MOTHERF#@%ING $HIT GOD DAMNIT F#@% F#@% F#@%! I’m not in Costa Rica any more!
Argh. We got back in the middle of the night some time between Monday and Tuesday, I think. Who knows. Time is irrelevant in Costa Rica. Since I got back I feel like someone dunked me in an ice cold glass of reality. Shitty, boring, COLD, WINDY, REALITY. Without monkeys and waterfalls and pristine beaches and coconuts filled with rum.
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PLACE I LIVE IN? THIS IS THE BEST CITY IN AMERICA? I WANT MY RUM-FILLED COCONUT BACK!
In like, a few days when we’re re-acclimated, Trent and I will get through all our amazing photos and I will get them all up on Flickr, and then I can write a proper blog post. But in the meantime, I have to go close on my house. UGH.
My house. Which is NOT A BUNGALOW IN THE RAIN FOREST, with a balcony hanging over a stream and a pool and a pool BAR down the path with a cute little Costa Rican bartender who tells me, “Oops! Eets broken!” when my beer glass is empty.
F#@% MY HOUSE.
Also, my friends all trickled off to their respective cities, which are NOT SAN FRANCISCO. Blergh. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again — Midwest is best, baby. This trip was perfect because all my old friends were so unbelievably cool, laid back, and fun to be with. Nobody cared what we did, where we went, what we ate, drank, or spent. We wasted whole days doing nothing and everyone was cool with that. When we were all braindead, we were all braindead together. We laughed so hard it hurt at times. We could have spent the whole trip in the pool, just floating there telling stories about our childhoods in Michigan, and the trip still would have equaled time and money well spent. What an awesome bunch of laid-back Midwesterners who know how to have a good time no matter what they’re doing.
And who know how to appreciate some damn fine 80s rock. Here’s a one-pic preview of what a gang of Michiganders who’ve known each other for 20+ years look like when you drop them in Costa Rica, serve them too much free booze at their buddy’s wedding, and put them in an abandoned airplane-turned-bar that plays Guns n’ Roses and encourages singalongs:
Yes, there’s more of this. So stay tuned while I go pay attention to stupid life shit like houses and work and bills and things that prevent me from enjoying fun life shit like tropical vacations with awesome people. DAMMMIIITTT.
Oh — for the soundtrack, while you wait: