Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Namibia is for Commitment-phobes

You know how they say Paris is for lovers? Well, I have a new promotional schame for the Namibian tourism board: Namibia is for Commitmentphobes. I was reminded of this story when I read Ms.DunThat's post about her ex's aborted trip to visit her. I too, have a similar story.

Most of you are probably aware that Brangelina and family are tucked away at a $5,0000 a night resort in Namibia. This makes me sour for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I once went on a "vacation" with my boyfriend (we got married ten years after this happened but I'm still sour about it). He was in a heightened state of commitment-phobia and didn't even want to be on vacation with me. I begged and begged him to go on vacation with me. I really wanted to go on vacation becuase we were living in Southern Africa at the time and we lived with a bunch of other Americans who were Peace Corp volunteers, Fulbright scholars and the rest. Anyway, come to find out these people who I thought were my friends planned this huge vacation, rock climbing and safari-ing. Like ten people were going, and they didn't invite me. I felt like I had like the biggest "L" for LOSER tatooed on my forehead. My boyfriend was like "who cares, those people are dumb." But I, of course, did care. A lot. So, anyway, I really needed to go on a vacation to make myself feel better and so it wouldn't look like I was such a total loser to these people. Anyway, since my boyfriend didn't even want to be my boyfriend he didn't exactly want to go on vacation. But I begged and he relented. We chose Namibia becuase it was within driving distance. Well, it was like ten hours away. But it was cheap.

Instead of staying in a $5,000 a night place, our place cost $50 a night. It was about 103 degrees everyday in Namibia and the place had no central air. Only a rickety fan. At that time my boyfriend's commitmentphobia generally manifested itself in various forms of illness. Usually stomach related. Anyway, one night we went out for fish. I ate a couple of bites of mine, but it didn't taste right, so I left it alone. My boyfriend, however, decided to eat the fish I said smelled funny. He wolfed it down. About six hours later he got a really bad case of exploding diahrrea, which lasted the rest of the horrendous trip. We couldn't do anything in that god-forsaken country except sit in that hot room which, quite literally, smelled like ass. WE only left the hotel once, to go to an open air market and buy these baskets woven out of grass. My boyfriend thought it would be really funny to go up to the guy selling baskets and say: "I need six baskets, one for my girlfriend, and one for each of my wives". Har-de-har-har.

On the last night of our trip he dropped another bomb on me (this time outside the bathroom). He told me he had been offered a job in Europe and was leaving the following week. I was like, huh? And then he left me and we had a long distance relationship (different time zones) for like the next four years.

Once I saw this Dr. Phil show and this woman had made really bad choices in her love life. Dr. Phil looked at her and said "What are you? The center=fold for Duh-Magazine?" I guess if she was the centerfold, Ms. DunThat and I have lifetime subscriptions!!

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