So. To pick up where I left off, one of the two of us was wedding ring-less, but we ordered whiskey for our coffees and sat back for the flight, not exactly sure of what to expect, but totsies excitedsies nonetheless. Well, in this pic I look pretty tired (we got up at 6am which is blasphemy for us!) and Tom looks more afraid than excited – poor guy was wondering what paybacks I was planning for losing his ring, I’m sure. I wasn’t planning any retribution, I swear. Well, not yet… *cackle*
We’d never done a flight from blizzard to beach before, and it was awfully surreal for both of us. Finish your whiskey, read a good bit of Bossypants (which I highly recommend to the 2 or 3 other people that haven’t read it yet, it’s totally yesburgers), look out the plane window and BAM.
I mean, damn, right?! Which, once we got through customs and shed our winter layers, made Tom yell ‘VACATION!!!’ and made me (and my chins) go
I have no idea what that gesture means, but it’s funny how much my musical theater degree sneaks in when I’m SUPER PUMPED about something. YAAAY! So we climbed into our chariot (a gigantic dented white church van – less ‘valet’ than I expected given the price, but what the hell) and got to our resort which was pretty swanky! I was brushing the dirt off of my shoulders for getting such a ridic price for this place (for the Grand VIP level, no less!) as we rushed up to our room and change into our swimsuits, all German/Croatian pasty and sweaty from temps above 40 degrees (87 degrees our first day, to be exact!) and as I opened Tom’s suitcase to put a few of his things in the closet I hear a ping. TOM’S RING FELL TO THE FLOOR. I almost yelled for Tom (he was in the bathroom, where else would he be) and stopped myself just in time, which is where the evil genius/romantic gesture began – I quickly tucked it into a jewelry pouch of mine and started formulating what I’d do on our anniversary with it as we rushed down to the beach and got hit in the face with THIS.
I mean, I CAN’T. It was beyond perfect. Which then turned into making friends with our favorite guys on the entire resort, José y Omar,
who made the most yesburgers mango piña coladas evahhhh for our big ol’ insulated cups, which if you are planning to do all-inclusive anytime soon BRING THESE BABIES, BRO. I got the idea from some travel blog, and the whole time we were there people were asking where we got them. It sure beat tiny cups of melting frozen drinks and warm beer! We had sushi on the beach and an epic sunset – all in all, it was a perfect start to the ‘moon.
After a few days of wakeeatrelaxeatdrinkrelaxdrinkeatrelaxsleeprinserepeat, it was the day of our actual anniversary, and we were stoked! We had a schmancy special dinner at the Italian restaurant (with ice cold red wine[?!?] and the world’s worst champagne that they sweetly kept filling our glasses with over and over, gag) and were walking hand in hand on the beach afterward when I felt a grumble… but I ignored it, fingering his ring in my purse and repeatedly asking Tom, ‘Gawd, don’t you miss your wedding ring? Are you soooo sad to have lost it? Doesn’t your finger feel naked?!’ because I’m a bitch and like to build up stupid surprises like this. Guys (and girls who have done it too), I must say, I respect you all for going through this whole proposal thing! I was getting all sweaty and nervous about this little mini-un-re-proposal as we sat down under the stars, and I started stammering something about how long we’d been together and how much I love him and… gave up and got down on my knee with him looking at me like I was losing my mind. I pulled out the ring, slipped it on his hand, and started cracking up while Tom turned every color in the rainbow and went from mad to happy to mad to happy over and over again, finally landing on happy/slightly annoyed as we snapped this very relieved photo.
Now, with all of the jokes about Montezuma’s Revenge, Tom and I were VERY careful about the water. Especially Tom, Señor Hypochondria himself. I followed his lead, though, because although I pride myself on having guts of steel (no, seriously, I can handle just about anything, but if you sneeze at Tom on the wrong day after you’ve eaten a hot wing he’s running for the bathroom) I didn’t want to get sick any more than he did. So we always brushed our teeth with only bottled water, spit every drop of questionable water out in the shower that may have snuck in, etc, but somehow, although the night had been magical thus far the magic had been interlaced with some grumble…s here and there. Pretty soon after the ring reveal, we ran upstairs, and oh, there were fireworks that night. And not the sexy kind. Butt fireworks. Grumble…s and butt fireworks, while Tom brushed up on his Español with a subtitled Friends marathon in bed, and I came in during breaks in the fireworks show and cuddled with him all farty and pouting. Hot.
