What’s Your Preference?

A couple months ago, I went to lunch with a friend. We were catching up about my time in Australia and about life in general.

We were probably talking about Facebook when she told me my page says to ask about my relationship status. I told her that was because I'd taken off that I was single and interested in men a few years ago, right when Facebook started targeting ads based on your info. Because I find targeted ads creepy and was sick of getting ads for dating websites and that the ads stopped immediately after taking that info off. 

She persisted and questioned if there was anything to ask about, then interrupted herself and said she thought she already knew. “What do you think you know?” I asked, and she said, "There's a girl you had posted a picture with a while ago, and she changed her profile picture to it recently."

Me and Alli

"Oh, Alli? Yea, we're soul mates, but I'm straight." By soul mates, I meant we like the same music and reading and maps and tequila and random dance parties. She asked if I was sure and said she'd talked about it with her boss about it. He'd told her some people who travel long-term are asking themselves questions about life and that they go off to travel, meet new people, try different things, and come to some answers. All of which I agree with, so I asked her what the question was. "Your preference."

Yea, still straight.


ETA: My point was that I just don't understand the curiosity about other people's sexuality.
Just wanted to make clear that it's not an insult to be asked if I'm a lesbian or bi-sexual.

Double the Arrests, Double the Fun

Arrest Number 1:

After a couple drinks in Melbourne, Scott, Adele, and I walked to Melbourne Central station to catch the train to the suburbs, where we were staying. The departures screen informed us that our next train left in 15 minutes, so they sat down for a rest. 

Scott swiftly turned around and grabbed the handrail of the “up” escalator, but he could only support himself for a few seconds. When he had slid back down, he said, “Mon, get a video of me!” So I obliged and shot a short video.

On his third time up, two transport security officers came over and tried to get his attention, “Sir, what are you doing? Sir, get down. Sir, that’s how people get hurt.” One officer spoke with Scott, and the other addressed myself then Adele. “Do you know it’s illegal to take pictures down here?” He pointed to a sign directly behind me that I clearly had not seen. It looked something like this, but it also included a camera icon. 

“Ohmygod, no! I’ll delete them right now.” “Well don’t worry about that now.” My mouth went dry. Shit. “Do you have ID?”

“Are you all English?” I overheard Scott’s officer. “We are," he indicated himself and Adele, "but she’s American,” Scott replied.

I handed him my driver’s license. “Are you a resident or traveling?” “We’re all traveling on working holiday visas.” He wrote down my name and asked my date of birth. He wanted to get correct documentation since America is not down with the rest of the world, which writes dates day-month; we write dates month-day.

He asked for Adele’s ID. Now, Adele had done nothing wrong, so she had taken a step back. She looked as terrified as I felt (and, as it turns out, also looked). He took her info down in his notebook, as well.

As he handed us back our IDs, Adele asked what happens next. “Oh this one’s trouble,” he indicated to the other officer but offered no explanation. The guy who had been talking with Scott piped up, “We can’t fine you because you’re not residents.” Sigh of relief.

Scott later informed us that as soon as his officer saw his ID, he said, “Oh shit. You’re English, so I can’t issue a citation.” I don’t understand why the guy talking with Adele and I couldn’t have offered us the same courtesy--he just left us hanging.

And to top off almost being arrested, the departures screen lied to us. There were no more trains from that station, so we missed the last one back. Then we had to battle hundreds of others trying to hail taxis right at shift change, so it took us an hour to finally find someone who would take us there. 

Arrest Number 2: 

The next day, as we were riding the train into town, two transport officers came through the car checking everyone’s Myki (metro) card to make sure everyone paid for their ride. When he came up to us, he looked at me with my feet up on the seat and said, “Do you know that having your feet on the seat is a finable offence.” Crap not again. “No.” “I’ll need to see your ID.”

I start to retrieve my license. “Since I’ve caught you doing it, I will have to make a report. If the transport authority decides to issue a citation, it will come in the mail.” I feel immediately relieved because, having been through this the night before, I now know I won’t be fined.

Handing him my license I answer, “Ok,” polite and agreeable, “I’m American, so how does that work?” He gets snippy, “You’re not a resident?” “No, sir.” “Are you living in Melbourne?” “No.”

“Are you staying in Melbourne?” inquired his sidekick. “We’re staying outside the city tonight, but we’re staying in a hostel in the city tomorrow.” “How long have you been in Melbourne?” “Just for the weekend; I’m going to Adelaide Tuesday.”

The guy jumps back in, “Common sense tells you not to put your feet on the seat. Do they have trains in the state of” he checks my ID “Illinois?” “Yes.” “Do they allow you to put your feet on the seats there?” I wasn’t going to stoop to his rudeness level and reply that no one really cares if you put your feet on the seat, nor would anyone get fined for having feet on the seat. If a transport employee did come through and cared enough, they would just ask you to please put your feet on the floor.

“To be honest, I’ve never ridden the train in Illinois.” That was a lie, but really it’s been years since I did. He reiterated the common sense bit and moved on, not bothering to take down my information.

By the way, it’s not as if I had muddy or even dirty shoes, in which case common sense would have kicked in, and I would not have had them on the seat. Also, I could have informed him that the train from Melbourne to Adelaide does not have such a rule, since we all had our feet up a couple weeks prior. Had he been polite about the whole thing, I may have felt sorry for putting my feet on the seat, but as he was exceedingly rude, I don’t.

Dominican Safari: A Most Random Assortment of Activities

On our second day in Punta Cana, Lauren and I went on a "safari." The all-terrain truck picked us up in front of the hotel early...well, for vacation that is.

There were already a bunch of people on board, and we went to another resort to pick up a group of eight, filling the truck. However, the last seats were split, six in the back and two in the front. The people exiled to the front persuaded people from the back to switch with them so they could all be one big happy family together. "Oh, good! We thought we lost you!" squealed one girl. *Eye roll* by Lauren and I. "It looks like we're going to be the rowdy ones, this time," announced a guy in that group. Fan-freaking-tastic.

The truck drove to the entrance of another resort and called six people, including Lauren and I, off the truck. The other four people only spoke French. Just as I was asking Lauren why we were being banished since we're not French, the guide asked us what language we spoke--English and Spanish. "Ok, that's fine. You stay here." Then the truck drove off. Yes, drove off, leaving us stranded by the side of the road. Uuhhh...great, we're going to die.

A full five minutes later, another truck showed up. Foof, not going to die! More importantly, we didn't have to spend the day with the obnoxious group. 

Lauren on the truck

Our truck had a driver, a tour guide, a videographer, and a bartender. The guide spoke French, Spanish, and English, so that's most likely why the French speakers were transferred. He repeated everything in all three languages, but I think I understood the Spanish better than the English. 

As soon as we got on the bus, the bartender yelled, "OPEN BAR!!!" Open bar meant beer, rum, Coke, Sprite, and water. I was leery of drinking on the bus, since I am apt to get car sick. But we were sitting in the front of the truck, and the whole back was open. So I went ahead and tried some "Dominican champagne" (rum and Sprite). Surprisingly, I did not feel car-sick the whole time.

The guide was trying to tell us things as we were driving, but the engine and wind were so loud, we could hear nothing else. The bartender was trying to talk to me, but I couldn't hear him, so I just did my bobble-head impression (smile and nod).

school

First stop was a school sponsored by the tour company. The guide said grades 1-3 attend in the morning, and 4-6 in the afternoon. Now, I have no idea how those children learned anything because if they have tour groups in and out all day, every day, there's no learning going on. For the sake of the children, I hope they sponsor more than one school and rotate tours throughout the week. 

San Dionisio

Then we went into Higüey to see a couple of churches. Normally, I'm not big on visiting churches. I can see one or two before they all start to look the same, but there were only two on the schedule, so I survived. San Dionisio was celebrating its 500th anniversary and is one of the oldest churches in the Americas. The tile work reminded me of the Alhambra in Granada, Spain...

Alhambra tiles

San Dionisio tiles

Today's history lesson: In 711, Muslim Moors invaded Spain, bringing with them the Islam religion and Arabic architecture. Because depictions of animals and humans is discouraged in Islamic art, geometric tile-work is prevalent throughout their architecture. So the tile-work was imported by the Moors into Spain, and the Spanish brought the tile-work to the Americas. "THIS is why you study a language!" Lauren stated, not only to speak the language, but also to learn history and culture. To conclude, the Spanish fought back and reconquered Spain, finally kicking out the Moors in 1492. 

