Heather in Paradise » Insanity

Seen in Tulum #1

heatherinparadise — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 06:52:15 +0000

While I was outside cleaning the terrace in the main unit the other day, preparing for a new guest’s arrival, I heard, OVER the Ipod music blaring in my ears, the kind of fake, high-pitched girlie-girl laughter one might hear in a bad soft-core porn movie.

I looked down toward the beach in front of the neighbor’s house and saw four fully naked, attractive young women laughing their fake laughter and building a giant sand penis. Then I saw one older, unattractive bald man FILMING them.

I admit, I couldn’t help watching. The scene was just bizarre…first, it has been unseasonably cold here, and this day was no exception. The sun was out, but STILL, it was far too chilly for full on nakedness. Second, while Tulum attracts the nudies and the hippies, this scene was just so unnatural and forced that it stood out much more than seeing some random crunchy-granola hairy man walking down the beach.

As I went back to my work, two of the women were hugging up on the unattractive man, giggling and running their french-manicured acrylics up and down his chest. My imagination portrays this man as a wealthy old perv with a skewed sense of the sexy from many years of watching porn, but I admit my own bias has the heaviest hand in painting that portrait. I’m not averse to pornography and think it has its place in a healthy sex life, but prefer scenes that feature people who look like people engaging in relatively normal activities. Not, say, four naked women building a giant sand penis while a man old enough to be their father films them. But that’s me.

One thing is certain, I’ve never seen anything this interesting in Playa del Carmen. I don’t know if they were all staying in the rental home next door, but at 2am, there was a lot of shouting and slamming of doors over there. Trouble in paradise?

You Are Powerless To Resist

heatherinparadise — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 18:01:23 +0000

Since my BFF Sara already started a “detox” diet and I started one today, we decided together to have a “last stand” at her house last Saturday. Hilarity ensued.

When I saw the photos we took of our wine/Almond Joy/gummi bear/Hershey’s bacchanalia, I couldn’t help but think that these photos would show all of our Three Legged Race sponsors just what an Olympics-quality team they’re standing behind.

For anyone considering sponsoring us, don’t miss your chance to win a date with these chicas by being the highest individual donor; they truly know how to have a good time. Our friend Maureen saw these photos and said we remind her of Lucy and Ethel. That was one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever gotten…Sara and I crack each other up.

I don’t feeeel so good.

I’m not sleeping, I’m just resting my eyes.

Do we have anything in our teeth?

If you’d like to sponsor our team and raise money for Firemen who desperately need you, please donate by going to www.PayPal.com and clicking on the link that says “send money.” Then just follow the prompts to donate directly to us by using the following email address:

info@caribesunrise.com

Please be sure to write in your comments/subject line “Three Legged Race.” We will keep you updated with donation totals.

For further information or to register your team please call: 984-135-1233 or e-mail:

kegsbar@hotmail.com

We are also taking business/corporate sponsors!! Contact us at info@caribesunrise.com or editor@playamayanews.com if you’d like to be mentioned on Playa Maya News, Playa.info, and Heather in Paradise!!

Aunt Flo Will Have Her Revenge On Heather Ellen

heatherinparadise — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 07:27:31 +0000

I started this blog a while back, right after my trip home to Chicago, but never finished. With my computer on hiatus, it’s been fermenting until now. It may or may not have gotten a bit too rank and heavy, so I’ll do my best to post some innocuous Halloween photos in the next day or two to soothe everyone’s ragged nerves.

Ok, so Ima talk about my period and blood and female shit, so if you’re a squeamish “man” who’s too chicken to buy tampons for your girlfriend then you better check out now. Consider your sackless asses warned.

Now, for the rest of you…Look into my eyes…you are getting very, very sleepy…

I am slightly embarrassed to mention that my period took me by surprise at the Labor Day picnic I attended in Chicago this past September. Let me remind you all that I am 38 years old. Since I’ve only been getting my period every month for the last 25 years (that’s 300 chances to get it right, for those of you not standing by with calculators), it’s only natural and totally forgivable that I was not prepared and had to avail myself of the International Lady-Emergency Hotline to get straight (Martina to Katie to Heather and…SCORE!! And the crowd goes wild!!).

