Fail Island

I first met Carrie Anne three years ago. We were both working crew on a Woody Allen play at the local community theater. I’d joined in a sense of desperation– new to Boston, I needed an outlet for the artistic creativity that felt so stifled after 8 hrs. a day of science and technology. I also needed to meet new people. I’d gone from working with 9 or 10 kids all under the age of 24, to working with 5 people who were on average old enough to be my parents or even my grandparents.

Carrie Anne and I hit it off right away. One night we were working late at the theater, painting the stage floor a lovely shade of dark brown. At 2 in the morning you start sharing secrets and jokey gossip, and hyped up on caffeine and lack of sleep we decided that we would be friends even after the play ended. This decision was helped by the fact that we both lived in the same neighborhood, and would randomly run into each other from time to time. Three years later, we are still friends– perhaps not best friends, but good friends nonetheless, and I am so happy to have her in my life.

We try to keep up to date with each other every few months or so, and after a few missed connections and canceled girl-dates, we finally caught up tonight. Over pupusas and plantains at La Pupusa Guanaca we bitched, laughed, and moaned about life. Carrie Anne told me about Fail Island, which is the place to which bad boyfriends and dates are exiled. There are no beaches, only sheer, slippery glacial walls leading to the sea. The air is cold and snow covers the ground. Kodiak polar bears roam the island, and on one side there are deadly volcanoes. To get there you take a one-way boat ride; there are no return ferry rides. In addition to Fail Island, there is also Suck Island, which functions as a sort of Purgatory before you get banished to Fail Island. The people in La Pupusa must have thought we were crazy. 🙂

So tonight, I logged on and saw that one of my most searched for terms that people use to get to this site is ‘mojito fail’. All I could do was laugh, thinking of bad ex-dates and boys I cried over, drinking poorly made mojitos on Fail Island. I can only imagine why someone would type that into google, and all I can say to you poor souls is that I hope your next batch of mojitos turns out better than the last.


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