Thursday, August 3, 2017

Six memorable summer moments I didn't blog about

It's been a rough summer for me. Recouping from my surgery is harder than I thought, then (and I haven't told you this yet) I had a coughing fit about 10 days after the surgery, and fractured a vertebrae in my lumbar spine. That post is forthcoming, but the point is...rough summer.

(And now, a picture of summer 2015 when we went to San Diego. Just 'cause.)

This is the opposite of a rough summer.

But I always manage to laugh stuff off best I can, because what else are you gonna do? So I'm linking up to Mama Kat's Writer Workshop this week for the prompt: List your top six favorite summer moments so far. Only, these are more just memorable moments from this summer, that I meant to blog about, but didn't.

1.  Memories

My uncle texted me a picture of myself when I was around 12 or 13, that I hadn't seen in a long time.

This was my attempt at Farrah Fawcett hair
My sister said I looked like a member of the Manson family. Thanks, sis. Also, she's kind of right.

Lordy, I remember those glasses. They were photo-something lenses that darkened in the sun and lightened indoors. They seemed like a brilliant idea when I got them, but in P.E. class, when I was outside for a long time, they turned really dark and I always looked like a fly face. Ah, the memories.

2.  Aliens

In May (that's summer, right? sort of?), my brother and I drove to Roswell, New Mexico, for my niece's graduation. Everything about that place is quirky. Of course, we had to visit the alien museum. The highlight of which, was this:




3.  Incidents and Accidents

On the last day of May, I had my surgery, and although surgery is...well, it's surgery... there were some funny moments (I wrote about some of them here). It just so happens that my son broke his hand a few days before my surgery, so here's what it looked like when he came to visit me in the hospital:

We're pretty smiley, for a couple of injured folks.

We look like an ad for an injury attorney.

4. Annie Aged-ly 

A few weeks after my surgery, my sister and I drove to my mom's for a visit. Mom and her husband are always at war with the squirrels in their garden. I went in the kitchen one morning for coffee, and saw this:

Mom doesn't care for varmints.
It kind of shakes you up when you always thought of your mom as an animal lover, then you see a sight like that. I stay out of her garden now, though.

5.  Sibling Love

Both my girls are world travelers these days, so when they are back home at the same time, it warms my heart. I thought I would capture a tender moment of them taking a nap together, but apparently, only one was actually asleep. Just as I snapped the picture, this happened:


6.  It's my birthday and I'll wear a brace if I want to 

So, my birthday was in July and despite the neck brace and back fracture, it wasn't too bad. First, I got some free makeup from Ulta:


Then I treated my Flintstone feet to a pedicure:

My dog is ecstatic, as you can see.
And finally, dinner with the fam at the place that makes my favorite cocktail:

Italian margarita at Olive Garden - yummm! Also, their alfredo sauce is the bomb!
So there you have it - six memorable moments of my summer. Riveting, I know.

How about you? Any memorable moments this summer to share?





Tuesday, July 25, 2017

I Almost Rescued a Bird

When I last left you, I had fishing line sticking out of my neck and a $109,000 surgery bill. Well, not really a bill because insurance....but still.

You'll be happy (or maybe just grossed out) to know that after tugging on the fishing line a little bit each day over the course of a few days, the thread finally just slipped out. I guess it wasn't attached to anything, but it was about two inches long.

When I pulled it all the way, I half expected to involuntarily shout my innermost secrets.

(Giphy.com)

But nothing so exciting happened. I was just glad to not be walking around with a string sticking out of me. I was glad when menopause hit for the same reason. (Think about it for a minute...you'll get it.)

As for the surgery bill, I'll spare you the details, but the hospital accepted whatever the insurance company paid them, which was NOT $109,000. They figured it out amongst themselves.

(Giphy.com)

(I made the gif from the Citi commercials with the two neighbors. Have you seen it? It's pretty funny.)

As incensed as I was about the high cost of healthcare, all I really cared about was that we didn't have to pay any more than we already had. Gee, I wonder why that career in activism hasn't taken off yet for me?

I would like to mention though, that the piece of metal and screws in my neck cost $56,000. I'm thinking I could have picked up something from Home Depot for a helluva' lot less. But what do I know?

Anyhoo... didn't mean to go off on that tangent. I really just wanted to tell you what happened to me today.

I almost rescued a bird.

Yesterday, I took two of my dogs for a walk on our usual route and I saw a baby dove sitting in the rocks in a common area in our development. (If you don't live in an HOA in the suburbs, common areas are landscaped areas that aren't someone's yard. It's where I prefer my dogs to poo.)

It had feathers and was walking around (the bird, not the poo), so I thought maybe its mama was giving it a flying lesson and he was being stubborn and lazy and his mom was all, "Fine. Sit there then. When yo' scraggly-ass is hungry, you know the way to the crib."

So me and the doggies and our bag of poo finished our walk and I dropped them at my house and picked up my other two dogs (cause that's the official dog-walking procedures around here) and we walked the same route and I checked on the birdie again. He was still sitting there.

I thought about rescuing him, but other than a cockatiel I raised for about five years, I don't have the best track record of keeping birds alive.

When I was about 10, we acquired a baby chick (I don't remember how) which I kept in a cardboard box in the bedroom I shared with my sister. I was really excited about it because the next day was Show-and-Tell at school and I was going to bring Chickie and be the envy of my friends. But I was scared of the dark and for that reason, didn't close our bedroom door that night.

Did I mention we had two cats? I woke up to find the box toppled over and Chickie's feet and beak laying in the hallway. How we slept through the massacre, I don't know. Chickie didn't even last 24 hours under my care.

Then years later, when my kids were young, my first husband bought us a parakeet. I thought it would be fine because we didn't have cats. We had a very gentle border collie. I took the cage down and set it on the kitchen table, and put the bird on the top of the cage to perch while I cleaned the cage.

