Lordy, Lordy. Let there be tapes.

Actually I turned 40. And now I want alllll the tapes to be erased. Ya hear me??!!

My 40th birthday was just a continuation of the awesomeness that is my lucky life. In fact, this May 16th amped it up a notch.

I started the day getting my gray hair covered and getting my frizz tamed with a Brazilian Blowout. At one point two people were blow drying my hair and the whole scene was so utterly ridiculous I could barely contain myself. I am still not glamorous enough for two people to be working this head of mine.

After my hair appointment, I went to my favorite taco joint, El Gringo, and got my favorite taco, grilled mahi taco not blackened with white fish sauce. (I may have put the complete order here in case you ever need to know what food to order for me for my birthday or Christmas or because you owe me a favor. I have learned to helpful over the years.) I sat at a table by myself, and noticed the other two people sitting at tables by themselves were in their 70s. So I'm apparently getting an early start on that aspect of old age. It really is so relaxing to eat a meal by yourself at a restaurant. I can't believe I didn't realize this until I was almost 40. Grab a book and go get your favorite food for lunch. Bliss.

After my taco I went to Target for some reason I can't remember because I'm 40 now and ended up buying a romper thing that didn't seem too age inappropriate. I have wanted a romper since I was 30 but they all accentuate my love handles and stocky legs way too much so I avoided them. But this one I was like, hey, that ain't terrible, you're 40, it's now or never kid.

While I was waiting for my pictures to print -- ohhhh, that's why I went to Target -- I glanced at the ATM and there was a $20 just sitting in there. No one was around. The screen was on its home page. I pulled it out, said to the empty universe, "Is this anyone's money?" and then used it to buy my romper.

In my 40 years on this planet, one thing that I've learned is that when the universe gives you a gift, you accept it without question. Otherwise, it will send you a shit storm.

When I got home, I got the sweetest card from my oldest friend, complete with dancing chickens on it.

That night I met some girls from work for a cocktail. The 20-somethings drank half of their margaritas and I drank two Old Fashioneds and a beer all the way. My other friend, Patrice, who is beyond her 20s and who is the person I want to be when I grow up because she has balls of steel the size of the Jupiter, also enjoyed double rum and cokes. Which just proves that the older you get, the more edge you need to take off.

My birthday weekend was spent putting on an event at work honoring Trauma Survivors. It went off without a hitch, and that night, we caught a flight to St. Thomas to visit OUR NEW CONDO.

In the curious chaos of life, we found a little studio place when we visited the island back in March, and after some hemming and hawing and are we crazy yeah so whating, we bought it. It is about 10 feet from the water, across the street from the Ritz Carlton, and I fully expect a hurricane to come along and wash it away at some point, but for now, it is a little piece of paradise that our friends and family can escape to.

We had to keep our trip short because Mack had bought me second row!! tickets to see David Blaine for my birthday. I have loved David Blaine for about as long as I have loved Mack, but David does magic way better than Mack so in a love duel, he'd win my affection. When I found out Mack was getting me tickets, I was like, are you sure? because we may fall in love and then you'll lose me and I'll be David Blaine's wife. "That's a chance I'm willing to take," was his reply.

Last night, I saw David. He was close enough for me to smack his butt, standing there with an ice pick sticking out of his bicep. He was as gorgeous and wonderfully strange and funny in real life as he was on all those TV specials I watched. But his show revealed his intense nature, and let's face it, I am 40 and hate intensity.

Over the past 40 years, I have come to peace with the fact that I like easy and chill and a heart rate of 65 with a BP of 95/60. I like ordinary, I like the outdoors, I like laughing more than anything in the entire world. I like my family and my job, and I like eating tacos by myself. I like people watching more than I like perusing social media. I like taking walks and drinking beer and reading books. I like forgiving and forgetting. I like true crime entertainment. The thing I like most of all, though, is this life. The past 40 years have been a gift of experience that I was not owed and did not deserve, but I am so grateful for it all, for every precious minute of it, for every joy and every agony and everything in between. I don't necessarily want another 40 years, but I'll take what the universe has to give me... especially if it's free money left in an ATM.

