even happened, yet here you are in a whole new place, brilliant!)  Luckily, the ride was of the short variety, so poor PIC only had a limited torture session.  When we got to Puerto Rico, we were so excited to see a friend that we missed the multiple calls for our next flight.  I don't know how it happened; we were literally standing right next to the appropriate gate!  I guess our chatter, chatter, chattering away was loud enough to drown out the announcements for Punta Cana.  The first indication we had that our plane was boarding was the final call.  Whaaat?!?!?!?  We hustled our bustles right over to the counter and turned in our tickets.  We were, in fact, so late that a separate bus had to take us to our little puddle jumper.  Thankfully, the rest of our journey went smoothly, and soon we were in the DR on a shuttle driving us to our resort.

Even if our travels had been travails, it all would have been worth it for the Riu Resort.  Holy Mary, Mother of GOD was it beautiful!  Mosaic tiles, soaring ceilings, fountains, creamy stucco, and, best of all, a swim up bar!  Now, us being us, we visited that bar immediately after we unpacked.  Everyone else was already there, and the atmosphere was festive.  I definitely had to shriek like an excited fishwife when I saw the bride.  I was also forced to drop all my stuff at the side of the pool, jump in and practically tackle her with a hug.  Hey, what can I say?  Not only was her wedding the next day, but on top of that I hadn't seen her in a really long time.

We were there for a while, taking advantage of the free drinks.  Not surprisingly, no food and very little sleep meant that the mojitos I was sucking back with the quickness hit me pretty hard.  By the time we needed to go upstairs to shower for dinner, I was feeling no pain.  Good thing, too, because the wicked corners on the bathtub ambushed me and gouged a huge bruise on my right thigh, which looked absolutely lovely for the rest of the trip.  How I managed to shave my legs without cutting one of them off, I'll never know.  After that we went down to eat with everyone, but to be honest, alcohol + exhaustion = I barely remember it.

Despite the fact that I was struggling to keep my eyes open (and so was PIC), we gamely hung around after dinner and chatted with everyone.  I really wanted to spend some time with LB, guessing it would be one of my only chances, but it wasn't to be.  My body just flat quit on me.  It was probably better, in the end, since the next night turned out to be apeshit bananas crazy.   

After the medium sized blow out of my PCS party, I still had about a million chores to do before I left the rock.  I thought I was on top of things, but as my final days proved, clearly, I wasn't.  AT.  ALL.  After the whole Pohnpei flight debacle,SL had remarked that it was funny that I was only worried about my plans for the party and not the larger logistics of moving halfway around the world.   I can only say now that she was entirely right, and the only reason that I wasn't more upset was because I had no fucking clue what I was doing or what the coming days would entail.

I won't bore you with details, but that last week was one of the worst of my life, and the last day was too terrible to even remember.  Who knew that packing up would be like that?!?  I sure didn't.  There were a lot of good things about those days, though.  I feel very lucky that I was granted a little extra time to spend with friends and with my island. N Pance threw my "Last Night" celebration at her boatshack, and once again everyone (who could) came through for me and turned out to wish me one final goodbye.  It was everything I could have asked for.

When I finally got to the airport on the 16th, I was physically and emotionally drained.  I felt blank for most of my goodbyes; like my departure was an event so large that my emotions couldn't encompass it.  I stayed just that little bit too long, though, and when someone's eyes started to well up, all of a sudden all five of us girls were in tears, and I was almost sobbing (And, yes, I cried all the way to Majuro.  It was completely pathetic).  It meant so much to me that they were all there, and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving any of them.  I sometimes still feel like I've subconsciously convinced myself that I'm on a very long vacation and that the real reckoning is yet to come.

I can't imagine the path that my life would have taken if I had not come to Kwaj, and I don't want to.  I feel like Kwaj was the making of me; every minute I spent there seems impossibly dear to me now.  I know I won't ever forget it.