Okay. So turns out that my finger is broken, but only in the way that the rest of me is broken, i.e., no bones are shattered but it’s still technically fucked up and useless. Thus, I’ve had to type everything this week using one hand and I deserve a medal for this. But I have to write down part two of my cruise experience because I’m on a lot of painkillers and if I don’t do it soon I’m not going to remember it. If you’re finding this blog for the first time ever I recommend reading Part 1 first because this is going to be confusing for even my most ardent reader. Or maybe just skip all this and go look at pictures of kittens. Your choice.
Day 2: So we arrived someplace in the Bahamas, I think? And then we took another boat to some other place but I don’t know the name of it. God, I should work for the Travel Channel. The important thing here is that we ended up on a tiny pirate island filled with dolphins and crumbling 100 year old towers and rumors of buried treasure. It was awesome until we were packing up to leave and Hailey got lost for the first time ever and I had a panic attack that I still haven’t recovered from.
"Look mommy! My shadow is a monster! Also, get your xanax out because as soon as you turn around I'm going to run back to the boat and hide in there because your panic attacks amuse me." She didn't say that last sentence out loud but it was totally implied.
Day 3: Hailey begged me to let her go to the on-board kids camp so I dropped her off and on my way back to the room I realized that I’d lost my lipstick, which is a HUGE FUCKING DEAL. I have to have lipstick on at all times or I feel naked so I went to the gift shop to buy some, except the cheapest tube they had was exactly the price of an unlucky number that I avoid at all costs so I asked the clerk if I she could charge me a dollar extra and she said no because she wants the ship to sink, apparently. I told her that I’d just give her a tip and she said she wasn’t allowed to take one which is ridiculous because I’m supposed to tip the waitress who brings me over-priced drinks but I’m not allowed to tip a clerk who might very well be keeping the entire ship from sinking by simply not making me have to use that unlucky number? I explained that that was totally ridiculous and she agreed although I’m not sure if she agreed for the same reasons and she recommended that I buy the only other tube of lipstick they had, which was $35 but I felt pretty certain that Victor would probably sink the boat intentionally out of spite if he found out I’d spent $35 on a lipstick because of a phobia, so instead I bought the unlucky number lipstick and then I promptly ripped off my thumbnail trying to open the lipstick package. I blame Victor for this since the $35 lipstick would never have caused this sort of injury. It was bleeding profusely and the clerk offered to call the ship doctor but I waived it off because it was kind of a relief to know that my bad luck was probably over and also because I knew that if I didn’t go lay down I was going to pass out because that’s what happens whenever I see blood. So I quickly walked back to the elevator to take me to my room but my thumb was bleeding like mad by that time and there was a small puddle of blood beside me when another couple walked up and looked at it warily. “Someone spilled their wine” I explained, both because it sounded more festive and also because I didn’t know if they passed out at the site of blood too and I didn’t want all of us passing out at once into a puddle of my blood because that’s unsanitary and also because it would look like some kind of drive-by shooting to whoever found us and that didn’t seem fair to anyone.
Then I got back to the room and used the head of a creepy towel animal as a tourniquet and drank some booze from the mini-bar which I know was over-priced but I was in pain and it was medicinal so stop judging me. Then I sat down and read a book where the swanky main character toasts to the furniture and I was all “That’s awesome. I never drink to furniture” so I toasted to the coffee table and the lounge chair and I felt very cosmopolitan but then I reread the paragraph and it turns out she was toasting to the “future”, which makes more sense but is incredibly dull. Then I toasted the buffet and took horrific pictures of my mutilated thumbnail so I could show Victor what he’d done to me while he was out having a work meeting. I might have had too much to drink. Again, I blame Victor.
Day 4: We’re supposed to be flying home but we have 7 hours before our flight so at the airport we found a guy who said he’d be happy to take us on a tour around Miami. Because there’s nothing safer than getting into a car with a stranger who hangs around the airport.
Summary of the tour: “Look kid! A horsey!”
Hailey, horsey, little Havana.
“And there’s Humphrey Bogart in a car. For some reason.”
I don't know either, y'all.
“And here’s the shop where you can buy all your animal penises. I’ll be back to pick you guys up in few hours.”
Yeah. Go back and read that again. It’s not a typo.
So was the raccoon giant or is the penis giant? Because I can't tell which noun is being modified. The cashier didn't know either and seemed surprised I was even asking her about penis bones. Obviously she doesn't read my blog. Also, YOU WORK IN A SHOP THAT SELLS PENISES. Know your shit, lady.
No shit, y'all. I can't even make this stuff up.
And I didn’t buy any of the penises because I’d already fell in love with Pocahontas Wikipedia who was hiding on a back shelf but I couldn’t afford him so instead I bought a bunch of necklaces with dead bugs in them. This is when Victor threatened to cancel my credit card because he doesn’t understand art.
Why yes, they *are* totally bad-ass.
In short? Best Miami tour ever. And none of us got stabbed. Bonus.
Comment of the day: Through a weird series of events, I actually own a raccoon penis bone, still in its original package… wait, let me rephrase that, still sealed in a little plastic bag. (The *original* original package would be a dead raccoon’s penis, which would be a weird thing to have lying around the house.) Anyway, I have no use for the damn thing, so it’s yours if you want it. Also, I need to stop reading your blog at work, because screaming things like, “Oh my God, I’ve got a raccoon penis bone!” never fails to draw concerned looks from my employees. ~ Evn