Catalina Island Adventures Part III

Thank you for once again tuning into JQ TIME: A Blonde's Perspective. If you are tuning in for the first time, you will want to read my posts in order to follow the storyline. Please start with the first post. I have numbered the chapters in hopes of making it easy to follow.

Find out how Rafael handles another man hitting on his girlfriend, Jessica, in the upcoming chapters. Does he knock him out? Tell him off? Remember, these stories are all based on the true events and real people in my life.

HAPPY READING!

Chapter 5: A Day of Laziness in the Sun

We jump out of bed the next morning, eager to explore the island. I put on my new bikini and model it for Rafael around the hotel room.

“Wow!” he says with an undertone of surprise. “You look really fit! You’ve even got a little six-pack going there.”

“I am really fit!” I respond, very matter-of-factly.

He acts as though he isn’t aware of my crazy workouts. Still, I take his comments as serious compliments. He’s a tough personal trainer with high expectations of his clients, and perhaps, his girlfriend as well.

Dressed for the beach, we head out to see what the island looks like in the daylight. It seems as though everyone on the island, with the exception of those working in the shops and restaurants, are tourists on vacation. All the women are wearing bikinis and cover-ups, or sundresses, and the guys are wearing swim trunks. A few people try dressing up a bit more, but they look out of place. I guess I won’t be needing those hair curlers after all. Oh well.

For the next four days I’ll be living in my bikini and Rafael will be in his shorts. How perfect.

Our friend, Kurt Maloney, spent his childhood summers in Avalon, which seems to be another name for the island. This would be a wonderful place to spend your summers as a child. The island appears safe. Everyone here has money, so there is no need for crime. The island is small, making it difficult to become lost. I really appreciate this aspect as I’m one of the most directionally impaired people on the planet. If I were a parent, I would feel pretty good about letting my kids run around in Avalon. Kurt must have had some fun summers as a child.

During our Zumba class last Friday, Kurt recommended a few restaurants to us. Joe’s Place was one of them, so we decide to try it out for breakfast.  

“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak,” Rafael orders once we are inside and settled.

“Would you like it with a fruit bowl or biscuits and gravy?” the server asks him.

“Biscuits and gravy,” Rafael responds with a smile.

I’m not sure which Rafael loves more, food or me. OK, that’s a lie. Obviously food wins.

I ordered a veggie omelet, which turned out to be all veggies and hardly any egg or cheese. It was a little too healthy for me, but Rafael gobbled up his chicken-fried steak and biscuits without saying much. That means he’s content and enjoying every bite.  It’s really the only time he’s quiet. I love that he is so excited about life that he can never stop talking about it. Nonetheless, the silence is rather enjoyable when he eats.

After breakfast we start to walk around a bit. I gave up coffee about four months ago, or whenever Lent was. Now I move a little slow in the mornings and try to ignore it. With my previous coffee drinking habits, I’m pretty sure that I would have had a stroke by the age of thirty-two. I’ve tried about twenty different brands of green tea, but that stuff has nothing on coffee.

There aren’t many people swimming in the ocean, but I’m thinking that taking a dip would be a great way to fully wake me up.

“Yeowzers! That’s cold!” I scream after I jump in for the first time.

I look back at the shoreline and Rafael is still standing in ankle deep water, not wanting to go in any further. What a baby. The water is cold at first, but it’s like a hot tub when compared to the Monterey ocean water that we are used to at home. No wetsuits are required in Avalon! Or Catalina! Or whatever this place is called.

The truth is, neither of us are great swimmers, despite our athletic ability. The good thing is that you don’t need to be an Olympic gold medal swimmer to be safe on this island. There are lifeguards every 50 feet, the water is relatively shallow, and we can only swim out as far as the net will allow, which isn’t far. The net is quite comforting because it means that there aren’t any sharks lurking around under our legs. I’m quite afraid of sharks.  Who isn’t after watching Jaws?

Even while being in the most safe ocean conditions possible, Rafael stays on the shore while I swim around alone. What a great adventurer he is. That’s OK. I could use some “me” time.

This cool, crisp ocean water trumps coffee any day. I find myself wishing that I lived somewhere with warmer ocean water. Then I could take a dive every morning instead of having coffee, or the green tea which I now drink. I also notice that I no longer feel any pain in my legs.

