|“Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches." - Westley to Buttercup, The Princess Bride.|
I'm good at it! Sometimes...
You see, there are several kinds of scenarios. One in which I'm not interested at all in a guy, and I'll flirt because, well, I really don't know. This blog is not intended to dig deep into the woman's psyche, and besides, I do unexplainable things at times. For example:
- I open up tabs in my online browser and forget completely why I did.
- I put away things in the most impractical locations, which results in being unable to retrieve them later, and leads me to do superstitious things like say "Tony, Tony, help me find, something lost that can't be found."
- I'll go to the same restaurant many times, order the same damn thing, and still take a solid fifteen minutes to inspect the menu.
- I feel enormous guilt when I'm jaywalking.
- I cannot eat anything that has a face, like chocolate bunnies or marzipan animals. I'm really glad gummy bears have no detailed facial features.
Anyway, so I can flirt with ease in that scenario. Men might find that offensive but I'm sure they've done the same at some point. We are flawed, let's not beat around the bush.
Then there's the guys that really like me and make it obvious. I may be slightly interested, just a little curious, and I'll bite back. In time, I convince myself that I like them too because it's about damn time that I went out for a nice guy for...the twelfth time. In this case, I am still very much at ease and get a kick out of the adulation.
Scenario number three: The Crush. Every, single time I've had a crush on someone, it's been a lost cause. My adolescence consisted of one crush followed by another. All hopeless. I was a geek, wrapped up in a baby-fat coating, who had unrealistic expectations. My crushes went from popular boy in school, to fictional characters like Batman and Indiana Jones. None reciprocated my adoration.
|Dear Diary, I love butterflies, Bonne Bell lip balm, art class, the mall, and unrequited love with superheroes.|
It wasn't until my late teens that I started to figure things out. Or that maybe my brain went into self-protection mode.
More after the jump...
I am also a complete mess whenever I crush and this time, I was crushing hard. We had spoken briefly. He had taken my order. I wanted a Strawberry Daiquiri. He gave me one. It wasn't sweet enough. It tasted awful. I never told him.
I kept telling Shelby,
"He's really cute. I mean, really cute!"
I think it bothered her slightly. I think that by saying "Check him out!", she meant "I'm calling dibs!" but I was unaware and didn't care. I was infatuated with Cutie Dimples Boy. I was no longer a woman, I was back to kissing my posters good night, back to daydreaming, and having spontaneous giggling fits.
He was a very attentive waiter, coming back to take our order often. I never drank so fast so that I could get a quick refill! He was charming. He asked us where we were from and every so often, his eyes would lock with mine which caused the blood to shoot through my veins at an incredible speed, like millions of torpedoes zipping by, causing me to blush profusely. He spoke English quite well, except for tiny, excusable mistakes like:
"You guys look boring!"
"I'm sorry, what?"
He means bored. Okay.
"Nah! Hehe! Just a little tired. Too much sun, you know!"
Then, it was 11 p.m. and they closed up the lobby bar. I couldn't go to sleep just yet. I sat alone on the balcony of my room, with Shelby fast asleep in her bed after her seventh Margarita. I stretched my legs out and looked up at the sky, at the enormity of it all, endless stars, shining so bright...
Yes, it was that bad.
I popped in the earbuds and switched from summer pop songs playlist to dramatic and sentimental movie scores. I tried to remember his name. I didn't know his name! What the hell was his name? I concentrated and tried to visualize his name tag. All I could see was Ablogar, Alfredo, Adsjhfgnpnono. What was his name?! Then I decided it must be Angelo and convinced myself that it was beautiful and that it sounded like angel, and pushed away the thoughts of a pot-bellied Italian man wearing a Puma track suit.
Cayo Coco is not the most exciting place for nightlife entertainment, there's no where to shop, there are no restaurants (except for the hotels), but they do have one thing: the most magnificent beach I have ever set my eyes on. The water is several shades of exquisite turquoise, while the sand is of a light beige, nearly white shade. You can walk in the ocean for hundreds of meters and still only have water up to your waist. It's stunning and serene.
