So it's my first day as a black woman, and I feel great.
By which I mean-- Joan, the Dominican dishwasher at Craig and Sally's braided my hair like a beautiful black chick. Or gangly basketball playing/ break-dance-attempting white chick.
"Soo...how was the Disney Cruise?" asks Ryan, and I know I'll have no trouble catching a tourist-loving cab driver's attention.
Luckily for me, I have my stud of a loverman to pick me up in our death wish of a 1990 Jeep Wrangler.
Made out of mostly wood and rust (couple a' wheels), the Red Beast gets us to town--coasting down hill and peddling Flinstone style up-hill. Oh dear god I hope I live.
I guess it beats my days hitch-hiking to town in the back of pick-ups or shotgun with old island ladies worried about my 'young white girl ways'.
As for work down here, I'm a business lesbian from the 80's.
At least thats what my uniform would have you believe. Craig and Sally's is a finer-dining award winning wine bar that still maintains it's small island town feel in Frenchtown. And it's making me a fat kid/ wino on the daily.
The uniform is the worst past about the job and actually, I hear its a step up from what once were Hawiian shirts. If that were the current uniform, I would be ulternate universing my first job at the Highland House when I was 14, and most likely begin a deep level of self-loathing.
Craig is incredibly dry-humored and crotchety, mostly. Mumbling and stumbling around the restaurant blurting out random "beep"'s if you're in his way but somehow landed his total babe of a wife. that Sassy Sally is a straight Trip.
When she misunderstood some directions I told her to Andrew's house (our ex-co-worker went missing in the abyss of a crack binge, we're pretty sure,--but that's another story), she came back screaming she was going to "fucking kill" me.
I laughed nervously and kept my distance but the next day she was singing Eminem and telling me about meeting her first husband high on LSD at a Jefferson Airplane concert.
All's well that ends well. Nothing but love for that self-proclaimed "lazy slut".
The staff at Craig and Sally's has become like a strange little island family for me. BJ- presently known as Beejwah-is a hotshot chef out of NYC, France and someplace in Asia filled with Asians. At 6'6" and 300 lbs he's a cutiepatootie with a heart of honey.
Treva is my main squeeze- that hot-blooded lovaman outta New Orleans--buying me goldshallgger and feeding me chocolate. Obviously the love is there. Too bad his boyfriend Patrick stands in the way. And his apathy for all vaginas.
RyGuy is the fellow cheesehead in the house. doncha know. He loves fine wine, singing Disney songs while plating food and random sex with men.
Cortney is the mama hen/rockstar of the place. She runs circles around us and still pours us glasses of Vueve at the end of the night, making us laugh with her stories of adolescent Portland years stealing cars and eating mushrooms.
Bryan is a phenomenal chef and the hairest man I've ever seen. We call him Chewy (Chewbaka) for short.He threw a party at his house a couple weeks ago where I promised to shave his chest bare inorder to make him irresitable to all womenkind. Instead I got drunk, half-naked, and dove head-first into the chocolate foundue fountain.
I don't think I'm invited to any more parties.
Rachel is a 22 year old sweetheart out of Nebraska. Get that booty out on a dance floor and I see why we were meant to be friends. That, and our mutual addiction to chocolate.
Then there is the recent freak-a-deak addition known as Shannon. Lord bless her but girl is a freakkk. That's all I'm going to comment on in respect of most family and friends reading this. No Shannon, we will not have a threesome with you. But I think you're pretty neat.
All in all, its a strange, dysfunctanal, but ridiculously loving (oftentimes bordering perverted) little family. A twisted home away from a twisted home.
As far as island living goes--we really are all here, because we're not all there.
My recent little god-send in a form of a 5 foot nothin tom-boy is Dannielle, that crazy lil Kook. The first night I met her at Betsy's I thought she was your run of the mill crackhead type. I was amused but skeptical.
Turns out it's just her raging ADD. Pretty sure she's the funniest man, woman or child on island. We went to Maegan's beach, cruising to Salt n Peppa and chugging white russians. Once there, the boys went their seperate ways and we stayed behind confirming our female friendship. Danielle began vomitting over the side of the picnic table, gagging on her jalepeno popper breakfast declaring, "I'm. still. having. fun" inbetween ralphs.
Friendship confirmed.
Party on Wayne. Party on Garth.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
We're all here cuz we're not all there
The Express line at K-Mart takes me 45 minutes on a Monday but this first month down in St. Thomas has absolutely flown by. Island time proving there is no time. woah. "Time flies when you're having rum" -- as Chris likes to say, managing to make the quote even cheesier than its original form. But Pat would know all about that rum fun.
That's right--I moved down here to this far-away island with ze loverboy and Patrick--we've dibbed him Reckless P because of his fondness for drunken cartwheeling down hills and jumping off roofs into trees in a borrowed cow costume.
For the first month we stayed with ex-New York Italiano Andrew "smokes weed everyday" Giordano.