The events following happened very fast, but I think the bird tried to fly off the cage and that triggered the border collie to try to bite it and yadda, yadda....another dead bird. That one lasted less than a week.

Then some years later, when Sissa was a teenager, I was picking her up from school and her and her friends had found an injured pigeon. I didn't want to just leave the thing in the street to die and my daughter was pleading with me, so I took the pigeon to the nearest vet (who looked at me like I was crazy, by the way), and he said it would heal on its own and we could try to care for it until it could fly away.

So we got it home and while Sissa was carrying it inside, it escaped, crawled under the house, and probably died. Can't blame him for trying to escape -no doubt he'd heard of us. The place where birds check in and never leave.

Fast forward to the present day and you can understand why I was hesitant to attempt a bird death sentence rescue.

There was shade and water from the plant bubblers, so I left the little guy there, but kept thinking about him all night.

I took my dogs for a walk today and when we passed by the spot where I'd seen him, I looked for him.

He was still sitting there. He wasn't all half-passed-out or anything. He looked like he was just chillin'. He cocked his head and looked at me all, " 'Sup?"

Actually, it was more like, "Back off, lady!"



But I couldn't just let this baby dove die from starvation and the elements because his mama abandoned him. As opposed to you know, dying from exposure to me. My husband has a friend he's known since high school who has successfully rescued several birds so I  planned to pawn the thing off on him ask him for advice.

So I rushed the doggies through the rest of their walk and we high-tailed it home.


When we got home, I dug a cat carrier out of the garage (ironic, I know), hopped in my truck and headed back over to my prey the little guy.

I don't know what the neighbors thought about the crazy lady with the cat carrier, tramping through the bushes calling, "Come here, baby! Come here, baby! Where's your mama? Where's your mama?" In the rain, no less.

The little guy's mom was probably watching from a tree, going, "Bitch, back off! Git the hell out with yo' mama shamin' self. This here is how we roll in bird world!"

It was apparent I wasn't going to catch him without a second person, so I gave up for the moment, got back in my truck and Googled "abandoned baby dove," so I would know what to feed the thing if I ever could capture it.

I'm glad I had the sense to Google it, because I found out that it's common for young mourning doves to be found walking around on the ground. They fly out of their nest then don't know how to fly back, so they stay put and their moms feed them and look out for them until they can fly. A little like human kids when they first move out of the house.

So I decided to leave the little guy be and hope for the best. Apparently, mourning doves are one of the most prolific birds in the U.S. They're like the rabbits of the bird world. Their parents can always make more, hence their lackluster parenting methods.

Incidentally, they get their name because the cooing sound they make sounds like lamenting (I got that from here), which is appropriate because if he gets stuck with me taking care of him, he will be lamenting all right.

For now, the birds are safe from me. I'll be checking on the little guy tomorrow, so updates will follow as they become available. Hopefully, I'll find time in my busy unemployed day to blog about it.

Signed,
Bird Hitler

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Surgery is Expensive. Also, I didn't Win the Lottery.

We didn't win the lottery. I say "we" because my brother, sister, myself, my mom and stepdad have an agreement that if any of us wins, we will all split the money. So when my sister and I drove out to California to visit my mom this past weekend, we bought tickets.

And now, here I lay in my bed with my little laptop tray, surrounded by sleeping dogs in my mess of a bedroom, checking lottery ticket numbers. In my pajamas. Could I BE more pathetic?



I was beginning to feel better from my surgery, but then I got this dry cough that may or may not be turning into a cold, and I feel kind of crappy.

So it's back to bed I go for a day or two. Maybe I was trying to do too much with my dog walks and road trips two weeks after my neck was sliced open.

Speaking of which, my scar is looking pretty good, except there's this little piece of suture sticking out and I have to tell you - I want to pull it so dang bad. It's all I can do to resist it. The sutures are supposed to just disintegrate on their own and they all have, except for this one little piece. It's like fishing line and I really just want to pull on it, but am afraid what I might dredge up. I mean, what's the other end attached to?

So for now, I'm resisting. Updates as they become available.

Aside from checking lottery numbers and refraining from unraveling myself, I managed to get a little paperwork done today. I went to my insurance company's website to check the status on my hospital claim. Do you want to know how much it was?

A hundred and nine thousand dollars.

Yes, I'm serious.

Do you want to know how much the hospital estimated it would be and what my copayment (which they made me pay the day before the surgery) was based upon?

Eighteen thousand dollars.

So here's a question - WTF???

Did they find six other people on which to perform the surgery and slap them all on my bill?

And guess what else? They don't automatically send you the itemized bill of all the charges. Oh no. You have to call and ask for it. So you can bet your patootie I did. Sure, the insurance company is paying for it, but damn. I'm insanely curious how they can justify that kind of cost AND how they can be THAT way off in their "estimate".

I'll be watching the mailbox for that puppy. Because apparently, I've got nothing better to do.

Speaking of doing things, I've suddenly begun getting "looking for sex" emails.  Like five a day. I didn't really get them before, so I'm not sure what's changed. I suspect nefarious activities on the part of the hospital. Based on your answers to their very personal pre-surgery questions, I bet they sell your email address to spammers.

Recouping from surgery gives one loads of time to concoct conspiracy theories, by the way.

Anyhoo...you'll be happy to know, that's all I got today.

Losing it,
Lori



Friday, June 16, 2017

What They Don't Tell You When You Have Surgery: A Post-Op Post

I had neck surgery about two weeks ago. The whole business of surgery is unsettling. You don't really know what goes on in that operating room when you're passed out from anesthesia.

Source: Giphy.com
Despite my trepidation though, I knew it was time to have surgery. I had a couple discs in my neck that had been causing me problems for a few years and it finally got bad enough that I felt like I didn't have much choice.

