My fancy friend wants to travel abroad with me this summer. I told him I sleep entire plane rides (Xanax,) don’t sit in the sun or hang out at pools, and don’t go anywhere below 65 degrees. I don’t go on boats. I don’t travel with nice clothes, jewelry or makeup. I won’t spend more than three days in any city except for Tokyo. I will be on my phone a lot but the bigger the time difference the less time I’m on it. I will probably eat pasta no matter what country we go to (except Japan) and I travel with my own Gatorade. His response to all this was “Bitch, I can’t.”
I forgot to mention that in the past my psychotic ex tracked me down in Asia, and I’ve alarmed the plane crew on more than one occasion by not eating, peeing or moving for an entire 13 hour flight. I have also been known to go on shower strikes, and one time in Costa Rica a tooth brushing strike ensued. It was bad and required an intervention. I will never go to a rain forest again. I also lost my medication and almost got kicked off a group tour.
And then there was the time my friend told me I was probably on the “no fly list” because of the flirtatious letter I sent to Donald Rumsfeld. That turned out to be a false alarm.
And there was the time that same psychotic ex put a “cute note” from my dog in my passport. . . Oy.
I do like to explore new towns and cities, shop, and go to modern art museums and galleries. I love anything that has to do with animals, except washing them. I love culture shock. I like going on trips to third world countries and complaining about everything the entire time. I don’t do “spa” trips and don’t get massages. Rehab was the longest trip I’ve been on where I didn’t buy anything.