the day i left it was snowing, the airport was a sheet of ice. I went to carri'es for drinks, saw scott for a goodbye hug, finally got home around 1am and had to leave for the airport at 4am, so i just sat around and stared at shit. i didn't have a computer or a bedroom or anything to actually do. so i just kinda sat there and freaked out about rocky on the plane. i was so worried about it. by the time it was time to go i'd gotten myself pretty worked up. and it had snowed all day and all night and it took extra time to get to the airport because it never snows in vancouver. ever. so we don't have the infrastructure in place to deal with snowfall swiftly on the odd occasion it does occur. very few salt trucks, plows, etc.so a ten minute drive to the airport turned into a 40 minute ordeal. i just got more nervous.

when i had to check rocky in at the ticket counter, and my computer and 3 bags, i finally started to calm down because i was so freaked out that when i took rocky out of his crate he would bark at the ramp guys and i wouldn't be able to get him back in, but he didn't even squeak and when he resisted getting back in his crate i just lifted him and he got in and was fine. not a sound, nothing. just "mom, are you fucking serious?" big brown puppy eyes that melted me. but i let them take him right away so i didn't have to think about it at all until i got to cancun.

on the plane i sat next to this family of four from port alberni which is in the middle of vancouver island and is populated by about 12 people. they annoyed the fuck out of me. when the flight attendant passed around the immigration forms for mexico, being as they'd already spent two hours chatting me up and knew i was moving there, had been there before, had my dog in cargo, etc. they asked for my help with them. so mrs. dumbass says to me, "i was born in ontario so should i put that as my country of birth?" followed by "it's asking for my passport number, should i put down my passport number?" and then finally, i kid you not, "date of birth... hmmmm, should i put today's date?" and i was so close to saying, "based on your iq i'd say yes". and mr. dumbass is just sitting there, mouth shut and i know a small part of him is dying inside after each stupid dumbfuck question. i was so tired cause i hadn't slept all night and every fucking time i fell asleep she poked me and asked if wanted a drink, a piece of gum, headphones. and they wonder why people lose it in the air, what do they call it? air rage? it's because of little miss alberni and clan. although she wasn't so little. her ass was bigger than my entire body. when i asked them where they were staying they said "the mayan riviera" yuh. um. that's a couple hundred miles long, losers. any specific place or were you just going to stop for the night when the old rucksack starts feeling extra heavy? yeah? fuck. when the plane was landing it took forever it seemed. i was chanting in my head, land land land land land now now now now now, must. escape. redneck. canadians. now.

when i got off the plane and went through customs i got the same chick as the last time i came here. i waited for so long for rocky i was freaking out but then he came down the baggage belt and as he went around the loop everyone turned and said "awww" and this guy helped me lift him off the belt and he was so happy to see me his tail was smacking against the inside of his crate so loud it was echoing throughout the whole baggage claim area. then i was pushing out the crate with rocky in it and a luggage cart with my computer, 3 bags and my carry on and it was near impossible. these two really nice guys came to my rescue and helped me out with my shit and they didn't let me carry a single thing. i found it was really easy to get attention when you have a massive crate with a husky/rotty cross in it who just flew into mexico from canada. walking through the airport everyone was looking at the crate yelling, "rocky!" because he was labeled. i got outside and my folks were there with marcella (their neighbor) and her son franco who is 9. she'd brought her mercedes suv so we got to ride home in style. but first i let rocky out of his crate and he went nuts, bouncing off everyone tail wagging so fast. it was awesome. i was so fucking happy at that point all my worries were done. that always fucking happens you know, the things i worry about so much always end up fine and i feel like i just wasted so much time worrying about them. but whatever. hindsight.

so then we drove to playa del carmen which is about an hour from cancun and i got in at about 7pm as the steelers were playing and found out the fucking browns lost??!!? what the fuck is that all about? i swear, when i watch they win, when i can't watch, they lose. the only reason they got brady quinn in the draft? because i was watching. it's true, we can't fight it anymore. the browns entire season rests square on my shoulders. it's a heavy load to bare but i've accepted it and will be more careful from now on. anyway. i had to get drunk after finding out the browns and the bears lost and hester didn't do anything. usually i can at least count on hester when the rest of any sunday sucks, but nope. so i drank a million cheladas which are beers with lime and salt in it and they go down like juice, fucking delicious. my brother, folks and i went down to the restaurant that my building is attached to and my family has already become pretty close with the owners of the restaurant who also own the building, marcella and denado. denado is italian and like 51 and marcella is about 25 and they have a kid. igggg. but yeah when we went into the restaurant they served us these things, pequeños diablos, which were pulled seasoned pork and peppers wrapped in tiny tortillas. so fucking good. for free, then he served us ciabatta bread with balsamic vinegar and extra virgin olive oil to dip. then more cheladas. the whole time it seemed like this steady stream of people coming to the table to meet me, "i've heard so much about you, nice to meet you" etc. apparently it's all my mom could talk about for the last six months. me.

so denado has a private jet and has invited us all to go to costa rica and honduras for vacation in march. i dunno. what the fuck? my folks are in with the fuckin italians. into the mob with bob, i am down for free private jet rides to costa fuckin rica.

anyway. we'll see if that pans out. in the meantime, i came home, grabbed rocky and walked him down to the beach where he pawed the water slightly and then we ran back, i crashed in my uber comfy bed with my a/c blasting and my fluffy dog next to me with sand on his paws smelling like the sea and i felt so fucking perfectly good for the first time in a few months and i woke up to my mom having bought me fresh orange juice and oaxaca cheese which is my favorite cheese in all the world and if you can even find it in canada it's like a billion dollars. i spent today shopping for bits of furniture i'm missing, like a decent desk and end table. i rode my bike to the store tonight to get some ice for cheladas and i was actually chilly and when i walked rocky to the beach i had to wear a hoodie. go figger. at least it ain't snowing, right?




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