Friday, January 28, 2005

El Dominicano


Jimmy in the Sun
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

Jimmy and I left for Punta Cana the day of the first snowfall in Philadelphia. Granted, it was only a light dusting, but it was the coldest weather of the season, according to us, so we left for warmer climes. AT 4 FRIGGIN' A.M.!

Several hours later we were finally flying over the Dominican island and it was such a welcome sight - a sea of green, and green, and more green! I don't think I've ever seen anything more lush or, or...GREEN! This was my first Caribbean vacation, my first vacation in the winter to someplace where it is warmer.

The first step off the plane - and I mean I hadn't even gotten to the first stair yet - and this wave of warmth enveloped me, surrounding me in it's embrace, chasing away the cold that had settled into my chapped fingers. For the first time in months, I was warm.

The airport itself was beautiful. Although larger than the image I am giving you will lead you to believe, each of the buildings was designed to look like a hut, with straw roofs and no distinct walls. Everything was open to the tropical air, and rightfully so.

It took us some time to fill out our tourist cards, hit the bathroom, find our luggage and get on the right bus to the hotel, but eventually we were there: The Bavaro Princess Resort.

When you first arrive at someplace like that, you are overwhelmed with the newness of the place, with the beautiful architecture, the tropical feel. I would like to give you some of that awe before, like me, you settle into a groove of familiarity and forget to be awed.

The lobby is completely wall-less. There are marble columns, with ledges of tropical plants cascading down into the main area; rainbow parrots in tropical pools catcalling at all the patrons; foreign tourists in skimpy summer clothing walking around with an air of having come here for years; smiling Dominican employees sweeping up the sand, answering the phones, making reservations, talking to each other and the guests; a ring of stores to one side, selling paintings, sunblock, bathing suits, and souvenirs; and row after row of comfortable chairs and sofas, radiating out from the two lobby bars.

You just drop your luggage off with the porters and you can't take your eyes off this little island world, knowing that it was all made for you - for your comfort and enjoyment.

Jimmy and I checked in, but couldn't get into our rooms until 3PM so we found a few necessities, grabbed our second drink of our vacation (there was a free drink on our flight - would you believe it!? Treated like first class in the air!!!), and stripped down to our underwear to enjoy the sun by the pool.

I got my first view of European bathing habits when I realized that the grandmotherly ladies in the lawn chairs next to us were sunbathing topless, letting it all hang out and with their bikini bottoms snugly tugged up into the crack of their asses. I can honestly say that it didn't bother me in the least, but it was great fun to talk about!

We spent our time drinking and picking out the cutest boys in our immediate area. Once we ran out of people - and pina coladas - we decided we probably need some sunblock to avoid nasty burns in the Caribbean sun and decided to have a looksie at the beach and get me some food.

The ocean was AMAZING. As you can see by the picture of Jimmy at the top of this entry, which was actually taken on Day 2 of our trip, the water is simply fantastically blue. As for the sky, all the way to the hotel I actually kept singing the Simpson's theme song because the sky in the Simpson's title is the same sky I saw in the Dominican Republic. That perfect shade of blue. Those perfect cotton-ball clouds. The cleanest white sand. Topless sunbathers. Guys in speedos. Free drinks. Free food. Spanish conversation floating by. French words tugging at me. Not a single thing I would ever see or hear or taste or touch at any of the American beaches I've visited in my short life.

About 75% of the guests are European, mostly from Spain, some from France, and I'm sure still a few others from other European countries - although I didn't see any. Most of the English-speaking guests are Canadian. The one person I saw who I KNOW was American (other than Jimmy and I) was acting like a total ignorant prick to the staff and I realized why we have developed such a poor reputation as tourists. ASSHOLE.

Well, we ate lunch and then decided to go see our room. Our apartments were closer to the beach than the lobby and were unreal. When you walk into the front door, all you see in front of you is a bed on a raised dais, surrounded by columns. You walk immediately into your kitchen/den area and up onto the dais. To the right of that was the bathroom area, and a doored-in toilet, bidet, and shower. It was just enough, even if the columns were a bit much.

Now, Jimmy swore up and down that we had no hot water, but the truth of the matter was that he kept turning the shower knob in the wrong direction. That was the closest to a problem that we had with our room. Thankfully, Jimmy doesn't have a problem with bugs because we had something akin to a grasshopper on the floor sometime in the middle of the week, but he just sat there and didn't bother us, so we didn't bother him. Secretly, I named him George.

So we finally settled in. Our luggage arrived, we showered and changed, and finally it was time for dinner.

