Dias Tres y Cuatro

Are you tired of reading about Costa Rica yet? Well, I don’t care. I still have eight days to detail.

The majority of the vacation was Chad manipulating me into doing activites that I had no desire to do in my lifetime. Example B: Spa Day. The only thing I hate more than traipsing about in water is people touching me. Thankfully, we had switched to a nicer hotel and I had no chance of running into that little reflexology skank. This hotel was amazing and overrun by gigantic rabbits that all wanted to be my friend. I was tenser during the massage than should be humanely possible, which only made her try harder to make me relax, rubbing aromatherapy shit on my face and the likes. Apparently Costa Rican masseuses need to be added to my nemesis list. I struggled with not lashing out, kicking her in the throat, and triumphantly declaring "MUERTE!" the entire time. Instead about 20 minutes into our joint couple session, I whispered it and Chad broke into a bonafied giggle fit. The kind of prohibited church giggling where the more you try not to, the harder you laugh. In short, I complained enough about how awful it was that we switched gears and headed to the hot springs. They were awesome and we had a full authentic 4-course meal there. Went back to the hotel with a couple of forties, took a bath in our outdoor private jacuzzi, listened to Van Morrison, had a bunch of sex and crashed early. Perfect.

A short digression on Costa Rican entertainment: 1) They fucking love Hitch. It was constantly airing and once was on in a bar. 2) Our hotel listed American Beauty and Munich under the comedy genre and Dodgeball under action.

The next day we went ziplining. You would think that after jumping out of a plane at 14,500 feet with absolutely no fear that canopying over a rainforest with a harness would be a cakewalk. But, for some reason I was a little hesitant. Maybe it was my recent brush with mortality? Whatever the case, when we get to the platform, 800 feet in the air, ready to zip a mile to the next platform, I took a glance at our cohorts. They were all over 75, insanely enthusiastic, and making a lot of sex jokes. I’m 95% sure they were real life versions of the people from Cocoon. My fear evaporated and it was fucking amazing. A view of the volcano and Lake Arenal over the course of 9 cables, 30 miles an hour through the tree tops, never forget it. Then we went into town and a pack of wild dogs that we’re dying to be friends followed us around while we went to a bunch of sodas and got wasted off Imperial. Sex, sex, jacuzzi sex, hitch, sleep. Perfect.