The Napkin Diaries

Guess what? This is the last of the Mexico Mini Series!

The next outing happened on Thursday, and it was my pick: Tulum XTreme!

Ooooh pretty. I learned my lesson and opted for a sleeveless, airy top and the same teeny navy shorts. Tulum has a lot more trees and a much better breeze since it sits on the water. Right before I turned into a Pissy Pants, it was time to get back in the van and head into the Mexican Jungle.

Remind me again why I think I'm such a hard ass??

So, Cricket our instructor, showed us how to zip line properly. It consists of a lot of straps, a harness, some ultra-durable man gloves, a lopsided helmet, and a few more straps... oh and it helps if you have some courage too. And then we began our small trek to the first tower. The first 55 foot-tall wooden, rickety ass tower in the middle of the Mexican Jungle. WTF am I doing?! So, we climb. And climb. And eventually get 55 feet off the damn ground. When we got to the top of the tower, Cricket gave us a "psychological safety harness" and that is exactly what he called it. It was a stupid strap hanging from the top of the tower, which when you think about it, won't do you a damn bit of good if say, the tower plummets to the hard, jungl-y ground below.

At first it's kinda like "oh this isn't so bad, I can see the ground... oh wait... no, no, those are tree tops. Shit."

There was 8 of us in the group with Cricket. I was smack in the middle of it. The chick in front of me apparently was married to some kind of Wilderness Man because he was able to hold a camera and take pictures of himself flying over the tree tops. Gina, Wilderness Man's wife, was not as wilderness-y. Cricket asked us if we had any questions before he started shoving us off the side of the tower. Gina piped up with a "yeah I have one question... is it alright if we swear?!" And with that, she was pushed from the tower and a lovely "hooooooly shiiiiiiiiiit" echoed across the Mexican tree tops.

And then it was my turn. Oh.dear.Jesus. So I squat down, lean back onto my "monkey tail" harness (damn you monkey tail, you better hold up my sissy white girl ass) and Cricket pushes me off the side of the 55 FOOT TOWER. Have I mentioned we were 55 feet in the air? In Mexico? And the only way down was a teeny little wire a few hundred feet long? That landed on another tower that you had to climb? That was even higher that the last one?!! WTF.

I squealed. A kinda screamed and chanted "keep your eyes open!!" Half way through, when I figured that if I died, it'd be quick so I might as well just enjoy myself, I decided to let go of the ropes and just hang there by my little harness around my hips and throw my arms out in the air. Awesome. Absolutely awesome. But then it was almost time to dismount. And I'm a self-proclaimed horrible, ungraceful, moronic zipline dismounter. Actually I think anyone who saw me dismount would proclaim the same. See, you have to keep your feet up so you aren't lobbed off at the shin when you come flying in. So I kept my damn feet up. Waaaay up. To the point where I'm all wobbly and unable to find my center of gravity and oh, did I mention I just flew over the Mexican Jungle and might be a little shaky?!! Well Mr. Zipline himself over there helping us dismount apparently forgot what his first time was like and so he rushed all of us to hurry up and stand up and get the hell out of the way because someone else is coming flying down the zipline with their feet all sprawled out in the air. I basically made these idiodic face-deforming snarls and bumbled around whining "I caaaaan't" when he'd tell me to stand up. Yeah I never got better at that...

So, Zipline #1 = Success! Success in my book = Living & not peeing my pants! Hooray, success!

On to Zipline #2. Which you would think would get easier, right? Ha. WRONG. This one is still 55 feet, but a few hundred feet longer. Which means you go faster, and further, which means higher chance of death or peed pants. Crap.

Well, same scenario: I squealed and told myself to keep my eyes open and then got brave and touched some tree tops and then put my feet waaaay up. And then I bumbled around, whined about how "I caaaaaaan't" stand up or be a graceful woman and Mr. Zipline just needs to deal with the fact that I'm a clumsy white girl from South Carolina that doesn't know jackshit about what she's doing or why she ever thought she should do this. Humph.

