What Possessed Me???: July 10, 2011

My husband made a bet with me in 2005
that I could not be in the same room
for a huge family celebration,
with rude psycho relatives &
not so much as make
eye-contact with them.

I swore that I could.....
he begged to differ.

I asked what was in it for me:
He said, "Since I know that you are
not capable of this,
I will take you to Aruba for
THREE CONTINUOUS WEEKS,
if you win."

Pack your SPF, Bucko
cause you lost this bet.

Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles & Helen Keller

had NOTHING on me that day.

I looked like a woman

who was smited by God &

had her retinas burned out.

As the clock ticked down
on this wonderful celebration,
I mentally checked off each hour
that I had accomplished,
knowing my fat ass

would be the color of suede,

by the time we returned
from this vacation.

My husband spent the
10 months leading up to our vacation
in stunned disbelief:

Every time he looked at me,

he shook his head in complete awe

of his incredible, teflon-like wife.

I had amazed him.

Never, ever bet me

or tell me that I can't do something...

You'll lose. BIG Time.

I'm a perennial mush.

I'm a push-over.

But this was different:
I had been spurned by
these psycho family members,
for reasons that their
Downstate Mental files only know.

And,
I was not blowing a great
vacation opportunity,

for people that are
not worthy of my time.

We have a timeshare,
which we purchased

on our honeymoon in 1999.

Only Doug and I have the ineptitude
to go to a "hurricane-proof" island,

that got hit by the
side-effects of a hurricane.

It rained for 9 1/2 out of the
10 days that we were there.

We hadn't been away,
collectively for like 22 years,
so this was a serious flaw in our plan.

We STILL had a magical time.
We STILL came back blackened by the sun.

We were part of history,
as it hadn't rained
like that in 59 years.

That 2005 celebration
that I won this trip at

was my parents'
50th Wedding Anniversary Party,
that we threw for them on May 7.

Two weeks prior,

Doug's parents
had celebrated their 50th.

Wicked cool timing, I thought.

Since my parents got their party,

we took my in-law's to Aruba

in March of 2006.

We arranged to bring them
during our time-share week,
but tacked on two previous weeks,
just to get warmed up.

We did buckets of research,
to find a rental place for that time.

We poured over the internet,
scrutinizing pictures & descriptions.

We Doug chose a little Dutch place

on the other side of the island.

KEY PHRASE HERE:

The other side of the island.

It's located in
an area called

"Pos Chiquito"

which when translated to English is

"Post Apocolyptic"...

The timeshare is located

in an area called Palm Beach.

There is a reason you go to
Palm Beach & remain there....

If you go off of Palm Beach,
you die.

Or you could die.
Jus' sayin....

We rent this one-bedroom unit,

with a private patio, kitchen area &

living room with a television.

On their wonderful website,
we saw a beautiful picture
of an olympic-sized pool,

a cute tiki bar & an outdoor lounge area.

This was a nice solution,
awaiting us...
while we awaited Palm Beach.

We pick up our
rental car at the airport &
the ride to paradise is just
a few minutes away.

Also, the ride to death
is just as close, but I digress.

We parked the car
outside of the "inn",
as there is no parking lot...

but damn if there isn't a security gate.

We open the gate and
instantly see the beautiful grounds
that had primarily caused us
to choose this venue.

Yup, there's the outdoor tiki bar.

There's the olympi...

There's the longest

f'ing baby pool

that we've ever laid eyes on.

The picture on the internet
must have been taken
from the top of a divi tree

three blocks away

or a satellite photo
from Google Earth.

It was literally
2 1/2 feet deep

& the length of Giants' Stadium.

(the Dutch are apparently a small race of people)

They had the gall to include

ladders in this pool,

as if the cast of

"Little People, Big World"

had chartered the joint.

We were livid &
cursing.

We were quite impressed, however,

with the disingenuous nature

of the scumhead that took that

internet photo of the pool.

I hope he charged
these bastard innkeepers
an arm & a leg.

We go to the Manager's office,
to check in.

It is a Dutch couple running the place.

Actually, it's a divorced Dutch couple

that can't afford to live separately,

so you do the mental drawing.

They hate each other's guts

& bad-talk the other to the guests.

Their idea of "internet-ready"

is two old Gateways,

bigger than the Jumbotron

in Times Square.

In order to get on-line,

you sit in a folding chair

in the lobby of this establishment.

There is a sign-in sheet,

just like Day Camp
in The Catskills in 1979.

We get our keys &

the safety instructions for

properly closing the security gate,

late at night.

If you're the last ones in

& don't properly lock it,

well then the deaths of

many innocent people

will be on your heads.

That was made perfectly clear.

As we're bouncing our luggage

through the gardens &

past the resting pool,

onto OUR patio, to our villa,

we open the door,

which took some talent

on the part of my talented husband.

As we entered,

we just gave a collective sigh.

It was shit.

Actually, it was Dutch Shit.

The living room was a big open space,
with a five inch television &
a three foot antenna
coming out of its head.

