Gracias Senor

Sorry for the long down time folks, I've been out of the country for the past few days sipping Banana Mamas on the beach and sweating like Oprah Winfrey at an all you can eat ribs joint. The company trip this year was to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic, and it was all inclusive. I didn't realize how all inclusive, until a guy sweeping up at the outdoor restaurant says to me "Senor you like fuckey fuckey?". Hey who doesn't? He continues "I can get you good fuckey fuckey" and then he did the air hump. Now the food at this place was average at best, but after this move I threw up in my mouth just a bit.

Not wanting to bring AIDS into the Crawford household I politely passed on the "fuckey fuckey" and went back to the beach. Then, on my way to dinner a guy comes up to me "Senor where are you from?", I say DC, he says "They got good weed in DC?". I've been in the DR (I can say DR because I've been there, all you other assholes have to say the Dominican Republic.) for less than 24 hours and the offers for drugs and whores are rampant. Where was this kind of service when I was 20? So I didn't exactly have an Amy Winehouse vacation, but it was nice to relax for a bit where you didn't have to open your wallet, just your mouth to order "uno mas cerveza por favor".

I want to back track a bit, because I saw some some strange shit go down at the airport on the way to the DR. It's six in the morning and I am at the bar drinking water, eating a bagel and watching SportsCenter. A guy sits down next to me, orders a beer, a breakfast burrito and then looks around the joint like he's got a stick of dynamite strapped to his chest. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a fucking doll. I'm not talking a Betsy Wetsy or the Cabbage Patch variety, I am talking a replica of his dead wife kind of doll. (I don't know if his wife were dead or not, I am just projecting my rationale onto him)

He keeps looking at me to see when I am going to recognize his public display of WTF. In between sips of beer and bites of burrito he pauses to stroke his doll's hair. So, I do what any dude does when a serial killer at an airport bar pulls out a doll, I avoid eye contact, finish my food and slowly step away from the bar. I'm careful not to turn my back on Dahmer Jr., because I don't want to be his second doll, if you know what I mean.

Life has been a little hectic lately, so I will check back in as often as I can, but for now I need to go smoke a joint, get some fuckey fuckey and rush order an Amy look-a-like doll before my morning flight to Creepyville.