Well here I am on vacation in Bermuda. The wonderful thing about Bermuda is that it’s a really great place to bring that special someone for a few days and nights of romantic bliss. The not so wonderful thing about Bermuda is that it makes you want to slice your wrists if you’re not currently with a special someone. Picture if you will, me at the airport:

Couples in front. Couples behind. Couples to the left. Couples to the right.

(“Next on Animal Kingdom, when couples attack”)

And of course, they were all these insanely chic couples consisting of a girl dressed in a cute little sundress (albeit completely inappropriate for air travel) and a boy dressed in khaki shorts with the mandatory sweater slung over his shoulders.

Gag.

Oh and here’s the best part:

At the end of my trip, I was not to be greeted by a private car who would whisk me away to the Marriott for four days of sweet solitary bliss (the kind of bliss in which outsiders look at you and say “Yes, she’s single and alone but look at how composed and focused she is. Now there’s a woman who enjoys her own company.”)

Instead, I was to be picked up by the “shuttle service” (leaves a dirty taste in your mouth, doesn’t it?) who took my “travel voucher” and hauled me away to an “airport hotel” for seven days and six nights with mom, dad, baby bro and baby bro’s (somewhat slutty) girlfriend

Kill me.

So here I am on day three, sitting in my dark and lonely hotel room (yes, it is darker and lonelier than the other hotel rooms), watching a little TV. On day one, I got locked out of my room, so I went down to the hotel reception where I had the pleasure of answering the same question like eight times: “No Sir, no one else has a key to my room. Yes Sir, I am the only person staying there. No Sir, I was not aware of the fact that of the thousands of people who visit the Island each year, only .000001% are single. Splendid.” After this helpful insight, the hotel receptionist sent me back to my room with Steve, the master key guy. Now Steve had to be the sketchiest man alive. He also called me “Sweetheart” as he proceeded to pop open my room’s lock with a flick of the wrist. Needless to say, I currently have a chair propped up against the door…

As of this morning, I have pretty much figured this trip out- it’s going to be a tiresome bore but hopefully, I’ll get a tan. Whilst pursuing said tan, however, I will have to contend with a few obstacles (as described below):

Obstacle #1: Baby bro and his (somewhat slutty) girlfriend spending ¾’s of the trip in their room. I mean at least when my parents are alone in their room, I can pretend they’re watching TV or sleeping or reading up on Bermuda or redecorating or something (They are after all a tad too old for sex, right?) But with baby bro, a 22 year old ball of hormones, there’s no getting around it. Very traumatic.

Obstacle #2: The hotel band’s repertoire is pretty much limited to covers of Nat King Cole, Stevie Wonder, and Barry White. In other words, “Unforgettable”, “For Once in My Life”, and “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe,” over and over and OVER again.

Obstacle #3: Continually bumping into my high school boyfriend who happens to be here on his honeymoon. I’m not sure but I think my mom’s to blame for this one. She always liked him. Must keep her away from him for the duration of the trip.

On that note, though, I’m really starting to think that this whole trip was part of mom’s master plan to guilt/ scare/ force me into getting hitched. I mean from day one, way back in June, when she called me to tell me about the trip, the first words out of her mouth were that she couldn’t stay in the hotel she wanted to stay in cause “The hotel only takes couples.” She then went on some rambling escapade (yes, that is who I get in from) in which she kept repeating: “The world travels in couples, Sweetie.” I told her to just go ahead and book the freaken hotel rooms- once I hit Bermuda, I could probably find a second half by nightfall.

She was not at all amused.

And so I got the speech, “Mom’s Views on Marriage in Four Painful Hours or More.” The speech, a familiar one, opens with mom asking me if I want to work for the rest of my life. She then goes on to share her belief that marriage is like early retirement and informs me that my college education was supplied to me merely so that I could “catch a man.” Finally, mom concludes the speech with a tragic sigh and a “I’ll simply die if you’re not married by 35.”

It’s a heart-warmer alright.

So here I am- in hell. Fortunately for me, however, I do have a couple of points of light to keep me going:

Point of Light #1: The hotel is sporting an open bar. Bring on the booze.

Point of Light #2: Last night, the USA network was showing a Tiffani-Amber Thiessen movie in which she marries the “perfect” guy, and he turns out to be some crazy serial rapist. Let’s just say it made me feel better about being single.

Point of Light #3: My hotel room is like 300′ off the ground so that if I do feel the need to jump off of the balcony, I’m pretty much toast. No embarrassing half suicides consisting of twelve broken ribs and two broken legs for this girl.

So yeah, I bet you’re all jealous of my vacation now. Perhaps next year, you’d all like to come?