Jolly Green (not that much of a) Giant

Last month, Pops visited Nicaragua.

The day he left was the day he told me I could have joined him.

Gee, thanks Pops.

He went on a "mission" for his church, handed bibles to the folks in the street.

Had I joined him, I wouldn't have spent my days handing out bibles (sorry, Papi), I would have spent my days exploring the wildlife. Fuck yeah.

Instead I had to settle for Pop's souvenirs of raw cacao... and a sweet green muumuu. I'm not complaining... I mean, sure, I could have visited Nicaragua and returned with the memory of chillin' on a volcano... but that muumuu is way more comfortable than anticipated... even if I do look like the Jolly Green Giant when I rock it (which is ALL the time I'm in the house. It's comfortable, I tell you!).

The resemblance is UNCANNY. I wish I were kidding.

Last week, Pops asked me what I preferred: Puerto Rico or Costa Rica.

Costa Rica! DUH! The mere thought of the biodiversity found there makes me tremble with excitement! Who, besides the state of New York, gives a fuck about Puerto Rico? (I'm being sarcastic, PLEASE don't get all angry at me for the comment... But I really do prefer Costa Rica... even if Puerto Rico has hotter men. Remember, I like animals more than I like humans... but not in THAT sense, no no, no bestiality here. Ew. Way to ruin my excitement)

I said this with that much enthusiasm, which in turn made my dad pretty happy.

He extended an offer for me to join him on a trip to Costa Rica next month.

FUCKKKK YEAHHHH! I'll go! Are you kidding me?!

I think Daddy thinks I'm going to join him in the bible thumping aspect of the trip, possibly running the risk of getting converted... because he has been so happy with me... even talking to me in his baby voice (yeah, Dad does that to me when we're on REALLY good terms. It drives me crazy, in a good way... it's the thing that makes me bite his cheek... like the fucking barbarian I really am... I can't explain it beyond that. I'm a wild animal when I'm too happy for words. Watch out).

But uh... Mom is coming along as well... and... well... we're Catholic girls who will, hands down, choose to chill at the beach and think of God while admiring his creation (My goodness! The sea just... keeps going and going! Thank you, Diosito. This Triple sec is B-AHHHH [I blame Chicago for this]-MB! Thank you, Diosito)... instead of push him down peoples' throats. And NO, there is absolutely no way of getting us to convert. No way... but you just keep holding on to that hope that maybe we can, if that makes you feel better.

Mom and I already have plans, yo. Chillin' at the beach, drinking, sleeping, jungle exploration, massive ingestion of local fresh fruit (mangos and passion fruit, I'm looking at you! I'm gonna overdose on that shit)... and did I mention chillin' at the beach? 

We're gunning for a tan... a nice Costa Rican tan.

Knowing me, I'll get a lame caucasian Spaniard burn.

But who cares? I'm walking on sunshine right now... I don't want to think about lobster burns or Chagas disease.

Ok, I'll chill out now.

Let's see if this works out.