The miraculous healing power of the ocean is not missed by me today.  As I float weightless on my back, my troubles and worries are washed off of me and out to sea. God, I really needed this vacation. The weight on my shoulders rolls off and sinks down amongst the stones on the ocean floor, where it stays. My legs sing in pain-free harmony as they thank me for finally doing something good for them. I feel good. No, scratch that. I feel fabulous.

And it was at that moment that my mindset was set for the entirety of our vacation. My cell phone would remain off; none of my clients can get a hold of me; no one can ask me for any favors. I am at complete physical, mental, and spiritual peace. This is a place that I need to visit more often.

“Did you have a nice swim?” Rafael asks, as he is videotaping me walking out of the ocean.

Men. They can’t help themselves. When a woman is wet and in a bikini, they must document the moment. I’m pretty sure it’s in their genetic makeup.  

“You have no idea,” I reply, shooing away the camera and giving him a big, wet and salty kiss.

I hold my body tightly against his, making sure to get everything that is dry on him, wet.

We walk back to the shore together and lay out in the sun where we spend a good portion of the day. The hotel manager gave us tickets for a long list of activities that include mini-golf, going to the movies, kayaking, rock climbing and zip lining, which all sound exciting.

And yet, lying on this beach and swimming in the ocean are the only two things that I want to do all day. Or so I thought until I got hungry.

Chapter 6: Ahi, Ahi and More Ahi

If I were on a deserted island, nothing like the well populated one we are on right now, and could only choose one food item to eat, I would choose ahi tuna. I could live off of fresh, seared ahi and be happy for the rest of my life.

On this island, I am in ahi heaven. Every restaurant has it, and with numerous different preparations. I had an ahi filet with a baked potato at Armstrong’s Fish Market when we first got to the island. Our meals were a bit pricey there, but we were so happy to have food it didn’t faze us. Besides, we are on vacation!

After my dip in the ocean this morning, I find myself growing hungry as we lie in the sun. My stomach is loudly suggesting that we explore our restaurant options for lunch. We walk around the clothing shops and restaurants until we decide on Luau Larry’s, which has an ahi burger on the menu. I made sure to check before we went in.

Immediately, I feel at ease in the Hawaiian atmosphere the restaurant creates. The whole place resembles a straw hut that you might find on a warm beach, surrounded with tikis and exotic birds. It reminds me a little of a Hawaiian restaurant at home, Hula’s on Lighthouse Avenue, but much more authentic looking. It doesn’t have a touristy feel like all the other restaurants on Catalina.

This is where the locals go, I’m guessing. The bar is on the immediate left, and the bar tender is chatting it up with his guests as Rock ‘n Roll music is playing in the background. Is that Jimi Hendrix? Yes! Yes, it is. It’s official. I love this place. Ahi and Jimi? What more could a girl ask for?

“I want to get a Long Island Iced Tea,” I tell Rafael. “We are far too sober for vacation.”

“OK,” he answers. “Whatever you want.”

That’s right, we’re on vacation. We can get whatever we want.

“Sir, you can’t come in here like that,” the bartender says to Rafael as he points to his own chest.

What? Is Rafael’s bare and exquisitely cut chest too much for the bartender to handle? I think he’s jealous of Rafael.

Rafael responds to the bartender with a confused expression.

“You need a shirt,” the bartender states as though it were obvious, which I suppose it should be but I never thought about it.

“Of course, you need a shirt, Rafael. What were you thinking?” I say, laughing under my breath as we walk outside the restaurant.

“I guess we could try somewhere else,” I say with a slight tone of disappointment.

I was excited about Luau Larry’s. Pink Floyd’s song, Comfortably Numb, is now playing inside and I really want to go back.

“No. It’s OK. I’ll run back to the hotel and grab a shirt,” Rafael says. “Do you want to come with?”

I look around at the gorgeous, sunny day outside.

“No, that’s alright. I’ll just wait here,” I answer as I sit down on a bench near the beach and not too far from Luau Larry’s.

Rafael disappears and my mind starts to drift off, daydreaming of ahi tuna and a Long Island Ice Tea. Man, I’m hungry. I hope they have good French fries. Usually, I substitute a salad for the French fries in an attempt to keep my girlish figure. But not today. I’m on vacation and am going to eat all the French fries that I want.

“Hello there, pretty lady. Do you mind if I sit here next to you?” a tall, dirty blond man asks as he comes out of Luau Larry’s.

“Sure,” I say, knowing this guy is about to hit on me. It’s important to be friendly and turn guys down gently, I think. Their egos can be so sensitive.

“What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?” he asks.

“Waiting for my boyfriend,” I answer.

It’s also important to let men know right away that they don’t stand a chance. You don’t want them racking their brains, using all their energy trying to impress you when it will never lead to anything. It’s not nice to tease.

“He went back to our hotel to get a shirt. They wouldn’t let him into Luau Larry’s without it,” I add.

“Oh,” he says and his face drops.

The word “boyfriend” is certainly not what he wanted to hear, but he rolls with it.

“We are eating at Luau Larry’s too! You’ll love it,” he shares.

We continue to chat for a few minutes. I learn that his name is Chris and it’s his last day on the island; he has to go back to work tomorrow. 

As he speaks, I can’t help but notice all the plaque on his teeth. Gross. While going to college, I worked as a receptionist in a dental office. My five years of employment there forever changed the way I look at people’s teeth. I notice their crowns, chips, implants, whether or not an individual needs to bleach or floss, and I especially notice plaque, which is coated all over Chris’s teeth. Does he ever brush his teeth?

I know for a fact that my friend and former co-worker, Cary Night, would never in a million years consider dating this guy, not even if he was the last man alive. In fact, she wouldn’t give him the time of day after seeing all his plaque. Cary is the biggest tooth snob I know, and I respect her for it. Her own smile is bright, shining and absolutely perfect. She looks as though she stepped out of a Colgate commercial. I’m pretty sure that her six-year-old son, Lewis, will grow up to be a dentist. How many children do you know that intentionally choose books about teeth and tell other children not to eat candy because the sugar bugs will eat away at their enamel? Her boyfriend, Dan, has a great smile. I’m sure he didn’t know that was her number one criteria before they started dating.

“You seem like a very welcoming person,” Chris is saying to me and I try to pay better attention because it seems rude to be focusing on his plaque while he is trying to compliment me.

“Your personality is really warm; I didn’t feel nervous approaching you at all. You have such a beautiful smile,” he adds.

Yes, I brush and floss my teeth, I think to myself. I even bleach them with professional trays that were custom molded to fit my mouth. On top of that, I get a cleaning every four months at the dentist. I suspect that it has been a few years since Chris has seen a dentist.

 OK, now I’m just being mean. Where is Rafael? I need to be saved.

“Thank you,” I respond, with a tone of annoyance, hoping to imply that no matter how many compliments he feeds me, I will not sleep with him.

If he keeps trying, I will not be so nice anymore.

Chris starts to tell me how beautiful I am when I see Rafael quickly walking toward us. Thank goodness. Rafael looks mad and is standing as tall as he can, chest out. Wow. He is so hot when he is mad. Rafael walks faster and faster as he approaches us, looking like he is going to knock Chris out. Finally, this could get exciting.

“Chris, this is my boyfriend Rafael. Rafael this is Chris. We’ve just been talking for a few minutes while waiting for you,” I tell Rafael, curious to see how he responds.

“Nice to meet you Chris,” Rafael says, but it doesn’t sound like it’s nice to meet Chris at all.

Rafael doesn’t even crack a smile. This is somewhat surprising coming from my friendly boyfriend, the guy that loves meeting new people. I suppose it’s all that testosterone pumping through his body. He’s feeling the need to mark his territory right now.

Damn, Rafael is so hot like this. I’m secretly hoping Chris says some smart remark about how beautiful I am so that Rafael punches him. It appears as though Rafael is waiting for an excuse to do just that.

It probably isn’t good that fighting turns me on. I blame it on my Irish heritage. My family in Chicago runs the streets. One look at them and you’d know to keep your distance because if you don’t, you might end up at the bottom of a river with your feet in a cement block. That’s my bloodline. And Rafael can certainly hold his own, too. Growing up in Salinas when gang violence was at its worst means Rafael has seen his fair share of fights. Being a natural athlete, he is fast and packs a mean punch. Rafael studied martial arts as well.

“It’s so nice to meet you, man!” Chris enthusiastically says to Rafael, knowing he is treading on thin ice. “Let’s all go get a drink at Luau Larry’s! C’mon Rafael!”

We walk toward Luau Larry’s as one big, happy and awkward group. Rafael is still not sure what to do.

As we walk up to the bar, Chris gestures to an older blonde woman and says,

 “This is my wife, Melody.”

Wife?! I know Rafael and I are thinking the same thing. He’s married? But, that doesn’t make any sense. Melody was just sitting here and watching her husband flirt with me that whole time?

“You have a very desirable girlfriend,” Melody says. “You can’t just leave her sitting alone. The wolves will come out.”

Clearly, this woman doesn’t know me. I’m not some sitting prey, helpless against the big, bad wolves. I was single for two years before I started dating Rafael. Handling the wolves and weirdoes like her plaque covered husband is something I’m more than capable of managing myself. As a matter of fact, I have it down to a science. My female friends look to me for protection when the wolves are out. They know I don’t put up with nonsense and always carry mace in my purse, just in case. I was trying to be nice to Chris. I’m on vacation!

Rafael and I politely introduce ourselves to Melody and crack a few jokes. Afterwards, I head toward a table in the back of the restaurant. Chris had wanted us to eat together but it is all just a little too weird for me. I’m completely confused and want to sit as far away from them as possible.

“They probably wanted to have a threesome with you,” Rafael states.

“Ohhhh,” I say, the light bulb in my head turning on.

“That has got to be what they wanted! You’re so smart,” I tell Rafael. “OK, I really want a drink and some food now.”

We proceed to have one of the best meals of my life. My ahi sandwich was prepared perfectly; the peppery seasoning added just the right amount of kick. Rafael had swordfish tacos. He wasn’t as hungry as me because his breakfast was far more filling. My French fries are delicious and the Long Island Ice Tea gives me just the buzz I desire after dealing with Chris and Melody.

Once again, I am a happy go-lucky vacationer. We spend the rest of the day on the beach, in the sun, making out on Rafael’s giant, new Santa Catalina Island towel.

Thanks for reading JQ TIME: A Blonde's Perspective.

Tune in next time to see how Rafael and Jessica survive kayaking in wild ocean waters without a kayaking lesson. Also coming up: Does Rafael's daring and adventurous personality get him in trouble while zip-lining high up in the mountains? Come back to read how Rafael manages cliff jumping.

Catalina Island Adventures Part II

Welcome back to JQ TIME: A Blonde's Perspective. If you are tuning in for the first time, you will want to read my posts in order to follow the storyline. Please start with the first post. I have numbered the chapters in hopes of making it easy to follow.

Find out how Rafael manages to book a private yacht to the island in the upcoming chapters. Remember, these stories are all based on the true events and real people in my life.

HAPPY READING!

Chapter 3: A Private Yacht

There are only three ticket-holding people boarding the largest, most deluxe ferry that goes to the island. And that is including both Rafael and me. Apparently, most travelers go earlier in the morning. We are not always the fastest moving morning people, so we made it to L.A. from Monterey by 6:30 p.m., which I thought was pretty good.

So, now we have a giant, private ferry to the island. Sweet!

“You can sit anywhere you like,” someone on the boat staff says as we start to board. “And you can just leave your luggage by the stairs, if you want. There isn’t anyone else on the boat.”

Of course, Rafael is handling my luggage by now because I can’t manage lifting my cool, new suitcase for long. So much for being independent! Rafael places the luggage by the stairs on the first level and we run up the stairs to the next deck.

The second deck has a clear view of the surrounding coastline, which is nice, but it doesn’t compare to the view that we see as we reach the very top deck.

The sun is just starting to set and the small, thin clouds around the sun are various hues of pink. The sea is calm and inviting us to go further and further out. Soon we can’t see the coastline any longer. The ocean and pink clouds are all that's visible. I never realized there were so many shades of pink before. Nature’s paintbrush never ceases to amaze me.

We decide to stand outside on the back of the boat for awhile before going in. As I start to zip up my jacket to protect me from the breeze, I notice the romantic wheels spinning in my boyfriend’s head. He’s taking in the scenery, the moment, and giving me that “I want to ravish you” smile. It’s one of my favorite looks on him.

