Lost At Sea.

So apparently one of the big attractions in Puerto Rico is the bio luminescent bay. There are two such bays in Puerto Rico. The reason they glow is that plankton (whale food) absorbs sunlight all day. By dusk their glowing like folks who work at Chernobyl. Sounds super romantic doesn't it? A nice kayak at sunset only to then you can swim in glowing water. Chaz had done this before and I really wanted to, a.) It sounds really cool, b.) Chaz likes outdoor stuff like that. In fact every time I mention going camping (weekend) Chaz starts telling this story about how he spent 10 days in the Tennessee wilderness not showering. Gross! But I really want to like outdoorsy stuff because I like being outside and then I'm afraid he'll go and find someone more rugged to hang out with. c.) This little cruise sounded totally romantic. I like being romantic, and again I think this is one of those things that Chaz is really terrific at and me not so much. For him it's nothing to take me to a nice dinner or have a really nice surprise planned. Me, on the other hand, I'm romantic when I think about it and cook hims something nice for dinner. d.) Since I work out I didn't think kayaking would be difficult.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Dusk really meant pitch-black-night. We then wade out into the bay on a bed of sea weed. Not only did it smell like all of northern Puerto Rico had flushed their toilet here, but I was also walking on what felt like hair and had these biting bugs biting my flip-flopped feet. On a side note I found out the next day that Puerto Rico has beach lice. Why did no one tell me to bring any OFF!?

"Be sure you don't lean too far because the boat will tip!" Gee thanks for that awesome advice babe! So there we are in the middle of Toilet Bay, rowing like hell because the tour guide said something like "The last one there is a rotten egg." I have no idea whose bright eph-ing idea it was to give 10 tourists who've never rowed a boat before paddles and told them in so-many-words to get to end as. fast. as. they. can.

Oh, and instead of being in the boat with those that have never before set out upon the high seas, the tour guides are interspersed throughout the group. After we set off on the bay we almost hit a sting ray, and then go down the darkest tunnel I have ever seen in my life.

Even more awesome, the bio bay is at the end of a tunnel of mangrove trees that have grown to create a tunnel. Kind of makes you feel like Dorothy lost in the forest. In any case, aside from being natural water filters (mangroves are necessary to create bio luminescent bays) thesewonderful (wonduhful) trees are natural mosquito nests. It doesn't matter if it's winter, I'm a furnace and now matter what mosquitoes are going to think I'm prime pickins. I'm not sure if it's retribution for a century of pseudo-colonization, or that these guys just thought it would be funny to have a gaggle of American tourists who've never rowed a boat before run into big gnarled trees, but apparently the best place to see the lil' glowers is as close to the mangroves as humanly possible.

I'd like to say that I acted like an adult on this trip. But I didn't. There was this little girl that was in a boat with her dad, and she was ter-ri-fied. I felt her pain. Here I was in the middle of the dark ocean, with bits of glowing crap and sting rays. I was scared shit less.

The more she screamed the more I wanted to hit her off the boat with my paddle. Then I remembered that I was an adult. Well not really...

The thing is Chaz kept trying to be helpful and on top of being way out of my comfort zone I was also really embarrassed that I wasn't just like McGyver. So in the end I'm yelling at Chaz that I'm never fucking doing anything like this again damn it.

After about an hour we rowed back (that was way more fun!) and I have decided while seeing glowing plankton is cool, this wasn't worth the effort, the mosquito bites or getting back to the hotel so late that we didn't get to eat. Next time they'd better row me down that shit like Cleopatra getting rowed down the Nile.

I'm Back!

Sorry for the long absence but I was just a little down in the mouth about what to write. I have so very little to write about with summer vacation, until that is Chaz and I actually took a vacation. This sounds really exciting, doesn't it? Our first real vacation for more than a few days all by ourselves? Aww how romantic (feel free to vomit now)! Both of us really were so excited that we didn't sleep the night before. This is totally awesome when you have a 5:30 am flight and have to be there almost 2 hrs early. So basically we set off with no sleep on a day long-ish flight. This wasn't a sign was it?