And now: the Mother Load ZipLine. This shit put the XTreme in Tulum XTreme. Clever, Nicole... Now we are at the top of a 66 foot-tall tower. In the middle of the Mexican Jungle. It's like a rollercoaster... just the Mexican version. instead of wheels and giant steel bars to strap you in, you have hip harness and tiny wires flying 800 feet across a jungle. A JUNGLE people! So yeah, this one was 66 feet tall and over 800 feet long. Scary.Ass.Shit. About halfway through my ride to the other side (no, not to Hell, just to the last tower) I was really picking up speed. Annnnd it got a little too fast for me. So I pulled my arms and legs in (which was probably dumb since it made me go faster) and started saying out loud "Too fast. Tooooooo fast!!" As if there was a set of breaks someone could tap for me. I tried to puff myself back out and spread my arms and legs, but it was too damn scary. So at the end, I just threw my feet up but I came in sooo fast that I seriously should have just done a back flip for my dismount. I absolutely could not find my center. I looked like a turtle on it's back all flailing around while internally screaming "get me out of heeeeere!" I eventually stood up, all shaky as hell, and thanked God for not having me plummet to a bloody, jungl-y death. Thanks, God!

I survived Mexican jungle ziplining! Check that off the list.

Next up: 60 foot repel. Oh, what the hell... Seriously. One thing of note: ziplining is fairly easy because someone named Cricket pushes you off the tower and you have no control; repelling, yeah, not the same - YOU have control. And you have to lower your sissy white girl ass down a 60 foot hole in earth in the middle of a Mexican jungle.

So, for those of you who have never done a repel, you basically climb up another tower, similar to those wobbly wooden ones from the zipline. And like I said, instead of a good, hardy push from Cricket, the repel process is slow and painful and scary as effing shit, man! My first instinct was to just get really low when I first got to the top of the 60 foot tower. You know, kidna similar to how I got low when the lizard incident happened? Apparently my defense mechanism of choice, is to squat down slowly and be real still. I'm sure I'd do remarkably well with a burglar or foot-chase. Riiiiight.

I got done convincing this sweet girl (early 20s-ish) that she can totally do the repel and she'll be so proud. But then it was my turn and all I wanted to do was turn around and haul ass down the stairs. But for some reason, I bumbled toward the edge instead. Cricket harnessed me in and gave me a rope to lower myself down with. You're supposed to put your dominant hand a little behind your hip and your other hand near your stomach and slowly let go with your dominant hand. I understood the theory just fine - actually getting my body to cooperate with something so wrong was another story.

I first shuffled my heels half way off the edge of the 60 foot tower of doom. Then, I had to keep my legs locked at the knee and slowly lower my ass down so that it was parallel with my feet. To quote Gina: Hooooooooly shiiiiiiit. Cricket was like "Okay, you can start to lower yourself"

"No... I can't. I actually can't. I know what to do but my hand will not physically undo the death grip it has on the rope. You do it!!"

And so he did. Apparently, they've had many an experience with sissy white girls from South Carolina and modified their system to allow for a "safety" rope. The safety rope basically just means Cricket can lower your skeered little ass down until you can do it for yourself. So he helped me for probably the first 1o feet. Then I did a little bounce. And then I started to pick up speed, against my own will. But damnit, the rope was burning my hands even through the giant man gloves, so I kinda just flew down the last 20 feet or so just to keep my hands from catching fire. Oww. I was so shaky and scared and just glad I did it. Gah, it was really scary.

Our last adventure of the day: snorkeling in a cave! There was a big ass flood light under the water, so we could see all the fishies and big ass rocks that we were encouraged to avoid slamming into. Hi, remember me? I'm a clumsy ass and of course I kicked one of the big ass jagged rocks. Oww. Luckily no blood, just a bit of a scrap and some pain. It was so pretty down there, and holy crap did it feel go to swim in 75 degree water after sweating my ass off all over the damned jungle.

I must admit, I am so completely proud of myself for doing this. And now I get to claim that I am totally XTreme.

