Part Deux of My Trip Back Home: The Part Mostly About Food

This is the pecan farm.  Huge and beautiful.

Who would have thought it would take this long to finish a blog entry?  I wrote part 1 of my trip home back in...? January!  Here's a link if you need catching up:  the link to that other entry.  Now, you're all caught up.  So, I left off at cow poop.  When visiting eastern New Mexico/west Texas (let's just do the Bennifer thing here and combine it into Weastern New Texico), cow poop is the beginning and end of lots of things.  Well, the end of lots of things anyway.  Mostly your appetite.  So we drove on into Roswell (sorry if you're lost.  I am a little lost too.  Let's just stick together, and we should be fine.), and we spent the week on my Granddad-in-law's massive pecan farm.  We (meaning not me) murdered squirrels, ate our weight in pecans (totally me), and enjoyed Christmas, country style.  They have lots of tractors on their farm and llamas in their yard, and we totally pigged out at the Golden Corral.  It was super fun, and it's always great to see family.  We also made the trip to Carlsbad Caverns that week, and I was happy (as a native New Mexican) that my kids got to see that wonder of the world.  It was a long hike, but a cave like that is amazing by any standard.  The sheer size of the caves, and the formations inside are mind blowing.  Additionally, I got lost around Artesia, and that is scary like a Stephen King novel.  NEVER get lost around Artesia, y'all.  Carrie and some sentient cars are always lurking around there, along with Blaine the monorail and Randall Flagg's rundown boots.  (If you're all WTF? right now, please check back when you're nerdier.)  

...or not to sell pecans?  That is the question.

This is what happened when little kid Chuck Norris decided to
dig a hole to China.  BAM!  Carlsbad Caverns, baby.

Eventually we headed to the Clovis-Portales area.  My stomping ground, if you want to stomp on peanuts, I guess, or cow poop.  That's abundant everywhere out there.  God, now we're on cow poop again.  Sorry, y'all.  Portales is called Goober Gulch by those in the know because peanuts are sort of its bumper crop (and peanuts are also called goobers), unless you count wind.  There is a shit load of wind.  Most of my family is still hanging on in that neck of the woods, so I was excited to see them.

We interrupt this blog for some incoherent thought processes. (Because, you know, coherent thought has been the name of the game so far, right?)  Please proceed to the nearest exit if you're a sissy or a stickler for story telling that actually makes sense.  I would just like to take a moment to point out some inconsistency between the Schoolhouse Rock teachings of the 80's and modern day common knowledge.  In the 80's, we were taught (via talking salads and other foodstuffs) "You are what you eat."  Now we learn that zombies have a healthy appetite for brains, yet they are quite stupid.  'Nuff said.  Here's a link to support my theory:  The Link That Supports My Theory

Oh, boy.  If I had a sushi restaurant, the feature item on my menu would be the Rick Roll.  That would be good stuff.

We now continue with our regularly scheduled thought process.

Everyone should have such a rhino in their front yard.

We stayed the first night in the Goober Gulch vicinity with my dad, which is always an adventure.  He had, during our previous visit back in July, a 2 1/2 foot tall fiberglass rhinoceros in his front yard, which he had carefully painted to look "realistic."  Of course he did.  If you've read the previous blog entries about my dad (or if you know him personally), this probably seems outrageously normal.  But the kids totally loved the rhino, and spent lots of time "riding" it.  Sadly, the rhino was gone during this trip, and the kids lamented its leaving.  Even so, staying with my dad, there is always potential for adventure.  He and my stepmom were not only gracious enough to put us up, but they also let me host an impromptu house party, and I got to see lots of people who are near and dear to my heart.  

And this is in my dad's yard.  He painted it, and I decided
to include it just because I like it.

The rest of the trip was spent enjoying time with family and trying to cram as much of the local food in my mouth as possible.  If you ever have occasion to visit Clovis or Portales, New Mexico (I can't imagine why you would, unless you're from there, but you just never know), here is a list of must do's and must-eats:

This was my delicious burrito

Allsup's Convenience Store - Fried burritos with lots of taco sauce.  Don't knock convenience store burritos 'til ya try 'em.