“Isn’t this romantic?” he asks and leans in to start kissing me slowly and somewhat discretely.

I knew that was what he was thinking. At times like this, I’m so happy to be dating my Rico Suave, Latin lover. Every move he makes is smooth and calculated. On the dance floor, we move in perfect synchronicity whether we are dancing to Salsa, Tango, Bachata, Hip Hop, or anything with a beat, really. When we are off the dance floor, we create our own music, and Rafael is just as slick.

“It is very romantic,” I answer him, after we kiss for ten or fifteen minutes. “Thank you for such a wonderful gift,” I add. “I can’t wait to spend the next few days alone with you.”

“Happy Anniversary, Baby!” Rafael says. “A whole year together, can you believe it?”

While I hate to admit it, I really can’t believe it. And honestly, we’ve been dating much longer than a year. This whole anniversary thing marks the day that he asked me to be his girlfriend. Being such a commitment- phobe, it took me quite a bit of time before I could utter the word “boyfriend” comfortably. Rafael is incredibly patient with me.

“You’re shivering, Babe. Let’s go inside,” he suggests, without waiting for an answer to his question.

On the inside of the top deck, there are several roomy tables with enough space at each for an entire family.  The tables are lined up in two rows, filling the inside of the deck. There are windows along both sides of the boat that take a triangular form, the point of the triangle being the very front of the boat.

We ran around like children checking the different views from the various spots around the deck. It’s dark now, and we can’t really see anything but the ocean from anywhere on the boat. The island was not yet in sight, so it felt as though we were in the middle of the ocean.

It was just the two of us and the wide, open ocean. Oh, and the third passenger who had taken a seat right at the point of the triangle. That was a wise choice on his part; he must have done this before. It’s the best view on the whole boat, or at least it was before it got dark.

The man pulled out his laptop and a bag of chips. We assume he is traveling on business because he looks so bored and unhappy. How could he be unhappy on an almost private yacht headed toward an island? OK, it’s not quite a yacht but in my overactive imagination, it is.

We sit a little further back at one of the large tables and spread out as though we were at home. Why not? It’s not as though anyone cares. I rest my head on Rafael’s lap and curl up into the fetal position. Rafael starts to pat my hair but I smack his hands away. I’m not a dog. Sometimes he can take the romantic stuff a bit too far.

While I start to drift off into a peaceful sleep, the waves roll in and out, gently under the boat. The boat was too big to get rocked much by the waves.

“I could be a sailor,” I think to myself. This is the life!

Chapter 4: On The Island

“How could you choose a hotel without bathtubs?” I ask, trying not to show much disappointment. 

Rafael did, after all, book several days of wonderful activities ranging from kayaking to zip-lining. It seems harsh to criticize such kindness. Still, my legs are recovering from a stupid sports injury and soaking them in hot water was all I could think about on our drive this morning. My one-bedroom house is cute, but it only has a shower. No bath. I love baths.

“It’s an eco-friendly island!” Rafael exclaims as though it were an answer.

“So?” I ask, searching his face for better logic than trying to save the environment. My legs are killing me!

“None of the hotels on the island have baths. They are trying to conserve water,” he states with a tone of advocacy.

Mr. Thows-His-Plastic-Bottles-In-The-Trash-Because-80-Percent-Of-It-Winds-Up-In-The-Landfill-Anyway is suddenly eco-conscious. Lovely. Our super environmentalist friend back home, Melanie Talbott, would be thrilled.

“You’re trying to tell me that not one hotel on this whole island has a bathtub or hot tub? I’m not sure if I believe that,” I state, still trying to sound nice and sweet and not like a whiney, unappreciative witch, but it’s hard.

The long drive and last minute traveling arrangements seriously wore me out. Plus, I’m starving, which I won’t mention to Rafael. The bath is much more important.

“I’ll go ask if there are any baths on the island,” Rafael says in appeasement.  

“Thank you!” I cheer in sincere appreciation.

I realize that I’m being a little difficult, but I’m sore, OK? The hot water would relieve this pain.  After playing three hours of Rugby last Sunday with some serious athletes and personal trainers (yeah, what was I thinking?), I was a little sore the next day. By “a little sore” I mean that I couldn’t walk. Rafael, who is one of these crazy athletes, was just as sore as I was, which was a good thing because then I didn’t feel like such a loser for being ridiculously achy.

