Fear & Loathing in Barbados

The sun hadn't heated us up as much as our behavior. The second day was hot. The sun was no joke. But there was no time for fooling around. We had no bathing suits nor toothbrushes and we needed it all, quick. We rented a car, no cadillac. Suzuki Swift; steering column on the right side, preparing you to drive on the other side of the road. He's no longer without a license, but yes, it was in the suitcase. This means me behind the wheel. Though many others may disagree, the enduring amount of alcohol in my system put me on the opposite side at ease. Soon enough, I pulled over, and we had to switch.

Slowly acclamating to the other side of the road, and these shapely roundabouts, we soon persistently and impatiently arrived at the airport, both uneasily hoping that our luggage awaits us. For once, the American Airlines employee was understanding. Perhaps it is their unsincere sense of urgency and unerotic chaos that puts the majority of their panties in a twist.

Astonished, we are no longer without. We'll head back to the hotel after customs turns us loose, but not before stopping for a cooler & booze. Not one, not two, but three Barbadian markets before we can find an industrial styrofoam cooler at $40 Barbados. Fortunately, we have two handles in the suitcase. All we need is coke. No charlie. We packed the cooler, smoked a bit more, and before we'd come conscious of our surroundings, we were driving around the island like lost sheep. Pull yourselves together! Find a beach! And that we did. A nice traquil spot. We make out some shade, white sand, calm water, and a dune to park on. "Be careful," I say. "We don't want to get stuck here."

Hours of romping in the water, drinking rum & cokes, walking east and soaking up sun. He and I are content - even with one another. Our mystique became transparent as the rum bottle emptied. Around 3, the sun moved west,andwe decided to pack up, and involuntarily compose another adventure. The car doesn't reverse 10 feet before I feel it slide down the shallow dune. Now what? "Whatever you do, don't spin those tires any more!"

Before you know it, we'd dug ourselves an even deeper hole, and much to our audience's amusement. A family of 10 or so hovered over us from a porch, entertained as they watch us in dissaray. But soon enough, the light-hearted Christine was offering us her family's help, and delighted they were to do so. First we thought, the car is light, let's try and lift it. Skinned shins later, unsuccessful. Two 2-by-4 hoists later, unsuccessful. In time, a rugged flatbed chugging along by two islanders backs up to us with a rope -- no AAA here, but rather, more astonishing and prevailing with the soul, good samaritans.

Sheltered only by a bikini, I jump over the concrete wall on to the central highway that connects Oistins & Worthing. Traffic stopped, the man hooks a rope from one bumper to another, and jerked us out of that damned sand pit. We thank them all endlessly, and get ourselves out of there quick. It was time for a few more beers.

We head towards Bridgetown-the country's lucid capital. We park the car in some unknown territory in the city-centre and head for the streets of this heavily black populated city. I soon realize I no longer am wearing sandals, which must have been left behind in our great sand debacle. No pictures could be taken of this great mess, for the man behind the wheel would have been furious. We buy a pair of sandals, soon after, some cigarettes, and then persuaded to try this Barbadian Ackee fruit. Don't be hindered by it's hard shell, for the pulpy inside liberates a tart, tasty fruit.

Darkness is upon us and we realize we made no note of where we'd parked. Not smart, for the city, it's people, and surroundings blend together at dusk like the mysterious bat caves in elementary zoo field trips. Which is exactly where we'd begun to feel we were. More panic. We pace around what seems like a large city for almost an hour. Still no car. We give up and battle with one of the taxis to drive us around & find the car for $25 American. 15 minutes later, there it was. Relief came over the taxi, but not for long. The attorney reaches for his wallet, but it's not there. It has slipped away, the driver is mad, gas light is on, and fury comes hovering in a cloud over us. No credit card, no license, no bar card. We assure the man to come by our hotel and we'll pay him.

Our mission to make it back to the gap in time for dinner was just as treacherous. Half of it consisted of my body half out the window yelling, "which way to Worthing?"; the other half was Mat's undisclosed expression of panic to the ever-glowing gas light.

It became obvious we needed to eat something. Sweet Potatoes, authentic Bajan cuisine it was. But only to my disaray, half way through the meal, the man didn't feel well, and off to the bathroom he went. One kind man approaches my table 10 minutes later, suprising me with the fact that Mat's been sick on the bathrooom floor. Hastenly I head in their direction, pick the man up, watch the unlit eyes roll back until the pupils are no longer, splash some water and slap him out of it. Unlucky for him, I had finished all the macaroni pie.