Leal's Mexican Restuarant - Chili relleno.  That is all.

Taco Box - Green chili cheesburger and/or combo burrito and spanish fries (no, they are not just tater tots)

My little one is obviously thrilled about
the candy store.  They're not lying about
the giant peanut patty either.  Thing's as
big as a pizza!

Leslie's Candy Company on 7th St. in Clovis - They are the only one in the world and the real deal.  They make all their candy on site in this little building in an older part of town.  Their ribbon candy, cinnamon lollipops are all amazing.  Plus, it's the only place I know where you can get green chili flavored peanut brittle.  Or was it jalapeno?  Whatever.  It was green, and it's really good, I promise.

Twin Cronnies in Clovis  - It's an old-fashioned drive up, locally owned and a Clovis original.  I like the jalapeno cheese balls and fried okra, but their burgers are all incredible too.  Plus, there are totally dancing hot dogs on the sign.  You can't go wrong.

Pat's Twin Cronnies in Portales  - totally different than the other Twin Cronnie but equally awesome.  They have tons of great milk shakes (peanut butter is the bomb diggity), and you have to try the fried cheese on a stick.  It's like a corn dog, only with cheese where the frank should be.  Sooo good!

JJ's Jumbo Burgers  - I'm pretty sure somebody just started this place in their kitchen and opened their back porch for business.  Seriously.  But the burger meat is the freshest ever and all locally grown, mostly by 4-H kids, and the fries are made out of actual cut up potatoes.  Take that McDonald's!

Main Street in Clovis - It was hit hard when our first mall and Walmart opened up in 1989 (Clovis was a late bloomer), but there are still a lot of great local merchants out there, and it's definitely worth a look.  I mean, you're in Clovis, so what else are you gonna do anyway?  Plus, most of Main Street is still brick, so that's pretty cool.

This is it - my Grandmother's kitchen.

My Grandmother's kitchen - But you can't go there without me.  Seriously, I don't think she'd understand.  She has always made the best enchiladas in the whole world, and the ambience is perfect.  All homey and stuff.

The high school football stadium

My souvenirs from home

And that's pretty much it for Clovis and Portales.  I've provided links (or at least Urban Spoon links) in the list where I can, so you can waste even more time on here if you're really bored.  You're welcome.  Although fine dining isn't really much of an option, the place is a foodie's dream, but it's otherwise pretty devoid of unique things to do.  The people and the food are pretty much the best parts of the whole area.  If you happen to be there during football season, you could catch a game at the high school (Leon Williams Stadium).  Clovis is definitely a Friday Night Lights town, and it's where Hank Baskett got his start.  You could also visit the Blackwater Draw Museum, I suppose, though I wouldn't recommend it.  It's pretty boring.  Sometimes there are art exhibits at the Clovis Community College and at Eastern NM University.  The only other thing to do there is leave.  You can take a drive to the more scenic parts of New Mexico, like Ruidoso, Santa Fe, or even Albuquerque, or pop on down to Fort Sumner for a trip through the Billy the Kid Museum.  

*Author's note:  I blame much of this blog entry on allergy meds.

If the Underwear Fits...

Wow, two blog entries in a day.  Is that normal?  Probably not, but who cares?  The last one was an "everyone" entry.  It was about my kid and his awesomeness, suitable for all audiences.  This one, not so much.  I mean, it won't be vulgar (well, not very vulgar) or violent, but I do like the freedom to speak my mind.  So if you're sensitive, you should go play with a puppy now.

