Closing (not to mention random) Thoughts

Ah, poolside at the Villa Premiere. Always good for chance encounters with strangers. Take Charly, for instance--a Canadian woman who qualified on-line for the World Series of Poker tournament in Las Vegas. How cool is that? Too bad she Never. Shut. Up.

Then there was Eileen--a woman with whom I chatted one day who at 43 years old (and never married!) met her now-husband (also never married!) in Aruba. (Yes, there's hope for me, too!) In the course of conversation, I happened to mention I write for True Romance and Eileen asked if I were published in novel-length. To my negative response, she boasted: "I published a photo book this year."

Okay. Hm. I ain't no rookie, but I'm also polite so I expressed suitable enthusiasm and interest. The next day, I heard her husband telling a new acquaintance about the book his wife published on Blurb. Uh...Blurb??? Isn't that like Picaboo where you upload photos and text and pay to have it printed?? Yeah. Published indeed. (Told ya I wasn't a rookie.)

Oh, and how could I forget Butt-Boy? Women at the pool offered me large sums of cash to get a picture of this guy! Sadly, I was chicken. All I can say is you really had to be there. String bikinis on MEN are...well...interesting, to say the least. Especially when their bodies are HAIRLESS and WHITE. And when they top it off with stylish hats and cool sunglasses (when they're not lying face down with their derriere prominently displayed for all to, er, enjoy.) Yep, it was quite the sight.

By the way, yes those are FOUR-POSTER BEDS out on the beach. One of these days I hope to visit Puerto Vallarta with someone other than a female friend to share one with.

Which, except for one last harrowing vacation story, brings us to the close of another wonderful journey. So, here's the deal: Ann and I dutifully arrived at the aeropuerto in plenty of time for our flight, only to be informed of its delay by 2 hours. Although frustrated, we settled in at a delightful bar complete with wireless internet access and lazed through most of the delay--checking the arrival/departure board periodically, just to make sure we were doing the math properly (times were posted military style). Finally, we wrapped things up, paid our bill, and sauntered through security, congratulating ourselves on our organizational skills.

Then disaster struck.

We checked the board again and across from our flight one word blinked off and on: Serrado.

Closed? Closed?? CLOSED?!?!?!?

How could this have happened? We weren't supposed to board for another thirty minutes! Is it Mexico's practice to simply MOVE departures without notice?

Here we were, MILES from the gate--in fact, we didn't have a clue WHERE the gate WAS--and this sign says CLOSED. To us, this meant doors are closed, the plane's pushing back...and WE'RE NOT ON IT.

We began to run. Well, let's be honest, we began to trot...down two of those moving pedestrian walkway thingies...toward an intersection where we pretty much tossed a coin and hung a left, both clutching our chests to forestall...heart attacks, I guess.

Ann's wailing: "I wanna go home today!"

My mind is running toward options: Mexicana, American....we'll go through Phoenix...we'll go through Seattle...ANYTHING. I didn't care that our luggage wouldn't be traveling with us.

Then we got to the gate.

Ha ha...false alarm! The "closed sign" meant "closed to check-in" (which, frankly, didn't make much sense either, but whatever.) We made it, and I still haven't quite caught my breath!