The good news is, a night like I had tends to shave off a few of those all-inclusive resort pounds, so really, it was a win. Montezuma left as quickly as he arrived, and I was back on the beach in the AM, thank Thor (as Tom would say). Now, before I show you the next photo, I have to tell you that one of our favorite pastimes as a couple (we’re easily amused) is laughing at and taking photos of terrible/incorrect uses of the English language (we have some real gems, I’ll post them one day), and there was no shortage of examples of these at our resort. Our two favorite examples were
skin milk, because OUCH, although I can’t fault them too much for mispelling cappuccino since 87% of Americans probably couldn’t spell it correctly, and
grounded beef, because that beef’s curfew is MIDNIGHT and don’t you think for one MINUTE mister beef that you can get away with being 15 minutes late without some serious repercussions and is that peach schnapps on your breath?! That ish is GROUNDED. Like for a week. It also looked pretty unappetizing, which helped with the funny factor somehow. Just about the only unappetizing food we saw the whole week, with a random name? Comic gold. Anyway. We also spent New Year’s Eve in Cancun, and was it ever epic – real (read: not butt) fireworks all over the horizon, a live band playing amazingly awkward covers (‘Go Yonny go, go go, Yonny be good!’), the resort’s burlesque-ish dancer people performing some pretty standard numbers with the world’s worst lip synch-ing chick out front (don’t get it twisted, if you want epic lip synching HIRE A DRAG QUEEN and watch and learn bitch), a midnight toast with that awful champagne, and plenty of confetti
and plastic party hats (Speaking of musical theater, check the Fosse vibe on this one! I’m very proud)
and New Year’s Day was filled with hangovers. Well, hangovers and the good,
(isn’t he cute?!) the bad,
(in which I, thanks to those damned mango piña coladas, managed to look like the pug below)
and, much later that evening, the stupid,
as we attempted to cram as much fun as possible into our last day after 7 days of copious amounts of fun. Our fun level was reaching critical mass, of that I and my liver am sure. Alas, the next day we had to say adios to paradise, but we were SO ready to say hello to the kitties, who we really, REALLY missed. We flew to Atlanta on a packed flight in the very back row, in front of the restroom, behind a very large, very loud Russian family with one member directly in front of me DOUSED in cheap cologne so strong I had to sit with my scarf wrapped around my head as a filter the entire flight and I STILL had a headache. As a PSA for future fliers, he looks like this:
Be afraid. He’s so very un-yesburgers. We sprinted away from the Axe douchemonster flight, through security, and WHAMMO – we saw that our flight was cancelled. And freakin Airtran customer service was a mess. And they don’t pay for a hotel room, they offer a weak-ass ‘discount’. And we were starving and tired. Cue the ragemonster (RAAAHHHH!) but we somehow secured a 9am flight the next day, booked a still-way-too-expensive ‘discount’ hotel room, and in looking for someplace to drown our sorrows in all things American (shitty lager, fried food, water that doesn’t make my bowels revolt) found that ATL has a BW3 (for those who don’t know, a crappy Cleveland-area chain that holds mass amounts of college nostalgia for us)!!!
Many wings and Miller Lite tallboys later we crashed into a hotel bed in Cold-lanta for a few hours before getting back up, heading back to the airport and facing many angry displaced New Yorkers, boarding the wildly delayed plane and flying home (First class! Yeah honeymoon!) into the arms of the beautiful city I love to hate that I call home.
Hello, lover. We’re back. And you’re no Cleveland, but you’re looking 100% yesburgers right now.
p.s. I can’t believe you read this whole thing – bless your crazy ass. See you next week.