Oh the places a hurricane will make you want to visit immediately... (part 2)

After surveying the effects of Hurricane Maria in St. Thomas, we flew to Puerto Rico to see what the worst natural disaster on record did there. Annnd we wanted to look at a place right on the beach that we'd seen on Zillow.

Before our trip, I knew nothing about Puerto Rico beyond Rosie Perez and that it was a US territory. Once we found the house on Zillow, we started looking into it more and found that it had an epic radio telescope called Aricebo Observatory, a tropical rainforest called El Yunque, bioluminescent bays, and a dry forest called Guanica. The house we wanted to look at was near Guanica, so we rented a car and headed to an amazing resort on the beach where we lost all gumption.

We headed into Guanica Dry Forest to do a little hike and check out the beaches. The dry forest is a pretty unusual eco-system. It's got pine trees and cacti, gobs of birds, and marshland that is home to bajillions of tadpoles. And condoms. There were an inordinate amount of condoms in this area. Good to see people practicing safe sex, I guess.

Every black dot is a tadpole.

Somebody knows where to find dinner.

We followed the walking path past the marsh to an amazing beach, complete with rocky outcroppings and iguanas doing some modeling. We also spotted some crabbies running around all dumb.

The path swung back inland through some scrubby little bushes and we found cotton! Just growing there! I know, that is not the most amazing, rarely seen plant, but it was pretty cool to see it just hanging out in the dry forest being all strange and puffy.

We kept walking, and, in true Mack fashion, we had to stop for a foot injury. Apparently, Mack had sustained a bug bite on the top of his foot and was unable to resist the itch. He carved off the top few layers of skin and his foot was becoming fly bait. We sat under a twisty pine tree to cool off and then headed back to the luxury of the Copamarina.

It's not vacation til Mack gets a foot injury! And moheads show up on his hands.

After we attended to some real estate business in Guanica, it was time to move on to other parts of Puerto Rico. I desperately wanted to see El Yunque National Forest, at least its waterfall, and the national forest peeps had cleared the road a few days before our arrival. We made a little detour through the steep terrain in the middle of the island on our way to San Juan and found the waterfall. We didn't get to do much exploration because the roads were closed and Mack's foot was dying, but it was pretty awesome to watch the water rush down the face of the flat rocks.

As we were pulling away from the rainforest we spotted this incredible tower rising up out of the mountain. I later learned this is the Britton Tower, which is now twice as visible as it used to be because all those trees got a haircut during Hurricane Maria. The tower was built in the 1930s as a lookout tower and on a clear day you can see all the way to the sea from it. The hike to the tower was closed, but that didn't matter because Mack's foot was dying.

The grand finale of our Puerto Rico trip was a day in San Juan. I fully did not expect to enjoy San Juan as much as I did, but it is a magical city, on par with Amsterdam. Our first taste came from this incredible street performer who was painted to look like one of the fountain sculptures and who did most of his performance with his eyes closed. He started on this fountain, then got down, then walked about 50 feet across the plaza, then walked back, intermittently yelling strange things in Spanish. It was totally captivating.

As we wandered through the blue cobblestone streets, the city kept on enchanting us. The streets are paved with discarded stones that were used as ballast in boats that came through the port, and they are steep and narrow and lined with extraordinary old facades that beg you to look through their ruins and new versions that are brightly colored and tidy.

We headed toward the door to the city to walk around its perimeter and really fell in love. Amazing artwork was set against walls 10 feet thick and 100 feet high, with lookout towers strategically placed at bends in the wall.

La Rogativa, a sculpture depicting a women-led prayer march that the British interpreted as the arrival of reinforcements, one so intimidating that they abandoned their hold on the city.

We followed the wall past a park full of cats with clipped ears and a charming pink house and eventually walked up on El Morro, a fort built in the 16th century to protect the entrance of the bay of San Juan from invaders, particularly the English and Dutch. I loved El Morro, from the gentle green lawn that gives way to the massive structure full of windwashed bricks and rusty cannons. Prepare to see how much I loved this place.  

Those cannon balls on the left were meant to shred you sails, in the middle were meant to blast holes in your boat, and on the right were meant to explode into little fireballs and kill whoever they hit and set fire to the rest. 