Still here?  Good.  You'll be glad you stayed.  First on my agenda is Adam Levine.  That puts me in what, the 98th percentile?  He is going to be in Orlando at the end of the month.  Sigh.  So close, yet so far away.  The concert is already sold out, and I'm broke as a joke, so it doesn't matter anyway.  What I wonder is how many pairs of panties the janitorial staff is going to have to sweep off the stage after the concert.  Why do you do this, ladies who throw panties?  Do you think he's going to pick yours, fall in love and then come find you so you can live happily ever after like some skanky version of Cinderella?  Can you imagine how that door-to-door search would go?  "Um, excuse me miss, but are these your drawers?"  Speaking of Mr. Levine, and I often am, I had a great idea for a birthday party game.  Instead of pinning the tail on the donkey, we could draw the tattoos on Adam Levine.  Heck yes!


And while we're on the subject of gorgeous people, some Colombian model has announced that she thinks eating chicken makes people gay.  I wonder if she also thinks that eating people would result in gay chickens.  Being a supermodel, you would think she would have plenty of gay people around to point out her flawed ideas.

I was thinking the other day that maybe I could prostitute my blog out to Google and let them place ads on my page.  Then I would get some sumpin' sumpin' for all this entertainment I provide.  Turns out, they will not let you do that if you use "excessive profanity."  Really?  Just what do we call excessive?  If I'm talking to my young children colorfully, that's probably excessive.  But say I'm at a sailor convention?  Or Ozzy Osborne's house?  What say you, then Google?  Is the judicious use of the word "fuck" excessive?  

My mom and I were talking about imaginary friends and the fact that my kids have none.  Does this mean they are just that damn well adjusted, or that they lack imagination?  I can't decide, but imagination doesn't seem to be a problem thus far.  (overheard in my kitchen:  No, Jadie!  You're the walrus with a purple skirt!  The villagers are bringing you brocolli!)  But I had an imaginary friend.  He was Mr. Cooey, and he wore a tall top hat, like a way cooler version of the Monopoly guy, no monocle.  One day, though, he went on vacation to the south of France, and he has yet to call or write.  Bastard.  He's probably still out partying with his friends.  Being an only child, you might call that normal, to invent a companion, but my mom had a brother and a sister, and she had, like, 7 imaginary friends who were all named Polly.  She was a Polypollyist.  

The Clown Fish Is the Winner!

This entry has nothing whatsoever to do with Finding Nemo.  I just like that movie line.  A lot.  (My apologies to my Russian readers if I've already lost you.  That usually doesn't happen until much later in the blog.  Do you guys have Nemo over there?)  It does have to do with winning, though.  It's all about that.  
I have won very few things in my life.  I placed 9th in a spelling bee once, and one time I won a case of Dr. Pepper from a local radio station in my itty bitty home town.  I won an xBox once from a random drawing at work, but that doesn't really count because I didn't do anything other than work there and have a name.  I have a whole photo album of "participant" ribbons for everything from elementary school field days to art contests and science fairs.  I have no idea why my mom wanted to keep all that, much less immortalize it in a photo album, but it's like some weird testament to my chronic loseryness.  (Yes, y'all, that is a word.  I just said it.)  My son, however, seems to have chosen a more charmed lot in life.  It's almost as if John Hughes is directing his life.  He will get all angsty as a teenager, but still come out on top with a random musical number just because.  He is in the gifted program at his school, and last year he won first place in a chess tournament while his friends stood around him and cheered him on during his final Bobby Fischer moves.  A couple of months ago, he entered a writing competition through his gifted program and an organization called Future Problem Solvers (you can click on it if you want to know more).  The students could choose from a variety of topics and then write a short story based upon a fictional, but possible, story set in the future.  
They say it better:   What is Scenario Writing?  Scenario writing is an individual competition in which students develop short stories related to one of the five FPS topics for the year. The story is set at least 20 years in the future and is an imagined, but logical, outgrowth of actions or events taking place in the world today. The story should focus on one main character and develop that character through the plot of the story.
The topic he chose was Megacities,  and wouldn't you know it?  He placed high in the district in the junior division (4th-6th grade) and got to go on to the state competition.  He spent 3 days at the Lake Buena Vista Resort in Orlando, along with over 600 other students in the Future Problem Solvers program, ranging from 4th graders to high school seniors, participating in competitions and activities geared toward (drum roll, please) solving the world's problems.  His writing was then being judged at the state level to determine if he would go on to the international competition in Indiana in June.  He had an amazing time with his friends, and their team did very well.  