*throw arms in front of chest to make "x" and snarls lip.

Good news people, I took the little stupid finger splint off so now typing, writing, shampooing and living in general have become much easier. Do you even know how much you use your pinky?! Sheesh...
So, lets go back to Mexico (please?) and continue our little recap of my wonderful trip. Husband and I are always up for a little adventure or two. I knew I wanted to do something nuts (like zipline over 2000 feet of the Mexican jungle) and he'd most likely want to do something "smart" like go learn about history. He always wants me to learn... perhaps he is trying to tell me that my knowledge of tanning beds, pedicures and high heels just isn't vast enough. So he suggested we go see Chichen Itza, the 5th Modern Wonder of ze World.
So Wednesday morning we get up at the ass-crack of dawn to take the 2.5 hour journey to the Yucatan Peninsula to see these crazy Mayan pyramids. We were loaded on to this little skeezy van first and the driver didn't shut the door all the way, so you could hear the palm trees wooshing by and you could see the pavement through the crack of the door. Oh God, I have to ride like this for 2.5 hours? Kill.me.now. About 10 minutes into the trip, the driver pulls off the road pretty quickly in front of a Quicky Mart. I thought they wanted coffee but instead they told us to get out. What the hell?! Then I looked in front of us and saw the massive bus that was going to take us. Oh. I'm an idiot. So, as soon as we board the bus, the crazy driver & hosts bust out the 40s of Corona. It seriously was no later than 9 AM. We passed. I didn't want to wander around some foreign tourist trap with a buzz and wind up getting kidnapped or something. I'm so paranoid.
About an hour into our drive, we stopped at a cenote (a pool of water underground that formed when the earth decided to collapse into the underground river). There was like a billion people, it was like a billion degrees and there was no way in hell I was going to jump off a 30 foot cliff into a pool of underground water. I took pictures of the fools who did. We got some really awesome pictures and then boarded the bus to get to our final destination. More beer was offered. I still declined because (1) I didn't want to get kidnapped (because obviously I am more prone to kidnapping when I'm intoxicated... or so says my logic) and (2) I don't even think I drank beer at 9 AM during Spring Break when I was damn 18 years old and (3) I have a finicky stomach and feared morning beer would give me Montezuma's Revenge (which we'll discuss later...which I inevitably contracted).
So we finally made it to Chichen Itza. And it's pretty awesome. It's also at least 110 degrees in the middle of the afternoon. In June. In Mexico. Dear God, why? We trekked around for 3 hours looking at all of the giant pyramids and walls and columns. So it gets so hot that I actually do the tacky sleeve-roll up thing and tucked my sleeves into my bra straps. An hour later, I got even tackier and moved my cute, low side ponytail to a big fluffy crooked knot on top of my head. And finally, a half hour later, I did the tackiest of all, and tucked the bottom of my shirt up so my entire middle was hanging out in the sweltering heat. I didn't care! I was so damn hot! I seriously was dizzy and having trouble breathing. Thank God I didn't have any more hair on my head or fat on my body because I would have so overheated and died.
We found some shade which happened to be where all the little Mayan vendors were hanging out so we bought stuff from 3 out of the 300 of them. It got a little annoying after the 50th one approached us "$1, $1... half off... free." Even after we bought stuff, they were like "one more, one more" and when we told them we had "no dinero" they were like "okay, then it's free!" Bah. Leave us alone, already! We bought a "good fortune" mask that is pretty scary looking, an obsidian statue of some kind of cat (puma? jaguar? tabby?) and a pretty necklace for me.
After our long, hot tour of the ruins, we were fed some really gross lunch. Like, really gross. And then we got back on the bus... where there was more beer. And this time, I was too hot, too tired and too flustered to worry about being kidnapped so I openly welcomed the cup after cup of Corona from a 40. And about 3 hours later, when we returned to the resort, I was happily buzzed and finally back to a normal temperature.
So while it was absolutely awesome to see the 5th Wonder of the World, it might have been a lot better to have done so, say in the snow. Because 100+ degrees just doesn't work for me.