Living with three dudes has proved to be the biggest culture shock yet. Like trying to get ready for my first day at work and they're throwing fireworks at me. Or seeing body parts reserved only for changing diapers on infants. Or smoke bombs and stink bombs tossed around before bed.
We've been keeping ourselves entertained though--seeing as we're all pretty broke as of right now and sticking to $6 bottles of rum to be drank at home rather than $6 drinks at the bar. We found a pair of assless leather chaps in the back of Chris's work van (what?) that provided a few laughs and a great frame for Patrick's infamous tushy. Monday I got a bottle of rum and a hoola-hoop at the ole K-Mart so it's been a pretty good week.
The people down here are all on the level. Absolute kooks. It's beautiful.
Like Scuba Steve who we met our first night out at Island Time Bar. The next day we went to the beach with him--watched him surf, and sipped from his banana-chocolate-hemp-seed smoothie.
And I'm in love. With the smoothie. With Steve. With the island. More so with Chris for bringing me down here. The constant air of possibilities and that big ole beautiful body of salt water I get to play in everyday.
That's right--I moved down here to this far-away island with ze loverboy and Patrick--we've dibbed him Reckless P because of his fondness for drunken cartwheeling down hills and jumping off roofs into trees in a borrowed cow costume.
For the first month we stayed with ex-New York Italiano Andrew "smokes weed everyday" Giordano.
Living with three dudes has proved to be the biggest culture shock yet. Like trying to get ready for my first day at work and they're throwing fireworks at me. Or seeing body parts reserved only for changing diapers on infants. Or smoke bombs and stink bombs tossed around before bed.
We've been keeping ourselves entertained though--seeing as we're all pretty broke as of right now and sticking to $6 bottles of rum to be drank at home rather than $6 drinks at the bar. We found a pair of assless leather chaps in the back of Chris's work van (what?) that provided a few laughs and a great frame for Patrick's infamous tushy. Monday I got a bottle of rum and a hoola-hoop at the ole K-Mart so it's been a pretty good week.
The people down here are all on the level. Absolute kooks. It's beautiful.
Like Scuba Steve who we met our first night out at Island Time Bar. The next day we went to the beach with him--watched him surf, and sipped from his banana-chocolate-hemp-seed smoothie.
And I'm in love. With the smoothie. With Steve. With the island. More so with Chris for bringing me down here. The constant air of possibilities and that big ole beautiful body of salt water I get to play in everyday.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
GurtyPare's Romantic Getaway in OldPeopleVille, FL
Arriving at Gurty's Gramma's condo in Florida after an unexpected 12-hour adventure made the arrival all the more desired.
Gramma Bussler's condo could not have been sexier. The front room is clad with baby-blue velvet stuffed couches with pink throw pillows, multiple chandeliers, mirrored walls and paintings of landscapes. The random sprinkling of glass angels and ceramic clowns only enhance the surrealness of this place.
Our new bedroom has a bright orange wall in front of a brighter orange dresser and two twin beds with navy blue comforters and silver metallic pillows. A color combination a robotic Tony the Tiger would adore, no doubt.
The condo's balcony looks right over that big, salty body of water I've missed so much.
Standing at the railing I look at all the people who have lived in their body's for decades longer than I've been on Earth.
They wade into the water and it's as if a de-evolution process is trying to take place. Maybe after 60 years ocean-side they'll grow back their gills and return to where we all came from. If they want it bad enough.
As for Gurty and I, we are content lying poolside, letting Artur, the 20-year-old cabana boy, adjust our umbrella and smile at us.
I'm immediately attracted, but Gurty reminds me of his past in Armenia shooting the limbs of the tied up victim who mugged his sister. Umm...
On a less violent note, while waiting outside the grocery store, an old dude from Argentina told me that Obama was born in a crystal ball. For whatever that brings to your day.
Gramma Bussler's condo could not have been sexier. The front room is clad with baby-blue velvet stuffed couches with pink throw pillows, multiple chandeliers, mirrored walls and paintings of landscapes. The random sprinkling of glass angels and ceramic clowns only enhance the surrealness of this place.
Our new bedroom has a bright orange wall in front of a brighter orange dresser and two twin beds with navy blue comforters and silver metallic pillows. A color combination a robotic Tony the Tiger would adore, no doubt.
The condo's balcony looks right over that big, salty body of water I've missed so much.
Standing at the railing I look at all the people who have lived in their body's for decades longer than I've been on Earth.
They wade into the water and it's as if a de-evolution process is trying to take place. Maybe after 60 years ocean-side they'll grow back their gills and return to where we all came from. If they want it bad enough.
As for Gurty and I, we are content lying poolside, letting Artur, the 20-year-old cabana boy, adjust our umbrella and smile at us.
I'm immediately attracted, but Gurty reminds me of his past in Armenia shooting the limbs of the tied up victim who mugged his sister. Umm...
On a less violent note, while waiting outside the grocery store, an old dude from Argentina told me that Obama was born in a crystal ball. For whatever that brings to your day.
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