So he calls me on the last day, right after the award ceremony where he learns how he placed in the state.

Him:  Hi, mom.  We just got out of the award ceremony.
Me:  Well, how'd you do?
Him:  I got 8th place.
Me:  In the whole state?!  Honey, that's great!  I'm SO proud of you!
Him:  Nah, just kidding.  I placed 1st.
Me:  No you didn't!  
Him:  Yeah, really, I did.  Looks like we're going to Indiana.
Me:  *tons of tears*  ungh...
Him:  Mom?  Are you ok?  Mom?

He came home yesterday with a big trophy and an even bigger grin.  I'm sure I don't have to tell you how proud of him I am, or how lucky I am.  I must have done something right to deserve this kid.  So if I haven't lost you by now, good job!  Way to hang in there, you trooper!  I'm posting his story below in case anyone wants to read it.

The Merge

Aaron awoke to the irritating sound of the bedstand box, an ugly brown box that perched on every night table in the Peace Time Regime.  "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 19, 2072.  It is time for your weekly Dose.  Please approve with an eye scan."  The dreaded box - it told the time, woke you up, kept your schedule, and above all, administered the Dose.  Aaron waved his hand through the sensor and sat up sleepily while the crimson light washed his eyes.  The bed stand box's lid slowly hovered up and it stopped when the pill was visible.  Aaron reluctantly took hold of the Dose.  He knew it was an emotion control Dose.  Ugh, the Dose!  All mega cities, such as New York and Omaha, used the Dose to control crime, keep the swelling population in order, and ensure continuity of leadership.  The Dose had originated in New York and spread.  With every peaceful control, every quelling of the masses, its distribution grew.  Now the whole country utilized the Dose.  The government introduced it to the public, touting it as a savior, reducing crime, moving civilization forward.  And it worked.  The crime rate dropped 89% in a matter of twelve years.  A convenient side effect is that the current government hasn't met opposition since 2060.  When the United Public Order took power, the democracy gave way with no resistance.  The leader, Commandez Clark, has used the Dose to retain his power, uncontested, for nine years.

Aaron drew the Dose tablet to his mouth to do his Citizen's duty, to swallow the tablet.  At the last minute, he swiped his hand down and pocketed the hated medication in his sleep clothes.  He quickly changed out of his plain red standard issue night clothes and tossed them in the hamper.  Its bottom dropped out every twelve hours, and the transport train hauled them to the public wash.  Clockwork.  Easy.  He assumed that the Dose would dissolve while being washed.  He got dressed for work and walked out the door, knowing that his first day of Year Three at the machinery would be just as dull as the first day of Year One.

****

The lights in the control room flickered on and off, like a digital thunderstorm in a dark bedroom.  The door burst open as the patrol scout stormed in.  Startled by the sudden intrusion, Commandez Clark jumped up in his chair seething, staring at the patrol scout.
"I have something for you, Sir Clark," the patrol scout announced.
Angry with the sudden intrusion, and impatient over any interruption, Commandez Clark demanded, "What?!  WHAT?!! Get on with it!"
"We have found Dose particles on a citizen's clothes," reported the scout with a robot's dispassion.  "Citizen Penland.  Penland, Aaron. Should I assign an additional Dose?"
"No, not yet.  Let me talk to him," replied Commandez Clark, suddenly patient, suddenly collected.  "Let me have a little chat with him first."

****

Home.  Finally!  Utter exhaustion overtook Aaron as he collapsed onto his bed.  Slowly, he became aware of a light in his peripheral vision.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Blinking.  Sighing with frustration, he pressed the "receive" button on the hated bedstand box.  "You," the box announced, sounding more nasally and oddly snobby,"have a conference with Commandez Clark.  Please report on November 20, 2072 at Six.O.Clock. A.M."  Ugh.  Really?  45 minutes early?  Aaron had already used his limited teleports for the month, so he would have to get up early to walk.  Now he was starting to wish he had taken his Doses.  At least then he wouldn't care about his cruddy job at the machinery, his mediocre lot in life, the drab existence that didn't seem to bother anyone else.  The gray fog of his life descended on him as he drifted off to uneventful sleep.

