So summer is almost over & there was no vacation this year. Well, we DID go to Daytona Beach last November but took a sacred oath after coming home (to the aftermath of some Farmer Ted-style shenanigans courtesy of my Cling-On son) to NEVER GO AWAY AGAIN until Cling-On moves out. And leaves his keys BEHIND.
I mean, REALLY – were 2 sighted adults supposed to NOT notice bright red lipstick on bath-towels, spit-up in the tub, numerous dried-up sticky spills and a mysterious bottle of putrid banana schnapps in our liquor cabinet?? We are booze-snobs; we would not drink that crap…
Anyway…this is only part of the reason we can’t travel… (the other being our collective broke-assedness). So now I’m trying to quell my nausea and depression over the fact that Summer Vacations of legend are officially on perma-hold. Maybe if I remind myself of things anyone would be THRILLED to have missed, there will be less gagging and crying…
Some people who are BEST avoided like the plague… or clubbed to death with a lobster.
a) The frizzy-haired clown on a Studebaker bicycle who’s ever-gaping maw selfishly devoured the ONLY 1.5 hours of sunshine the husband & I got the pleasure to (almost) enjoy at Daytona Beach.
*IF you are unfortunate enough to encounter this time-rotting thunder-skank, do yourself & your family a favor – grab the nearest jelly-fish, rock or jagged shell, THROW IT & RUN! This will save you from an endless loop of MLB-grade, timeshare sales-pitching.
When I got tired of the broken record called “Whaddya say? C’mon it’s just a meal…”, I broke in with “I say, I would really like us to go BACK IN TIME NOW since when we GOT here there was sun and thanks to YOU, Chatty-Crappy, it’s now raining!”
Bike-bitch suddenly screech-croaked at me to alert us to her bitter indignation, then jumped on her bike and rode away… before I had a chance to grab a jellyfish, boulder or comb to chuck at her.
Honestly, we were really polite to her for the first fifty-thousand seconds of drivel but everyone has their breaking point…
b) Leather-skinned roaster-dudes like the one from the Palm Shore club in Sheepshead Bay back in 1983. The gruesome sight of a middle-aged man on a lounge chair, sunning himself in a Speedo and greased-up with baby oil was severely startling to my 13-y-o self – like, Annabelle doll-sized startling. I asked my mother if he had some type of cancer since his pecs looked like 2 glazed, over-browned pastries each topped with a dried cherry. His all-over “tan” was the same Kentucky-fried color as his nipples. No. Just, NO.
c) The elderly gent sitting at the edge of the pool. In his boxers. There really isn’t any reason to expand on this one, is there?
A crime for every purpose under heaven…that your relatives and your melanocytes won’t let you forget
a) The day I buried my little cousin’s metal fire truck in the sand at Atlantic Beach as a joke. I marked the spot with a rock and then proceeded to forget about it until we had to leave. I had to fess up to my none-too-thrilled aunt since my cousin was crying his head off like I barfed on his stuffed giraffe or something (long story). After 40 minutes of digging, since my “grave-marker” was hopelessly lost, we gave up.
On the up-side, some other kid will eventually take home an antique aka rusty, rotted-ass, broke-down, fire-truck. (I buried that shit GOOD, y’all! That thing probably won’t be unearthed for another 5-30 years!)
b) The hot coal burial FAIL. On a trip to the beach in Puerto Rico, another aunt of mine went to get sodas & returned practically crawling on her hands and knees from hot coals barely buried in the sand. Way to go, pendejos!
c) The dog who bit my ankle on one of my many barefoot strolls around my grandmother’s block in Aguadilla, PR. I spotted cute-dog walking all by herself. She looked up at me; l looked down at her & smiled. The next thing I know I’m jumping up on a car hood, screaming, while trying to shake a 10-lb shih tzu off my friggin’ ankle. Apparently, bitch-dog had just birthed a litter of pups and “smiling” was pretty much just like baring my teeth in a “threatening manner”. Way to judge, dog.
This earned me being asked to bare my shy, teenage buttocks to an insistent male doc without benefit of a nurse present. Oh, you can bet your sweet sofrito after about 2 minutes he got that nurse to come in! Eff that! I do not play that game.
d) My 2nd-degree sunburn + 101 fever. Who woulda thunk that 30 SPF waterproof sunblock would wash off after only 4.75 hours of frolicking in and out of the ocean at a Caribbean beach? I used up a whole jar of Noxema Skin Cream on my blistered face and shoulders. In one day.
On a lighter (ha ha) note, I turned a fantastic shade of brown after the red faded. The down side – freckles. The freckles made me nervous…
Hopefully by this point I’ve helped us be less despondent and less inclined to puke over not being able to take a sunny, relaxing, beachy vacation this year… (Crap!) I mean, who knows what type of BS we could have run into? 😉