“The fact that you find all this funny might just save your life”
-Carrie Fisher, to her daughter about their fucked up family.
Living on an island is like that. If you don’t find life’s idiosyncrasies funny, you will want to die here.
I drank a cockroach, people. And when I spit him out? (obviously, a he) He was still alive. He actually took off running. He thought, “Oh, wrong turn”. HELL NO, you’ve got to die.
Right now? There is someone dead in our spare room. I CANNOT find him. We’ve torn apart the room, stem to stern, and cannot find the death. It’s either a lizard, a rat (please god, no), or a bird? Possibly?
You think? Oh my Jesus, what? But this shit happens every day.
I can answer why the chicken crosses the road, because they cross the road every day in front of my car, and here is your answer. The chicken crosses the road because she is stupid. There, I solved it.
I wore my flip flops around my house for months out of fear of bugs when I first moved here, luckily I got in GOOD with my exterminator, Elvis, and started to get used to the idea that these little fuckers are here because it’s a great place for everyone to live.
Whether it is spiders, roaches, scorpions (quit being a bitch, they aren’t the deadly ones - here's the story to prove it), lizards, chickens, no-see-ums, or mosquitos, the “wildlife” here plays a part. A very funny part, but if you don’t find these little annoyances funny? You’ll drive yourself MAD itching, and freaking, and eventually standing in the middle of the room naked so nothing will crawl on you.
Now? I can find it funny that my car, now named “The White Roach” had to be exterminated because it was the home of a roach colony. (I do believe that they were doing a whole “Heavens Gate” thing, and got what they were destined for)
Speaking of cars, the car situation is a whole other hilarious subject. The term “Island Car” is used here a lot. Basically what it is is a way to describe your car after about 9 months of being here.
Your car will stink.
Because we have this magical life of going to the beach every weekend, we have magical wet sand in the back of our car, coupled with wet gear, snorkels, goggles, life jackets, mermaid tails, you name it, it is wet, and in the back of your car, dripping.
Musty much?
You’re also toting a cold beer to and fro, which on these mountainous curvy roads, filled with potholes, the occasional cow, chicken, or iguana, and possibly a suicidal tourist (seriously, stop stepping into the road for no reason), it spills, a lot. “Beer in the hot closed car” is not a candle Yankee will be making anytime soon.
You would never leave your windows open to dry it out: Hence “The White Roach”.
Your car will also get banged up. I do not care what kind of driver you think you are, your car will not weather this place unscathed. Even if you are the absolute best driver in the world, everyone else isn’t. The roads are narrow. There are curves, potholes, distractions, and don’t forget about the suicidal tourists. The view alone could cause you to lose a mirror or two.
I’ve lost 2 mirrors. Two license plates. The undercarriage. And rammed a few people's cars (now my dear friends). You make friends your way, I’ll make friends, mine.
I could write for years on the beauty of this place, and have, and will. But that isn’t all that is here. There is a lot of funny shit here. A lot of things that people don’t see when you step off the plane and taxi to the Marriott.
The real stuff.
The stuff that if you had the guts to live “the dream”, sell it all, and move to an island, this is what you’d have to find the beauty in, at least as well. Because, if you cannot find this stuff funny, in the middle of paradise, you will be miserable.
But you can be miserable anywhere, right? You can be angry, and resentful, and disgusted no matter where you are. You can hate your circumstances, hate your surroundings, hate the people who are making you the way you are.
Or you can find the beauty, the funny, and the connectedness of the mundane, the weird, and the not-so-optimal.
I believe that is the difference between a happy life and a wasted life. I’ve been lucky enough to know a lot of happy people, sure, they partner their happiness with gratitude, but the one thing I would say stands out the most, is that they find “FUNNY” where they otherwise could find “the hell”.
Cheers to finding the funny. Please don’t let there be a cockroach in my cocktail!