****

6:05 a.m.  Oh, man!  Late!  Aaron, heart pounding, ran into the reception lobby.  Commandez Clark had specifically ordered a meeting, and now he was late.  The office, an ugly steel bunker, was not what he expected.  The pipes were dripping, the vent was blowing dust.  Aaron had really expected more from the Supreme Leader's office.
"Take a seat.  Now," commanded the cold, demanding voice issuing from a dark corner.  Lights blinked nonsensically from a unit on a cluttered desk, and a set of dark eyes peered over an impossibly balanced stack of infraction papers.  Aaron couldn't identify the voice's owner, but he obeyed immediately.  The icy voice, trying too hard to be casual, slowly said, "I heard you were skipping your Dose.  Is this true?"
"No," lied Aaron, as smoothly as he could.  Why in the world would I admit that now?  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a patrol scout, a lurking shadowy robot of a presence.
Suddenly, the owner of that coldly punctual voice spoke again.  "My information came from him."  A shadowed head nodded toward the patrol scout standing sentinel off to the side.  "He said they found Dose particles on your clothes.
"They didn't.  It must have belonged to someone else," Aaron replied flatly.
The irritating voice from the paper stacks opined, "You're not convincing me."
"I don't care."  And he didn't.  What did Aaron care if some droid paper pusher believed him or not?  Hopefully, though, Commandez Clark didn't share the mindless paper-pusher's reservations.  Suddenly, the double doors to the office exploded open.  Aaron jumped back, startled.  He hadn't even realized those doors were there.  Clouds of dust and random infraction papers slowly drifted to the floor.  Unbothered, almost bored, the voice behind the cluttered desk said, "Well, I guess you can go in now."  Aaron stood slowly, uncertainly, and headed toward the open door.  As he passed through the threshold, he was suddenly greeted by a giant hand.  Startled, Aaron stepped backwards.  A jolly red face appeared above the outstretched hand.  Both the hand and the face seemed impossibly large and impossibly friendly.
"Aaron!" boomed a cheerfully maniacal voice.  "Penland, is it?  Aaron Penland!  Good to meet you, my boy.  GREAT to meet you! I'm Charles.  Oh!  Clark!  Commandez Clark.  Please, call me Chuck!"
Whatever Aaron had expected, this wasn't it.  The jolly giant led Aaron through another set of double doors that smacked shut as they passed.  Commandez Clark moved around a massive desk and made himself comfortable, indicating a chair across the vast table to Aaron.  "Please, my boy!  Please sit down!  Make yaself at home.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee, water....?"
"N-n-nooo," Aaron stammered, finding his seat, completely uncertain of himself for the first time.  "Thank you, sir."
Commandez Clark, seeming to sense a weakness, dived right in, cheerful like a shark at a birthday party.  "Now, Aaron, some crazy things have been brought to my attention.  Disturbing things!"  Aaron drew a breath to protest, but before he could speak, the Supreme Leader jumped in again.  "I know these things aren't true, of course!  Of course they aren't!  I mean, why would a good boy like you go on skipping the Dose?  Just makes no sense, does it?"  With that, he spread his hands complacently.  Then he grinned a devil's grin.  A knowing grin, loaded with evil happiness and empty charity.
Completely off balance, reeling from this display of false good will, Aaron knew the gig was up.  It was done.  But he couldn't go on.  The Dose was an emotional flat line, and he just couldn't live that way.  Nothing but a gray fog under this regime.  "Do  you take the Dose, sir?"  Aaron knew this was the wrong question but he had to ask.
Clark's eyes flashed with a controlled fire.  "Why, certainly I do," he lied. "Now, I know you know what's best for you.  For the Republic.  When you get home, your Dose will be there.  It'll be waiting for you.  And we'll make sure," his voice dropping, "that you are taking it."  His eyes clouded, and his fists clenched.  "Am I clear?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, sir," Aaron replied.  "Very clear."
Clark leaned back in his chair, and suddenly the broad smile appeared again.  "Good!  Real good!  Now my scout will show you out.  You make sure you have a real good day!"
Aaron shuffled out of the strange office with the patrol scout and out into the sunlight.

