Bahamas

Cabana Naps and M&M’s: How to Sloth a Weekend in The Bahamas

I have the greatest friends in the world. Have I ever (not to subtly) bragged about that yet? Kinda sorry, mostly not sorry. I do though.

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Picture this: it’s mid-May. My dear, sweet boyfriend is sweating to death in the middle of god-awful Missouri yet again for training (and we all know how I feel about f*cking Missouri). My friends here in Colorado were probably climbing mountains and frolicking in the endless sunshine because Colorado is great. My friends in Minnesota were probably in a blizzard with 100% humidity because Minnesota is the most confused state ever.

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And I was in The Bahamas. With sugary, boozy slushies and warm sunshine and white sand beaches and a LOT of sunscreen. SPF: Hell, to be specific. This was my first real venture out into the summer sun this year, you know, so I was determined to NOT get burned.

So determined, in fact, that I came back with barely any tan and most people said “weren’t you like, in The Bahamas this weekend? Why are you still so white?”

Ugh, you can’t just ASK people why they’re white, Karen.

#MeanGirls4Eva

I’ve since found a nice tan, in case you were worried.

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One of my very best friends, Jesse the Pilot, was in the Bahamas with some friends.  I met Jesse a few years ago in an airport. I hit on him and he totally shot me down – and we’ve been besties ever since. It was probably one of the most painfully awkward conversations of my entire life. We still laugh about it to this day. So embarrassing, not sure how I even have friends?

“Hey if you’re not busy this weekend we have an open room for you” was all I needed to hear before I was immediately and impulsively buying a ticket to the Bahamas.

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My greatest downfall/greatest quality is that I’m really, really impulsive.

Sometimes it gets me in big trouble, but usually it’s a good time.

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I picked the cheapest flight plan since I was in a hurry to book my flight… ouch. I left Denver at 1a and headed over to Charlotte for a 6-hour layover. I was so tired because I stayed up at home, knowing if I tried to nap I would never wake up in time. Then I jumped from Mountain Time to Eastern Time.

I’m like a baby, give me all the sleep.

In Charlotte, I found a nice family to sleep by. A nice family that was not my own. Creepy, no? Whoops.  I did what any normal, sleepy weirdo would do and plopped down on the floor with my backpack and scuzzy top pony, put in my headphones and died for a good 3 hours. This poor mother was probably thinking “f*ck I hope my kids aren’t like your greasy ass when they grow up”. My mother would have been so proud.

I lied, she will be angry to know I slept on an airport floor by myself because kidnappers and stuff.

In my defense, I was in the tropical destination wing of the Charlotte airport, I don’t care where I would have been taken to, it would have been warm and sunny. I would have still enjoyed the sunshine. As much sun as you can get through a car taillight in a trunk, I imagine.

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We went right over to the water park at The Cove, where I found a giant raft and floated along the lazy river for a good two hours while I “recovered” from my 13-hour travel time.

There was also a water slide that went through a shark tank. I had my eyes shut the whole time because it was fast as f*ck and I was screaming like a little girl, but I assume it was cool to look at.

In one weekend, I ate almost a pound of M&M’s, drank all the Goomba soda I could get my hands on for breakfast and spend my afternoons chugging vodka mixed with Gatorade powder out of a water bottle. BRB, cringing.

I remember that things like that are why I have a routine and I stick to it. I can’t  be trusted to adult on my own.

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