2 posts tagged “cayman islands”
I wrote on a piece of paper from my purse the other night. It was a large piece of paper.
I’ve been in the Cayman Islands for three weeks now. I don’t know what compels me to keep moving to vacation destinations, but here I go again. Great Whitesnake tune. Anyway, first Fort Myers and its accompanying beaches, then the Florida Keys, and now here. It’s so vacationy that I can see cruiseships parked just a few miles away. Do I have some masochistic tendency that drives me to relocate somewhere for work just so I can I obsess over all the fun all the tourists are having that I’m not having? I don’t know. Maybe I jus like sand between my toes and sunshine.
Also on my mind – the fact that I’m at a bar alone, writing. Isn’t this what I did at Cabascas? Do I really want to go down that road again? Then again, what else am I going to do when I’m not working? Things will be awesomer (that’s right) when I have some cash and I can start diving.
Wow. I just noticed the pillar I’m sitting next to is covered with pictures of girls making out at the bar. Classy. And yet, this is the island that arrested two gay male tourists for kissing in a bar. Double standard. Why is it cool for girls to suck face with each other? I’m not down with this trend that won’t go away.
There’s a map of the Caribbean sitting under glass at my stretch of bar here. Fun fact: the Cayman Islands are very, very small. I had an English teacher who loathed the word ‘very,’ saying that it doesn’t add anything to the sentence stylistically or in meaning. So, I especially like using it multiple times in a sentence, separated by as many commas as possible. It makes me feel so rebellious. But I digress. The Caymans are tiny, like you’d try to wipe them off a map, thinking they’re crumbs from your breakfast Danish. My new country is pastry-bit small.
Another thing about Grand Cayman – or at least where I’m sitting right now – B.O. is just hanging in the air. Perhaps that’s because humidity hovers around 85% on a daily basis and rain just never comes. The aroma of others’ sweat contributes to the heaviness of the air, as if the sweat is actually the cause of the humidity and not the other way around. But it doesn’t faze anyone – people are still playing volleyball, running on the beach, drinking. Well, I guess that last one isn’t too hard, no matter the temperature, no matter the latitude.
Like any bar, this one has money taped to the wall. I don’t see any American cash, but there is a Canadian bill right in front of me. It has hockey players on it. I had no idea. I wonder if there are any Canadian bills that feature curling. Someone else has written all over a Cayman dollar, which somehow seems wrong since our currency features the Queen. I wonder what William and Harry would think if they saw Sharpie tarnishing grandma’s face.
Eh, they’re partiers. I’m sure they’ve seen it before.
The preponderance of scantily-clad chicks taped to nearly all surfaces here makes me wonder if the proprietors are aware that women also like to imbibe alcohol at bars and some may even like to see the strategically placed scantily-clad dude here and there.
Or so I’ve heard.
I used to blog regularly; not here on vox, but on blogspot. Life got complicated, though, and I just couldn't write any more. Not necessarily because I didn't have time, but because I was too blue to write. I know -- the fact that I can't write through pain or that turmoil actually discourages me from putting pen to paper (or fingertip to keyboard, as the case may be) probably means that I have no career as A Serious Writer. "Tortured Artist" just doesn't suit me. I'd rather be "Happy, Non-Moody, Artist with Lots of Friends." I've been wanting to write for the last year or so, but I just haven't been able to suck it up and do it. Until today. Starting today -- which, by the way, is my 27 and 7/12 birthday -- I will try again (what? Do you not celebrate your fractional birthdays? Sucks to be you.).
I think I need an outlet now more than usual because I just moved out of the country. Granted, American money is accepted widely over the Cayman Islands and everyone speaks English, but it is still a different country. Things are different. We drive on the left here! Wait, scratch that -- I should say people drive on the left here because I most certainly have not behind the wheel yet, and I'm cool with that really. Also, instead of dead white men on our coins, we have wild animals. So, yeah -- totally different country.
Even though I work with 900 people, I feel really alone. I realize that I'm closer to my family in Tampa now than when I lived in Montana, but seeing them now involves a trip to the immigration department to make sure that I have the proper stamps in my passport to ensure that I can back into the country. Montana may be far away and remote, but I never had to involve the government in my comings and goings from the state. Also, before I left the country (I was living in Florida at the time), I stupidly started seeing someone. Ah, that's some good alliteration. Anyway, yeah, not only did I stupidly start seeing someone, I fell totally in love. How lame is that?
I'll have to delve into that last one at a later date. I think this is a good start for now; I don't want to use all my blogging juice at one time (because it's finite, you know. Fun fact). Until then, I'm going to worry about my man calling me and plan what to wear to work tomorrow. OH! WORK! I didn't even start blabbing about that yet! So many things to blab about!
Until then...I still think Dennis Quaid is hot.