The smart things to do when sore include resting, toning down the workouts, stretching, maybe even icing a bit. I did none of those things. In fact, we decided to hike at Garrapata State Park, a long and somewhat strenuous trail in Big Sur the day after Rugby. Yes, my legs hurt like hell. No, I didn't stop. Why? I thought it would be a good idea to move my aching legs. My massage therapist, who also happens to be my mother, said it was the worst thing that I could have done for my legs. Of course it was. That is how I learn most of life’s lessons. The hard way.

I proceeded to attend my vigorous Zumba classes, taught by an adorable Mexican couple, Lucia and Miguel, for the rest of the week. They are also professional athletes; I’m surrounded by them. Yes, Zumba hurt. No, I didn’t stop. Do I have a brain in my head? That’s questionable.

So, now I’m still in pain, which is shocking, I know, and salivating over the idea of some warm water on my sore, sore, stupidly sore legs. But I won’t let it get to me for long. This is my vacation and I’m going to enjoy it whether my legs are in agreement with me or not.  Please, oh God, let there be a bath on the island.

“Ok, so there is one, luxury hotel with bathtubs on the island,” Rafael reports as he lets himself in with the hotel room key.

Yes! The idea of packing up and switching hotels races through my mind. I don’t want to look like I’m at all unhappy about the current accommodations, however, which might be painfully apparent despite my best efforts. I’m not so great at hiding things.

“The hotel with bathtubs happens to be the hotel that I already booked for later in our trip,” Rafael states, grinning with pride, secretly hoping that I’d shut up about the bathtubs for now.

 I forgot that he booked two hotels.  He booked one hotel because it came as a package deal, including numerous island activities. And he booked the other hotel because he knows I love luxurious hotels. I can’t help it. I do.

“Wonderful!” I state. “And I just love this hotel room!”

This is not a complete lie. I really do love our cute, beachy, eco-groovy hotel room.  I would just love it more with a bathtub.

“Let’s get this vacation started!” I say as we turn off the lights and get under the covers.

Please stay tuned to JQ TIME: A Blonde's Perspective to read about what happens once the couple leaves the hotel room. Things start to heat up when another man tries to hit on Jessica. Will Rapael knock him out? Tell him off? The answers are coming soon to this blog near you!

Catalina Island Adventures Part I

Welcome to my first short story, blog-style. With the next few posts I will be sharing some of the experiences from our recent trip to Catalina Island. Remember, most characters are based on real people but I have changed their names to protect the innocent.

Every few days I will post new chapters. So, please stay tuned to JQ Time: A Blonde’s Perspective and see what unfolds!

Catalina Island Adventures

Chapter 1: Our Anniversary

My boyfriend, Rafael Rodriguez, is a diehard romantic. I gotta admit, there are parts of me that love this, especially the part that loves being spoiled. I like to think it’s not a big part of my personality but it is certainly there. So, I am pretty excited when Rafael surprises me with the gift of an island getaway for our first year anniversary.

No, we haven’t been married for one year. He simply asked me to be his girlfriend a year ago.

“Babe, you’ve got to stop telling people that we’re taking this trip to celebrate our anniversary,” I say. “They’re going to think we’re weird.”

And this is true. People look at us funny when we say that we are going to an island to celebrate one year of dating, not marriage.

 “This is how a lot of people celebrate their marriage anniversaries,” I tell Rafael.  He doesn’t seem to care.

I guess I shouldn’t be embarrassed that my boyfriend is excited to celebrate our happiness together. How horrible, right? What some people may not know is that we don’t need a reason to celebrate; we play all the time. Still, an anniversary is a great excuse to go all out.

Chapter 2: Island Preparation

Our trip to Catalina Island turns out to be a landmark trip for me. I have finally decided to treat myself to some real, grown-up luggage. I’ve been using a giant, black duffle bag for a couple of years and it has got to go. It doesn’t even have wheels on it.

We leave tomorrow so I better go shopping now. Oh darn, an excuse to go to the mall. I hate those.

We had shopped at Ross in Sand City with Juliette, Rafael’s sister, when she needed luggage for her trip to Italy. I remember being quite impressed with their selection, so I make my way to Ross.

