So, we're walking along and pass a group of girls in their late teens or early 20s who are gathered in front of a store whose window is displaying bathing suits, towels, large tote bags in muted colors stamped with cartoony hibiscus flowers - in short, a beach store. And, fittingly enough, it's called "La Playa," pronounced "PLEYE ah," or "The Beach." Except that these girls were laughing uproariously at a store called La "PLAY ah," as in "player." They were all excited about buying all their pimp gear at this place. They had lined up and were taking pictures of each other standing in front of the sign while everyone around them looked on and cringed.
Then last night, the Pirate called a local restaurant to make reservations for us and my parents to celebrate Peaches birthday (that's right - my baby is 14 today). The Pirate was putting the reservations in my father's name to make things easier.
"Can I get a name?" the restaurant guy asks.
"Zenaido."
"Um....how about a *first* name?"
"That is the first name."
"Uh...okay, can I get a last name?"
"Quintana."
"Can I call ya Joe?"