The madness had finally caught up with him. And now, I was tired as well. I pack him in to the passenger's seat, make my second attempt at driving in this silly way, and unload ourselves back to that beautiful bedcover.

The first 12 hours

Tipping a few pounds on the scale, and the stomach a bit weaker, I return from Barbados.

Though the majority of our adventurous travels heed nothing that exudes relaxation, the escapades are quite intriguing, which makes the act of organizing my journalistic notes even more exhausting.

The muddled works of American Airlines left us scrambling around the 3 baggage claims at Grantley-Adams only to find no luggage. That means frolicking around the small British-African island in a short dress and 4-inch heels. And what to do when you have no luggage? Drinking of course! The taxi driver tells us to head to St Lawrence Gap - the vacationer's hot spot - so we do. The islanders inform us of these little beeping buses that blaze by. Jump on, hand the man sliding the door $1.50 Barbados, and he'll take you anywhere on the island.

Pisces, Sweet Potatoes, Paul's Churrascaria, Cafe Sol, and more. Before we stroll in to any of them, we're stopped by a short, island man. He says his name is Jollize, or something of the sort. "Hey man, you guys need some charlie?" Perplexed, we look at each other. "Charlie?"

"Yea man, yeahhh. The good white stuff, ya?"

"Ah, nah man, we're good."

"You guys want some weed?"

We look at each other, why the hell not? "Ok, ok man... come with me."

Soon enough, my better half is a good five feet in front of me, as I'm snapping my fingers to get his attention. As he turns, I give him the look. At this point, we've begun to walk to the rugged streets of what looks like an old rundown African alley...leading up to a table of three men with dreadlocks sitting at a card table in the middle of this overgrown dark street.

"Sidown man." He is inviting and kind, but I am uncomfortable. The other men don't say a word, aside from asking Jollize if we're cool. It didn't take but for me to say the man is from Argentina in order to get their mouths moving. Maradona this....Messi that. Soon enough we'd finished the splif, and we were on our way back to the gap.

The Argentenian reassures Jollize he was ready to pull out some kung fu moves if needed. But now that we return to civilization and street lights, the alcohol starts flowing like the Costa Rican rainy season. We meet Maddie at Cafe Sol. We order one margarita, she gives us two. A good woman. We leave the contending Mexican restaurant behind and walk down the street to Reggae Bar, but oh, of course we can't proceed 50ft without bumping in to Jollize. We reconvene in front of a brokedown shack, sit down, and smoke the rest of the splif. We offer the man to have a drink with us, but alas, he's been sober for years... we buy him a pineapple juice at the bar next door, visit for a minute, and carry on to the sounds of Marley & Collie Buddz, where the over-tired attorney starts to let loose. Dance we did, for hours.

Though many Barbadians apparently did not support the local McDonalds, the island flourishes with Kentucky Fried Chicken. The very thought of this sounded implausable after a long night of rum & dancing. We walk from our hotel. The heels were bound to persecute me eventually, and after walking through the drive-thru, my heel rolls, and as the considerate one yells, "Save the chicken," I fall.

Uproarious in laughter was the walk back to the hotel, where we didn't last but two minutes before the floral emaciated bedcover put us to sleep. The next morning will bring yet another day full of debauchery.

a very merry un-wednesday, to me..

Yesterday, I moved my desk. Today I wish I didn't. For the past year, I have spent my post-college days buried in the back-right corner of this old herb shoppe. The beautiful woman sitting next to me was Brittney. Today I call her mother hen.

Upon my arrival, she was mother to a year old baby boy. Soon thereafter, aside from my dissarray upon announcement of working her maternity leave, she was pregnant again. The world couldn't ask for a better mother than she. And now, upon much astonishment and melancholy, that is exactly what she's set out to do.

I can't quite express my own contentment, because quite honestly, none is surfacing, but I can say that for her, I am filled with bliss.

Her patience with me lays bare how expectional and admirable she will be at home for little Eli & Jillian. She's here to shh me when I'm cursing, catches my tongue before I slip, and even blurts the occassional "asshole".

Don't be fooled by her traditional baptist background, as one of her best qualities, she is never judging of my precarious and promiscuous lifestyle nor anyone elses, but rather takes joy in listening to my stories and offering me advice.