****

Commandez Clark watched Aaron disappear through the double doors.  Trouble maker!  He picked up the phone and pressed a blue button.  "Yes," he said, "make sure Penland, Aaron receives his Dose in the morning, as scheduled.  And go ahead and make that Dose 3207."

****

The bedstand box droned, "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 21, 2072.  It is time for your Dose.  Please approve with an eye scan."
"Already?" he wondered aloud.  "I thought it was weekly."  Not wanting a repeat of yesterday, afraid of Commandez Clark, Aaron quickly swallowed the pill.  He was dead before his head hit the pillow.

Thinkerbell Goes to Freeport

I love to write reviews on TripAdvisor because I really enjoy travelling, writing and telling the world what I think of, well, pretty much everything.  They even sent me a free luggage tag once because I run my mouth on their sight so much.  But I couldn't find a category on their website where I could post my review since I wanted to tell them about a lot of stuff regarding my recent adventure (plus TripAdvisor doesn't let you say "fuck" or "asshat" in their reviews), so I decided to post it all here and hope it helps someone on their way to the big island.  So here goes.

Our boat

We set sail aboard the Celebration Bahamas cruise ship, not to be confused with Celebrity or Carnival Celebration, or any other really big cruise line.  It's just Celebration, and I think their fleet size is approximately one boat.  It's an older ship, and it's European, but it's comfortable and clean, so whatever.  It's also a really inexpensive and short cruise, so it suited both my budget and my schedule perfectly.  Basically, for about $100 per person, you sail out on a Friday evening, arrive in Freeport, Bahamas Saturday morning, sail home Saturday night, and you're back in Florida by Sunday morning.  It includes meals, shows, and all the coffee and tea your bladder can stand.  You can get lemonade with dinner.  They sell a soda card for $24 (all the soda you want), and it's totally worth it.  The port charges and houskeeping/wait staff charges total another $24 per person, but it's still a great bang for your buck.  They have two dining options that are not included in the price, but the free options are good, so I would skip the food you have to pay for.  A word of advice, though - arrive at the port early so the dinner reservations at the super nice free restaurant don't run out (this is what happened to us).  Basically, one night you get a super nice sit down dinner with all the bells and whistles (and some really cool people at your table, if you're lucky.  If you're not lucky, like me, you get weird people at your table, but I'm thinking the other people at the table probably felt that way too.  They were probably all, Oh, shit, what is she talking about now?), and the other night you get a semi-buffet meal that is good but not amazing.  Unless you arrive late.  Then you get two not amazing dinners.  There's also this snack bar type place that has pizza and pasta, and sometimes salads and cake, and it's free and very delicious.  Plus it's open 'til like 3:00 a.m., so it's the perfect "I don't want to go to bed drunk on an empty stomach" stop. Spins? No thanks.

RIP  My diet.  It was murdered by a cruise ship pizzeria.

Mike with MY winning bingo card.
Yes, mine.  I yelled BINGO for real
this time, y'all.

