Dominican Dreamin’

I just realized that my summer has been entirely uneventful. Between working like crazy, obsessing over Big Brother (don’t judge me) and sleeping, I haven’t done anything. My excuse is that the weather has, for the most part, been terrible. I did go on vacation in May but that kind of sucked, too.

I visited the Dominican Republic for a week and all I got was bad diarrhea. Well, I also got a pretty good tan but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about poop. If you feel this is beneath you, please stop reading now.

OK, I’ve had diarrhea before but nothing like this. I’m thinking I may have brought it on myself. I stayed at one of those ‘all-inclusive’ resorts, where for about a thousand bucks, you get a plane ticket, a place to sleep and all the buffet food you can handle. Turns out I couldn’t handle much.

Before I get started, I have to say that Punta Cana was beautiful.

It was humid.

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There were palm trees.

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This guy was there, too.

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Anyway, my boyfriend and I landed in the Dominican Republic on a Saturday night. We got to the hotel at around 11 o’clock. We were starving by then but all the restaurants were closed. We snacked on the $9 chocolate-covered peanuts I reluctantly bought at the airport and waited ‘til morning.

A few hours later, I awoke to the sound of two stomachs rumbling (mine sounded like a large man playing steel drums, which I thought was strangely appropriate given the island setting).

Once at the buffet, we feasted on every breakfast food imaginable. My plate contained everything from crispy bacon strips to fresh mango to a fluffy mountain of mashed potatoes. I was confused as to why they served mashed potatoes at breakfast but I went with it.

Sadly, lunch and supper were not nearly as delicious. The portions served were puzzling and not always labeled; most were soupy things with mysterious chunks. I made up a rule: “If it looks like diarrhea, don’t eat it.”

Unfortunately, this didn’t save me from the sheer attack I was about to experience.

On the second afternoon, my stomach started hurting like crazy. I left my boyfriend at the beach and sprinted back to the hotel room. I didn’t even tell him where I was headed or what I had to do. He simply knew.

I put the “No Molesta” sign up so quickly and with such vigor that most of it tore and was left dangling from the doorknob. I then locked myself in the bathroom.

I endured several of these scenarios. At first, I was nothing but relieved to have made it to the bowl on time, but I quickly became very upset. My stomach was being a big jerk. What could I have done to infuriate it so?

I decided that the only way to be on good terms with it again would be to locate the source of its anger and to thus prevent further outbursts. My bathroom time became my reflection time. What food was doing this to me?

Though I initially suspected several items at the buffet, it was impossible to pinpoint which was causing my illness. All my research was inconclusive.

I was annoyed. Exasperated. Desperate for an answer.

I wished something would just tell me what food gave me diarrhea. That’s when it came to me – an invention worthy of international praise. A creation so ingenious, so practical and so needed that it will eventually make me millions. Billions. Bazillions. Whatever the greatest amount of money in the world is, I will make it.

I named it ‘The Diarreader’.

The Diarreader is a little instrument, similar to a thermometer or a pregnancy test, that you poop on. It reads the toxins and acids in your stool. Then, based on the results, an image of the perpetrator appears on a tiny screen: a tomato or a chicken wing, for example.

You can then avoid this particular food and carry on, enjoying your vacation.

I’m looking to manufacture the Diarreader as soon as possible. The only foreseeable problems are that I do not have the funds or the scientific knowledge to make my invention a reality. I am thus searching for funds and scientists.

Of course, a much bigger problem is that the Diarreader does yet not exist. I had to ride my sickness out.

Thankfully, all the Immodium I had taken ended up constipating me and I was able to resume my snorkeling and speed boating adventures in no time. Success.

My trip may not have been the best one ever, but considering how lame this summer has been, I’d do it all over again in a second.

Here is a photo of my butt.

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-Melissa

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