I never realized all the prep work that comes before a major surgery. The day before the procedure I had to pre-register at the hospital, fill out a bunch of papers, and have some blood drawn. The nurse handed me a bag containing six packages of giant, super-thick anti-bacterial wipes. I was to shower that night, wait two hours, wipe my whole body down with them, and wipe down again in the morning before we left for the hospital. Then she said, "They leave a sticky residue behind, but don't wash it off." 

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that.

After the explicit wipe-down instructions (there was even an accompanying handout with a drawing of a human body and numbers on all the body parts to make sure you don't miss any nooks or crannies.), the nurse asked me a bunch of questions and typed the answers into her computer.

"Have you had any prior surgeries?" she asked.
"Yes, breast implants 15 years ago," I answered,
"Any sexually transmitted diseases?" she countered.

I'm sure they ask that second question of everyone, but the fact that it flew out of her mouth right after my admitted boob job was a little disconcerting. I wanted to say (in my best English accent), "Well, that wood make me quite the accommodatin' lass, now woodnt' it?"

Source: Giphy.com

But I have a lousy English accent so I was only a riot in my head. Although Mr. Accommodated thought it was hilarious when I told him later.

The next morning we arrived at the hospital bright and early at 5:30 AM. I stripped down, changed into the gown, got into the bed, and awaited my fate.

If I had a nickel for every time...

Anyway, the anesthesiologist came in a short while later and introduced himself.

Talk about unsettling. The first thing I noticed was the size of the camera lens on his phone. It was huge. The guy was a serious Instagrammer or Snapchatter or whatever. Not something you want to see when you're about to be put under by the guy. I pictured shenanigans like this going on: (click the 4-arrow thingy in the bottom right to make the comic bigger)

Whatever went on during surgery, all I know is I woke up in recovery and wow, did my back hurt! They said it was due to how they positioned me on the table, but they did all that after they knocked me out so I had no idea what that position was. Again, unsettling.

I was on a morphine drip though, so I couldn't figure out why I would have pain anywhere in my body. I mean it's MORPHINE, for crying out loud. It was several hours later, after they had moved me to a room, when a CNA discovered that every time I pushed the button for the morphine, half of it was dripping on the damn floor and not into my body.

SON OF A.....!!

Turns out, the tip of the morphine tube was broken, so the IV line was leaking where it attached to the tube. Well, that explained why I still had pain.

Things looked up after they got that figured out.

But back to the things that go on in the operating room that you don't know about. I woke up to a spooge-like substance in my hair. Big, gnarly, gobs of Something-About-Mary dried spooge, in various spots, all over my hair.

Source: Giphy.com

Once again, I wondered - what the hell went on in that operating room?? Okay, so it probably wasn't the same substance as Mary's, but what did they do, run out of towels and use my head to wipe some sort of surgical gel off their hands?

I found out later it was glue to hold nerve sensors onto my scalp. Good to know, but they might have warned me about the aftereffects. It took my sister-in-law forever to comb it all out.

Fortunately, I only had to stay one night in the hospital. The nurses gave really good care and were wonderful, but I just wanted to be home in my own bed, where I have a say in what substances wind up in my hair.

While I was getting dressed and gathering up stuff from the room to leave, I was barfing from the pain pill I had taken earlier that morning. Apparently, I'm a light-weight when it comes to pills. I hoped that by the time I had to sit in the wheelchair and be wheeled out to the car, my nausea would have passed. No. As she pushed me through the halls towards the lobby, I barfed continuously into the little plastic bin the hospital always gives you to take home. Now I know what those are for.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when we got to the main lobby doors, she stopped pushing, thinking it would be easier for me to barf in a non-moving environment. She meant well, but it resulted in me sitting there, right smack in the middle of the main entryway to the hospital, retching and barfing my guts out into my little plastic bin, while people sidestepped around me.

I felt like a weird greeter, right out of American Horror Story.

I barfed all the way home (but at least I didn't wee-wee. Get it? Little piggies?)

Anyway, I'm doing much better now. I have to wear a lovely neck brace for at least 6 weeks which makes me itchy when my neck sweats, but I can deal with that temporarily. There are worse things, right?

I can't really sit at my desk comfortably, but Fred set me up with a computer tray thing, so now I can recline on my bed and type on my laptop for a few hours at a time without much discomfort. And I know it will get better over time.

So...now that I've filled you in on my little drama, I'm linking this up to Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop for the prompt: Write about something you learned in May. Because if I don't link up somewhere, nobody actually reads my shit.

Accommodatingly,

Lori




Thursday, May 11, 2017

Three Things I Never Thought I'd Have to Do as a Parent

Being a parent is hard. Even if you go into it, expecting it to be hard... it's harder than you ever imagined.



Oh sure, there's joys and rewards and in the end, you wouldn't trade it for anything, blah, blah, blah. But there are some things you end up doing, as a parent, that you never, ever, EVER, thought you would have to do.

For instance:


1. Make your kid apologize to a neighbor for having dumped a bag of paper shreddings in their yard.



When Sissa was about 14 or so she had a friend over to spend the night. The next morning, there's a knock on our door and I find two cops standing there, with some paper shreddings in their hand. Apparently, she and her friend (who was moving away in a few weeks) wanted to do one last "epic" (her word) thing together and decided that sneaking out in the middle of the night to empty a bag of shredded paper she had found in my office, all over the neighbor's front yard, was just the parting exploit they needed.

How did the cops know the shreddings came from our house, you ask? They pieced some strips together and our address materialized before their eyes. FYI - shredding doesn't protect your personal information. At least not with teenagers in the house.


2.  Release a bunch of mice in an empty desert lot behind a Pet Smart.


I might get in trouble with PETA for this one, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Before we moved into our big house (the one where some kids broke in and had a rave. I'm thinking, Karma.), we we're living in a small rental house. For some reason that I don't remember (I'm sure some begging was involved) we agreed to buy a mouse who we named Harvey.