After 25 years of monthly spontaneous bloodletting, one might think that sooner or later one would start to run out of blood and that the “end” years of the Bleeding Game would result in fainter and fainter episodes of cramping and clotting. That over time, the quantity of flowage would be directly proportionate to the ever-lessening quantity of wishful eggs-to-be-released. That my PMS would infinitesimally dissipate and my menstrual discomfort slowly, but surely grind to a complete stop, to the strains of creepy organ music distortedly unwinding in a slow motion Merry-Go-Round nightmare.

But no. That’s not how it has been for me. I’m starting to think that Mother Nature, She’s got it out for me big time. I’m pretty sure that vindictive bitch wants me to give birth and She hasn’t exactly been a shrinking violet in letting me know it, increasingly making my periods heavier, longer, and harder to endure than ever. My period used to be a gentle little procreation reminder each month, a charming Victorian glove slap saying, You cad, you are wasting our time, but now it’s a back-alley beat down that practically leaves me in traction and only able to communicate by blinking. If I’m found soon in the bottom of a lake, handless and with my feet sunk into cement, you’ll know that only my childlessness is to blame, and Mother Nature is the culprit.

Because I’m the faithless traitor. The one rejecting Her simple fertility demands, the careless slut reaping all the benefits of sex with none of the penalties. The mocking vixen sitting motionless, watching all her freely-given figs wither on the branch.

And I have to admit, She’s starting to get to me. I feel like a POW caving under torture, giving not only my name, rank, and serial number, but also top-secret information that will breach every security device I’ve installed over the years to protect myself from motherhood.

After all, as my family and friends can attest, I have always loved kids, especially babies (sweet Christ, I could eat babies for breakfast every single day of my life and never tire of them). I met my friend Keersten’s new baby a few weeks ago and had to be physically restrained from swallowing little Elsa whole, booties and all.

When I met M. over 8 years ago, he made it very clear from the absolute start that he unequivocally did NOT want children. And in my not-quite-30-year-old-and-attitudinal state, I thought, “So fucking what, buddy? What makes you think I even WANT to have a kid, sheesh! And even if I did, what in the hell makes you think you’re such a great catch?!” (Ah, how quaint the beginnings of long relationships look through a telescope.)

I have been truly ambivalent about it for many years, unsure whether or not I should or should not have children. Struggling with massive self-centeredness and feeling unequal to the monumental task of raising a well-adjusted little person. Knowing that if I DID decide that I wanted to be a mother that it would mean leaving behind someone I love and disrupting my entire life.

Something that bothers me is this: Any idiot can have kids. The dopes, they’re not sitting home worrying about overpopulation or the sort of psychological damage they’ll inevitably inflict upon their children. They’re just out there breeding indiscriminately, instilling in their kids the same fucked-upedness that threatens to end our planet. It’s the people like me, people like my friends, people like you, who value education, the arts, critical thinking, who shun racism and homophobia and sexism and lots of other –isms, we’re the ones who NEED to be having babies. And I feel in some ways that my refusal to do so (and my friends’ refusal to do so; I have few friends with children) is a real dereliction of duty, a lazy shirking of responsibility to our race.

I thought I’d left this battle behind for good, consoling myself with the fact that there are LOTS of ways for me to have kids in my life without having to mother them, should I decide in the future that I need more shortie time. I am still of the belief that in the unlikely event I should decide to mother, I will opt for non-biological motherhood, since I get overwhelmed and sad thinking about the amazing number of existing kids who need parents, but don’t have them. I don’t have to squeeze a kid out of my vag to love it fiercely enough to kill anyone who tried to hurt it. My nephew and niece are living testaments to the truth of that sentiment.

Until recently, this has only been a philosophical dilemma, but lately I’ve been feeling like I’m engaged in an all-out monthly war game: Brutal, hand-to-hand combat with my own body. It’s pretty apparent to me that at this late date, neither one of us is going down without a fight.

