pre post-paradise depression.
Everyone asks me if I’m excited to go home to Chicago.
I’m not really excited to go home at all. I know this makes me sound like an asshole, but I could live on the beach drinking liquored coconuts for the rest of my life.
There are, however, a ton of things that I will greatly miss about the Dominican Republic. Of course, I’ve made a list of these things.
1. waking up with a note in my bra reminding me I have a pole dancing class at 3pm.
I haven’t carried a purse the entire time I’ve been here, which means I end up stuffing everything I need in my bra. This also makes my boobs look a little lumpy, but it’s convenient, so I don’t care.
I’ve been waking up with weird shit in my bra since I got here. I can now accurately evaluate the previous night’s blood alcohol level by assessing my bra’s contents the next morning. This morning, for example, I woke up with a note that contained a phone number of Lucas, reminding me that I had asked a male pole dancer at the club the night before to give me a pole dancing class today. There were also some coins and a credit card in there, and a couple of leaves that looked like they were once alive on a palm tree.
2. spontaneous bachata.
In America, people watch TV when they’re bored or have nothing else to do. Here in DR, people dance, and the dance of choice is bachata. At a recent cookout at our Dominican friend’s house, the entire dinner party went outside to dance after eating.
In the US, usually only metro males and gay men dance. This is unfortunate, because really, all men that would like to bang women should dance. Dancing bachata is like fucking on a dance floor. I pity America for having given up dancing in lieu of video games and other stupid pastimes that not only make us less-sexy but also cause obesity and erectile dysfunction. It bothers me. I want to dance. I will miss dancing. God help me, I will miss dancing.
Speaking of erectile dysfunction…
3. the Viagra display at the pharmacy.
You can buy Viagra over-the-counter in Dominican Republic. It’s likely that it’s not actually Viagra but some blue sugar pill that simply boosts confidence. Either way, the best part about it is the display at the pharmacy that 1) Shows the entire male reproductive system and explains erectile disfunction and 2) four small rubber rods that show varying degrees of strength of the medicine.
My question is, who goes for anything but the strongest level?
“Yes, Sir, so how hard do you want your penis to get?”
“Oh, just a little. Still squishy on the outside but with a semi-hard core.”
I took a video of my friend Paco trying them out.
4. constant flattery.
I can’t walk down the street in Dominican Republic without some local guy telling me I’m beautiful, or rather some other R-rated variation there-of. Some women get annoyed with this and think it’s sexist, but if I’m going to be honest, I kind of dig the constant flattery (as long as it’s not aggressive). Chicago boys do not dole out these kinds of constant compliments, but I think they should start.
It is amazing what people can transport on a scooter here. I’ve seen people carrying huge bags of laundry, tables, and tanks of gasoline whilst on a moto. In Dominican Republic, if you need to pick someone up from the airport, it’s no problem to do so on a moto:
6. southern-style ho-downs on the beach.
My new kiting friends play instruments. They taught me how to play banjo. Well, actually, they taught me how to play G on the banjo, which one can produce simply by strumming all of the strings.
7. smacking bacon on people’s faces.
I don’t remember exactly what was going on here.
8. my chihuahua.
This is Spike coming to greet me when I get home. Who is going to greet me like this when I arrive home in Chi-town?