South of the border
I am back and I did not die of swine flu! Yay! I did, however, end up working about as many hours as I missed when I got back, which is why it has taken me forever and a day to post about my non-death.
First of all, the quick overview: I went with a couple of friends, and we flew down Thursday and came back Monday. It was my first real vacation-vacation in like four years, and I had such a lovely time. We did nothing. Nothing, nothing, nuhhhhhhhhh-thing, unless you count getting out of bed, eating, dragging a chair into the ocean and sleeping/reading all day as something, in which case we did a LOT.
The view from where we ate lunch every day:
The form I had to fill out upon both arrival and departure, which apparently was sufficient enough to award me with a clean bill of health:
Of course, you know I had to have my little calamaties thrown in here and there. There was a little bit of an issue checking in, during which I got to spend 20 fantastic minutes on hold with Expedia customer service, staring at the ocean but SO. FAR. AWAY. from it, but whatever, not the end of the world. Much more traumatic was my toilet paper experience. As in, I went into the lobby bathroom, practically hopping up and down I had to pee so bad, emptied about a gallon's worth of pina coladas and Diet Coke from my bladder (definitely no water, because while the bathrooms were lovely, I didn't want to spend THAT much time in them) only to find ... there was no toilet paper. THAT experience.
The first thing you usually do in those situations is see if there is a friendly soul in the stall next to you who can pass some toilet paper over the door. No dice. Next, I looked in my bag for a Kleenex, a napkin, a crumpled piece of paper with my pre-trip to-do list, ANYTHING. Nope.
(I had JUST SHOWERED. Not using some form of toilet paper was NOT AN OPTION.)
I tried reaching under the stall into the stall next to mine. I crouched on the floor, coming dangerously close to pulling a Britney on anyone who dared walk in, and almost popped my shoulder out of its socket reaching around for the toilet paper dispenser on the wall. Finally, FINALLY, my fingers found the plastic edge of the dispenser. I reached in and ...
NO TOILET PAPER IN THERE EITHER.
Meanwhile, my friend was outside waiting for me, and I started to calculate how long it would take for her to come in and rescue me. Five minutes? Five hours? Would she be swept off her feet by a dashing Latin lover and forget all about me? Would I DIE here, the stubborn girl who forgot the cardinal rule of public bathrooms: CHECK FOR TOILET PAPER FIRST.
The door clanged open. "Excuse me?" I said. No response. I tried again. "Excuse me?" In my head, I'm like, how do you say toilet paper, how do you say toilet paper, WHY DO I NOT REMEMBER HOW DO SAY TOILET PAPER FROM NINTH-GRADE SPANISH?
And then the toilet flushed and I grabbed my chance. I pulled my dress tight around my knees, leaned forward and swung open the door. "Hi," I said. "Can you, um, pass me some toilet paper?" She was beautifully dressed, and looked at me for a second like, you've seriously, SERIOUSLY, got to be kidding me. And then she ripped off a piece, threw it in my general direction and ran away.
I did not use that bathroom again for the rest of the trip.
The other thing that happened was on the morning we left. I woke up, my face all mashed into the pillow, and was like, "I feel like I have a fat lip." I sat up and ran my tongue across my lips. "Oh, yeah," I said. "I DEFINITELY have a fat lip." I had a million mosquito bites from the night before, so naturally my first glass-half-full reaction was that it was some rare strain of some horrible disease, but really, they were just puffy from my sitting in salt water for eight hours ... and BONUS! I had Angelina Jolie lips for a morning!
A couple more pictures because I am obnoxious like that:
The sand castle I started to build on the beach.