Harvey was fine alone, but for some reason we acquired two more mice, which were female. I think you see where this is going. 

We kept the female mice in a separate cage and the kids were under strict orders to not let them mingle. (Right about now, Fred is laughing hysterically at the words "strict orders".) 

Apparently, the kids threw a little mouse party in the empty bathtub and allowed the furry nymphos to frolic together. We all know what happens at mouse parties where booze and boy-girl shenanigans are allowed. Mouse babies. Lots. and lots. of mouse babies.

We gave some to Pet Smart and kept some for a while. But mice are stinky, even with regular cage-cleanings. When we bought our new house I was determined the mice would not be moving with us. 
We tried to give them to Pet Smart again, but this time they said they had too many mice already and wouldn't take them. 

So...somewhere in an empty lot behind a Pet Smart are a bunch of homeless mice, drinking Schlitz Malt Liquor and reminiscing about the orgy they once all had in a bathtub.

3.  Pick up your teenage daughter from a school yard in the middle of the night.

    
 
Yeah, it's the same daughter mentioned earlier. She was - I don't know...in her teens - and had spent the night at a friend's house (a different friend) and the two of them and the friend's brother decided it would be fun to sneak out and go hang out in a nearby school yard. I'm sure the word "epic" was used.

The school police were patrolling the area and saw them and called us. They had tried to bring the kids back to the friend's house, but after banging on the door several times and ringing the doorbell, couldn't wake up the friend's parents. !!!!???

When Fred went to pick her up, he asked the police what the kids were doing when the police caught them. The cop chuckled and said, "Playing Duck Duck Goose."

I guess it could have been worse.

This list could go on, but really each of the things I thought I would never have to do as a parent, is a blog post all on its own. So I'm stopping at these three. Most things, over time, become a funny story even if they weren't funny at all at the time. Of course, there are also the things that are never funny. The things that keep you awake at night when you look back on them and are too hard and too personal to write about...

But this post isn't about those things. It's about the stuff that's funny later. I saw this on Facebook the other day and thought it sums up being a parent pretty good:


Happy Mother's Day to all you moms, or dads who are also moms. May all your bad parenting moments become funny anecdotes later and not actually screw up your kids.

How about you guys? Do you have any things you never thought you would have to do as a parent?

Nostalgically,
Lori

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and her prompt: write a list of things you never thought you would do when you became a parent.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Just Another Weekend Full of Epiphanies, Chores, Peppercorns and Coneheads

Well, it's another red-letter weekend over here at Laidoffsville.


The Big Garage Clean-up


On Saturday I decided to organize the left side of our garage because it's been a big jumbled mess for a few months now and I finally got tired of it. When Fred saw what I was doing he asked what the trigger was. He hates when I start a project like that because he knows he's going to get sucked into it somehow. And of course, he would, because there's a box full of stuff he unloaded from his car before we sold it (last summer) that I've been bugging him to sort through. Did I mention since last summer?

But the box wasn't the trigger. I told him the mess was just bugging me and I wanted to get it done. He knows me though. He asked me again what triggered me to suddenly decide this was the day I was going to clean the garage when I hadn't even mentioned it the day before.

He was right. There was a trigger. I was feeling like a complete failure because the day before, I had planned to earn a little money doing some freelance blog post writing. Only I couldn't write. Wasn't feeling it. At all.

So I binge watched The Blacklist instead and then hated myself for it because where is my self-motivation? Then that whole thought process led me to the conclusion that maybe I lack the discipline to be self-employed and work from home and I should just look for another job.

So I got on Craigslist. Hey potential employer, how about you just suck my soul out through my left eye socket for that $10 an hour you're willing to pay?

This is what having your soul sucked out looks like.

So then I went back to the writing site and tried it again (because if I'm going to work for peanuts, it may as well be work I enjoy and don't have to shower and get dressed for), and still wasn't feeling it. Then I had an epiphany. And let's see how many sentences I can begin with "so" and "then". Jeez.

My epiphany was this: I'm good at helping others be great, but not at being great myself.

I'm motivated and proactive and all organization and efficiency for an employer, but when the employer is me... I'm pretty much a slacker. How does one fire oneself?

So (the answer is one. One more.) with that, I drank a bottle of wine, had some pizza and called it a night.

Then came Saturday morning (okay, two). I awoke with the innate and overwhelming need to accomplish something. To be great at something. I needed some gratification, dammit.

That was my trigger. After explaining all of this to Fred, he gave me that "what is WRONG with you, woman" look that I'm all too familiar with, and went back to bed.

What is WRONG with you, woman??

The garage turned out pretty good. What we really needed was a yard sale, but that wasn't happening right away, so the best I could do was rearrange, throw out, and donate some stuff. The point is... I felt like I accomplished something and that made me feel better about my employability, self or otherwise.

Not terribly dramatic, but what do you expect from a slacker?

I could end this post here, but I need to tell you about the peppercorns and Coneheads. Because red-letter.

The Peppercorn Incident


Fred and I went to Winco on Sunday. If you don't know about Winco, it's a grocery store with low prices, great produce, and my favorite - the bin section.

They have an area where they sell all sorts of things out of bins. You scoop out how much you want, put it in a bag, write the code number for the item on the twist tie, and they weigh it and ring it up at check-out. I don't buy everything from the bins, but certain things, like specialty flours, spices, and nuts, are really inexpensive.

Fred hates the bin section. He says the time it takes to scoop and bag is "Twenty minutes of my life that I can't get back."

Nevertheless, I needed peppercorns so we headed to the bins. I had to explain to Fred what peppercorns are and how I put them in my pepper grinder and of course he had to ask, "Wouldn't it be easier to just buy a container of ground pepper?"

He just didn't get it. So while I made him help me scoop, label, and twist tie my little bag of peppercorns, I educated him all about how much cheaper peppercorns were this way and how much better fresh ground pepper is and yada, yada, yada, we finished and went through check-out.

