Sunday, September 10, 2006

Marco? Polo!

So here we are in the lovely Marco Island Beach Resort. 11th floor beach view, out on the balcony, eating left-overs for breakfast (neither of us was really hungry last night since we got in at 3:00 and went downstairs for “lunch” by the pool near 4:30).

We’ve had a great time so far. In the car, to kill time across Alligator Alley, Ray suggested a word game that he and his mom used to play to make the trip from NY to FL go faster. You had to say a word and then the other person says a word that starts with the last letter of the previous word. It took me a second to catch on that all the words Ray was giving me ended in Y. Relentlessly (hey there’s a Y word!) At the end of it all, I was desperately making sh_t up like the word yellowishly, just so I could shoot the Ys back at him.

We fooled around in the room once we got back from eating…let’s call it, lupper. Dinch? No, that sounds dirty. Lupper or Sunch.
After Ray got up and went to the bathroom, I realized, as I was lazing looking out the window, that there was a pair of young female, blue-shorted legs on the balcony above and to the right of us, looking, I assume, directly into our bedroom. By young I mean the legs of a non knee-wrinkled, spider-viened twenty-something. (Certainly not the young, like a teddy bear should be dangling from my arm, kind of young.) I was amused at how less than horrified I was. I’ve always considered myself as more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist. But I think several factors went into this state of mind. Using Lorie’s favorite list mode (the bullet), these are:
  • She wasn’t a man.
  • I couldn't see her face (to see if she was laughing).
  • She didn't bring anyone else out on the balcony.
  • I wasn’t in a place where I knew anybody.
  • I wasn’t 100% sure she saw anything of consequence.
  • If she did see anything, I'm pretty sure she had a good show.
We crawled back into bed after dinner – like, immediately after dinner. In fact, all I wanted to do during dinner was crawl back into bed and watch three more episodes of Lost on the computer. We’ve fallen off as of late and need to do some catching up if we want the option of watching it like regular TV-folk. But maybe we don’t want this option…this series is slow and aggravating enough as it is. Who needs to add commercials and a one-week wait between anti-climaxes? Don’t get me wrong, I love it and am hooked. But Jesus-God, could we have closure on at least one of the freaking story lines? All I have to say is Praise Cheezits that Shannon is finally dead. Sahid? I know one doesn’t choose love, it chooses you, but Pal, you got hit with the wrong end of the arrow on that one. She was a hag and I’m glad she’s out of your life. Find someone else to hump in a tarp-covered hut. Even the crazy French chick with the rifle would have been better than that whiny, oh-so-troubled, poor me, pseudo-rich girl chippy.

Today we are going for a couples massage at noon. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I hope my next entry is:

“It was heaven.”

Not a four paragraph long tirade on crappy masseuses.


cK said...

Maybe it's the omnipresence of media in our lives that makes us at first fear being seen doing anything (dancing, chewing, etc.), let alone messing if the next time one enters Times Square there the video will be playing for all the world to see.

Ah. No harm done, you know? Yeah. You know.

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