When we left El Morro, we continued to wander along the coast and came across one of the most incredible cemeteries I've ever seen. I looooove a good cemetery. New Orleans, Savannah, and Havana are home to my favorite cemeteries but this one in San Juan really put them to shame. Crowded, ornate, and pushing right up against the sea. I wanted to go walk up and down the dead but Mack was getting thirsty and had his eyes set on Booty's, a country-western bar he'd found on Yelp.

Booty's refreshed us with its air conditioning and mojitos, and Mack blew the minds of the staff by taking a swig of their house hot sauce like it was nothing. I dabbed it on my tongue and, believe me, it was not nothing. The meandering continued into the evening, when we headed back toward the Hotel de los No-See-Ems and stopped by a little roadside restaurant to try some of Puerto Rico's native dishes.

Mofongo, on the left is a fried patty of mashed plantains, onion, and garlic. I don't remember the name of that soup.We also ate bacalaitos, a salty pancake fritter that went down a lil too fast.

Clearly we hated it.

Hotel de los No-See-Ems, also known as the Beach Club Guest House, was in an awesome location right on the beach and super close to the airport. We soon learned that its location made the beach hammocks more of a human buffet area for the bugs and the soothing sound of the air conditioner was silenced by the roaring sound of jet engines taking off throughout the night. Somehow, though, we managed to make it through and left Puerto Rico with a feeling of fondness and hope that she'll get what she's owed in hurricane recovery efforts.

Oh the places a hurricane will make you want to visit immediately... (part 1)

My Grandma Scott is pushing 90 years old. This is the lady who introduced me to the delicacy known as cinnamon toast and had no qualms about hosing naked kids off in the yard before letting them in the house. She had air conditioning in an era of box fans, and we enjoyed that almost as much as we enjoyed having free reign to play with whatever we wanted in the basement. Once my grandpa hired me to paint the fence for $40 and my grandma sneak helped me get it done. She also taught me not to order dessert unless I'm ready and willing to pay for it.

For such a short woman, she has lived a big life. In 1951, she drove across country with my grandpa before they were married and stayed in hotels with him! Scandalous! She's awesome, one who I cherish and do not see enough of. After my cousins and sister got to have her for a month this fall, as she was evacuating from Hurricane Irma, I got jealous and decided to go visit her in Florida.

Then I said, hey, Florida is close to the Caribbean, whaddya say Mack? He said, let's go see your grandma!

We had a great visit with the general, who wore sparkly shirts and split a pitcher of beer with us. I will always be so grateful she got to meet Mack and he got to see the ornery side of her that I am so enamored with. And that Florida is so close to the Caribbean.

Our first side trip was to St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands. The little island was decimated by Hurricanes Maria and Irma, but it has power and roads and rental cars and hotels, so we went for it. I drove out of the airport with my "elbow in the bush" and only forgot about the wrong side of the road rule once. Or twice. Definitely not more than twice.

We headed out to the east end of the island to check into our AirBnb, a place we named the Jerkin' Station because there were so many bottles of gross man lotion everywhere. We were there about 4 minutes before we drove back to Charlotte Amelie and checked into the Bunker Hill Hotel instead. The lodging glitch gave us a quick look at the island and my god is it beautiful. Even in the aftermath of two Category 5 hurricanes, the blue-green hue of the ocean and the bursts of islands on the horizon was unlike anything I've ever seen.

Of course we had to check out the marina, which was conveniently located next to a place selling $8 cups of coffee and $6 bottles of water. The marina was tucked into a huge bay called Vessup Bay, but even with the protection of the bay half of the docks were ripped apart or partly sunk from the hurricanes. We looked at the beautiful boats and walked the docks while drinking our coffee, and we spotted huge tarpons and even a nurse shark in the crystal clear water. 

We spent our first night at a little dive bar near the water enjoying a Virgin Islands beer... made in Portland, Maine. The walk to the bar was a little drizzly so I ran ahead of Mack and waited for him under awnings. One of the awnings I stopped at belonged to a bar playing the raunchiest music I've ever heard of in my life, but the guys out front were jovial and made room for me with "don't let the sugar melt." Apparently St. Thomas is like top 4 for murder in the world, but that seems hard to believe. Aside from the rental car lady who spoke literally zero words to us, everyone was pretty nice, there were chickens everywhere with baby chicks, and this is what one of their weeds look like. 