Settling Dust

heatherinparadise — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:31:54 +0000

This morning, I was 80% finished with the second 20 year reunion blog when I inexplicably received the Blank Screen of Death. My home computer died. This is being posted as quickly as possible because my laptop also has serious issues and needs to go to the doctor. Yeah, it’s new. But it’s sick. And I love it anyway.

I want to sincerely, deeply, from the bottom of my shriveled little black heart thank all of you who have checked in every day to be faced with nothing new, to you who have written me a note of encouragement or sent me an email or a text. Under the bell jar, not much sound gets through, but from time to time the noise made is just raucous enough to break the seal. I think I’m back. I think I’m on my way back. I’m sleeping, anyway.

While I was underwater, this blog quietly slipped over 100,000 hits. Amazing, that. So I thought it might be thoughtful for me to put together a page of what might be considered my “greatest hits to date.” So that anyone stumbling across my blog wouldn’t have to wade through as much crap as you have all had to.

I have a few particular blogs of mine that I think might be “winners” in that they generated the most comments. I also have one or maybe two that I think are actually decent writing. But ultimately I believe that you are the judges. You tell me your favorites of the blogs I’ve subjected you to over this past year. I’ll put them together on a little page, it will be like Heather in Paradise Cliff Notes for the lazy student.

As soon as my computer is saved, the new blog will be posted. Thank you for bearing with me. I will try not to leave you again, I promise. Because when you’re gone, I miss you.

Please Pardon Our Dust

heatherinparadise — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 13:18:34 +0000

This blog is experiencing technical difficulties. Our blog author has been suffering from insomnia, latenight anxiety, and writer’s block. We have enrolled her in a new gym in the hopes that she will kick the sleepless cycle and she can return to her blogly duties.

Please stay tuned, we shall return to our regularly scheduled silliness as soon as possible.

Zombie Need Brains

heatherinparadise — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 16:08:54 +0000

So, for some reason my brain decided that sleep was an activity it no longer needs. I am hardly sleeping and after 2 weeks of this I am starting to feel just the slightest bit crazy. It’s a good thing I’m not traveling any time soon, since I’m quite sure any airline would charge me heavily for the bags under my eyes.

I’ve struggled on-and-off with insomnia for as long as I can remember, so it’s not a big surprise. It’s just that when I’m in the middle of the cycle, it seems like maybe this time I’m not going to pull myself out of the tailspin. Like maybe this time it will end in absolute, raving hysteria.

I am functioning, of course, as I always do, but outside of work I don’t have much left in the tank. I’ve been asked to submit my expat story to another website, but I just can’t move on it. I’ve got some personal blogs in the works that require a level of energy that I just can’t muster. The way my house looks, omg. You should see the meals I’ve been coming up with in my zombified state…when normally I’m a very good cook.

What do I do? How do I start sleeping again? I’m tired. I’m so tired.

I suggest you all pick up one of these post-haste. I could be coming your way at any moment.

I’m In A Foul Mood

heatherinparadise — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 19:57:53 +0000

I am not fit to be around humans today. The bar was out of La Pinta last night so I had to drink shots of Centenario to deaden the pain of recognizing that as a Cubs fan I am doomed to a lifetime of misery and failure. And my poor grandmother, who is in her last days, will have spent her entire life rooting for a team that never rewarded her loyalty.

The entire organization needs to be done away with. Tear Wrigley Field down brick by brick. I’m done with the lot of them. This time I mean it.

Good Christian People, I Come Hither To Die

heatherinparadise — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 01:30:55 +0000

Well, I’m off to Pinche Gringo’s to watch the Cubs game. Wish me luck. Or Godspeed, whatever.

Of Baseball and Aneurysms

heatherinparadise — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 15:23:14 +0000

Probably no one in the world will be surprised to learn that the rotten no-goodnik Chicago Cubs dropped their second post-season game to the damned LA Dodgers last night by a score of 10-3. It was a comedy of errors, only it was the unfunniest comedy I’ve ever seen. Every. Single. One. of the Cubs infielders made an error and our offense slept throughout the game. They all seemed terrified to be where they were, as if they were a tee-ball little league team who all of a sudden found out they had to play the big boys in Pony league.