I have been blessed to spend such quality time with this magnificent woman. She has done all in her power to keep our spirits high, treat us all fairly, and always has our backs. Not as innocent as one would presume, she flourishes with us in sexual banter and throws the occasional individual under the bus... but not to worry for those whom she may not be fond of, as she will always keep open her gentle heart.

Brittney Davis, the woman who always glows radiant in pictures, we will miss you.

Vacation Mat

Sure as it was rainy season in Barbados, my package of passion did arrive. He's playful, good-humored; I can't get him to kiss voluntarily, but I can get him to cooperate when I attack him.

He puts me on his shoulders in the water,when no one else is doing the same, lays in bed with me for a few extra minutes in the morning, and will even ask me to sit on his lap. The act of buying groceries in the ocean has never been so much fun.

Let's not go too overboard though. Soon enough he'll be talking of larger breasts and how oral sex isn't the key to an OG for my sake, but his, of course. In any event, I can still soak up the idea of an unstressed, sunned-up Argentenian, taking walks with me on the beach, drinking pina coladas with me for breakfast, and waking me up with a smile in the morning.

Let's hope vacation Mat is here to stay..

Sarah does Texas

Longhorns, chicken fried steak, dr pepper & republicans. Mexicans, the largest state fair, cowgirls & blue bonnets.

With the help of some true & untrue Texans, I've done my share fair of exploring around this big ol' state. Still havent made my way too far west yet. Mostly South, primarily east.

Dallas, home of the Cowboys, Texas Rangers & Mavericks. Have done all those, more than once. Jerry Jones new monstrosity, and the old. Texas Longhorns in Austin, the Cotton Bowl, and the Big 12 Championship. Everytime I end up in the opposing teams' section, and spit on. The first time I was wearing bright yellow, most definitely not to be confused with burnt orange, and stuck out like a sore thumb in the end zone.


By far, the best fajitas I've ever had. Margaritas galore. Dallas definitely houses some beautiful women as well. Although, very superficial. " Texas Women." Hank Williams. I've come to like Texas country music pretty well, but mostly while cruising, top down on 35 headed towards Austin. Many drunken nights on 6th street, which then lead to BestWurst Brats at 3am. We can blame moments like these for the dramatic weight gain upon moving here. Best of all, Austin's hill country. Reminds me somewhat of NY. Atleast part of Texas has some scenery. Weekends on Lake Travis, reminds me of boating with Wes. Floating the Comal & Gaudelupe. 8 hours of endless drinking, while floating down the river, then more drinking and campfires to follow.

I couldn't possibly just touch on the state fair now. You'll have to wait until the end of August.

San Antonio. Mexicanville. Considering any body of water in Texas is man-made, an artificial riverwalk runs throught the middle of downtown. One would think a river that runs through the middle of a metroplis wouldn't be that extensive, but tell that to the ones who walked around it for over an hour before we could find Texas' worst Tex-Mex. The few days spent there were in a bar filled with peanut shells on the riverwalk, where we preceded to convince a couple to come back to our hotel with us, after endless rounds of shots.

Everyone shocked I knew absolutely nothing about Alamo history, New York state's curriculum failed to think this was relevant, we ventured downtown to check out the ancient piece of Texas' history. Surrounded by other tourists like ourselves, we couldn't hang around there long. We ventured away from the sightseers, to the best flour torillas I'll ever have. Mi Tierra.



Fort Worth. Cowtown. No longer than a half hour drive from Dallas, we head that way often. My first time was a tour through the historic stockyards. One of the more popular places to bring visiting relatives. Drink beer on the old brick streets, where the cattle drive will come through every Saturday around 3:00. Longhorns & black cowboys. The occasional mullet and plenty of children walking out of souvenir shops with giant lollipops. Atleast you can take your beer with you..

Houston. The bayou city, as he must comment everytime the city arises in conversation. Have only been a few times, and most entail some type of disaster. The first revolves around golf, so will say no more. The second, left my job to cruise with the attorney for some type of hearing down there, and ended up being a three night affair after a flat tire. At least we made good friends with the famous mixologist at the Marriott, and then set off for some skinny-dipping.

When all's said and done... now I'll be fixin' to head west. Abilene? Amarillo? El Paso? Not sure yet... but I'm sure wherever it is, we'll find some way to tear up the town...