My damn peppercorns were $9.96.

I looked at the receipt and they were over $15 a pound! I went straight to the customer service desk and had them double-check it. Yup, that was the price.

I returned the peppercorns.

Fred gloated all the way home.

The Coneheads


We have a nickname for one of our neighbors that lives up the street. They have young kids and apparently feel that placing a couple cones in the middle of the street means their kids can ride their tricycles and Barbie cars in the middle of the road, with no parental supervision, and be adequately protected from getting hit by a car.

Oh, and to add to the fun, they park their big-ass toy hauler in front of their house and allow their kids to dart out into the street from behind it. Because, you know, the cones are there. 

All of this goes on while one parent is either busy doing something inside the toy hauler, or not visible at all, anywhere outside.

A few months ago Fred was driving home one afternoon, going very slowly because he saw the cones, and one of the kids shot out from behind the toy hauler in her Barbie car, right in front of him. Fortunately, Fred was going slow enough that he was able to stop in time. The dad then came running out towards Fred's car, and started yelling at him to be more careful! Fred suggested that, gee, maybe they should supervise their kids. 

Despite having that near-miss (and others, I'm sure), they continue to let their kids play in the street. On our way home from the grocery store, sure enough, there was the toy hauler, the cones, and various little kids on little vehicles, including Barbie Knievel.

It was a welcome distraction from Fred's peppercorn gloating, but still... the Coneheads are a source of annoyance. They definitely aren't on our Christmas Cracker list.

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

Your Barely Employable Slacker,
Lori

Thursday, April 27, 2017

How a Pedicure Confirmed My Bitchy Resting Face


I love getting pedicures. Nothing makes a girl feel more girly than smooth heels and painted toes.

"Oh yeah, pink's ma' color." (source)

Last year after we moved, I felt like a needed a mini spa-break, so I tried a new nail salon right by our house. I had a lovely nail technician we'll call Sebastian.

Sebastian was quite the salesman. It started immediately when I sat down in the comfy massage chair and he handed me a card listing about 90 different kinds of pedicures. They ranged from the budget- friendly "we file your daggers and clean your toe gunk" to the more indulgent "we exfoliate, decrystallize, and massage until your legs are butta' ".

I really just wanted a simple pedicure, but Sebastian said I could really use a good foot sloughing, so I picked a treatment somewhere in the middle. Come to find out, he was quite direct about what his customers needed.

Sebastian is the king of the upsell

I settled in as my foot pampering began. We started to chit chat a little and he began asking questions about my skincare regime.

Uh-oh. I could feel another sales pitch coming on.

Sebastian: When was last time you had facial? (Don't lie - from the size of your pores, it's been a while.)
Me: I don't remember. (Hmmm, do I NEED a facial?)
Sebastian: We have special on facial and pedicure. You get discount. (Note to self: add newly invented special to the treatment list card.)
Me: I don't...

At the first sound of a protest from me, Sebastian jumped up from his little stool, came over and stood by me, and began peering closely at my face. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but then again...the man was cleaning my toe jam, so I suppose we were looking at personal space boundaries in the rear-view mirror.

Sebastian: Awww, yeahhhh, your pores clogged. We use very good product. It lift all dirt and toxin out. Your skin glow! You won't believe difference! (Have you looked in mirror lately?)
Me: Maybe next time when I have more time...(Jeez, is my skin that bad???)
Sebastian: No extra time! I apply mask now and it sit while I do toes. Your skin glow! You will love! (Think I snagged her...)
Me: Okay, why not? (Would you just shut-up about my pores, please?)
Sebastian: (Suckaaaaa!)

So Sebastian washed my face and brushed on some product that he told me the name of but I can't remember. Then he put a paper mask over my face. I had my eyes closed while he was doing this and didn't realize that the mask had eye-holes cut out of it.

He returned to his stool and resumed working on my toes, while I sat there thinking I had a mask over my eyes. Finally, he said, "You can open your eyes if you want."

I reached up and touched my eyes. Oh. Eyeholes. I felt like a doofus.

I feel ya, dog.

While my skin was de-gunking and my toes were de-hobbitfying, Sebastian and I chatted. His father owned the salon, his siblings worked there too, he was married with three kids, he works a lot. Sebastian was a pretty nice guy and I was beginning to forgive him for his hard-sell tactics.

Soon, he finished my toes and peeled the mask off my face.

He began exclaiming and oohing and ahhhing as he slowly pulled the paper off, "Ohhhhh, look at all that! You had lot of dirt, loooottt of dirt!" (He dragged out the word "lot," excessively). "Ohhhhh, you won't believe...wow...looooottt of dirt!"

Lot of dirt. Got it. Thanks.

He showed me the paper mask.

It looked like something an archaeologist unearthed. The frown shaped mouth is evidence of my "bitchy resting face". You know - the natural state of one's face when one isn't smiling.

It's a thing. And it's now confirmed I have one.

It's Homobitchirestingfacapian. (Pronounced homo-bitchy-resting-face-apian)

Apparently, the condition of my pores was quite intriguing to Sebastian. He went on and on about how much dirt was stuck to the mask.

Did I mention the salon was crowded? Every seat was full. I was thrilled that a roomful of strangers were now intimately acquainted with my supposed lackluster skin cleansing habits. "Hey Sebastian, since my pore gunk is so fascinating, let's pass the mask around so everyone can see, like they do with the gifts at a baby shower," is what I thought to myself.

After he finished marvelling at the evidence of my filthy face, he handed the mask to me, "Here, you take home."

Yeah. No.

What was I supposed to do with it? Like I had just the spot for it up on my mantle, right next to my gallbladder in a jar.

"Thanks, I'm good," I said.