Earlier, I was speaking of questionable and unexplainable choices. Here's another one. That day Shelby and I decided to tan, I mean, really tan. We whipped out the bottle of minimal protection Hawaiian Tropic Human Frying Oil and slathered it generously on our skin, hoping to be bronzed goddesses by nightfall.
|Human Rotisserie Flesh Glaze for extra crispy, and delicious people.|
Let me tell you something. Whenever you see someone who has a terrible sunburn, you think to yourself Why did they do that to themselves? This is avoidable! I can't understand! The thing is, you don't feel yourself slowly cooking like a roast in the oven. In fact, you actually feel pretty darn good! You're laying on a long chair, half blind by the sunlight, and skin shiny and shimmery like a sexy Bond girl. You may say things like "Woo! It's a hot one today!" but you're not in pain, you're not wounded; you feel warm and relaxed.
It wasn't until after lunch time that Shelby and I noticed that tingly sensation. By the time we came back to our room, we felt an urgent need to nap. I mean, we could barely keep our eyes open. We were talking a bit and all of a sudden, a pungent aroma hit me like freight train.
"Shelby? Did you...fart?" I asked, covering my face with my right hand.
There was a surprised look on her face and after a small pause she uttered a sheepish,
After another pause, I saw her expression turn from shame, to being very perplexed, to a look of complete disgust.
"Is that smell coming from me?" she shouted.
It was that horrible. It was a mixture of something that rotted, something cooked on top of it with a generous sprinkling of Parmesan, loaded with vomit, and coated with burnt hair.
We jumped out of our beds and began to laugh hysterically, as we frantically sprayed the room with every perfume, body spray, even hair spray, and opening the balcony doors as far as they would go.
"Maybe you ate something bad."
And then we fell asleep.
Evening was approaching and we were both getting ready to head out. The full acknowledgement of the severity of our sunburns came about, after we each took a shower. The water felt like prickly needles. Getting dressed was agony. We moaned and let our beastly groans. Also, by this time, I was releasing my very own unique aroma of extreme repulsiveness.
"Oh my God, you're really burnt!"
"YOU'RE really burnt!"
"Look at that! I'm like a cherry tomato!"
"I feel like I'm on fire!"
"Why are we releasing these awful smells?!"
"I don't know!!!"
At this point, my feet had started to swell a bit. It was becoming difficult to tie up my sandals. Nonetheless, we headed to dinner and then to the bar for cocktails.
And Angelo, Ablaonanano, Adriano, Alegrio!
He wasn't there. I was wearing my favourite yellow dress, you know, the one I whip out for special occasions, the one that makes me look really good, I mean really good! Instead, we had a waiter that looked exactly like my cousin Richard. He was being openly flirty too, which made matters worse.
"Yes, beautiful miss. What can I get you, lovely lady?"
"Uh, just a rum and coke please."
"Of course, beautiful. For you, anything!"
YOU LOOK LIKE MY COUSIN! STOP IT! YUCK!
After a few hours, and my eyes darting around madly, especially when it came time to dodge cousin-waiter's longing gaze, we headed back to our room.
I'd have to wear my yellow dress another time.
|Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr.|
We awoke the next morning, unaware of our condition. It wasn't until I passed by the mirror, after my morning pee, that I saw the abomination that used to be my face. I was swollen but it was a bloat unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I looked like a cat woman! I don't mean sexy cat eyes and I didn't look like a kitten or anything sweet like that. I was full-on socialite Jocelyn Wildenstein! It looked as though a crazed plastic surgeon had injected various spots of my skin with enormous amounts of Botox! The inflammation had not only been reserved to my face but my legs were plump like a hog's! I was a monster!
|Later, at lunch.|
I shook Shelby awake. Her eyes opened slowly but she yelled "What?"
"MY FACE! LOOK! MY LEGS! LOOK!" I exclaimed.
She inspected my affliction with fascination and curiosity, murmuring "What the..wow...how can...why the..."