Although I seem to have failed to talk about the Resort, outside of our master bedroom and the lobby. The Resort sits on something like 96 acres of land, with winding stone walkways, a small zoo, little bungalows tucked in behind different varieties of palm trees, and a bit of a rainforest in the middle. At one end of the Resort lies the lobby/reception area, and at the other lies the beach. There are five or six restaurants on sight, and diesel powered trams carrying guests from location to location. There are beautiful flowers and, most importantly to me, a plethora of GREEN. Peacocks, roosters, flamingos, what appeared to be herons, and other birds roam the property freely, wandering in and out of restaurants, walkways, the spa - wherever they wish to go. There are lakes and rivers, fountains and waterfalls, and everyone greets you with a distinctly friendly, "Hola!" You can't go more than three feet without being welcomed by another member of the staff.

Anyway, we had reserved a spot at Chopin for our first night out. Chopin is set up in the middle of the Resort, right on a lake, surrounding by palms and other fauna. Most notably, in the middle of your meal, a pianist comes floating by on the river, his little raft lit by hundreds of little lights, playing something that I'm sure was beautiful at the time (I was a bit more interested in the red wine I was drinking than the music). It really was a sight, so romantic, so fantastical... And although I love Jimmy with all my heart, it's moments like that when you wish that your lover were there with you, doing all the things you read about in sappy books: staring deeply into your eyes, holding out your chair for you, touching your hand in that oh-so-romantic-on-the-television-screen kind of way...

We had a very lovely dinner, with lovely conversation, and plenty of chitchat with our waiters. I got a lot of miles out of my limited knowledge of Spanish, and the boys invited us out to a local dance club - one that is not on the Resort. Unfortunately, after no sleep (Jimmy took a nap on the plane, and again in the afternoon), many more drinks, and our first show (they had shows daily at 10PM in the lobby area), the new friends I had made just didn't show up. We were stood up.

Jimmy then dragged me to the Casino, where I promptly lost all semblance of a human being around 1:30AM. I had finally hit my wall.

Dominican Countryside


Dominican Countryside
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

I don't have much time to spend talking about my Dominican vacation right now, as I should be doing what the rest of the world is doing(yes, that's right, THE WORLD) - which is sleeping. However, I was working with my photos and wanted to share one with you all. I captured this shot while Jimmy and I were on an Outback Safari into the "real" Dominican Republic. We put up with their winter weather - i.e. rain and wind - in the back of an open-air truck for this so you better enjoy it!!!

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Potty Talk

Why is it that some people feel the need to take their cell phones into the bathroom to have a long, drawn-out conversation while someone is trying to pee in the next stall down?
Afterthought

By the way, it turns out Anthony didn't have to have surgery. Ah, the love of my life! Instead he traveled all the way to North Carolina to get some MRIs and physical therapy. Apparently he's a total freak when it comes to illness, disease, hospitals, etc. Whether it's a headache or triple bypass surgery, his response is always, "I don't do drugs." No tylenol, no Nyquil (a sin!), no Percocet, no Vicadin, no anti-inflammatories, no nothing. And he refuses to trust any doctor outside of his mother's personal network of friends. Since she used to be a nurse, I guess that's reliable, but at the same time, New York City has some of the most world reknowned doctors and hospitals in the world. I'm pretty sure they couldn't fuck up an MRI... (oooh!! Did I just say the "F" word?)

So, when the doctor said he didn't really need to perform surgery (after seeing the MRI), but another procedure could be done with local anesthetic, Anthony went ahead and turned that down too. After his mom force-fed him anti-inflammatory pills for a week, he promptly stopped that as well, i.e. he left North Carolina to come home to me. Mind you, this is the same man who deals with migraines by attaching a clothespin to his ear, claiming that hitting a pressure point takes his mind off the pain in his head.

Now Anthony is supposed to be doing leg exercises on his own, and building up the muscles on the inside of his knee so his patella doesn't over-rotate to the other side and cause him these same problems again. He is supposed to be working on endurance exercises like running, biking, swimming, etc.

Although now that he is sick, I don't think he's been hitting the gym all that much. And goodness knows that if he does make it to the gym, all he'll likely do is lift weights, the meathead!

Ah yes, the loveliness that is the wintertime flu season. Did I mention I got really ill upon returning home from the lovely Dominican Republic? I had a Bond-athon, extreme stomach pains and diarrhea, which means that I kept having to interrupt Sean Connery to either clench my eyes shut as spasms ran through my gut, or run to the bathroom at a 50-meter-dash world-record pace. I thought that it might have been due to the chili Anthony brought me from Lupe's back in Charlotte, or perhaps a change of diet from the extremely greasy Dominican food I'd eaten for a week to a diet that was slightly less, but it appears that it was likely neither as I have now passed on my illness in all it's glory to my love, my Anthony. Yet he has had the added benefit of a black eye I gave him last Friday night (well, the boy DID GET OUT OF LINE), a pinched nerve in the middle of his back, and other actual flu symptoms such as all-over body aches.