"Okay, I take picture for you," he said. And that's how the above picture came to be. Because I honestly would never have thought to take a picture of my pore gunk. So you have Sebastian to thank for that.

Before I left the salon, I looked in the mirror, certain that I must look hideous with my large pores and now, no makeup.

But, you know what? My skin looked fabulous! I mean, it really was glowing.

Son-of-a-gun. Sebastian knew what he was talking about, after all.

Despite his overexuberance about my pore dirt, and his relentless upselling techniques, I still go back to Sebastian. He gives a heck of a pedicure and I found his directness a little endearing.

Or maybe I'm just a masochist.

Filthily,
Lori

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt to write a post inspired by the word "break". As in "spa-break". It's a stretch, I know.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

How to Walk Four Dogs in 33 Easy Steps

I've taken to watching an episode or two of The Dog Whisperer on Saturday mornings. Because, you know, we have four and they don't respond all that well to our commands - whispered or otherwise.

How to walk your dog in 33 easy steps
She's a little tied up at the moment.

The problem is that we don't treat them like dogs. They're more like noisy, messy roommates.

Anyway, the other day I was taking two of my roomies out for a walk and I thought I'd try ole' Cesar's method of using body language to adjust their behavior. Specifically, pulling back on their leashes to keep them from gallumphing off ahead of me, like they always do.

It wasn't working very well, but it was really hard to try to train both dogs at the same time. I decided to scrap the plan for the moment and try it another time with them, one at a time.

And that's when I realized which of Mama Kat's writing prompts I would tackle this week. Write a post inspired by the word "incomplete".

Incomplete. That pretty much sums up our dog training regime.

To illustrate, below is a narration of one of our walk adventures. (You can read more adventures in dog walking here and here, by the way.) I posted it on my personal Facebook page a few months ago and since it fits, I'm reposting it here.

For those of you who read my personal blatherings and my blog blatherings - sorry for the rerun. But at least in this post, you get the benefit of a picture so you can see who each culprit is.




An example of our incomplete dog training (alternate title: How to Walk 4 Dogs in 33 Easy Steps):

Step 1: Gather the dog leashes and harnesses which are in a big tangled mess from the last time you walked the dogs.

Step 2: Untangle the mess while tripping over the dogs as they jump, spin, run, and bark around you, because they know they're going for a walk.

Step 3: Try to put the harness on dog 1 (who is offended by leashes and harnesses).

Step 4: Study the harness while turning it over in your hands for 5 minutes, trying to remember how the hell it goes on the dog.

Step 5: Go find dog 1 who has, by now, run and hid from the harness.

Step 6: Try again to put the harness on dog 1, who has decided to lay down.

Step 7: Realize the harness is too small.

Step 8: Take the harness off and adjust it.

Step 9: Go find dog 1 who has run and hid again.

Step 10: Repeat steps 6 - 9 twice more, then give up on dog 1 for now and decide to walk dog 1 and 4 together, after walking dogs 2 and 3.

Step 11: Put different harness and leash on dog 2, who is generally cooperative.

Step 12: Quickly grab dog 3, who is always excited to go on a walk but likes to play "catch me if you can" when it comes time to put his harness and leash on.

Step 13: Praise yourself because you bought him a new, easy harness and he's leashed and ready in a few seconds.

Step 14: Curse yourself because you still have to get your shoes and jacket on, find your keys and phone, and grab some poop bags, all while holding the leash of dog 3 because as soon as you let go, he'll want to play "catch me if you can" again.

Step 15: Finally ready, try to get out the door with dogs 2 and 3 (who keep walking back and forth in front of you and tangling up their leashes), while explaining to dog 4 that she has to stay behind and wait her turn.

Step 16: Regain your balance as dogs 2 and 3 struggle to be the first out the door.

Step 17: Watch leashless dog 4 squeeze past you and run out the door to the end of the driveway. Make repeated, frenzied, and eventually menacing, commands for her to come back.

Step 18: Curse under your breath as she completely ignores you.

Step 19: Put dog 2 back in the house.

Step 20: Walk to the end of the driveway with dog 3 in tow, so you can grab dog 4 and put her back in the house.

Step 21: Watch dog 4 begin to run into the street.

Step 22: Begin to chase dog 4, yelling at her because a car is coming.

Step 23: Grab dog 4 and toss her back into the house, yelling at her to "stay", and call dog 2 to come outside (this may take a few minutes as dog 2 tries to figure out who the heck you want to "come" and who has to "stay").

Step 24: Walk around the block with dogs 2 and 3.

Step 25: Get almost home, then watch as dog 2 takes a large dump in your next door neighbor's front yard, getting dog poo all over the leash because (once again) it is tangled around her.

Step 26: Try to keep the dog poo part of the leash off dog 2 and yourself, keep a grip on the leash of dog 3, and scoop up the poop, all at the same time.

Step 27: Curse under your breath and pray your neighbor isn't watching out the window.

Step 28: Bring dogs 2 and 3 in the house.

Step 29: Wipe dog 2 down with doggie wipes, in case any poo got on her. Throw the dog poo bag in the outside trash, and wash the dog leash.

Step 30: Give up on walking dog 1 at all because by now, you're in no mood to struggle with the damn harness. Put the leash on dog 4.

Step 31: Curse as dog 4 runs around the coffee table leg twice and you have to untangle her.

Step 32: Walk dog 4 to the corner and back.

Step 33: Throw all the leashes and harnesses back in the closet, in a big tangled mess.

I don't know what Cesar Millan would think if he came over for a visit. Between their walk behavior, entitled attitudes, and complete disregard for orders, our dogs could easily be the stars of The Dog Whisperer: What the Hell Happened Here?? edition.

Oh well. Add it to the list of things to work on.

Incompletely,
Lori

Saturday, April 15, 2017

5 Tips for First Time Cruisers

In my last post, I mentioned we took a cruise and had a little misadventure in Puerto Vallarta.