I had been watching the VP debate, but Sarah Palin’s fake “folksy,” golly gee, I’m just like one of y’all speaking style made me so physically ill I decided to watch the Cubs game instead (btw, Ms. Palin, if you wink at me again I’m going to find you and gouge out your eyeball with a grapefruit spoon).

What a mistake. By the end of the game I felt as if I’d been refilling my glass with bile instead of wine. My phone wasn’t working properly, so I didn’t have the release of texting my commiserating friends. Although my heart’s not really in it, here are some of the things I shouted during the game (by the 7th inning I was too beaten down and weak to yell).

Warning: Some profanity

________________________________________________________________________________________________

I hate these people.

I am going to have a fucking aneurysm.

Are you KIDDING me?! You’re DERREK LEE!! You’re a fucking 3 time Gold Glove winner! No WAY! Oh my GOD! What’s WRONG with you people? Oh my GOD! Lou, what in the hell did you DO to them today?!

They’re playing like idiots.

Oh God, do we have anything to make shots with? I need a shot.

Lou, WTF?!

This is painful. Who are these people? What’s wrong with them?! Why are they DOING this to me? Why, God?

This is disgusting.

It’s not your fault, Carlos–it’s your team, they’re playing like idiots! Ignore them! They’re assholes!

The stupid crowd’s more fired up than THEY are!

It’s revolting. This is revolting.

Rally shot!

Thank God for Zambrano.

The DODGERS. I feel sick.

Fuck off, Torre!

Oh great. Fucking shit, another double play.

I hate this team. I hate this team. They don’t deserve to win.

I blame Lou. I blame the Cubs. I blame that damned goat. I blame everyone.

What a douchebag. God, I hate Manny Ramirez.

I feel deflated.

What is your PROBLEM, Lou? You’re not showing me anything–no pissedoffedness, nothing. Nothing! What’s WRONG with you?!

GOD, I hate that guy. Look at his stupid batting helmet–he’s only been on the team for a couple of months. You know he’s sitting there burning it with a lighter to make it look roughed up. He’s a turd. A big fat turd with dreads.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

After that, I lost all will to live. The next game is on Saturday and because I am a glutton for punishment, I will probably watch it; however, I’m going to watch it at Pinche Gringo’s bar. If I’m home I might destroy my television and then how would I watch CSI?

Tracking A Cubs Fan’s Disgust Via Text Messages

heatherinparadise — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 02:17:10 +0000

I’ve got a couple of friends who are Cubs fans like me. One of them was sitting in Wrigley Field watching tonight’s first post-season game and the other was sitting in a bar 7 blocks from my house. During Cubs games, we keep in touch via text messaging. I thought it might be amusing to transcribe all of the messages I sent during the game.

Warning: Lots of F-bombs, but if you’re a Cubs fan or you know me even just a little, that will come as NO surprise.

Fuck yeah, DeRosa!
6.10 pm

Phew!
6.26 pm

I hate the fuckin’ hop!
6.29 pm

Nah, I don’t hate the hop as much as I love Derrek Lee’s ass
6.33 pm

Fuck fuck fuck!
7.11 pm

Fuckin’ Dempster!
7.15 pm

Fuckin’ Cubs!
7.53 pm

WTF?! They are playing like Little Leaguers!
8.05 pm

I’m disgusted. Seriously.
8.20 pm

Are you kidding me?!!
8.29 pm

Fucking kill me.
8.35 pm

It’s fucking Maddux, are you KIDDING me?! He’s older than me, for fuck’s sake! WTF are they afraid of?
8.48 pm

Why do I fall for this bullshit ever fckn year?
8.49 pm

Next sound you hear: cork popping from the second bottle of wine as a bereft, foul-mouthed woman in Mexico drowns her sorrow as her beloved team loses yet AGAIN.

Lou, c’mon now. Where was the fire? The spark? The joy, excitement? You better show me something tomorrow or I promise you, my language will only get fouler.

My friend Adam is so funny…after the Cubs lost, he sent me a final text telling me that it was just like I was there (since the Cubs historically lose EVERY time I’m at a game). Grrr.

So Adam, John B…are we on for tomorrow’s game or what? My phone has plenty of airtime.