i just popped a pimple and it smelled like friggin’ ramen noodles. is that bad??
. . .[the maître d’] suggests it will be closer to an hour. We retreat to the bar.
Seconds later the woman departs and the man is left alone. This is my moment, I decide. I reach for the twenty and positively bolt toward the podium. I crane my left arm around the side. “I hope you can fit us in,” I mumble, and slip the bill into his hand. I am sweating; my heart is racing. “Oh. Thank you,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
Two minutes pass—two minutes!—and the woman approaches. “We can seat you now,” she says, and leads us to a corner booth. “This is one of our best tables,” she adds. Suddenly I’m Frank Sinatra. I’m King of the Strip.
How many of you missed me? That many of you?!! Well, I am back from my vacation to Puerto Rico. Tanning than ever, more relaxed than I have been in years, and fully charged and ready to get down and dirty with whatever comes my way until the next vacation.
Here are a couple of personal admissions and observations that smacked my brain during the trip:
Most of my fears have no basis in reality – that is to say, I have no justification for fearing certain things. Yet I am still plagued by the strangest fears in normal situations that produce an overwhelming anxiety in my mind and then my body.
The combination of airplanes and flying freaks me out. I hate flying. Planes freak me out. And I have no reasonable explanation as to why I have this dominating fear. Every jerk, drop, or bounce – I start looking around at people’s facial expressions for comfort, the kind of body language exploration that will grant me a moment or two of serenity. I’ll look for a nod of approval so that I can finally relax. The whole “I know how you feel; I’ve been there” response without words.
I eventually worked myself up on this short flight (like five or six hours) to the point that sleeping became my sole remedy. I can’t figure out why I am afraid of flying, which is what bothers me the most. I flew back and forth from my father’s city every Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthday, or any cause for celebration since I was a kid because my parents were divorced. I never freaked out when I was younger, so this is a relatively new sense of emotional discomfort.
Regardless, I made it through the flight. There and back. And now I am home bragging about how I managed to sleep my way into forgetting that I was thousands of miles in the air, high above deep oceans and massive cities. Maybe this was a one time event (wrapped up into two flights) for me? I’m not sure, but I hope that’s the case.
While in Puerto Rico I refused to stay on the resort property. I spent several hours each night sitting in the hot tub or swimming in the pool, but during the day I was out and about, mixing it up with the locals, who I found to be quite friendly and helpful. Why go on vacation to another country and sit by a pool or hang out with people I could visit with in my own country? I could have saved a lot of money by just staying in the US if that’s what I wanted.
So, yeah. I said screw that … I am going to snorkel, swim, eat, and whatever else with an unfamiliar culture. Great, great experience. The food, fantastic. Loved every dish at each restaurant. I even managed to force down squid and sea snails. Yuck, right? The stuff tasted wonderful. Kinda like chicken with a rubbery texture. I figured both would be somewhat slimy, but that wasn’t the case. If you ever plan on visiting San Juan or Fejardo, I can help you find the best spots to eat at. (Most of the better restuarants are expensive, so keep that in mind.)
I took sex toys with me. Several of my favorite vibrators, my favorite dildo, and of course, my lovely fella. Lots of sex, several times a day. I’m not the most exciting lover on most days, as I am so worn out with work. I need to mix a little pleasure into my life, especially seeing as I am in the adult toy business. It becomes all too easy to pull out a toy and please myself in a few minutes, whereas my guy is ready for a long night of sex and experimentation.
Part of it is having the kids and working so many hours, but the other part, I think, is the saturation of sex-related themes in my work life. I have a libido; I am … Well, I am lazy lover, or have been over the last 4-5 months. This trip allowed me enough time and relaxation to really open up. I was bad. A bad, bad girl. We had sex in the pool, hot tub, and on the beach. Public sex! I hadn’t done that in a long time, so it was an enthralling experience. And the naughtiest of times in our room, which overlooked the ocean. My sex toys, too, were used in new and innovative ways that, for whatever reason, hadn’t ever occured possible.
Trash. I don’t consider myself to be the best environmentalist. But – I get really upset about seeing trash everywhere. I’ve been known to pick up my neighbors’ trash frequently, if only to keep my sanity within grasp. If I see trash on the ground, even in the city, I pick it up. I get so pissed off when I see trash laying on the ground. In fact, it’s one of the few things that make me angry. Puerto Rico is full of trash: cigarette buds are everywhere, beer cans on the beach, diapers sitting in the grass, wrecked car parts laying all over the street. And in the ocean, I noticed all of these things and more (even a Halloween costume!) laying on the sandy bottom as I snorkeled.
I fished out trash, threw it on the beach, and eventually put my new collection of discards in a trash can. The locals watched me like I was crazy, wondering what the hell I was doing. I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t walk or swim away with all that trash in the ocean. And, most of all, I couldn’t understand why anyone would throw away his or her shit in the ocean or on the beach. This happened at most of the beaches we frequented. It was a sad, disgusting sight still bothering me.
The resort itself wasn’t very clean, either. When I mentioned this to the manager, he responded by saying, “This is a third world country.” At which time, I asked him, “Is this a third world resort? Because if it is, I need a third world hotel rate, because I significantly overpaid.” He didn’t like that response, so he followed it up with, “It did rain several days ago and the river probably washed up most of the trash you are referring to.” Again, I retorted, “Did the river wash tons of trash under my hotel room’s balcony?” He took a few notes and said, “I will mention this to the general manager.” He wrote something down, but it had little to do with the trash we discussed.
Small cars rock. Sort of. Don’t ever drive a big car or a truck in Puerto Rico. The roads are surprisingly narrow and people do not slow down, so there were a few times that we barely managed to escape a collision. The police officers drive with their lights on for no apparent reason. People honk for no real reason at all.
If you don’t like beggars coming up to your car in the city, you will dislike Puerto Rico, since locals flood each and every stop sign and traffic light, seeking free money or for drivers to purchase cold beverages or tropical fruit. No one is rude or demanding, or expects anything. It’s their version of business mingling in a society that lacks jobs, education, and overall economic advancement. But this process works for them, as many people preferred to purchase beverages from their cars rather than pull over at a gas station.
So, I had a great time, learned a lot about my fellow human beings and myself, and found enough time to mix in some sexy pleasure. Plus all the lounging on the beach and snorkeling in the ocean. Oh, and I found a massive conch shell and gigantic starfish on the Seven Seas Beach in Fejardo. Both sea creatures were alive, which added a lot of excitement. I plan on posting some pictures in the coming days – if I don’t get too behind with catching up.
Hope everyone has been doing well.
August 23, 2008
Categories: Blog Things, Kinky Stuff, My Life, Randomness, Relationships, Sex Toys, Social Awkwardness . Tags: Food, sex, Travel, Vacation . Author: Divine Heather . Comments: 5 Comments