I'd be remiss if I didn't return on Sunday with an appalling tan, so I planted myself in the sun for the entirety of yesterday.
I'm currently so red, my celebrity equivilent is Pochohontas.
However, due to my 25% Italianness, I expect this to turn into broze sexiness any minute. Last night, we enjoyed a BBQ on the beach, which we expected meant sitting in the sand and sipping beer. Instead, they basically just moved the fancy dining room stuff to the ocean and we sat out under the stars, selecting wine out of ice filled wooden chests and theorizing about our fellow guests.
The Germans, for example, I can't figure out. There are 5 of them: An obviously married 50ish couple, a 30ish couple and a 20 something Asian guy who's a little bit retarded. All together, speaking animated German and drinking a ton. Or there's the super rich American family with 2 older teenage boys and their hot latina nanny. The 5 of them spend all day at the swim up bar, the two boys obviously getting wasted and openly flirting with their nanny and the mother speaking in mildly disrespectful broken Spanish to each and every staff member.
We're just as weird, I should point out. Due to a language barrier issue, Kate and her father, Greg enjoyed a romantic couple's massage. In keeping with this theme, Kate and my father are currently out on an early morning horseback ride, I believe along the beach. She's already gotten body wraps with her sister and this afternoon, we're getting our nails done together. I suggested that later, she and her brother Matt might want to utilize the option of having the hotel staff set up a romantic, candle lit dinner for 2 on the beach.
She's considering it.
Kate and I came to an agreement on this vacation. We both hate Andie MacDowell. We've ammended our favorite phrase to:
"Free Scott. So he can kill Andie MacDowell."
Seriously. She's dreadful.
Oh, I promised you some thoughts on my new nemesis, Vanessa Getty. First of all, she's always struck me as cold, emotionless and personality-free. And she's got this constant wide-eyed, dazed look on her blank face which reminds me of Marshall Applewhite, the Heaven's Gate cult leader. She's the "model" for Judith Leiber handbags, which I believe are sold exclusively on cruise ships and in retirement home gift shops. And she's incredibly rude to restaurant servers. At least my friends who've served her. Like, really, really, unseasonably rude. One of my friends had to step outside, take a breath and compose herself after dealing with Vanessa and her big bag of belittlement. And Billy just sits there and stares into space, wondering what the fuck happened and why he has that weirdo ducktail hairdo.
So, after reading the big W article about the provinciality of San Francisco society and hearing the subsequent restaurant horror stories, I've decided that Vanessa Getty is my new nemesis provided Gavin doesn't get back together with Brittanie. I'm currently working on securing a copy of Vanessa's annual Christmas letter. Hmmm, I wonder what it would say?
Oh, and we're on Team Traina. Alexis rocks. In the W spread, she was like a fabulous, classic grande dame, sitting on her bed with her hot husband standing around looking fabulous. I'm not wild about their curtains or their dogs, but that's beside the point. Vanessa just plopped down in her stupid rollers amidst her diletante art collection and pretended she was in a David LaChappelle photo shoot, ignored her husband and complained about dinner party seating arrangements.
Who are these people and why am I not invited to Super Sunday Supper?
Moving on, tomorrow, we leave for San Jose again, spending one last night in the Costa Rican capital before heading home on Sunday.
Start chilling the Vino Blanco. Spots is comin' home...