The ocean gods were not smiling on Negril on Monday, Jan. 6. The sea was a bit rough, so no snorkeling/spear-fishing today, but still it was calm enough to bobble out there on my raft and think about all that was good in the world.

It’s weird. When I am in Los Angeles, sometimes I imagine I am someone else, usually a member of the rock band Motley Crue. In Negril, such thoughts never pass through my mind. I am too obsessed with doing something fun every minute of the day, and that includes falling into zen mode.

At Seasplash, as I was emerging from the ocean, an elder local was screaming at a young security guard, throwing out a bunch of “bumbleclots” and what have you. I thought it was pretty crass because the guard appeared to be only about 18 years old, but as weird as this sounds, Jamaicans screaming at one another is barely worth a second glance in Negril – it’s just part of the fabric. Incidents that would warrant a 911 call in the USA are often seen as unimportant here, and perhaps that’s a good thing; I’ve yet to decide.

Gus, the tourist who had showed me his scar from being hit by lightening, was present. He’s an affable, outgoing guy who has been coming to Treehouse (next door) for a long time, and everyone on the beach seems to know him. I like him, too.

Today turned into a foodie day. I visited both Ahh Bees and Italian Cafe. Ahh Bees was recommended by Booger (great guy) and others, and Italian Cafe is Memphis Mike’s favorite spot.

I switched rooms at Seastar to No. 4, perfectly situated downstairs a few steps from the front gate and next-door to Seastar Kimbo. It’s where Suzie Q used to stay a few trips ago and Kentucky tourist MaryJayne once or twice, too.

At the Corner Bar, I ran into Bobby from Canada, who loves the party girl scene. He has fallen in love with a particular local girl who ended up breaking his heart. How? After knowing her for a series of visits, he got her a job at Coco La Palm, then bought her uniforms, but the next day, when it came time to show up for work for the first time, she decided not to go. She simply didn’t want to work, and he was really disappointed about this – and rightfully so.

But perhaps it’s not surprising.

I, too, had fallen for a local girl a couple of years back named Jodie, who was a regular girl and not a hustler-type despite being dirt poor, and I remember being startled when I suggested that maybe I had enough pull to get her a job at Seastar yet she said no way.