Tuesday, July 28, 2009
So I went on a major vision quest in Costa Rica, searching for my life's purpose and challenging my mind, body, and soul in the elements. Then I went to Panama and was drunk for eight days. Then I was like, "I'm a celebrity! Get me outta here!" Some vacation highlights:
1. When Animals Attack: This monkey assaulted a woman holding an apple just seconds after I took his portrait [Ed. note: That event actually took place]. It was one of the single best moments of my life.
2. My traveling companion, Old Man Mullin, turned 43. Luckily for him, I'm dyslexic.
3. I shared tender moments with my lesbian lover.
4. I saw a man sexually objectified by a sea of drunken whores. He did not appear to enjoy it.
5. I wrote and recited original poetry in the town square for donations. I planned on splurging on the Presidential Suite with my earnings. I subsequently spent the night in Panamanian prison instead.
6. After exchanging my passport to post bail, I crossed borders as an illegal immigrant. Here I am with my coyote. "Very good price for you, rubia," he promised. La migra took our picture, then promptly arrested both of us.
7. I don't recall this photo being taken.8. I broke all the rules on this sign, save for playing dominoes. I was not fined, however. 9. Here's the morgue but I only visited, and didn't check in, fortunately. The morgue is conveniently adjacent to the cemetery. This is the one and only overture to efficiency by Panamanians I witnessed.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I bet you've all just been worried sick as to Ms. Zenaida's whereabouts for the past month. How have you carried on day to day? No, I haven't been hiding out in my underground bunker where I vacationed last summer. That is so 2008. I was actually held hostage by marauders on the high seas, scoundrels dressed in costume and earnest enthusiasm. How long was I disappeared? A month? A year? Conventional time/ space continuum is moot on the stormy seas of the East River. That's right, I was being held hostage on a ship: not a friendship, rather a foeship. A ship of fools.
When my wife (pictured above, suicidal) floated the words "Saturday Night Booze Cruise"past my ears, I innocently agreed. This sounded much livelier then my typical Saturday night plans, which usually involve humiliation, crying, and a Chalupa. And this booze cruise cleverly had a theme that extended beyond "Show Your Tits." It centered on the delightful pairing of "Mermaids and Hobos." Mermaids aren't really my thing, but hobos sure are. I am most in my element around bindles, box cars, and Hoovervilles. Sounds like fun, right? WRONG! I should have known then: high concept fancy dress and veritable captivity will inevitably result in mutiny or a watery grave.
The hostage- taking episode was put on by the society hostesses (and by society hostesses I mean ComicCon Renaissaince Faire girls in their off season) Gemini and Scorpio. If you're into trance music, attention seeking behavior, Burning Man, and bisexuality, then you totally need to get on their mailing list. If not, not.
This sea slag at right was almost thrown overboard for requesting that a rotund mermaid not practice the hula hoop in her vicinity. The bespectacled nymph fulfilled her request, and then proceeded to live- blogged her feelings surrounding the incident.
It was treacherous, and I only narrowly escaped. My clumsily crafted yet surprisingly effective escape route involved tossing a tub of Vicks VapoRub overboard and watching the ecstasy- soaked masses fight mermaid gill- and patchwork pant to claim the lion's share of the booty. It was a grotesque display of avatar humanity. Since my release, I have been warming my hands by the hearth of my metaphorical bunker, from whence I dare not venture out again.