Basilica

We also went to the Basílica Catedral Nuestra Señora de la Altagracia, which was built in the 1970s. Instead of seeing the Virgin, I had to pee. There was an attendant who handed me three squares of TP on my way in, but of course, there was no toilet paper in the stalls. As usual, though, I was prepared with travel tissues. By the time I was done, those who had gone into the church were already exiting, so it can't have been that exciting. 

sugarcane field

Our next stop was a plantation, where they grow coffee, cocoa, and sugar cane. There were large concrete slabs out front for drying out the coffee and cocoa beans. We got to try freshly ground cocoa mixed with sugar from the sugar cane. It was heavenly. They also cracked open a couple cocoa pods so we could try the fresh cocoa beans.




Lunch was at a ranch. There was a cigar rolling demonstration before eating. After the meal, there was the option of a horseback ride. Lauren went ahead, but it was hot and humid, so riding a horse did not sound fun at that point. Also, I heard the hammock calling my name for a siesta.

Frank at Macao

The last stop was Macao beach, which is undeveloped, in that there are no resorts built there. I hate sand, so I stayed on the bus and got hit on by the bartender. There was a child playing in the sand next to the bus. She had a cup and was pouring sand all over herself...on her legs and arms, in her hair. I was just glad I wasn't the one with sand covering my body. *shudder*


 


We were exhausted when we got back to the resort, so we promptly took a nap. Any day where I can have one nap I consider a success, so two naps was trophy-worthy.

Is This Where You Put Your Children?

not a baby holder

That's exactly what I asked myself upon seeing this when entering the restroom at Goose Island Brewery in Chicago over the weekend. And no, I wasn't drunk. It would be helpful, wouldn't it? For people who have to take their child into the restroom to be able to strap them to the wall and go without having to worry that the kid is going to crawl on the floor, which you know is disgusting and wet. I mean, why is everything in a public restroom wet? But no, it's a nifty hand dryer, the Dyson AirBlade. Sounds pretty bad-ass, right? I felt awkward using it, trying not to touch the sides, because clearly it must be crawling with germs.

because I'm always worried about unsafe TP conditions

Also, the toilet paper dispenser was smart, safe, and sanitary. Because, as Lauren put it, I'm usually worried about my arm being cut off while getting TP. It could happen, people. You should insist your office put in San Jamar TP dispensers, so you too can be safe in the restroom.

Attracting Locals

In many foreign countries, especially where feminism hasn't taken off, something about American girls inspires the local men to salivate over them, hooting and hollering like crazy. Punta Cana proved no different--Lauren and I both got ourselves what we like to call "bartender boyfriends." Here's a day-by-day play-by-play of our encounters.

Saturday:

We had full bottles of liquor in our room for shots!

The night we flew in, we were exhausted, so we had some shots and went to dinner. On our way back to our room, we bypassed the dance floor, knowing if we tried to cut through, our American-ness (or the fact that we were hotel guests) would encourage the entertainers, who were getting guests to dance, to force us to dance.

Sunday:
We hung out at the pool after our spa time. Lunch was in the large patio by the pool, where one of the table clearers kept winking at me. He never said anything other than asking whether I was done with my plate, but he did wink every time I saw him that week.

After pool time, we hit the bar because...well, we already paid for it. Luis started flirting with me and Victor with Lauren. After a nap and dinner, we went back to the bar, where they made eyes at us the whole night. These were our main "bartender boyfriends."

Monday:
The second day, we went on a "safari." The most important employee on our truck was the bartender, who was in love with me. He kept telling me how pretty I was and tried to hold my hand every time he helped me off the truck. Driving past his favorite bar, he said "there, you drink, you dance, you sex." At the lunch stop, he dreamily told the bartender from another truck, "mira ella--ella es especial (look at her--she's special)." At the last stop, I was sitting on the bus waiting for the rest of the group, and he offered me: "Beer?" No. "Rum?" No. "Coke?" No. "Sprite?" No. "Water?" No. "Me?" Haha, clever, but no. 

Since we went back to the bar that night, we were back to being hit on by Luis and Victor. Also that night, Peluca (not his real name), one of the entertainers, asked Lauren to dance. He was apparently not that great of a dancer, more like a tweener at a junior high dance. He kissed her hand before depositing her back with me.

Tuesday:
We were hanging out by the pool when Peluca spotted us. He offered to sunscreen Lauren, but his technique was a little lacking since he had apparently jammed a finger and was in quite a bit of pain. Lauren, being a nurse, told him he should have it checked out.

We did water aerobics with Bugs Bunny (the entertainers were clearly not using their real names). At the end of class, he had everyone get in a circle and say their name and where they were from. When I said 'Monica,' he said, "oh, Monica Lewinsky, I am your Bill Clinton" and hugged me. Machine (again, with the name) introduced himself to Lauren, but Peluca was quick to jump in and claim her; he proceeded to kiss her cheeks, all European-like, and then give her a peck on the lips. Not cool dude, not cool. He wanted to eat lunch with us, but we fake passed out on our pool loungers.