So now you're on board.  First, stop at the information desk and grab a schedule.  That tells you when and where all the fun shit is happening all over the ship.  That way you won't miss The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel in the theater or the shuffleboard tournament on the pool deck.  Seriously, I thought they were exaggerating on The Love Boat, but apparently these things are true.  Second, listen when the ship's captain makes an announcement.  My husband likes to yabbi, yabbi, yabbi right over announcements and then act confused when we arrive late for Bingo (which we totally won, by the way).  The best place to park yourself for when you sail out?  In my opinion, the pool bar.  It's right at the front of the ship, so you can see everything, they have the best music, and you're right there where the alcohol happens.  Did I say alcohol?  Surely I meant magic.  Oh, also don't wear high heel shoes the first day. Especially if you're a dude. Then avoid high heels whenever.  Unless you're Ru Paul.  In that case, carry on, you gorgeous bitch. I wore these great little cork wedge sandals, and then I spent the entire evening looking like a baby giraffe once we started moving.  Wear flip flops.  Your knees, hips, ankles and pride will all thank you.

The baby giraffe heels o' death

That night, we went to dinner and then hit the hot tub.  One of the great things about a cruise is that all these people are stuck on a boat with you in the middle of the ocean.  They literally cannot get away, so it's a great time to make friends.  We were in the hot tub with two other couples, and at some point in the conversation, one of the girls turned to me and asked, "So what college do you go to?"  Being $29.95, plus shipping and handling, my ego soared.  I just played it off with a casual, "Oh, I'm not in college," and then quickly changed the subject before she could ask why, and I would have to explain that I graduated from college around the time she graduated 6th grade. Awkward. Whitney Houston was thinking it wasn't right, but it was ok, and Ricky Martin was still living La Vida Loca.  Britney was still a "virgin" and the Backstreet Boys wanted it "that way."  Around midnight, we headed off to bed to get some rest before our day on the island, like the old people we are becoming.  

My first view of Freeport.  Johnny Depp?
Paging Mr. Depp....

The next morning, we woke up to a very cold, dreary day.  I still had high hopes of a Pirates of the Caribbean type scene as we exited the ship, but when I looked out the window, Pirates it was not. Johnny Depp with sexy eyeliner did not meet me with breakfast and/or rum. That bastard. It was a dirty, nondescript port with grey skies looming overhead and equally grey concrete below.  No worries because I was still excited out of my mind just to be there.  I roused Mike, who really probably could have slept another hour or two, but who's counting?  It's the Bahamas, so don't be an asshat.  He got up, and we got off the ship in short order and headed straight to Celebrity Car and Scooter Rental, the first rental place you see as you get off the boat.  As I stepped through the plain doors into the plain office and sat down at the plain desk, I totally felt like a celebrity.  This must be how Paris Hilton feels every fucking day, people.  We paid $60 and got the keys to our island beast, along with two stylish helmets, which we were sternly warned to "wear at all times."  Then we set off for adventure!

Our island ride because we're cool like that.

I'm the one in the awesome helmet.

I'm tired, so this is to be continued....

1...2...3... Jump!!!

Me: I'm just afraid I will drown if I try to go scuba diving.
Mike: There's no way you can drown down there.
Me: I think you must not know how water works.

This is our umpteenth conversation about scuba diving. While I totally want to do it because he enjoys it so much and he is excited at the idea of me going with him, I want to do it more to prove to myself that I can. It's another step on a long road to living my life to the fullest and experiencing everything. But I seem to have this terrible hang up about dying. Some people might call it risk averse, or even irrational. I call it a healthy appreciation for breathing. 

Mike: You're being unreasonable. You'll be fine. You probably haven't even thought about sharks yet. 
Me: Good call on bringing that up. Are you trying to kill me before I even get to the water? And as a matter of fact, yes, I have thought of sharks. And barracudas, eels, sea urchins, lion fish, sting rays, jelly fish, giant squid, and any other fish who may find me tasty. I am quite delicious, you know. 
Mike: *frustrated sigh*

My tendency toward caution goes way back, as does my aversion to water. I'm sorta like a cat (in that I avoid water. Otherwise I'm nothing like a cat, in that they have multiple lives and do dangerous shit all the time). I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was ten, I couldn't swim until I was twelve, and I simply avoided things like skate boards and motorcycles altogether. I engaged in safer pursuits, such as reading and art. Nobody ever died because they held a pencil the wrong way (unless maybe they were running with said pencil). Since childhood, I have managed to overcome some of my fears.  I have been bungee jumping, sky diving, learned how to ride a motorcycle, and led a conga line around the party deck of a cruise ship.  I seem to be slowly getting this adventure thing down.

