Tag Archives: massage

What I Did On My Jamaican Vacation, by Paula G.

I haven’t blogged in a while, and I’m sure you’ve all been very concerned. I can assure you, I’ve had good reason. Shoveling snow, dieting, and jetsetting to tropical places, mainly. I had a very special request from a very special lady to blog. And I can’t rightly ignore a blog request, can I? That’d be like Michael Jackson ignoring a request to do ‘Billy Jean’ at a concert. I mean, if he wasn’t dead and stuff. You know what I mean.

Last week, I went on a much-needed winter getaway to Jamaica. Let me stop there and reflect for a moment…



Now that I’ve had that moment of reflection, which included looking at the snow outside my patio door and getting mildly pissed off, let me tell you what I did on my Jamaican vacation, in no particular order:

1. Jamaican Drank

Those Jamaicans really know how to booze up some Americans. From the moment you get off the airplane, it’s ‘No problem, mon, here’s a drink, which already has rum in it, but I’m gonna top it off with MORE rum. Yeah, mon! No problem, mon!”. Normally, this would be no problem, mon, except when you’ve been on an airplane and haven’t eaten since breakfast. The first day is a margarita, pina colada, some blue drink, mojito blur, with a nap, followed by more margarita, pina colada, blue drink, mojito blur, ending at a piano bar, where I’m pretty sure I made the piano player play Journey, which didn’t go well, and a young Jamaican girl in knee socks tried to teach drunk white people to dance like Jamaicans. Which also didn’t go well, from what I remember. Which ain’t much. That was Monday. Tuesday, I told myself I wouldn’t drink. That lasted until dinner. The rest of the trip pretty much went the same, except for the fact that I also remember I told a hibachi chef that his attempt at culinary fried rice art looked like a vagina.

2. Jamaican Almost Died Climbing The Dunn’s River Falls

When you sign up for this free excursion through the resort, nobody quite tells you what to expect. Suffice it to say I was not at all prepared to rock climb up a slippery, steep, rocky waterfall in nothing but a string bikini, all while being filmed for a Jamaican tourism video and being splashed and told to look like I was having fun by a strange Jamaican who, were it not for the fact I was holding on for dear life to the hand of another strange Jamaican man who was climbing the falls barefoot like some sort of Jamaican Superman, would have gotten Jamaican bitch slapped. I noticed at one point that my nipple had also made it’s way out of my bikini top. So I can now say I climbed a waterfall, and may possibly be part of a ‘Girls Gone Wild: Dunn’s River Falls’ video.

3. Jamaican Spin Class

I was very excited to have found a resort with Spin class, as I’m newly addicted. I did not anticipate, however, waking up most mornings at 7am still slightly drunk, and for the class to be in an 80 degree un-airconditioned room. But by God, I made it there every morning, and I’m pretty sure my sweat could’ve gotten a few resort-goers drunk. I didn’t understand a word that large, muscular instructor said except for “In-ten-si-TYYY, mon!”.

4. Jamaican Massage

I can’t remember the massage lady’s name, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her. Massages can be a little awkward at first, what with the whole being naked with a stranger thing. But between the sounds of the ocean, and the initial rough-yet-gentle scalp massage, I was hers. Whatever her name was. I hope she writes.

5. Jamaican Beach/Pool Sitting

This may be my favorite of the Jamaican activities. And I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. I’d also like to take a moment to pat myself on the back here, about the fact that although it took me 38 years to learn, I finally managed to apply the correct amount of sunscreen so as to not get burnt like a giant vacation-going lobster the first day there. Good thing, too, because between the sun soaking all moisture from my skin, and the booze making me pee out all the moisture from my insides, I may have only been a giant German raisin by the end of the trip.

Instead, I was just a fat, happy, relaxed Paula In The Country, who stole free finger sandwiches in a carefree manner from the VIP lounge at the Jamaican airport.

I’m sure everyone does that.

Yeah, mon.


Posted by on March 6, 2014 in Humor, Life


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The Unromantic Girl’s Guide To Valentine’s Day

Now that February has arrived, who can’t help but notice the grocery store aisles once again filled with teddy bears and heart-shaped boxes? I mean, it’s a little ridiculous. All right, I’m just going to come right out and say this: I am completely unromantic. Candlelight dinners? Love letters? Soft music? Flower petals in the bedroom? Blech. It all makes me want to puke a little. Now, before you go judging me and taking away my woman card, allow me to state that I was raised in a home with three older brothers, so most of my energy growing up was spent climbing trees to avoid getting wedgies and swirlies rather than dating and flowers and romance. Not to mention that I was completely aware that any boy I had any sort of romantic feelings for would, most likely, end up getting grilled and subsequently tortured by my older brothers, so I avoided the situation altogether. And, one more confession: Although I try my best to be one of those ‘cool’ girls who claims to not care at all if I get anything at all on Valentine’s Day, part of me always feels a tiny tinge of disappointment when the day passes without so much as an ass pat and a Hershey’s Kiss. I’m not proud. But, like I stated up there, I’m not big on the huge showy bouquet of flowers, because let’s face it, that’s just not very practical. Who wants to spend perfectly good burrito money on overpriced flowers that are just going to end up dried up and in my trash can? Not to mention the fact that it could potentially be a fire hazard, it’s just not smart. Think of the burritos, guys. Ok, now that I’ve talked some sense into you, following please find a compilation of gifts that girls who were raised barefoot and running through creek beds may enjoy:


Before you get too excited, I don’t mean a massage by you. Unless you’re really good and promise not to focus too much on the boob region, because then I just feel dirty and used, not relaxed and delightfully kneaded like yeasty bread dough. Maybe ‘yeasty’ was a bad word to use here. Anyway… I’ve only had one massage in my life, and although I was wary of being naked with a stranger at first, approximately three minutes in, I was ready to let that strong-handed lady do whatever she wanted to me. Trust me, this gift would get you thoroughly rewarded.

Big-Ass Bottle Of Jack

Doesn’t sound very Valentine’s Day-like, but where I come from, you can’t go wrong with whiskey. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. Well.. Not really. I mean, the bottle runs out pretty quickly. Whatever. Let’s not get technical here.

Heart-Shaped Lou Malnati’s Pizza

Actually, screw the heart-shaped shit, just gimme the pizza. No sausage. Your sausage does not belong on my Valentine’s pizza, asshole. I apologize if I sounded combative there. I have strong feelings about this.


Because… Duh. IT’S A PUPPY!!! Sorry… I get excited about stuff.

Original Dirty Limerick

They make me laugh. Especially if you can rhyme something with ‘vagina’, because that’d be pretty impressive.

Fabulous Boots And/Or Diamonds

Because I am small part real girl, and we like shoes and sparkly shit.

Holding The Door Open And Telling Me I’m Pretty, Then Buying Me Lots Of Martinis

That one is self-explanatory.

I hope you’ve all taken notes here. If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me at any point prior to the Hallmark holiday. I’m always here to help. Especially if you have the Jack.



Posted by on February 3, 2014 in Humor


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