From Her Perspective

The last time we left Kati Cawley, she was enjoying a vacation in Aruba, amongst swingers, sex traders, and unlimited sun and sand.  The Barstool fame that constantly follows her abandoned, she was free to enjoy the life of a civilian

So we were sitting at the outdoor bar, enjoying the beautiful evening, when a couple sits down next to us.  Since we were at a bar, and I can be friendly to strangers at bars (note: only at bars.  Nowhere else.), I decided to say hello.  Turns out, like everyone else down here, they were from Massachusetts.  Of course I had lots to say to them, and of course, the girl thought I was trying to make a move on her husband.  I don’t know what it is, but very unattractive girls who are married to very unattractive men tend to not know their place.  I would never, ever have wanted anything to do with this guy, sick.  But because I was talking to both of them, she became very overly protective and a total bitch.  Blech.  Remind me to complain about this behavior at length in an upcoming article.

Anyway, we were talking about our trips and I started to tell them about the swingers we encountered on the plane, because it was very funny.  Abruptly, the girl got up and stormed away, dragging her husband behind her.  My traveling companion burst out laughing, and I bewilderedly asked him what was going on.  Apparently, my retelling of the story did not sound like a mere recap of events, but an invitation to swing with us.  I was mortified.  It was so untrue!  I felt betrayed by my own awesome performance skills, but there was no time to dwell.  We were venturing out of the confines of our little paradise, and hitting up the casinos at the bars on the other side of the island. 

When we arrived, we noticed how quiet it was.   Apparently, the fun was to be had where we were staying, but no matter.  Free Jack Daniels at the casino easily pacified our anger. And after consistently losing all of our money at the blackjack table and penny slots, we figured we’d hit up one more bar before we headed back to our hotel.  There was a huge tiki hut bar that looked very inviting, so we went in.  As we entered, I became very confused.  Were we at Game On?  Because there were 12 flat screens playing NESN, there were Pats jerseys hung on the bamboo walls, and the bartenders, who were not from the Boston area, were wearing insane hockey outfits.  I say “outfit” because their “tops” were extremely tight.  They also served Sam Adams, though “Winter Warmer” isn’t exactly a choice beverage in 90-degree heat.  So we hopped in a cab back to our hotel and that was when I received the shock of my life.

For any of you that have stayed at resorts like this, you know that junk food is available at all times.  Grilled cheese with bacon?  Sure!  Pizza?  How many toppings?  Cheese fries?  With sour cream, salsa and guacamole, or without? My mouth is watering at the memory.  Whenever you want, you can get real cheese fries (real cheese fries have the cheese goo on them, not actual cheese), as much as you want, no problem.  It was the happiest moment of my life.

We enjoyed this routine for the next couple of days, and it was wonderful.  Work was a distant memory, and the hotel cable carried WGN, the greatest Chicago affiliate in existence.  Toward the end of the trip, my traveling companion signed us up for a happy hour snorkel cruise.  Forgetting that I am terrified of fish, boats and the water, I couldn’t wait.   We took a bus to the boat, which was fully stocked with frozen drinks, split cans of beer (something I haven’t had since my Syracuse days), and tubs and tubs of used snorkel equipment.  Everyone sort of just pretended it wasn’t super unsanitary and disgusting, because if anyone did think about it, they would have turned tail and ran.  But wow, was it worth it.  Even though I was terrified of getting my toes bitten off, it was unbelievably beautiful.  Better than any McDonalds fish tank I’ve ever seen.  Things were just too perfect. 

This is the part of the program when I could get into the terrible injury I sustained on the boat, but I won’t bore you with details.  I’ll leave it at this–my arm was black and swollen from my elbow to my shoulder, and nobody has ever had a worse bruise ever, ever in their lives.  But I digress. 

The rest of the vacation was spent in typical fashion, drunk in the ocean, and when we got off the plane in Boston, it was freezing, just how I like it.  I will miss Aruba, with the friendly people, beautiful weather, and pride with which they display the number of fatal traffic accidents in downtown Oranjestad.  And there are tons, so I guess it is something to be proud of, considering the island is really small.  But I was glad to come home to the crisp fall weather, mulled cider and guys in football jerseys.  Hubba hubba.  Because you can take the bitch of Mass, my friends, but you can never, ever take the Mass out of the bitch.