From: BESTFISHWIFE@cs.com Sent: Wednesday, September 20, 2000 11:12 PM To: denny@dennyp.com Cc: BESTFISHWIFE@cs.com Subject: The First Time
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We were going to really go to Jamaica and Hedonism II. This was November, 1998. My co-worker had brought in her vacation pictures at my new job and regaled me with stories of having gone there every year for 10 years and how it was the only vacation she could not live without--and how frustrated she was because no one she ever talked to would actually up and go to Jamaica with her and her husband. I laughed and told her she had better watch it--sometimes you get what you ask for! Well, I should have known right then and there that I would be the one who would take her up on the thought of going to Jamaica. I went home and told my husband about this nice Donna and her Jamaica stories and he was shocked, since he had only heard about Hedo II through such class publications like Hustler and Howard Stern. And god save him if HE had come home yapping about Jamaica. So we think it sounds good but can't put the trip together until October, 1999. We carpool to the airport for our midnight departure, walk up to the airline counter and everyone is cleared to go-----except me! Seems I was born in Texas and this paper I have used for every serious legal event in my life is NOT a birth certificate...it is a freaking letter from 1950 giving all the pertinent information but no embossment is on it. They actually told me I was not going anywhere. I practically ran around the corner to bite the letter and put indentations on it and try to pass it off. But, no----as a fully grown woman I am calling my elderly parents (who live in Sacramento) at 1:00 a.m. and asking if by chance they had a real birth certificate. They pretend I have not woken them up, they pretend to look around their house, and then ask me if we need a ride home from the airport. I almost fainted and I SURE wasn't going to burst into tears over blowing our somewhat expensive vacation. This was also the purest example of genuine true love. My husband COULD have gotten on that plane and said see you when you get there. But he stayed with me! I guess we know who gets whatever he wants for the remainder of his life. The counter people gave me a telephone number in Dallas, TX to call the next morning and we waved goodbye to our friends who looked more upset than we were. We went home, actually got a few hours of rest and I called Yolanda Wilson (my new best friend) in Dallas and explained I was in a world of hurt and my dilemma. She thought that was the saddest story she ever heard, the Hedo II people thought it was the saddest story they ever heard, the airlines telephone reservation people thought it was the saddest story they ever heard and the Fed Ex people thought it was the saddest story they ever heard. 7 hours and $185 dollars later I had a genuine certified birth certificate in hand, Hedo II had moved our reservations one day over at no cost, and the airlines changed our trip to and from at no cost. 24 hours after our friends had flown away we are back in the airport, courtesy of the Mom and Dad Taxi Service and the same people are at the counter, we are in the same traveling clothes----it was like a surreal version of GroundHog Day with Bill Murray!! Some 17 hours later we arrive at Hedo II, after a "detour" on the bus due to a recent "little shower"--with no stop for Red Stripes or ganja to find our friends waiting in the lobby with Dirty Bananas to soothe us. Speaking of ganja, the first human to speak to my husband, in the airport, asked him fairly loudly if he wanted ganja. As we had not brought our Third World Bail Money we politely declined.
Due to the near disaster start of the vacation I apparently went off the edge and when we hit Jamaica it was with a vengeance. I trapezed until I injured a rotator cuff, three ribs, had scuffed my hands, backs of knees and soles of feet into huge black bruises and blisters plus scuffed a hole in my ankle on the net. I got my hair braided (only 3 hours and $100--what a ripoff probably but who cares!!). I did the wet t-shirt contest to support a mutual friend named Mary (through Donna and Jeff) who had never been naked in her life (which neither had I or my husband but sunglasses and a drink help get you through the awkward 13 seconds of initial nudity); Mary and I won the nude beach scavenger hunt (without even cheating). That was fun except for that part where she and I were looking for a flower and found one in a tree in front of three men. I told them we were going to jump for the flower and that they were NOT to enjoy the spectacle. They told us they couldn't help it, they had enjoyed the spectacle. At one point another man came over and pulled down the branch so we could reach the flower---at which time I later learned that people in the ocean (where our husbands and friends were) said "Hey. What are those 2 women and that guy doing? It looks like they are trying to get something out of the tree." My husband, the guy who did not leave me at the airport, actually said "That's no guy. That's my wife." How dare he?? Deal is off on that anything he wants for the rest of his life stuff!! We went nude snorkeling, karaoke singing (and I don't sing but again a drink or two help immensely), kayaking in a monsoon out to the little island, and drank so much that those drinks could not have been all that strong--no human can consume that much without some effect. But then there was that "musical human chairs" game that I accidentally got into. I was one of the 2 semi-finalist women and when the music stopped we both jumped the poor remaining guy and due to sweat, perhaps poor aim, and just too much for him to safely handle, I fell off backwards and hit the floor. I decided that I should concede the game at that point and walked back to my table whereupon people began shrieking about how much I was bleeding. I had split my head open under one of the 87 braids on my head. You really do NOT want to hear "you're bleeding" "go to the infirmary" "that needs stitches" or "we don't have vicodin in Jamaica" while actually IN Jamaica! 3 U.S. medical types and the Jamaican nurse were 50/50 as to whether I needed stitches but they ALL agreed you should avoid stitches in Jamaica if at all humanly possible! So, next morning we pack up and leave for home finally understanding that Hedo II is simply the best "all inclusive" place--there are a lot of wannabees that just do not do it like Hedo II. Donna and Jeff had been totally honest about everything: it is hot there, the food is fabulous and different, the plumbing and air conditioning can be fitful, the people watching is great fun, the entertainers are interesting and good enough to add to the evening, the disco, toga dress up , pajama party, etc. are all fun ways to get people out of their real world mentalities and totally on vacation. The very first morning we were there my husband asked if I liked Jamaica. I said I suppose so---I mean we had only just gotten there. He was already hooked to a very serious, intervention-requiring level of Hedo-addiction. I got it a few hours later. I supposed I was still in shock from the stupid birth certificate thing. So, we are coming back 10/7-10/17 of 2000-----and have we bothered to get passports or extra birth certificates or anything to help this year go smoother??? NO! But we aren't as lame as Donna and Jeff: we are going for fewer days than they are but wanted to return home on the same flight. I make my commitment to vacation at work and about a month later Donna calls me to say she goofed up and they are leaving on 10/18---not 10/17! It was too late for us to change our vacation days at work, so we still have not managed to fly either to or from Jamaica with those crazy people who brought us into the Hedo II fold.
I did promise everybody at work that this year I really would take it easy and not come home in a bodybag. The topper to 1999 was upon our return home my ankle wound had gone "dirty" and I had to get one of those dang awful tetanus booster shots (they are good for 10 years---but with a dirty wound you have to renew if you are past 5 years. I was on year 7 with the prior booster.) Talk about adding insult to injury! The silver lining is I SWEAR that scar looks a damn lot like the island of Jamaica. Looks like a tattoo may yet worm its way onto my body. The souvenir was well worth it!
Nancy (50) and Randy (51) Sacramento, CA