But does he take good care of himself? NO. He sets himself up with a vitamin cocktail comprising of a lot of letters in the alphabet, from A to zinc, stuffs himself with fibrous fruits before bed so he can sleep through the night without having to "pee through his bum" (his words, not mine), and then puts on every item of clothing he owns plus all his bedding so he can "sweat it out." Although I am not a big fan of taking random drugs myself, I can't stop from thinking, "What a weirdo!!!"
Thinking is Overrated

I should be working, but instead I'm thinking. You know, I always wanted to be a good writer, but I think my biggest block has always been taking those risks with yourself and putting all of your deepest, darkest thoughts and secrets out in writing. How do extremely private people do it? Especially if, you're like me and have nothing interesting to write about unless it comes from real life. I don't make fiction, I don't write good poetry (I know, I've tried), and apparently I'm not doing so well in the "daily life and trials of Ryan" department either.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have a lot of things on my mind that I'm not so sure I want to share on so public a format. Not that I think that anyone other than a select few reads this thing, but it's out there, you know?

There's a woman whose blog I just started to read lately, Heather B., and she's a gifted writer (in my opinion), with a lot of really wonderful things to say. She doesn't hold anything back, and I think that is a large part of her gift. To be a good writer, you really have to dig deep... The best bloggers do just that. Someday I'm going to look back at all of this and know that I could have pushed the envelope, could have said more, could have written better, could have dug deep...

I don't know...

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Because No One Else Is!

I feel the need to blog since I maniacally check all my friends' weblogs about twenty times a day and none of them are writing - WHERE ARE YOU, PEOPLE??!!! (Although maybe this just means that all you people have a life and are out living it, or actually love your jobs and don't spend all day trying to avoid it.)

Although I must give props where due - Garland wrote his first entry since Christmas today.

Anyway, I am off to the movies now - I don't care how poor I am; if I don't do something outside of the house soon I WILL SCREAM! (And you won't like that... Neither will my roommates for that matter...)

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

What I Should Be Doing Vs. What I Am

Okay, I should really be working to catch up on all I missed last week, but I couldn't resist this one thing (I will write more about my vacation later, I promise!):

High school meme, stolen from many I’ve been told…

1. What year was it? I can only assume that this means which year did I graduate – from high school, that is: 1997.

2. What were your favorite bands or musical artists? Nirvana, Korn, Godsmack, Rage Against the Machine, Soundgarden…things of that ilk. Apparently I was a raging teenager on the inside. Or greatly influenced by WAAF and all that satan music my brother liked to play…

3. What was your favorite outfit? Even today I couldn’t name a single item of clothing in my wardrobe.

4. What was up with your hair? Nothing. I managed to have hair that cannot really be made fun of at this juncture.

5. Who were your best friends? The same people I knew since kindergarten (with a few minor exceptions): Christian S., Christy P. (now married, so it’s really Christy S.), Joanna W., Michael L., Jeff C., Chris P., Nicole G., Jenn D., Katy F., yadda, yadda, yadda…

6. Where did you work? There are really only so many options in Clinton, MA. I chose the CVS option.

7. Did you take the bus? Nope. The bus is only offered if you are more than 2 miles from school, or some other such BS like that. I think I was only 1.9999999_ miles from school, so I walked.

8. Who did you have a crush on? I fear to admit this because one of my “crushes” is now pretty much a town drunkard, but one was this kid whose grandparents lived across the street from me and I thought he looked a lot like a young Harrison Ford. The other was my only high school “boyfriend” – if you can call holding hands after four months of “dating” a real boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. Admittedly, I’ve always been much too level-headed to really let any boy blind me to what I’m trying to do with my life, so the first was more of an admire-from-afar-gosh-he’s-kind-of-cute things, and the second was more of a he’s-shy-and-adorable-this-should-be-fun-breaking-him-in kind of a thing.

9. Did you fight with your parents? I think I buck the trend on this one, but I really always got along well with my parents. No major fueds.

10. Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on? Maybe toward the end of my high school career, I thought Gavin Rossdale was pretty hot, but look at how he turned out – the scumbag! Now I just make Celebrity Cheat Sheets for all my friends and log them into my Palm pilot.

11. Did you smoke cigarettes? Not even a puff.

12. Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack because you were too nervous to find your locker? “Nervous” was never a word associated with me.

13. Did you have a 'clique'? My group of friends actually named ourselves “THE clique,” a kind of thumb-to-nose action toward the rest of society.

14. Did you have "The Max" like Zach, Kelly, and Slater? I remember spending a lot of time at Denny’s, but mostly we spent our evenings hanging out in the parking lot of CVS and Victory, when we all got out of work.

15. Admit it, were you popular? Popular? No. Massively disliked? No. Oblivious? Very likely.

16. Who did you want to be just like? I never had any aspiration to be like someone else.

17. What did you want to be when you grew up? I don’t know, I just wanted to go to college…