Of Pirates and Cars...

“Now, bring me that horizon…” – Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean

Pirates of the Caribbean is my favorite movie. I've watched it dozens of times, have most lines memorized, yet still am not even remotely bored with it. Why? It has little to do with the gorgeous Caribbean scenes - or the gorgeous male cast, if I dare say. It has little to do with the exciting adventurous story line – as fun as it may be. It has little to do with the fact that watching the movie has become my winter dosage of beaches and warm weather (aside from my recent trip, of course). I love Pirates because I can absolutely relate to Jack Sparrow, not in his crazy, wobbling, Keith Richards antics, but in his passionate and undying love of the Black Pearl. (And possibly his hobby of boozing… hard.)


“That’s what a ship really is, you know – not a keel and a hold and a deck and sails. That’s what a ship needs. But what ship is, what the Black Pearl really is, is freedom.”

Watching Pirates, Jack Sparrow in the last scene has a clever wink in his eye as he maneuvers his compass, steering his ship to untold treasures. Aside from being orgasmically handsome in that moment, he is truly happy. You can see the excitement flowing through his veins, the satisfaction of controlling his precious ship glowing in his smile. I have that same smirk when I find myself behind the wheel of my bright red Cavalier convertible, staring down an open highway, chasing the sunset. I am rid of all worries. I am living the moment. I am free.


“Stop blowing holes in my ship!”

No matter how beat up my car is, I look at it like it is the nicest vehicle on the block. It's a Chevy. It's a 97. But it’s my baby and I’d do just about anything to keep driving it. When I am behind the wheel, shifting gears, blaring my classic rock with the top down and wind running through my hair, I feel like the most powerful woman on Earth. I could fight pirates. And damn, I feel hott. I mean, who doesn’t want a cute blond in a red convertible?


“da da de da… and really bad eggs… drink up me ‘earties, yo ho!”

Convertibles are the personification of fun. You think pirates had a good time? Take a ride with me, son. Let me drive you around on a warm summer night while you lay back and watch the stars fly overhead. Let me fly down the highway, leaving drooling men in the dust (yes, that is how me and my girls spend our high school days off). Let me put in one of my mixed CDS and play you a soundtrack to fun. In my car, life is good. Nothing else matters.


"Let's just say, it's a matter of leaverage..."

You can buy Pirates of the Caribbean by clicking on its picture on the right. You can’t buy my car, though. Sorry. It’s mine. And I don't share well.


"You cheated!"
"Pirate~"

And if you do, go for the Lexus hard-top. In cherry red. Hmmmmmm… speaking of orgasmically gorgeous…

Of dreams and wishes… How do you make childhood fantasies come true?

“And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real…” – Dire Straights

I want to live in San Francisco. I want to take up an adventure, move out west, make due on the big dreams I’ve been conjuring up since I was a little girl. I want to ride a Harley out there – or maybe drive another bright red convertible – and have a little apartment. I want to be a bartender at night and work at a respectable PR firm during the day.

But how? How do you just drop everything and go?

I’m staring freedom in the eye. I graduate in May with nothing to do, no job for the summer, no real commitments in the near future (or none that I can’t get out of, anyways). I have to do this now. I mean, once you start life, there’s no escaping. Pretty soon you have a job you can’t leave, social commitments you’re bound to, and a dog waiting at home that’s dependent on you. There’s no way out. Once you start the rest of your life, how do you drop everything, move wherever you want to go, and take a shot at that thing you’ve always wanted to do?

Read the Alchemist by Peter Coehlo (click on its image on the right to buy it yourself).
Then you’ll want to make all your dreams come true.

I just need suggestions on how to realize mine…

S.A.D.? The Caribbean Cure to Winter Blues (A review of Punta Cana)

I find this time of year slows everyone down. We are on the brink of spring, yet the icy wind still carries winter chills on its wings, snow still layers the shadowed crevices of the earth, and everyone remains sun-starved and suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder. We can almost taste the warmth of sunny days and growing flowers… but it still remains just barely out of our grasp. This time of year begs us to take a break, get in touch with our playful side and enjoy a freedom offered only one place in this entire world: the Caribbean.


Cloaked in unyielding beauty, the Caribbean whispers of long lost treasures, ruthless pirates, and strange disappearances in the Bermuda triangle, begging the rest of the world to come dare and explore its untold secrets. Not even the most talented poet could capture even the simplest beachside scene: Imagine standing on the shoreline of some lost Caribbean isle. Untouched by civilization, the only noises you hear are the gentle lapsing of the crystal blue water grazing over the dried lava shoreline that once captured shells and beasts in its molten fury, now leaving only fossilized remains to tell their tale. Pools have formed in crevices in the dried lava where sea life flourishes; tiny crabs dance sideways along the shore, thousands upon thousands of snails cling to the rust-colored rocks searching for food and sun. You walk along the beach – too new to erosion to be soft white sand and instead composed of tiny broken unwanted shells spewed out from the sea. But amongst these tiny broken pieces, hidden under the leaning palm trees above, lay treasures from the ocean floor – whole conch shells, perfectly spiraled deep-see crab homes, the occasional weathered jaw bone of some unfortunate creature that has drifted ashore.