This week, I thought I'd share a few of the highlights of our trip, in the form of general tips for any other first time cruisers out there. Because I don't mind getting laughed it.

I know you're thinking, "All right already with the damn cruise!" This is my last cruise post, I promise.

Docking at Puerto Vallarta

1.  Proofread any texts sent during the sail away party.


The sail away is a big deal. It's when you first pull away from the starting port and everyone is up on deck, all excited and happy (and 7 pounds lighter than when we dock a week later) at the thought of a responsibility-free week filled with food, fun, and adventure.

And booze. Don't forget the booze.

Aren't the anti-barf bands I'm wearing on my wrists sexy?

I was just starting on my second of the above pictured cocktail when the DJ started playing the song We Are Family by Sister Sledge. So of course I thought of my family back home and decided it was a good time to share my buzz joy with them and let them know how much fun it would be if we all went on a cruise together.

This is what I sent:

My auto-correct is a lot more fun than I am.

That was supposed to say, "It's making me miss you guys," and not imply I wanted to get naked and honk things.

So, my future cruisers, enjoy the sail away party, but... proofread.

2.  Be adventurous and try new foods and drinks.


A cruise is the perfect place to try new foods because there is so. much. food. And it's all free. So, when I saw Escargot on the menu in the dining room one night, I decided to try it.

I'm not sure if I would have been so intrepid if the little slitherers were still in their shells, but fortunately, these were de-shelled already.

Here's how that went:




Honestly? They tasted pretty good, but it's hard to forget the fact that they're snails. So, once was enough for me.

Then there is my husband, who's idea of "trying something new" is to dip his fries in ranch instead of catsup. Needless to say, he wouldn't try the snails.

But I have to give him props - he was a good sport in my endeavor to find an alcohol he might like.

In case I haven't mentioned it before - Fred's not a drinker. Not because he's on the wagon, but just because he's never found an alcohol he likes the taste of. So, because I wanted someone to commiserate with in my debauchery, it became my mission on the cruise to help him find a drink he liked.

Turns out, margaritas are probably his least favorite:




In the end, guess which drink he actually ordered two of?

That's it...come over to the drinking side, my pretty!

A strawberry daiquiri - probably the least manly drink there is. Go figure.

3.  Read the ship's newsletter so you don't miss important events.


There's all sorts of fun activities and shows happening throughout the day and evening on a cruise. They list them all in a daily newsletter and deliver it each night to your room so you can plan out the next day accordingly.

I liked to circle the must-dos, like this:

Don't judge me - drinks are generally $8 - $10 a pop.

4.  Don't feel pressure to engage in every activity.


Aside from Happy Hour, there are dances, games, competitions, classes, and loads of other things to do on a cruise. They try pretty hard to keep everyone entertained.

But sometimes you just want to chill out, and that's perfectly okay too. This was our favorite thing to do during the day:

Aren't we the exciting pair?

5.  Things may not go as planned, so roll with the punches.


Remember how our hike in Puerta Vallarta didn't go quite as planned? I'm happy to say that our next two port visits went much better, although they did have their own surprises.

Oh, Mazatlan, what do you have in store for us?

In Mazatlan we visited Stone Island where we decided to kayak.

FYI - the ocean isn't a good place to learn to kayak. Or maybe the two of us are just too uncoordinated to figure out how to use the paddles in sync, stay upright, and battle the waves all at the same time.

I was optimistic we could figure it out, but Fred had his doubts after he slipped getting into the kayak and then couldn't sit up and was flailing on his back like a panicked bug until the attendant righted him.

When the first wave hit us, we were supposed to paddle together and ride the wave out to sea - or a few feet from shore, at least.

Instead, we immediately flipped over.

Fred declared kayaking done.

So instead we rode a banana boat. Have you ever ridden a banana boat? It's a long raft shaped like a banana that you sit on (one in front of the other), with a handle to hold onto. Several people can ride at once. The raft is attached to a speedboat with a long rope and you're pulled through the water.

This worked well because there was absolutely nothing required of us, other than to hang on tight. And surprisingly, that, we managed.

In Cabo San Lucas we looked forward to a tour in a glass-bottom boat.

Let me just tell you that the advertisement used the word "glass-bottom" a bit loosely. Yes there was some glass and yes it was in the bottom of the boat. But it was more like a small glass window that, if it weren't being used as a storage box and were clean, we may have been able to see out of it - bottomed boat.

But no matter, because we had the option of having the tour guide drop us off at a little secluded beach to snorkel and swim for a couple hours so we did that instead of finishing out the tour. And that was heavenly.

That's our cruise ship in the distance. We figured if the tour guide didn't come back to get us, we could always swim for it.

My point is...even if excursions don't go exactly as planned, be open to alternatives and laugh about the negatives. Because, hey, a bad day on a cruise is still better than a good day at home. Well, unless it's the Titanic...or Norovirus...but you get my drift (no pun intended).

This post is a loose interpretation of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt to share a spring break memory. I figured the cruise was our little break and it was in the spring, so...

Hey, if the glass-bottom boat guys can do it, so can I!

There's a lot of stuff to learn about cruising. Here's 5 things we learned on our first cruise that might help somebody else (laugh).


Thursday, April 6, 2017

The Sunglasses that Sunk Us and Other Lessons Learned in Mexico

We went on a cruise last week. Neither of us had ever been on one, so it was spectacularly exciting and we had a fabulous time, but as happens with all new adventures, we learned a few lessons.

The Ruby Princess cruise ship in Cabo San Lucas
The Ruby Princess

Actually, we learned many, many lessons, but this post is about what we learned while in our first stop on the cruise, Puerto Vallarta.

But first, a little background. For a month or so before the cruise, I researched what sights we might want to see in each port city (it was a 7 day cruise to Mexico). There are all sorts of excursions available - some through the cruise line and others through outside tour companies - that had activities ranging from snorkeling, to boat rides, to historical city tours.