Next Up: Ziplines & Ricky Bobby

One of our first nights at the resort was spent exploring (it is unfair for you to assume I can keep track of the nights considering a drink was in at least one of my hands during almost every hour of every day). It was a bit maze-like and you can easily find yourself asking "how the hell did we end up here? And where the hell is here anyway?" We heard some music coming from somewhere, so we kinda bumbled toward the sound. We turned a corner, and all we see through a small doorway is a half-naked group of girls that moderately resemble the Pussycat Dolls.

Dave's response to the sight: Did we just find the strip club?!!

We would too. If ever there were a couple of maniacs to randomly stumble upon a strip club in the damn middle of a foreign country, it would totally be us. So, instinctively, we wiggled our way to the doorway to peek inside to see exactly what the hell was actually going on.

Not a strip club... but rather a mock performance by 5 mediocre Mexican girls. The "lead singer" did resemble the real PCD lead but the dancing was atrocious. They were all sloppy and droopy and off beat. Ugh. I could have done a much better job. And the thought did briefly cross my mind to march my tipsy ass up to the stage and push little miss "PCD Nicole" out of the way. After the bad rendition of the PCD group, oddly enough, a Michael Jackson rendition came on, which of course, turned out to be quite eery since he passed away the day after we saw the little skit. Weird, huh?

The following day, we relaxed out by the Snack Bar Pool and we happened to be sitting close to the cabana that housed all the yum-yums. Little did we know, this cabana belonged to a bird. A very angry, aggressive, pissed off bird. After reviewing his jerk-like characteristics, I appropriately named the little asshole none other than Jerk Bird. Man, Jerk Bird was pissed.off. If you were a bird, and you got anywhere near him, or his cabana, or any of the tables near his cabana, he would fly straight at you, get right up next to you, puff up, scream and flap his giant puffy wings until you got the hell out of his space. Jerk Bird was quite the jerk, indeed. And he had a very particular schedule. He'd fly in around 8:00 AM to clock in and he'd leave later in the day around 6:00 PM. Seriously. Mexico apparently hired the meanest crow (or something resembling a crow) they could find to watch over the Snack Bar to ensure no other bird came anywhere close. Oh, Jerk Bird. He was there everyday too. Occasionally, he'd take a break and hang out next to the pool and wiggle around in the water to take a bath. And on really special days, he'd poop in the pool right after he was done with that bath. Nice guy, huh? I bet Jerk Bird started Bird Flu with his pool-pooping antics. Jerk.
So the last topic of Blog 2 in the mini-series: Sake. We had made reservations at the Asian restaurant called Sensai on Night 2 or 3. I was having a hard time deciding what to drink. Beer was too heavy, I was sick of the fruity frozen shit and I wanted to catch a good buzz without too much effort. Therefore, the drink selection for the evening could only be one... or two... things: bitter house wine and bitter house sake. No delicious fruity flavors to mask the distinct afterbite that makes me involuntarily click my teeth either. The wine was basically straight vinegar and the sake, like all unflavored sake, tasted like hot vodka. We... no Husband... ended up making friends with the couple to our right. They were young and apparently were also looking to destroy their livers via sake shots. Every time the waiter came around, another round of sake came too. Husband talked sooo much. You know Husband is drunk when he busts out his bar stories... the rounds of sake were coming so much that I didn't realize the waiter had kindly placed a full shot glass conveniently behind my elbow. Apparently, I was going to grow fingers from my elbow and grab the glass, or so the waiter thought. Pfftt, no. I knocked my big ass elbow right into that sneaky little shot glass and poured the hot vodka right down the front of me. My blue/white striped dress because quite see-through in the white sections and my thighs were burning from the hottness... oh, and it looked like I peed myself. Moron. I opted not to tell anyone, but instead act as though I took the shot and carefully wrap my arms awkwardly around my middle. Riiiight. I eventually just started flapping my dress and grinding my napkin into it. And I just took more shots to forget that I cared that I looked like a dumbass. Husband continued to tell stories throughout dinner. From what I understand, he doesn't recall anything he ate, but remembered that it was good. How sad to not remember eating fried ice cream... damn you sake! *Shaking fist. We continued our binge right over into Onyx (the Privilege bar). And exactly how did I know when to stop our binge? When Husband thought we were in Barbados. "Husband, do you know where we are? I think we should call it a night... you seem... tired." Bah! As any good wife would do, I kindly reminded him of his little mishap with geography and ensured that he did in fact know we were in Mexico. Not Barbados. *Smirk