This image may seem too good to be true, but I promise I’m there. Lost in the Caribbean Sea, hidden by a troubled third-world country, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, is just one of many tropical islands that has avoided the big tourist bust. Not that there are not fancy resorts, they’re just growing. The island has not be Americanized, Europeanized, or whatever you want to call it when you end up staying at a Best Western in the tropics. Punta Cana is still growing.

This is both a good and a bad thing. While I prefer to see the world is its most natural state, I also like to be comfortable. Most of the resorts in the area are all-inclusive, bragging all-you-can-eat-all-the-time and enough booze to last you a lifetime. But the problem is not, as with so many all-inclusive vacations, that there are not enough options. Many resorts boast around ten different restaurants and buffets, not including numerous bars scattered about the area. But it’s terrible. The food is barely edible; the resort employees are still new to the whole concept of “Western food” and refrigerators so chefs overcook everything, turn familiar plates into indistinguishable piles of grossness, and shy from anything native. I don’t understand. Why, when you have a vast ocean as a wonderful resource of phenomenal Caribbean fish, lobster, and shrimp, would anyone want to serve imported goat-burger and canned turkey? And why, when the Caribbean remains famous for deliciously flavored rum, would anyone pour disgusting drinks of cheap, imported liquor?

But it has its ups. The most appealing aspect of Punta Cana is its absolutely indescribable beauty (so far as you do not leave the resort coast line – the rest of the island is a trashed, third world nation). Every hotel boasts aqua-blue pools in fantastic shapes and sizes peering over the palm dotted white, sandy beaches into the placid ocean, with waves crashing into tangled masses of coral reef nearly a mile off shore. Astonishing beauty is everywhere.


My week was spent curled up on mats at the beach, sipping rum and sprite (not my drink of choice, but the best tasting booze down there), feeling the sun bake my body like I was in a heavenly oven (when that overwhelming warmth engulfs you as a New England native, you treasure it – for you know back home they’re shoveling snow). I tried desperately to loose myself in a good book, as many beach dwellers did, but I found myself too impressed by the gorgeous views, the naked women (think French Riviera – sometimes wearing a top just isn’t acceptable), and creeping sensation that it was all to good to be true. If ever I was anxious to do something with myself (though vacation to me means doing nothing), the options were endless. Somewhere along the shore the was always an exercise class or a dance lesson, from the native meringue to the cha-cha, and for a small fee anyone could snorkel at the natural reef, swim with dolphins or sharks, take out a kayak or a paddleboat, windsurf, or learn how to sail in the warm Caribbean waters. Seemed like a dream come true to me.


The pool was another paradise, away from the sand. More women wore tops, there was less of a breeze, and the food and bars were just a few steps closer. In the pool they taught introductory scuba classes to prepare the adventurous for a deep sea dive, they organized games for silly native prizes, and occasionally they promised mildly amusing entertainment at a pool-side show. The bottom line: no matter where you turn, there’s a whole lot to do, or a lot of room to do nothing.

And it’s so affordable. Because Punta Cana is still young to tourism, the resorts are vying to attract customers with low prices. Airfare is astonishingly cheap and a week of all-inclusive at a five star hotel can cost around $1000 – a small price to pay in comparison to most other warm-weathered getaways.


In our adventures, we met many interesting visitors, too. Most were from Canada (apparently they have access to good deals up north), though we spoke French with the Belgium, burned with the British, and drank with the Irish. Everyone was so friendly and so honest, save for the hotel employees – natives who will try and con you out of any cash you’re willing to lose.

The un-glorified nature of Punta Cana allows for a more affordable adventure in the warm weather. It does not necessarily promise good food, but it will offer plenty of fun and entertainment. And without Western health and safety standards, no one cares. No one cares if you swim out into the ocean and get eaten by sharks or destroyed by the coral reefs. But that’s another adventure… for another day.

Young, wReCkLEsS, & lovin’ it

Welcome to my life.


This is Me.


I am officially embarking upon the journey of “the rest of my life” and have found it may just be amusing enough that others will enjoy hearing about it. I am a small town gal, from a lil old New England town buried in some cozy corner of Massachusetts. And I’m itching to get out.

So as I wrap up my last few classes as a college student, I am simultaneously preparing to fly around the world - a last big bang before beginning a 9-5 slaving job all day. I’d like to take you on this journey. I figure we all can use a break now and then.

Of course, since I am just starting out in "the real world" I obviously don’t have a whole lot of cash. So whilst I dream about traveling the world, exploring new destinations each weekend, it’s more likely than not I’ll find myself writing about the trials and tribulations of being young, free and stir-crazy in the underbelly of a small city.

Enjoy the ride…