i love lesbians and other random thoughts

It is still too fucking cold. I hate this damp chill. The contrast between the warmth and sun of Mexico and this horror is unbearable.

Coming home to little dogs is truly one of the greatest pleasures of life.

Finding the aloof and dignified cat in a very affectionate state is sweet.

Folks I met from Canada and Mexico and Panama and Peru and England and France also think Bush is a cretin and a thug. Not big news, but comforting. I asked everyone to have their countries send well armed covert ops people to rescue us.

I love lesbians! I found myself in need of help before we departed Mazatlan. In just an instant of looking around the terminal for assistance, I was suddenly surrounded by a trio of helpful gals who conspired to rescue me with a peso. Sweet, funny, no nonsense middle-aged dykes who left me feeling a bit melancholy for my activist years in the women’s movement.

Mexican butter rocks. And coconut LaLa yogurt is fantastic.

There is nothing quite like freshly caught shrimp, quickly boiled and iced down and served with a tongue-burning cocktail sauce thick with horseradish. Nothing.

No matter how nice the accommodations, hotel beds suck.

The average American we encountered in Mexico well deserves the pejorative gabacho. What a bunch of clowns: so rude, obnoxious, cheap, condescending.

Men who grow wide expanses of pubic hair should not wear teensy thongs on the beach unless they’re willing to wax. Or at least trim. Ick.

Snorkeling in rough water can cause a buoyant woman to crash hard into a rocky shore where escape entails a heroic struggle between incoming waves and undertow. To avoid broken bones and drowning, the only solution is swimming like hell under water, thus risking a close encounter with razor sharp coral. That the coral is razor sharp is evidenced by the gouges across my formerly pristine tummy. I am now waiting to see if the legend proves true: that coral will sprout from my wounds.

I was born to live a life of leisure. I don't know how I ended up with this one.

Blogger friends and pals can be missed as severely as "real" ones.

brrrrrrrr. too cold. 'bye

My fingers are red tipped and stiff from the cold and I'm cranky after loading freight all afternoon. My usually cheery drivers were cranky too. The temperature's dropped almost 50 degrees in the last twelve hours. It was so warm in the house last night, I flung all the windows wide open before going to bed, fighting the urge to turn on the air.

I am leaving for warmer climes shortly. In a way, I'm glad for this sudden cold snap, as it makes the delicious warmth of Mazatlan an even greater pleasure. I need walks on the beach, sunsets over the Pacific, waves lapping at my bare toes.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday weekend. It's a strange one here, as I'm not cooking or having family in for the first time in 16 years. Just escaping. To warmth, sand, sunshine. See you in December.

'bye

It seems we can't get away without a shopping trip, this time for snorkeling equipment and water shoes, both of which were located at the unbelievable (really astonishing) Bass Pro Shop. Damn, just walking in that place makes me want to chew and spit tobacco, load up and head for the woods. Mike and I now have matching water shoes for climbing the falls at Ocho Rios ~ so cute! ~ and for wandering the rocky beaches at Mazatlan in November and February.

I've been trying to find a lightweight, knee-length t-shirt kind of thing that isn't pink and doesn't have bunnies or kittens on it. I don't sleep in anything, but I'm not ready to lounge nude on the balcony of the hotel in the mornings. The only things available for women (not mail order, no time) are similar to what you would dress a toddler in. Not for me. But then there's the muumuu.

It occurs to me that the muumuu is a lifestyle: looking at the billowing flowered garment on the hanger, I suddenly felt a craving for a cigarette, some curlers for my hair, chippy chewing gum pink nail polish, a TV blaring soap operas and a trailer. I had an urge to drink coffee from a diner cup and saucer, yak on the phone to Dot and Jeannie and Rita, hit the VFW dance on Friday nights. So what's worse? That floral garment, which carries the great risk that I will succumb to the muumuu lifestyle:

or pink bunnies and kittens? Needless to say, there's a muumuu in my bag, God help me. So here we are at near midnight. The pet sitter has the puppies; the house sitter is ensconced in my featherbed with a cat wrapped around her head. I'm packed and ready to fly away.

I'm giving the back side of my flipper to the Bush crime family, and I'm not offering those thugs space in my head any more. Really. What will be will be and all of that. I'm going to reclaim my serenity on the beach. Y'all take care while I'm away and don't (**sniff**) forget me while I'm gone. Off to Jamaica.

5. days. left.

before hitting the beach for a week. Getting ready to go is the worst. Getting through security is when it all feels real.