Up Next: Hottest Place on Earth & Extreme Zip Lines

The long-awaited Mexico recap blog has begun. This will be like a little mini-series because if you're anything like me, you'd rather get a bunch of fun little presents individually wrapped instead of a giant box with random shit all piled inside. Therefore, this mini-serious of blogs will be individually wrapped for your maximum entertainment.

So, pre-Mexico, I touched up on my Spanish skills:
Hi = Hola
Beer = Cerveza
Ahora Mismo = Right now
Bathroom = Bano

...Kay, I'm good to go.
Our flights to Mexico were easy and painless. And free of hand sweat (my feet sweat when I drink coffee; my hands sweat when I panic; god forbid I ever nervously drink coffee...) We arrived at the Ocean Coral & Turquesa mid-afternoon June 20. We got to go to the "Privilege" lobby since we had signed up for the upgrade status.


This somehow entitled us to the super upgrade status because we were handed the little swipey keys to a Master Suite just a few moments later! We walked into our giant room *which was more like an apartment than a hotel suite, and I seriously clapped and giggled. There was a giant pink couch, chocolate covered strawberries, and a beautiful ocean-front view staring back at me as soon as I set foot in the room. The bed was giant, the ceiling was pink and the closet was giant and pink! Our bathroom was massive and equipped with fuzzy robes and slippers. Our minibar was stocked and would magically be restocked anytime we drank anything from it (free of charge). Hi, All-Inclusive? I think I love you. I threw back the pink curtains to the balcony and stepped out with a giant smile plastered on my face, I took a deep breath and looked around. When I looked to my left, my jaw fell open, because our private jacuzzi was sitting there giving me sexy eyes telling me to come sit. Really? A private jacuzzi on my ocean-front balcony in my master suite in MEXICO?! Jesus, I did something right!

We threw on our bathing suites and set out to wander the resort. We stopped at the Snack Bar Pool for some nom noms and of course, some drinks. First pick: Coconut rum & pineapple. Husband took one sip, "Dear God, where have you been?" He said looking down into his neon yellow cup. Ahh, it was going to be a great week...
We wandered over to the next area - the Swim-Up Bar Pool. And do you know what they had at the Swim-Up Bar Pool? Well, besides a swim-up bar? They had techno music! Ump-tah Ump-tah Ump-tah (that's my techno beat. You like it.) We tested out the swim-up bar a few times; it works.

Two favorite drinks for the beginning of the week: the strawberry daiquiri and the frozen margarita.

Tidbits for next blog in the series: Introduction to Jerk Bird, the Resort Strip Club & Sake Night.

