I Got Knocked Down, But I Got Up Again

In case you hadn't heard, I'm a spaz.

I'm not just your ordinary, run of the mill spaz. Nope, I'm that special breed of spaz who manages to destroy nearly one thousand dollars worth of electronic devices in under 7 seconds. If I was involved in a contest on decimating the most amount of technology in the shortest amount of time, I would be so victorious that they would re-name the contest "Pulling a Hacker" (please see current Facebook status).

Allow me to explain.

I spent this past weekend in the U.S. Virgin Island of St. Thomas celebrating my best friend's bachelorette party. The weekend started smoothly enough.

I woke up at 4am Friday morning with the same level of excitement that I suspect anyone feels when they are going on a tropical vacation. I barely needed my alarm clock to tell me it was time to hop in the shower and get my day started. I tried my bathing suit on one more time as I blasted "Party in the U.S.A" (which would later be changed to "Party in the U.S.V.I") and hopped around my room like an 8 year old on a pogo stick.

For the sake of your precious time (and mine, as I really should be researching historical housing supply and vacancy rates), I'll skip ahead to the good stuff, with a brief mention of additional highlights.

The four hour plane ride was wildly successful as it involved no unruly screaming children, a nap, a few chapters of Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang and 3 screw drivers.

Upon arrival we immediately changed into our bikinis and neon sunglasses to spend the rest of the day on the beach enjoying copious amounts of rum runners, tons of sun, and the clearest water I've ever seen. Look how happy we are:
Friday was capped off by a beautiful sunset picnic on the point of Sapphire Beach and an early bed time for all, as our sailing excursion was scheduled to begin at 8:30am the next morning.

Sadly, my inability to stand on my own two feet would be the reason for a delayed departure.

It all happened so suddenly but basically the events transpired as follows:

"LOOK! An iguana!"

:::SPLASH:::

"What fell?!?!"

"JESSICA!"

My initial reaction was a combination of shock (as my mouth was filling up with salt water), anger (as I blurted out "I'm not even drunk!!") and nausea (as the reality set in that I had taken the entire contents of my purse down with me.)

I tossed my stuff back up on to the dock where my best friend immediately started the damage control process of removing the batteries from the devices and demanding that the captain of our sailboat have a vodka beverage ready for my consumption when I emerged from the water. (That's what 10+ years of friendship is all about).

I hoisted my soggy self onto a jet ski (which I would later be informed is a nearly impossible feat for a 300 pound person), examined my cuts and bruises, and then let the uncontrollable tears flow like Niagara Falls. I may have also used a few choice words to describe every single iguana on the island.

(For the record, this is NOT the actual iguana responsible for my demise. In fact, I don't have a picture of that little bastard because the memory card from my camera is so irreparably corroded from salt water that you'd think the ocean was actually a vat of hydrochloric acid.)

Anyway, I wasn't about to let one little accident ruin my weekend. Putting life in perspective, if the worst thing that happened to me that day was an unfortunate trip off a dock on my way to sailing the Carribean, snorkeling for sea turtles, and dancing the night away at Duffy's Love Shack, I really didn't have too much to complain about.

That said, if any of my loyal readers want to make a donation to the Bring Jess Back to the 21st Century Fund, I'll gladly be accepting iPods, digital cameras, and mobile telephones.

Note to boyfriend: While I may be joking about this now for the sake of my blog, if you actually get me inflatable swimmies for the boat this summer, you will leave me no choice but to root for the Red Sox when they play the Yankees.