That night, we met some American guys, Nick and Matt, also staying at the hotel and were hanging out at the bar. We actually attracted quite a crowd that night, including Paula, who was getting blitzed since it was her last night. She was trying to get our group and some of the bartenders to go to the disco, but we had to get up early the next day. So we passed on the disco, even though our bartender boyfriends were gung-ho about it.

Wednesday:
When we went to check in for SCUBA diving, the guy at the dive desk radioed to the boat that he had un hombre y dos chicas bonitas. 

Lauren and I grabbed lunch at the main restaurant. Our water waiter called me 'princesa' the whole time and asked if I would go to the disco with him that night. I told him I'd try, and he insisted, "you won't forget me, will you?" I don't know about forget so much as prefer to sleep. 

We met up with Nick and Matt for the rest of the day. What else was there to do but go to the bar for the evening? Our bartender boyfriends got jealous that night. Luis wouldn't even look at me; he kept shaking his head and looking away. Victor had a sad look on his face all night but did ask Lauren if she would go for a walk on the beach with him, "just for 30 minutes." "I know what 30 minutes on the beach means," Lauren informed him, refusing to go.

Peluca didn't seem to mind, though, since he dragged Lauren to the dance floor again. Victor glared at Peluca as he whisked Lauren away. I told him he should go punch him, and he said he might.

Thursday:
We hung out with Nick and Matt all day and had a completely different experience of not being hit on. Except when I went to exchange towels by myself, and the towel guy teased me that I couldn't exchange towels but had to take the towel cards. So I took the cards then handed the cards back and requested two towels.

At dinner, the water waiter from the day before either didn't recognize me or chose to ignore me. Our bartender boyfriends were still resentful that we had abandoned them.

Friday:
Nick and Matt left Friday, so it was back to the bar by ourselves that night. We had tips for our bartender boyfriends. But first, we had to convince our beaus that the guys were only amigos, not competition. Victor was easy to sway, especially when Juan Carlos, another bartender, tried to convince Victor that Lauren was his and I was Victor's. Victor would have none of that. Luis took a lot more persuading, but I was able to win back his affection by the end of the night.

We are fans of dollar folding, so our tips were folded into origami shapes. Lauren's tip for Victor was a boat, "barquita for you to visit me." Victor informed Lauren that while there are other pretty girls that come to the resort, she's the only one who has stolen his heart; he couldn't stop thinking about her. Mine for Luis was a ring, which he promptly showed off to his boss. He told me I needed to come back next year because he likes looking at me. I told him I like to see other places. "No, you work, save your money, and come back here next year." I'm an accountant, buddy, I know how it works.

Lauren and Victor

Luis and I

Saturday:
We had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to get to the airport for our flight home. The driver who picked us up, was asking if we were married or had kids. When I told him no, he said I needed to marry a Dominican, and I would have lots of kids. When I told him that I love kids but don't want any of my own, he said maybe I shouldn't marry a Dominican!

ETA: Sorry for the previously whorephobic title (and permalink).

Fun with Learning

A lot of learning occurred last week while on vacation with some college friends and one of my sisters in the Florida Keys. There may or may not have been drinking involved. Oh, and John left the room when things got real. Discussion topics included:

Alcohol enemas: The new trend for high schoolers/college students wherein alcohol goes up the pooper because it gets you drunk faster. Really? Doesn't that take the social aspect out of drinking? My sister suggested gin because, "I would rather put gin in my ass hole than in my mouth because it tastes like pine trees."

Anal bleaching: Because some people are self conscious that their anus looks like an anus, and heaven forbid it be the color nature intended. 

Back, sack, and crack (BSC) wax: The male pain equivalent to the Brazilian. 

Third eye: AKA your ass hole. As in "my third eye just closed when discussing alcohol enemas, anal bleaching, and the BSC." 

Hipster: Oh, how to define hipster to someone who was not aware it was a thing? Basically anything with mainstream popularity should be shunned and anything disliked by the mainsteam is super-cool. 

IMDB: really? How can you not know about this?

Manicure vs. pedicure: The token male in the group had not had either but was game to get a pedicure alongside his girlfriend. However he could not remember which term was for hands and which was for feet. It's all about etymology!

