Honeymoon Spectacular

Relax and rejoice dear reader, for I have returned from my Honeymoon unharmed and jazzed to write again. Okay, enough of my self-aggrandizing. Note that I would have written this yesterday on my first day back to my soul-leeching job, but I was relearning how to type again.

For two whole weeks, I only typed once, and that was to defend myself on Bleacher Report. Here’s a tip for all you wannabe critics out there. If you going to rip someone’s point to shreds, at least make it a habit to actually read the article and comprehend the main point, otherwise you sound like a jackass and don’t have to write the follow-up “oops, I’m sorry” response.

Anyway, my Honeymoon was split in two. One week at an undisclosed Happiest Place on Earth in Central Florida and one week at an undisclosed Caribbean Island. Unnamed Happiest Place on Earth was fun. Got to have all the enjoyment a kid would have, except with the ability to drink myself around the world at the unnamed World Showcase. My only issue was that one night, in the room next to ours, some family decided to let there kid cry himself out, which took upwards of two hours to complete. I wanted to jam a screwdriver in my ears, or a fork in the parent’s forehead. I’m assuming the fork would have been more fun.

Now, my flight from unnamed Happiest Place on Earth to unnamed Caribbean Island took off at 6 AM and included a 3 hour layover. So, anyone accustomed to flying knows that you need to get to the airport a least 3 hours early. That night, I learned that getting no sleep is preferable to getting one hour of sleep. Ugh. I slept in the bus to the airport, on both flights (through take-off and landing) and in the terminal during the layover (I woke myself up snoring…and the Duchess’s laughter). Hey, it beat watching the same CNN stories over and over and over again. Look, I’m on vacation, I don’t care that the stock market went down nearly 800 points and that you pray to Obama every night. I want to get away from that crap for two weeks.

Anyway, we get to the hotel at the unnamed Caribbean Island and instead of going up to my room; we need to cool our heels in the hotel bar for an hour while they get the room ready. The Duchess and I proceed to order frozen alcoholic beverages and nearly laugh at the expense of the drinks until we realized it wasn’t a joke. $20 for a margarita and strawberry daiquiri? Seriously?

Two highlights of the hotel room. One, I needed to order a refrigerator from the front desk. I’m not making this up; it actually said this in the “this is your room” guide in the room. Two, we got hit by what some might consider a tropical storm (and by some, I mean meteorologists). We had satellite TV in our room, so with the storm, we got two Spanish channels and nothing else. Well, I’m flipping though the channels anyway and suddenly, the unthinkable happens (or if I were a 15 year old, jackpot).

For some reason, the porn channel was unscrambled. Now, I knew it was porn right away because…um…..well, it was showing a close up for what makes porn porn. Now, before you think “lucky bastard”, this wasn’t Stormy Daniels and Peter North here. The chick looked like she was doing this to score her next meth hit and the guy looked like he wanted to hit the food table before the crew got to it. It was taking place in someone’s backyard (I think I saw a kiddie pool in the background). Seriously, this was a step above fetish porn. Thankfully, the Duchess came into the room so I didn’t get to see how it “ended”.

I finished about even after a week long descent back into gambling. The Duchess once again proved to be the perfect wife by not only playing Caribbean Stud with me, but by cursing the dealer when he didn’t open during her plethora of straights. My wife could make a trucker blush. I also was able to walk to the casino on Saturday morning to the local sports book and take Texas and the 7 points (win for me). You should have sent he degenerate gamblers at a sports book at 11 AM on a Saturday morning. Not to mention the employees taking the bets and wearing the best “kill me now” looks on their faces. Of course, I was there, so I’m not sure what it was saying about me.

Minus rolling black-outs and flooded streets, it was a good time. I got some sun, got to relive my gambling addiction, got to drink some good local beer, and have more bug bites than I know what to do with. Now, before you think I either had a bad time or am one of those wet blankets who puts a bad spin on everything, it’s not that way at all. I have a great time and am only pointing out all the weird and obnoxious stuff because it’s funny. Well, it’s funny now.