I have to tell you that I really love to "travel" you know; exotic places, good food, new experiences. I dreamt about being a CIA agent just to travel around the world (and carry a fire arm).

Really though, I'm not a good traveler. I hate flying. I hate everything about it. I hate airports and the Homeland Security and having to take off my shoes and belt and basically go through a strip search just to get on a plane. I hate stewardesses. This must be because I normally fly Delta. Not only do they hire no good looking queers that I can flirt with to get hooked up on the plane, but they must pick from the pool of reformed whores at flight attendant school. All cheap perfume and caked-on make-up. Not to mention that these women are so surely and small-thinking that I can't imagine any of these women would have any other options beside airline travel or pointing their heels to Jesus and thinking of handbags. I also hate crowded spaces, the general (non-brain-functioning) population at large, undisciplined children, everything that makes a plane ride fun.

Plane rides also turn me into a prayer. I mean I pray on a pretty regular basis. They're usually they prayers like, "Dear God, thanks for a good day", "Dear God, thanks for a great time tonight", however on an airplane, when I'm afraid we'll crash and die, and no one will ever be able to find anything of mine except my left pinkie or other such appendage these prayers usually go something like this: "Dear Ever-loving most merciful God; please don't let us crash and die because who will take care of the dog." I don't just pray this once I start chanting it like Bloody Mary Tudor chanting a novena. I'm not Catholic or else I probably would pray a novena on a flight. God forbid there be turbulence because then I just start confessing whatever sin I think God might kill me for by crashing the plane.

OK, OK, I jest about the God killing me part, a little. The flight to PR was surprisingly uneventful. Now I'm not going to say that I am the sharpest at 5:30 a.m. after 2 hrs of sleep. For most of you who read this regularly, we all know I'm not patient and that on no sleep I can be the biggest prick you'll ever meet.

We boarded the plane and weren't sitting together. At this point I didn't mind this and I have no idea why Chaz did. So I go back to my seat and find it occupied by an older couple. Turns out they're illiterate hillbillies and can't decipher the drawings on the plan showing you where to sit, in case you are in fact, illiterate. So after reading their ticket three times and still not hearing me practically yell at them that they are a row up from where they should be, the other gentleman who was displaced from his seat decides to sit in the ones that should belong to Ma and Pa Dumb Ass. Crisis averted I close my eyes, until this giant fool (that's exactly what he was) who lived up to every stereotype of a militant Black Man decides that I'm personally responsible for taking his seat.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand why he was upset. He wanted the seat he paid for. But now we had to go through yet another fun game of trying ever so politely (I did little of the talking at this point) of trying to tell Those Who Had Apparently Never Flown Before EVER that they were in the wrong seat. By this point I didn't see why one of us (not really me since I was sitting down) didn't just take empty seat number two behind us. Did I mention that the enraged gentleman standing over me was under the impression that I had made the mistake. I don't know why he thought this since he'd just heard the Old Ones misread their ticket.

Then I did it, "Well I don't mind moving since we're all gonna make a big deal out of it." I didn't feel it necessary to add on even though these dumb assholes are in my seat, since we'd already done all that not minutes before. But then I'm giving the general public too much credit for brain function. "I'm not making a big deal but I could!!!" Says the gentleman standing over me who apparently is now looking at me like I'm not only a seat stealer, but also a racist. I guess that at just shy of 6 a.m. everyone is living up to their racial stereotypes.

I was too tired to argue and really didn't feel like getting kicked off the plane, before vacation started, just because I school some giant black man on the intricacies of hand-to-hand combat with a tiny, scrappy man who is more afraid of dying in a fight than having to fight one. "I'd be happy to sit in that other seat if you'd like," it dripped sarcastically out of my mouth.

And for one of the few times I was the bigger person and sat in the seat and moved and tried not to hit this asshole in his head as the plane took off. I laid back, closed my eyes and heard, "Why don't you let me have the tickets so that we make sure we're in the right seats on the connecting flight." Gee thanks lady, now that I've almost gotten my ass kicked this is the time you decide to stand up to your husband who should obviously be a candidate for those Alzheimer's commercials on t.v. Just peachy.