Cootchie or Hoo ha cover: As in for my Dominican Republic couples massage with my sister, I had one and she didn't. 

Mustache ride: While discussing poor t-shirt choices for guys ("that's a great story, now go make me a sandwich"), Laura said, "it must be a joke--who would wear that?" I told her have seen guys legit wearing "free mustache rides" shirts.

Like throwing a hotdog down a hallway: This phrase is actually about a loose woman, but we used it to describe very bad sex while responding to the anti-sext "I'm off the market."

I also shared some Bad Lip Reading videos: The Hunger Games, Twilight, and Russian Unicorn.

Looking back, I was the one dispensing the knowledge...hmmm...What does that say about me?

Reality is a Drag

Some people in our group recommended we go to a drag show in Key West. They recommended Aqua Nightclub, so Aqua's 'Reality is a Drag' show it was! Since we're lame and wanted to go to bed early (it was an hour drive back), we decided on the 7:00 show. There was hardly anyone in the bar when we arrived, so we got seated front and center. 

Victoria, the evening's host, opened with a number wherein she harassed some audience members, myself included. She looked down from the stage, saw the size of my hoots, walked down, and grabbed them. Can't say I blame her; I was kinda expecting it. 

She gave her spiel, saying, "If you come in straight and leave gay, it's your own damn fault. This is a bar. And what do you do at a bar? Drink. The more you drink, the better I look!" Then she asked whose first drag show it was: "I thought I smelled fear." 

Angel, a fellow audience member, jumped up, raised her hand, and announced, "It's my birthday!" "Shut up, slut--we'll get to you," Victoria ordered. Angel's jaw dropped. "Oh, close your mouth, you look like a blow-up doll." As we later learned, Angel was celebrating her 21st birthday...with her family...at a drag show. Her father was so uncomfortable as to appear frozen. 

Sassy and Inga also performed. Sassy was a little blah, but gorgeous. Inga was hilarious! She came out dressed as a cow, complete with udders. First, she sang about her own teats, then about loving boobs in general. This is when she looked down my shirt approvingly and grabbed my maracas. She proceeded to sing about itty-bitty titties and pointed out some tots in my group. Laura wouldn't allow any of the performers to grab her puppies, but she kept count for me--my breasticles were fondled 5 times! 

We enjoyed ourselves enough to get stamped to come back for the 9:00 show, but by the time we got a ways down the street, we were drenched in sweat and decided to go back to the house, shower, and sleep. 

What Happens in Key West...

Some college friends, my sister, and some friends of one of the college friends rented a house in Marathon Key for the week. We drove down to Key West a few nights. 

For dinner, my college friends, sister, and I went to Margaritaville, where our waiter opened with, "You're going to have crappy service tonight. If you have a shot of tequila before dinner and one after dinner, it will make my poor performance seem much better. Help me to help you." Throughout dinner, he was giving everyone a hard time, in a funny, joking way. 

We went on our way after dinner but saw him out at a bar he had suggested. Later, he awkwardly kissed someone's ear, and even later, there was a moment of panic regarding suspected stalking, but he disappeared. Foof! We made sure to walk on the other side of the road or walk swiftly past the restaurant the rest of the time.

At Rick's Bar, we were the only ones dancing for most of the time we were there, but there was a guy in a black shirt who came up behind my friend and her boyfriend and started grinding on her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was slightly alarmed but continued dancing. 

Black shirt guy moved on to dance with all of us, asking each if she had a husband. Someone told him, "yes, in fact, I have three husbands!" And that all of us there were staying at the same place and, in fact, in the same bed. He offered his bed, but the offer was not accepted. When he asked me, I said no, and he reacted like he was annoyed: "geez, everyone here has a husband." Maybe he misheard me? 

"Desperate Dance"  note his wide smile and look of desperation in his eyes

Anyway, black shirt guy's friend, plaid shirt guy, joined in dancing for a while, twirling me around the dance floor. He asked what we were all doing there, so I told him it was a girl's trip...well, plus one boyfriend. He grinned and said, "I left my boyfriend at home!" Then he proceeded to do the desperate dance with me, confusing me. Then, black shirt guy went back to his group of friends, threw his empty beer bottle on the floor, and was promptly kicked out.

Continuing on at Rick's, there was a man we deemed to be a local who was dancing by himself, refusing to dance with anyone else. He was schmammered. He humped a garbage can and then banged the air while using a beer bottle as his schlong. We tried to get one of my friends to dance with him, but she was a little intimidated by all the thrusting.