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05.11.2003 - 1:28 p.m.

Sunday

(I know it's very meta to talk about the nuts and bolts of your online journal - like, let us destroy the happy fiction of you and I chatting together, thick as thieves, with the sudden rude reminder that I'm only tossing up words via wads of poorly concocted HTML, delivered by Diaryland's bottle-to-sea-cast, occasionally stumbled upon by glassy eyed Googlers who must constantly swab at the drool-line hanging from their chins in order to keep their keyboards dry.

YOU, dear reader, dear guestbook-entry-leaver, dear emailer, dear visitor, I missed writing to you. And really, the last thing I want to do is PUNISH you for coming by today. But! I have all these pictures! That I wanted to share! And, I don't know, they might make this page take like twelve fucking hours to load. Or they might not! I haven't got a clue. Anyway, please accept my Very Sincere Apology if my self-absorption hoses your modem. Also, you need DSL. Is what I'm saying.)

When you're traveling as a couple on your own, in order to have pictures of the two of you it's necessary to 1) rely on the kindness of strangers, or 2) rely on the reflectiveness of, uh, reflective surfaces. This is our balcony, where we're waiting to depart L.A. Neither one of us has had a drink yet, which makes this photo a true anomaly.

Hey, LOTS of things are reflect-y! This is JB looking down at one of the pools on the ship.

What you do, see, is you sit in your lounge chair and you soak up as much sun as you can until you can actually hear your skin wrinkling, and you drink Coronas and suck on the limes and read your book, and when you have to pee - you make your way down to the pool.

Ha ha, just kidding! Of course you don't pee in the pool. That's what the hot tub is for.

Puerto Vallarta booze cruise! It's a snorkle trip, but more importantly, it's a boat with an open bar. This is JB mugging with the crew, who are the hardest working guys in show business.

Now. You might be thinking, Sundry, by your shining red face and goony expression, I would say you have had at least 7 margaritas! And you would be right. This guy was the boat's host, and he was a scream. Absolutely hysterical.

He looks a little wary of ME, doesn't he? As I cling to him like a drunken koala bear.

Here's the big-ass back of our ship, taken after returning from the cruise de booze. I'm still completely shitfaced in this picture.

(I just realized every single article of clothing I are wearing in these pictures comes from Old Navy. Pity me and my cattle-like devotion to cheap brands.)

Cabo! Cabo Wabo! It's Sammy Hagar's hey-I'm-not-a-loser-seriously-you-guys restaurant. We laughed at one autographed picture of him hanging from the wall that said "Cabo Wabo RULES." I mean, hello? Dude owns the fucking place.

I had two shots of the Cabo Wabo blue agave tequila at this place. AND IT WASN'T EVEN NOON.

Also? JB's shirt? Old Navy.

I'm like a parakeet, constantly going for the mirrored surfaces, aren't I? We're just hanging out in a bar on the ship and the ceiling was a shiny brass-colored metal. I like this picture. I've decided it's my best angle. From now on anyone taking a picture of me must climb a ladder and aim downward.

Illicit booze and Cuban cigar smuggling! I'm just including this so we seem more bad ass.

Okay, so what do you think of the tattoo? Is it not so totally tubular to the max? Both the tattoo (henna) and the necklace were obtained on the beach at Mazatlan, where locals come by your chair every .000001 seconds and offer to sell you shit.

I have a kajillion more photos - hooray for digital cameras! - but seriously? I have so much laundry to do right now, holy balls. Plus, oh my GOD the cat with the clinging and the yowling and the Hey! Now I Can Go Outside AND Come Back In Whenever I Want-ing, and the refrigerator with the UNBELIEVABLE smell, like a WHALE died in the crisper, and you know, maybe I should do some goddamn SHOPPING because this Old Navy thing is EMBARRASSING.

:::

P.S. Even a closed bottle of moisturizer can burst open from pressure during a flight and cover every square inch of your suitcase's contents with viscous white goo. Just, you know, FYI.

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0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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