Reappropriation and Nerve Gas

So everyone here is on Island time, which is fine with me, because I am always on Island time. We woke up late, and by we, I mean me, because Lizzie was working hard for most of the day. Once I was alert enough to eat (grogginess is a choking hazard) we went down to the breakfast, which was SO EXPENSIVE. HOLY CRAP. It was a "buffet". There was really no reason for me to put that in scare quotes, but for some reason it seems necessary. The "full" breakfast was $23, and the continental was $15. I got the continental, because all I really wanted was some oatmeal. Mmm. $15 oatmeal. However, being the clever ladies we are, we used the buffet stylings to appropriate some food for later consumption. I grabbed four mini boxes of cereal (two granola, one mini wheats, one kashi) and two bowls, and took the cereal out of the boxes, and then Lizzie put the plastic wrapped beauties into her purse. I then poured some sugar crumbs into our bowls so it looked like we had consumed our fibrous goodness with sugar on top (WE ARE AMERICAN! RAR) and we took off with our contraband. I am totally ready to mastermind a heist. For reals.

After breakfast we hung out by one of the three pools, and I read my book about phosphorous while Lizzie did some editing. Then there was a change of venue to the beach, and then to another pool, and then I went swimming. In another pool. There are a lot to keep track of. After swimming was a pina coloda on the beach, and more reading, and more editing, and then dinner, where I had some kick ass seafood risotto. Holy crap, that was so good it was almost worth the kidney I had to sell to afford it. Twas washed down with a glass of inferior Savignon Blanc, but hey, what does one expect for a lousy $8.50? Haha. Anyway there's a band playing at the telegraph bar tonight, which is in our hotel, and my problem with the telegraph bar, in case you were wondering, is that it has a picture of a telephone as their logo. That is misleading, telegraph bar. We are going to see the band, and hope that our Canadian friends are not there. There seems to have been an influx of Colts fans over the past 12 hours. Who on earth can route for the Colts against the Saints? Seriously?

Also, with regards to my book about phosphorous--AWESOME. I AM IN NERD-VANA! (Which is the highest level of ascension any nerd can acheive). I am learning all sorts of awesome stuff, like for instance that this particular British scientist/author refers to flatulence as "Human Wind". Neat. It was of note in the book because phosphorous in the gut ignited by, er, the methane in Human Wind (needs capitalization) is one of the theories suggested as the cause of spontaneous human combustion. Let's test this! Any volunteers? They could find plenty, turns out, for the phosphorous nerve gas experiments. You know that guy was lied to.

Scientist: We're conducting an experiment
Dude: On what?
Scientist: This new formula which will make mumbles under breath and points to dude's junk just get absolutely measures a foot distance between his two hands you know...
Dude: I'm in

And now the dude is dead, and we find out that nerve gas will kill you. End scene.

Winter Blahamas!

WOOOOOoooOooOoooo!! Greetings from Nassau. So this year, instead of giving each other the usual kitty-cat Christmas sweaters, Lizzie and I decided to save our time and money for a mid-winter trip somewhere warm. We decided on February, the most depressing month of all, weather-wise, in Boston, to head out to the Bahamas. We of course have an airplane story, but first, a brief comparison of circumstances now at 3:42pm EST, versus 5:30am EST, when I hauled my pasty arse out of my apartment to go pick Lizzie up.

5:30am: Ambient Temperature--20 degrees F. Ground covering--snow Layers of Clothing: 4
3:42 pm: Ambient Temperature--80 degrees F. Ground covering--trees and stuff Layers of Clothing: 1 1/2.

I am currently shoeless (FREEDOM FOR FEET) sitting by our balcony which looks over construction, uh, and the beach depending on how you lean, thinking about how I'm not going to have to whine about how cold it is for three and a half whole days! Think of the energy I'll save in bitching alone, which can be used for much more constructive things, like sighing contentedly.

So that picture, above, is one I took of Lizzie speeding away in our speedboat, which we will later use as an escape vehicle for our international diamond heist, or, alternately, I didn't pack my camera cable and I stole that picture from the internet. God bless the internet.

Pool time!