The sofa is a
spineless Dutch bean bag

(as in...you slide off, when you sit on)

& the "love seats" are
two twin-sized mattresses

(the Dutch are apparently a small race of people)

with some bedspread
or sheet on it, pushed up
against the surrounding walls.

I attempted to

"go with the flow" &
use it as such,

but the pressure
of my body against the wall

caused the bed to slide out
from under me &

scoot across the room.

The bookcase was
long planks of luwan,

tethered by a few
painted cinder blocks.

The literary offerings were
mostly in Dutch &
looked as though they'd never been

Prijs der Nederlandse Letteren contenders.

(Go ahead...click on the blue hyper-link)

The television had
a full array of channels:

3 in Papiamento

(the local guttaral collaboration of dialects),

1 in African &

1 in Static.

(After attempting to watch
the Miss Universe Pageant in
Papiamento Static,
I turned it off,

figuring that it was not

the reason we were here...)

We were here to be outside!

If we didn't die being outside.

With idiotic optimism,
I walked over to the kitchen area

to immediately begin unpacking

our kitchen items from the
stupid suitcase full of culinary shit

that we stupidly tote everywhere we go.

There was no food storage, whatsoever...

The top of the refrigerator

became our storage cabinet,
for cans and such.

Coupled with a
refrigerator door that would stick,
we anticipated the loss of
a few toes during our stay.

The kitchen sink was a
well-rounded bowl,

with a giant gooseneck faucet.

At first, I thought how

wonderful it was
that we could fit a
pasta pot under that faucet,

but the sink was a tad too well-rounded,
as anything more than a spritz
would shoot over
into our living room haven.

Trying to wash dishes in a drip

was quite the challenge.

You had to use your body

as a shield to
keep the water in the sink...

...and, in the kitchen.

You didn't have to be concerned

about any risk of scalding,

as there was no hot water.

Now granted,

we're not vacationing in Siberia,

but crusty dishes & tepid showers

were not appealing to

a couple of tired New Yorkers.

But, alas,
we continued to unpack our
essentials & move onto the next

Room of Doom & Gloom.

We went into the bedroom,

eager to sit on our
King-sized bed & take a load off --

taking it off in the living room
had caused the bed to take off.

The first realization is that
the King is the same height as the
kiddie resting pool --

(the Dutch are apparently a small race of people)

there's no f'ing bedframe...

the bed is on the floor.

A decent-looking floor lamp

stood next to our

King-sized sleeping bag-futon thingy --

Now pay close attention to the
details I've provided....

although the distance between

the light output &
the mattress back on Earth
was a good three feet or so.

Now pay close attention to the
details I've provided....

If we wanted to read,

(uh, the books we BROUGHT WITH US)

we quickly realized we'd probably have to
lie the lamp down & balance it on our feet,

so that the light would actually be

propelled in the right direction.

Did you pay close attention to the
details I provided??

I was just thrilled that it was a King siz---

"Crap!" I screamed,

as I pulled back
the huge Army-Green,
King-sized blanket &

discovered that two more of those

under-nourished twin beds
from the living room

were holding hands &

impersonating one big King.

The lies! The deceit! The Dutch!

After Doug tried to comfort me,

he stood up &
headed toward the bathroom.

I heard small, squeaky noises

coming out of his throat,

as if he'd stumbled on

the murdered bodies of American tourists..

Then I thought I heard him say,

"Oh God, No."

My weary mind & body
were rendered paralyzed

on the left side of this
Cain & Abel layout.

I couldn't stand up,

to go investigate
what was troubling him.

I just couldn't do it.

If the murderer
was still in the bathroom, well...

Doug was just gonna have to die.

He walked back into our
spacious sleeping quarters,
looked at me & suspiciously
looked down at the ground.

"What, baby? What is it?

Is the shower disgusting?
Is the toilet unusable?"

"No."

That's all he said.

But he kept looking down,
which sent the little hairs
on the back of my neck, up.

I'm thinking at this point,

that the toilet is in the hallway &

we have to get a key from the manager....

I wish.

His inability to raise his head &

his eyes to meet mine,

propelled me off of the floor-bed

Now do you know what that green thing is
that I drew for y'll?

& into the bathroom.

I looked around for a second,

taking in everything I could.

I'm very detail-oriented that way.

Not so much as one single electrical outlet.

My f'ing hair ended up
looking like it did in Aca-puko:

for the entire two weeks...

Same genius Dutch sink design,
as the one in the kitchen.

Relatively new Hunter-Green tile.
Not too bad,
except for the ridiculous fact
that they were 12"x12" each,
which the Aruban Home Depot
probably threw in for free
with the purchase of the two stupid sinks.

Big mirror on the wall.

This wasn't the potty
at the Four Seasons,

but what was I missing?

What had caused my love

to get words & fear,
stuck in his throat?

I couldn't figure it out,

so I went to close the door,

to actually use the bathroom.

As I went for the knob, I missed.

And I missed the whole f'ing door.