WaHhhhHhH! I leave for Cancun at 9:30 tomorrow morning! My excitement finally could no longer be contained as of yesterday evening around 8:00 PM when I plugged in my i-pod, jacked up the volume and wiggled my way to my gigantic closest while the "party mix" started to shake the walls. I scooped up, what I think was close to 20 dresses, and threw them onto the bed, hauled my enormous suitcase out and threw it on the bed too, and then watched the cats throw themselves into the suitcase that was now in their prime sleeping location. "Pay attention to me noooooow."
After unsuccessfully zipping myself into dress #1, in my sweetest wife voice possible, I screamed for Husband to come heellllppp! "I just want you to come hang out with me while I pack." Which really meant "I don't want you to do anything else but pay attention to me and zip me in and out of dresses and tell me which shoes match and tell me I look skinny and its okay that I ate chocolate donuts from the vending machine this week because I'm PMS-ish and pay attention to meee!"
He loves me.
So I think it took me like 4 hours to decide on 8 dresses and 5 pairs of shoes. I still don't know what I'm wearing to the stupid airport and God forbid I need pants. I'm not bringing any damn pants! I hate pants! I am bringing my stupidly tiny navy shorts that I plan to wear while hiking through some ridiculous jungle on an excursion that will lead us to a zip line that will spit us out some where in Mexico. Hope the navy shorts are sufficient because that's alls I gots. And I hope the jungle excursion does not turn into one of those scary movies where the vines try to eat your brains and the jungle people shoot tranquilizer darts at your ass and you end up upside down in some tree. Maybe I watch too many movies.
Meh.
Oh! My monokini came in and it is super cute and Husband loves it! Mind you, it hardly covers my ass (ahh, reminds me of the Cononie Coin slot days) but damnit it is cute with it's little sparkly orange pears. It will look even better in Mexican-tanned skin. Mmmm, tan.
So tonight I have to go finish packing my gigantic suitcase. I still have to fit in all my make-up products, hair beautifiers, yummy perfumes and whatever else will account for 28 pounds of luggage. I'm not allowed to go over 50 pounds. If I do... well that just means I get to bring another bag. Ha! I love Cancun already.

we had this massive family reunion at the beach last week. my mom's side of the family, minus her alcoholic brother and 98 year old grandmother all made it down from deleware or raleigh to carolina beach, north carolina. we stayed in this friggin mansion of a place called skipper's crew. even clicking on the link doesn't really do it justice... but needless to say, it was the mother effing bomb.
so dave and i drove up there tuesday night when i got out of class. which meant we were driving in the middle of the damn night. we began our 4.5 hour/310 mile journey at 10:30 pm. idiots. i drove. well everything was cool or whatever until we get on this road named "74" or "76" it was both. whatever. probably because it was uber sketchy. first, we were the only car on the road. period. and it was all foggy and creepy as shit. and dark. we thought we might run over wombats. don't ask. so we pass this huge field filled with life-size figurines of like yogi bear and betty boop. what? i mean, are they serious? two questions came to mind: (1) who the fuck lives out here to put this shit here and (2) who would drive all the way the fuck out here to purchase this shit? wtf. i almost ran off the road. seriously. so weird.
next, a few miles up, we pass the only house on the road that is across the street from the only towing company. the house had a minimun of 20 cars parked in front. you know those canibals throw down spike strips, or as i referred to them - spokes - and made cars like me wreck and then then capture the passengers, kill them, eat their brains and keep their damn cars. crazy bastards. and they use the tow truck in case there is a struggle of sorts. you know it's true. go watch the hills have eyes or wolf creek. it happens, man.
then we passed the strip club a few miles after that. a little puple shack that said something like "wanda's exotic dancing." well, apparently wanda was allowing illegal sex acts and drug participation to occur with her customers and exotic dancers because we saw the little purple hut later that week on the local news being raided by the cops. they took those hookers to jail. crazy hookers.
and a few miles after that we thought we were possibly being attacked. there was this flashing strobe-like light flashing so brightly that i thought it might be god. or a ufo. unfortunately, it was nothing that interesting, just some skeezy antenna with a strobe light affixed to the top. i nearly ran off the road again. i thought it was jesus, man. you'd run off the road too. then i thought it might be the the crazy canibals and got all flustered and i had to turn the air up because i started sweating. and we still had a good two hours to go...
lucky for us, nothing else creepy happened and we were soon done with the road from hell. for entertainment purposes, we chose to speak like pee wee herman and scream nonsense such as "giant underpants!" it never got old. mostly because we were delirious.
we finally got to the house at 3:00 am. whereupon we had to take the motherfucking elevator to our floor. that's how sweet this place was... we had an elevator. be jealous. and as the elevator doors opened for the first time, i was greeted by the sweet sweet saying of "its five o'clock somewhere" in what appeared to be my handwriting on some cute little artsy fartsy sign. foreshadowing at it's finest.
we were awaken the next morning to aunt barbie and aunt janice staring at dave and i saying "oooh he's cute." poor dave. i warned him though. he knew the murphy side was nuts. dave slept most of the day, i got sunburnt and rode some gnarley waves on my boogie board. when i came in later, famished and crispy, dad informed me that my car had been attacked. by mother fucking ants. oh hell no. apparently dave left a tasty coke can in the car and the bastards found it. all 8 billion of them. seriously, every single ant that was at carolina beach was on my car that day. gross. we eventually bought ant killer and sprayed the bitches to death. now everytime i get in my car i get a little high from the lingering fumes. again, gross. and there are little dead ant bodies on my dash and console because i have yet to vacuum. gross.
that night, we got waaaaasted. my cousin david went to pick up his way awesome girlfriend, loren, from the airport that night and they were supposed to be back around 9:00. well the doorbell rang around 9:00, so me, my dave and michael got on the elevator with our whiskey and rode the bitch down. however, it was not david and loren to greet us. it was this poor confused delivery girl. we invited her to ride the elevator with us to find out who ordered food. someone on the first floor did. so at least she came to the right house. i know she thought we were insane. i mean, we were, we were all sunburned and drunk. and we had a stool in the elevator incase anyone got too drunk and had to sit down while riding. dave took advantage of this.