After separating their large selection of luggage into categories of “nice” and “not-so-nice,” I choose the biggest, nice one. Sadly, I haven’t mastered traveling light yet. The Samsonite suitcase is a goldish color that resembles my hair color. This means it will always match me, which isn’t necessarily a criterion for all my purchases, but, well, OK it is.

I see no shame in being color coordinated at all times, or at least whenever possible.

The Samsonite bag is able to turn 360 degrees on its wheels, and it’s expandable, able to fit several pairs of shoes, my hair rollers, and numerous outfits in a bag that I can actually manage all by myself. Or, so I thought while purchasing it. I wonder what Rafael will think when he sees it.

“That is a big bag!” Rafael says as I push the suitcase around on my kitchen floor.

I spin it fast, first to the right and then to the left, showing him its superior structure. This baby is top of the line.

“Do you really need to pack that much stuff?” he asks, looking concerned.

He’s right. The suitcase is too big. If I don’t pack it all the way, it will still be light and easy for me to manage by myself. I can pack light. I know I can do it. I never even wear half of the clothes I pack anyway.  It’s wasted energy.

Of course I wind up packing 15 bikinis, ten or twenty outfits, and six pairs of shoes, along with my big set of hair rollers (just in case we have a big, fancy night out and I need curls), sunscreen and books, and unsurprisingly it is a little too heavy for me to lift. Damn. I should get a smaller bag so that I don’t allow myself to pack so much.

How can I be a strong, independent woman if I need a man to carry my suitcase? Oh well. At least I can push it around on its wheels without any assistance.

While packing I realize that I need to buy a new bikini and bikini coverup, because what’s a romantic island getaway without a new bikini, and maybe a few other things from Victoria’s Secret?

Also, I turned thirty this year and am therefore at an age of sophistication and class, needing a new style of bikini. I need something more structured that says “I am a woman” and not “I am a teenager or barely 21” as all the stringy, strappy, fluorescent colored bikinis say.

I rush to Victoria’s Secret in hopes of making it there before they close and I succeed.

“Hi Jessica!" shouts Vanessa, a Victoria's Secret sales clerk, from across the store. "All swim wear is 25 percent off!" 

We happen to know her each other because we met once at a party about five years ago. Well, that, and I shop here on a pretty regular basis. They have the best athletic wear and bras, hands down. This store is like therapy for me.  Who can be sad around lace panties in hundreds of different colors?

“Thanks Vanessa!” I respond while looking at the bikinis. Their selection has diminished a bit in the last week and a half. Usually I’m not a huge fan of purple, but it was the only color they had left in the sophisticated yet sexy style of bikini.

I buy the chic, purple bikini and a low cut, black coverup.  The I-am-a-woman-now style of bikini is well equipped with some heavy duty push-up action. The girls look great in my new look!

With my new grown-up luggage and elegant bikini, I think I’m pretty much ready for our trip. Rafael is handling all the other traveling details and to show him my appreciation I buy a fancy, new digital camera for him. I am wrapping the gift and putting a bow on it when Rafael comes over to my house. As I’m not very good at keeping surprises, I let him open it right away.

“You got me a camera?!” Rafael asks with complete surprise while ripping the red wrapping paper off.

At this moment I realize that I need to buy the poor guy more gifts. He shouldn’t be utterly shocked that I bought him something nice. Rafael is big on gifts, whereas I like doing things for people. Take Rafael’s laundry for example. I sort, wash, and fold all of Rafael’s laundry, but you can’t quite put a bow on that. I get it; gifts are fun.

“I knew you wanted a camera and thought it was good timing, right before our trip,” I respond. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Babe!” he answers. “It’s perfect!”

 I knew he’d say that about anything I got him. The guy loves gifts and got outrageously excited over a snowman night-light that my mother gave him. Nevertheless, I knew that he wanted the camera and it warms my heart a little to see him so happy.

Luggage, camera, action! We are ready for Catalina Island.

Please STAY TUNED TO JQ TIME: A BLONDE'S PERSPECTIVE to find out what happens on the island.............

New Chapters Coming Soon to a Blog Near You:

Catalina Island Adventures Part II
Chapters: A Private Yacht and On The Island