There, in the place in civilized life
where a bathroom door,
with a knob, a lock & two or three hinges
should have hung,

hung a CURTAIN.

Now, don't get me wrong.
It was a lovely curtain.
It wasn't ugly or anything.

It was rather regal, in fact.

The only thing wrong that I could see
with this curtain was

IT WAS AN F'ING CURTAIN.

Unless this was the kind of curtain
that the bomb squad used
when detonating explosives,

it was just a
God damned piece of fabric.

I would have preferred a giant poster,

hanging in the doorway.

At least it would have been
something interesting to look at,
with the same result.

"No. No. No. No. No."

There weren't any

"Oh, No's"

in my repetitive statement.

I flew out of the room,

past the olympic-size bathtub,

over to the
Manager's internet office.

I tried to be polite.
I really tried.

My carotid artery was visibly throbbing

out of the side of my neck,

but I tried.

I smiled tightly.

I resummarized a few highlights

that we had discovered,

in the few scant moments of our stay.

The vein across my forehead

was beginning to protrude like

a garden hose.

He listened politely,
as I went through
my list of horrors.

At the mention of each offensive discovery,
he looked at me like I was
an American moron,

(It's my opinion that this woman looks Dutch...)

who did not have a clue as to how one
properly relaxes on vacation.

He simply wrote off my
American bitch list
as Dutch decorating idiosyncracies.

Okay.

So now I saved the

Big Magilla

for last:

THE CURTAIN!

THE LACK OF
A RELIABLE DOOR!

HOW DO YOU
STAY IN BUSINESS,
FOR GOD'S SAKE?????

He told me that I ought to
smoke some local marijuana,
to loosen up my

"Uptight American

anal-retentive demeanor."

He laughed at me.

This uber-smug,
bathroom-sharing Dutchman

was making fun of
my discomfort.

He said to me,

"You and your husband...
you look like you're deeply
in the love, no?

...Well, then there is nothing
that you don't share,
when you have that nice marriage."

I stood staring dumbly
at Dr. Phil,

not blinking & not breathing.

I was afraid to speak,
because I didn't want to have vulgarities
echoing off of the walls
that were made from
the same cinder blocks
that were used so that we could have
a nice private library.

I counted to ten. I truly did.

Eight, Nine...

Ten,through my clenched teeth:

"Listen up, Klaus.

I would DIE for my husband...

But I don't love him

that much."

As I returned to our
"Villa-by-the-Pee",

Doug nervously awaited me,
not knowing if we were now
on the run in a foreign place,

or if we were
possibly changing rooms.

I sarcastically informed him
that we had ALREADY
scored the creme of the crop...

the Honeymoon Suite.

We didn't get OUR private patio
for nothing.

"It's part of the deluxe package."

************************************************************

Although it has rarely
been a concern of mine,
we discovered there was no alarm clock.

I married me an alarm clock.

We soon realized that it was
completely unnecessary,
as the Canadian family next door,
who apparently swept in
during the middle of the night,
because they came by way of Dubai

(or somewhere like that...)

awoke us with the
banging and clanking and dragging sounds
of innumerable beer cans
being hauled to the dumpster
by their two pre-teenage children.

Since these kids were taken
out of their Canadian classrooms,
even though it wasn't even close to Easter
in Aruba, The United States

OR CANADA,

their parents felt that
a few good chores in the Caribbean
were good character builders.

These kids came with no textbooks,
no backpacks, no nothing.

Their only requirement
issued by their teachers was
to keep a succinct journal
of their "adventure."

I instantly conjured up
the end result in a school
in Thunder Bay
in two weeks and cringed.

I figured this would be a good time
to come up with some good

"vacation nom de plumes,"

so that when we ended up
in their diaries,
our North-American-North-Neighbors
would be shaking their heads
in disgust at the doings & sayings of

Mabel & Fred,
from Hoboken.

It also became
apparent that
OUR PRIVATE PATIO was,

not so much.

They had to enter OUR patio,
to get to their door...

back and forth,

back and forth,

beer run after beer run....

Every night,
their 12-year old son
would drive them back to the inn.

They would roll in around midnight,
across OUR patio to find

Doug or I reclined in a lounge chair.

It took them a few days to catch on.

The husband finally said to me,
"Girl, you from da Bronx &
you worried about the
lack of a bathroom door???????"

You wouldn't last one day
in Thunder Bay!

Yeah.
On my list of places to go before I die.

We spent a few lovely days
with the Canadians.

On Sunday,
when they close everything
including the churches,

we found ourselves
SITTING in the
Olympi-baby pool,

drinking our
aggravated faces off,
as the children diligently
scribbled into their journals:

"Apparently, Sunday is

BLENDER day in Aruba."

When we ran out of
POUNDS of succulent local fruits
to use in our Adult Smoothies,

we were on a drunken rampage
between our two refrigerators,
looking for suitable substitutes
for fruit and vodka.

I think we were reduced to
Carnation Instant
Breakfast packets &
coconut rum.