Modern Love

So it took me an eternity after returning from Puerto Rico to post these pictures from La Isla del Encanto, where my friends David & Sosi got married less than two years after meeting on Twitter.

Visiting foreign lands for the first time is exciting and you want to get it all in while being a responsible and diligent tourist and taking five hundred pictures you'll never look at again once you go back home. The truth remains that vacations are made special by the crazy shit that happens off the beaten path when you're too busy planning hikes and trips to old cathedrals and waterfalls.

Between everyone being there with a date and me refusing to give up the good fight, I made an awesome friend from New York City which we'll call Layla in an effort to save her integrity. While the couples spent the majority of their nights in bed doing the horizontal mambo or farting under the covers after one too many plates of rice and beans; Layla and I took to the nightlife like sparkly vampires hunting for blood in a Twilight movie.

Funny shit happens when vacationing with friends who turn into hermits while their boyfriends are around. Hilarity ensues when you hit the town with a nutjob gringa who knows no boundaries when it comes to mischief and good-God-almighty did I love her for it.

It's somewhere around five a.m. and I'm slipping out of my heels and getting into bed after Layla forced ten shots of Patron XO (among other spirits) down my throat. There isn't a bottle of vitamin water or Gatorade in sight and my liver needs some major restoration sooner than later. I close my eyes for a second and in she stumbles, laughing hysterically at something only she understands.

Layla: Oh my God, Annah. You have to see my bill.

Me: Erhhm? What bill?

Layla: From the bar, duh.

Me: Let me see that.

Me: Please say you're joking. $520.00 on a bar tab?!

Layla: Well $150.00 of that were for tipping the bartender.

Me: I hope he went down on you for a tip like that. Holy shit.

Layla: Not yet but soon. (mutters this under her breath)

Me: Say what?

Layla: He's coming here after the club closes.

Me: What the heck for?

Layla: What do you think, dumb dumb?

Me: And what am I supposed to do?!

Layla: Hide in the closet. Go to the lobby bar. Sleep on the balcony. You have an array of options, my dear.

Me: I'm going to go with, "Sleep on my bed." You two can go to the balcony.

I remember thinking, Please God don't let this bartender dude be a serial killer, right before passing out on my bed and praying Layla fell asleep before he arrived.

She says I snored loudly through the lengthy olympic marathon that was their sexual encounter. That sometimes I'd choke on my own spit and they thought for sure I'd caught them in the act. That I'd inhale sharply for a few seconds then resume the rhythm of my snore fest peacefully. That despite the earsplitting noises resounding next to me I never did wake up.

It appears I've once again underestimated my acting abilities...