Nooosspapa mon delivers

I remember thinking something like, "Whoa, it's like 9:30 a.m. and we're still going..."

Just then, my brothers, who were swimming in the infinity pool under a early morning sun, started to taunt what they thought was a man standing near the fence to this elaborate and gaudy property.

I sprung into action. I walked over and to see what this person wanted. Only trouble, I presumed.

Turns out, it was not a man but a fiery woman with very short hair. A neighbor. A person, she led to believe, with power.

I played it cool to begin.

Aaron: "Good evening, mam, or should I say good morning."

I still had a cocktail in my hand and I was soaking wet from my previous pool visit. She was not impressed.

Crazy woman: "Are you fucking kidding me? Good morning!? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I was ill prepared for this encounter.

A: "I apologize mam --"

She cut me off immediately.

CW: "Listen. It's fucking 9:30 in the morning and you have the music blasting. There are good people here that have been trying to get sleep all night. We've had enough of your shit."

She held all the cards in this hand and I was ready to fold even before I walked up to her. I will not humor you with the rest of the conversation but it got ugly. Quickly. Indeed, this was no time for a showdown.

Granted, we had put down thousands of dollars to make this villa our we-don't-give-a-fuck vacation villa. But this is not 'Nam. There are rules...

The conversation ended abruptly when I proved to her that I lived here, was not some schmuck from (enter random U.S. state here), and promised to shut down the party as long as she didn't call the swine. Not that they would have come anyways, they have bigger fish to fry. So we left our encounter on even accords and the party ended with a few snaps of the finger.

*   *   *

Two weeks ago, I had approximately 25 cousins, wives, husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends of cousins (whatever, you get the point) visit me on St. Thomas for a magical Caribbean vacation they've only ever read about.

We had two monster villas under our belts, countless bottles of cheap rum and an appetite for destruction on our combined group resume.

Months earlier, I put out an open invitation to all my cousins -- I have quite a few -- to visit me for one solid, crazy week on the island. I was expecting an optimistic return of 50 percent. I didn't get a single "No" which is a testament to how awesome my family is. At the same time, it struck fear into my soul.

Living here, you always run into people that have a friend or two visit them from the States. No big deal. The revolving door on my house has been swinging in the Caribbean breeze ever since I moved here in 2010. I love visitors and I invite them from far and wide.

But 25 heads? It was a huge undertaking. No doubt. By some sort of pure luck, I was able to pull it off.

I took the week off from work, which was a necessity. Living here for over two years, I basically put down on paper all the cool things I like to do here and just threw it at them in some kind of blind itinerary. Some people may flinch at the concept but everyone involved on this trip absorbed it and prospered.

It was an amazing week. Movie night on Water Island, Festival on St. John, Megans Bay, Peterborg, Frenchtown, Sib's on the mountain, and even a ride on the Treasure Seeker. Plus, every bar we visited, we took over. It was fabulous.

Just want to thank all the family involved. You guys were great. Let's do it again next year. Why not?

Nooossspappa mon!

Thanks for all the love. See you guys again real soon.

Killer surf, bro

I have two or three friends that ask me the same question every weekend:

"Good surf this weekend, why don't you come out?"

Maybe it's because I live on a tropical island or perhaps I just attract surfer types as friends. They are good people. Every one of them. But I'm more of a poser.

Instead, I like to go to rocky beaches, takes pictures of the crazy surf and show them the photos later on like, "Oh dude, you should have been there..."

Then they're like, "Oh dude, where is that? Crazy. That's like 4-5 feet..."

And then I'm like, "I know, bro. It was nasty."

Then the conversation starts to shift and I come off as a cool, surfer dude.

Nah, in all seriousness, I am definitely going to get out there soon. I have a feeling I would be good at surfing. So if any of you bros are reading, keep asking. One of these days I will surprise you.

The waves were killer on Friday at East Carrot Bay (above photo). I snapped the below photos at the tip of Peterborg. We had some first-time-to-the-island Brits with us (notice the white socks with colored stripes) and they were pretty impressed by our narly waves.

Got back in time for work so it was an epic morning. Peace out, dude.

S*** will burn off

The saying applies to just about everything down here...

Clouds in the morning? Afternoon hangover? Mosquito bites on your bum?

The basic reaction is, "Not to worry, s*** will burn off." It's more of a glass-half-full approach to any predicament. It serves me well down here in the tropics and I've never been wrong with it.

That is, until my homeboy Isaac and his wife, the Rubster (a.k.a Ruby), came down for a week-long visit.

Before they made the no-free-food plane journey down here, the Rubster got on facebook and asked if the weather was going to be OK for their visit. I thought she was taunting me and basically ignored her inquiry.

Little did I know that the good people known as Meteorologists were calling for some showers our way. No biggie, I thought. It always showers here for like 10 minutes, the sun comes out and then you're fine. In other words, the S*** will burn off.

But for Isaac and the Rubster, we got about two good days in and then Subtropical Storm Otto, which later turned into a hurricane, crashed their party and there was nowhere to hide but their Marriott hotel room and the occasional visit to the hotel lobby bar.

Four straight days of gloomy days, flooded homes (no taxation without representation) and several inches of rain. It was the 5th highest rain total to ever fall upon the USVI at one time.

So in essence, the S*** never really did burn off. Well, not until the morning of their scheduled flight home.

Much love to those kids, who tried frantically to re-schedule their flights and adjust their reservations. I mean, it's not like they had anything else to do cramped up in a hotel room while us Island hacks had to report for duty every day.

I suppose they could have watched the Teen Mom marathon on MTV.

But for the record, we did get one outstanding day on St. John with my boy Frank, who also had a killer birthday party that lasted two (plus) days on Peterborg. Frank then escaped to Puerto Rico to hide from the emerging storm and the brutish reality that is a sunless St. Thomas.

So much depends on the weather? Scott Weiland is a wise man.

Almost 12 inches of rain engulfed this island and the runoff made pristine beaches like Brewers Bay look like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

What do you do in paradise when the sun goes on hiatus?

I'm really not sure.

I'm actually sick of thinking about it. Oh well. Shit will burn off.