My new bowling shoes

In the course of getting certified to drown, you have to take a class and get a bunch of gear, because apparently people are not made for being underwater. Shocking, I know. So we went to Diver's Direct in Palm Beach Gardens to get me fitted for a whole bunch of stuff to "make my diving experience comfortable and enjoyable." After all, one should be properly packaged for the sharks. The sales associate, Doug, was extremely helpful and encouraging, so mad props to you, Doug! I was not expecting to spend an hour trying on frog suits and frog feet, but I am now the proud owner of a mask, flippers, a snorkel, dive booties and gloves. Now all I need is a set of balls, and I may actually take the class. 

All kidding (and most whining) aside, I really am going to do it, even though I'm terrified. Not because anyone else wants me to, but in spite of people wanting me to. Mike says he doesn't care if I do it or not. You know, no pressure. Then he spends two hours in the dive shop with me, picking out gear, talking about how happy he is I'm getting certified. Nope, no pressure there. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize I am over-thinking it, and all that really gets me is panic attacks and throwing up and nothing positive. So I'm going to take out a life insurance policy and then conquer this fear the way I have conquered all my others - by closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and leaping. 

Yes, y'all.  This is actually me, about 14,500 feet up.

A Review of Sorts. Just Kidding. It's a Review of Brushes. Who Reviews Sorts?

Decapitated Barbie is a bad way to start the day.  Decapitated Barbies are worse.  I was digging through the toy box this morning, desperately trying to find the plastic zebra I knew was in there somewhere, when I came across a very pretty Barbie - head.  Then another, no bodies anywhere.  I think our Toy Story has a twisted dark side.  I did manage, though, to find the zebra, but all the stripes were worn off.  "That just looks like a horse, mom," my precocious five-year-old declared.  Let's go."  Ok, then.  I dropped her off at preschool and proceeded to have a very weird, stress-filled workday.  I'm pretty sure it's all connected.

Anyway, I am sailing to The Bahamas today (junk in the trunk and all), and I am beyond excited.  It will be my first trip outside the Continental US, sad but true, and it's 57 miles straight into the Bermuda Triangle.  How cool is that?  I'll take lots of fun pictures, and I'm sure there will be a great story to tell when I get back.

So, have you seen those late-night infomercials for the new miracle Michel Mercier no-tangle brush?  I woke up one night, and it was on, so naturally I had dreaming of brushes and tangles.  It seemed like such a fantastic Eureka!  Both of my daughters have beautiful, long blonde hair that wads up every night as if they slept in their own little blenders.  Where most hair gets rats nests, they suffer from gorilla beds.  So that very night, I hopped out of bed and ordered 2 of them, which turned out to be 4 because their website is terribly confusing, especially at 3:00 a.m.  I did not intend to spend over $50 on hair brushes.  That morning, at a more normal hour, I contacted their customer service to explain that I needed to cancel that spontaneous error.  The girl on the phone politely explained that my order had already shipped.  Wow!  Now, that's fast!  Then my head spun when she cheerfully offered to refund half of my payment, without my even asking.  I said, "Heck, yes!" and then waited on pins and needles for my new magic brushes to arrive.  The days crept by while I imagined these magic brushes with fingers for bristles that would untangle my girls' hair with cleverness and ease.  Imagine my disappointment when the day came, and what was inside that exciting box?  Um, brushes.  Ordinary looking brushes.  No little fingers or pixie dust or anything.  I tried them out on my oldest daughter first.  I'm pretty sure she's always thrilled to be the guinea pig.  She still cringed as I ran the brush through her hair, but she didn't howl and run from me like usual, so I'd call that a win.  My younger daughter was not as impressed, but she didn't react any worse either.  In the end, I'd give these brushes a B+.  Way to be, Michel Mercier!