The streets of Charlotte Amelie were beautiful, especially at night when the shops closed up and you got to see the different doors all latched up. The roads heading away from the seaside were steep and narrow, and from our hotel patio, we watched cars defy gravity going up one that looked like it was at an 80-degree incline!

St. Thomas neighbors St. John, an island that is mostly a national park. We took the car ferry there for $30 round trip and I got the reversing experience of a lifetime. Huge trucks were taking the car ferry between the islands to transport recovery supplies and refuse back and forth, and we had to cram in there with them. We were so close to the wall at one point I had to climb out the window to get out. No way was I riding inside the car next to those death traps! We perched on a bench by the pilot house and got an amazing view of the Virgins.

St. John was amazing. After lunch overlooking the bay, we headed into the park and hopped from one beautiful bay to another. There was a polar vortex hitting the Northeast of the US, and the effect in the Virgin Islands was huge swell. Snorkeling was out since I'm not a fan of drowning, but we walked along the different beaches and looked at coral and shells and felt the soft white sand smooth under our feet. All throughout the exploration we were stalled by donkeys hanging out in the road, which was hilarious to me. A couple of times their dongs were hanging out and my god I feel so bad for lady donkeys now.

Trunk Bay. This sand was like a cloud.

You see that dong back there on the left, practically dragging the ground? HOW COULD YOU NOT?

We managed to fit in some learning on St. John, too, with a stop at the Annaberg Sugar Mill ruins. Danish plantations occupied the island in the 18th and 19th centuries and the Annaberg Sugar Mill shows just what they were up to. After harvesting the sugar cane, they used a giant windmill or horses, depending on the weather, to crush it up and get the sweet juice. Which we are not supposed to let melt on rainy nights when we're awning hopping.

Just an awesome tree at the mill.

All those little rocks and big rocks and bricks. Walls 3 feet thick. I am too weak for back then. 

The windmill has lost its blades but it's still pretty extraordinary. I love ruins.

See above about loving ruins.

Oh those? Those beautiful islands out there. Oh, that's just part of Britain.

Driving away from the sugar mill we went thru a patch of mangroves that was completely de-leafed by the hurricanes. There were still twisty branches everywhere, but not a fleck of green on them. Poor little virgins literally got deflowered, and while spring was starting to replenish the lushness of the island, this little patch was a bizarre glimpse at how a hurricane treats trees and bushes like a stem of kale.

St. John was small enough that we managed to make it to the east end of the island to check out Salt Pond. Mack's dad had lived there for a bit and told us it was worth checking out, and I'm glad we went. It's more village-esque, and we got to see some small spots in the throes of post-hurricane apocalypse mode. We also go to see natural sponges and an absolutely breathtaking look out over the BVIs.

We ended our day of exploration at a luxurious hotel called Estate Lindholm, which had lots of recovery workers staying there and a few buildings splayed open from the hurricanes. We drank a beer from the honor bar and sat by the pool watching the sunset over the bay. And then I decided I need to live in the Virgin Islands.

The next morning I drank coffee out on the patio looking out at the same magical bay and affirmed my decision to live in the Virgin Islands.

As I was pretending to be a millionaire estate owner in paradise reading my book, I kept hearing a scratchy noise behind me. Some people were working on landscaping but the sound seemed closer than that, almost like someone behind me. I kept looking back and seeing nothing. And then I finally spotted this little ninja. We named him George and I love him. Almost more than the donkeys.

Our hearts broke a little bit seeing sailboats washed up on the shore on both islands, but that didn't dissuade us from talking about moving Kenutu to this piece of perfection. Although if she ended up on the rocks, I don't know if I'd ever recover from that. These damn boats become almost like an old friend, and I can't imagine seeing any of my friends with a giant hole in their bodies dying a slow death with no chance of recovery. I hope these boat parents have found some peace.

Even in the face of disaster and in a state of mid-repair, the US Virgin Islands were one of the most extraordinary places I have ever been. I wanted to stay, charter boats, snorkel, swim, get sunburned, catch fish, and lose track of all the time. But we had a flight to Puerto Rico to catch!