loren and david finally arrived. and we continued our drunkfest. we were supposed to not cuss because my little cousin david (yes, another one -- there were 4 daves total this week) was on the couch next to us in the kitchen. that kid heard every word under the sun that night. and we'd always sssssshhh each other after we said 'fuck' or something, which only exaggerated the fact that we said fuck. eh well. at least he won't be naive...
so at some random moment, david the big cousin got on the elevator. when the elevator came back up, it was empty. it completely baffled us that no one was there... remember, we were really drunk and apparently forgot to remember that there were two other floors in which david could have gone on. whatever. so loren and i get on the elevator. i pull the stool over because i know i am way too wasted to actually stand while riding this machine. we go down to the first floor where some of the cousins and aunts are... i peek my head out of the doors and i'm basically cracking up and loren tells me in the loud drunk whisper to "be quiet and they won't see me" what? does that even make sense. either way, we didn't speak to anyone that saw us and just shut the doors and went back upstairs. david eventually returned from his adventure.
later, i wanted to suggest that we send things to different floors via the elevator. you'd think we'd never seen a damned elevator the way we wanted to play with it. so okay, there was this gigantic silver statue in the corned of the cute blue and yellow beachy living room... of a mother effing bald eagle. really? wtf. this thing had a wing span the legnth of at least one of my arms and had to weigh at least 695 pounds. an estimate, of course, but definitely something like that. between being so drunk i had to sit down for the elevator ride and not being able to control the volume of my voice, i concluded that attempting to move the laquered beast statue may prove to be a very unwise decision. the bird continued to stare at us for the remainder of the night from its creepy little corner. i never got to let it ride in the elevator. poor bird.
the rest of the week we didn't drink nearly as much, but instead spent most of our time fighting the waves on our wicked boards. i got pretty beat up a few times by the sand and my boobs fell out once, i think it was overall unsuccessful, but it was really fun to act like i was 7 years old. oooh and i got to eat like 2 pounds of freakin crab legs. if i had to replace sex with one thing, it would be crab legs. actually, i might take that back. because i mean, i like sex, and crab legs are nothing like it, however they are equally as good, well almost, on a totally different playing field. whatever, the damned crustation was good. that's all i'm trying to say. gah.
we only got to stay through friday, but it was super fun to see my crazy family and let them all meet dave. i think there was a total of 22 of us in the house. i mean, the bitch could sleep like 25, had 8 bedrooms, 8 bathrooms, 3 decks, a pool, an elevator and a wicked awesome platinum eagle. what more could you ask for? and it was ocean front. we win.