For Puerto Vallarta, I found information on a 2 mile coastal hike that starts from a little town called Boca de Tomatlan, passes by two pristine, nearly deserted beaches, and ends at the popular beach, Las Animas. (If you're interested, there's lots of great details about it here).

A gorgeous beach view on the hike from Boca de Tomatlan to Las Animas beach
One of the views along the hike from Boca de Tomatlan to Las Animas

To me, a chance to burn some cruise calories, take in beautiful coastal views, frolic on a deserted beach, and enjoy authentic Mexican food, all sounded perfect. However, I'd have to convince Fred of its appeal. This is a man that names any hike I drag him on, a "death march."

One thing I had going for me was that, once we got to Las Animas beach, we wouldn't have to hike the two miles back. We could take a water taxi!

But one negative to the whole plan was that, to get to the starting point of the hike (the little town of Boca de Tomatlan), we would have to take two buses (a total of about 50 minutes travel time).

I wasn't certain of our success at navigating around the streets of Mexico with our extremely limited knowledge of the Spanish language. And by "limited knowledge" I mean Fred's grasp of the phrase "Las chichis grandes," which, when uttered on the streets of Mexico by a foreigner, may lead us to some interesting establishments...but probably wouldn't get us on the right bus.

Happily though, I didn't have to do too much convincing. Mr. Anti-Death March declared the whole plan an "adventure" and said, "If our daughter can manage to find her way around the jungles of Kauai, the streets of India, and the town of Phuket, Thailand, surely we can manage a bus ride and a hike in Mexico."

And with those words, my story begins.

Lesson #1: Don't pay $10 for sunglasses in Mexico.


Right after debarking at Puerto Vallarta, we stopped at the first kiosk we came to so that Fred could get a pair of sunglasses. In all my research about buying anything in Mexico, the advice was to haggle, haggle, haggle. But alas, I forgot, and we paid the first price quoted, which was $10 US dollars. Also, we probably should have sojourned a little further into the city to find a better starting price, to boot.

But, oh well, we thought. Nothing wrong with supporting the Mexican economy, right?

The sunglasses we shouldn't have spent $10 on in Mexico
The sunglasses that sunk us.

The bus ride part of our adventure was easier than we thought it would be.With the help of a few friendly tour salesmen that bombarded us at the port, we found our way to the first bus stop. Sure enough, the correct bus came along pretty quickly. We told the driver where we needed to get off, and he let us know when we got to the correct stop. Then we only had to say the name of our destination, "Boca de Tomatlan," and an amiable passerby pointed to the next bus stop.

Bus ride in Puerto Vallarta, on the way to Boca de Tomatlan
See the spray painted letters on the window? That's how you see if you're on the right bus. Also, there was a huge windshield crack on the driver's side, but you can't see it real well in the picture.

The second bus route was about 40 minutes long and took us all along the coast. It was a pretty drive, and passed by several resort hotels and sandy beaches. Soon we arrived at our small fishing town destination, Boca de Tomatlan.

Lesson #2: Be prepared to pay to use a public restroom in Mexico.


Of course, after our fairly long bus ride, and before beginning our trek, we had to pee. We bought a few snacks for the hike and the store owner directed us down a path toward the beach to use the restroom.

Just in case we missed the painted letters on the outside of the bathroom, there was a guy posted at the door to let us know 'tweren't free to pee. This was the case in Mazatlan as well, by the way.

Pay bathroom in Boca de Tomatlan
I love the look on Fred's face. He's like, "Really? As I'm coming out of the john?"

Sidenote: Apparently, according the the Urban Dictionary, there is a second meaning for the word "tweren't," which, although being a body part one might interact with when using the toilet, is not the intended meaning here. Just clarifying.

After finishing the restroom business (no pun intended), we made our way to the starting point of the hike.

It was an odd path that took us through people's front yards, basically. But I guess the locals were used to it because most of them ignored the gringos trekking right past their windows.

The two gringos

Vacation house in Boca de Tomatlan
One of the homes whose yard we passed through.

Boca de Tomatlan beach view from the hike
One of the amazing views on the hike.

At first, the path was right along the coast and we could see the azure water and hear the gentle waves below us. It was quite lovely and we were in high spirits (that sounded very Jane Austen-like, didn't it?). I couldn't wait to get to our destination beach and feel that cool water.

Here's a clip of Indiana Fred in high spirits.



And then the beach path began to climb upward.

Lesson #3: When it comes to hike descriptions online, the word "moderate" is very subjective.


I had done my research regarding this hike. At first I worried it might be too much for two osteoporotic, diabetic, old fatties like us. But I read personal accounts and Trip Advisor reviews and most of them described the difficulty level as "moderate," with some of the reviewers being in their 60's. 

Surely, we could handle it, I thought.

When the path began to climb up and away from the coast, it became stone steps. Lots and lots of upward climbing stone steps that went on...and on...and on. Our legs began to ache and we rested often, hoping the next bend would bring a flatter path, but it never seemed to end.

We ran across four locals hiking, who looked to be in their late teens or very early 20's and at least one in their group was having just as hard a time as us.

Fred told me later that he honestly thought he was going to need to be airlifted out of there.

Sweaty, tired, sore, and feeling foolishly overambitious for taking on this odyssey, we finally arrived at the first beach on our route. There were several local families already there, so it was a bit crowded. So much for my earlier dream of frolicking on a deserted beach.

We were not even halfway through our hike, exhausted, and pretty disheartened because we didn't know how we would make it to the second and third beach. 

Then we saw the most welcome sight of all...a water taxi! Fred and I took one look at each other and he took off running along the shore, waving his arms wildly, to flag it down.

So, I guess he did frolic on the beach...sort of.

The water taxi took us past the second beach and that one was deserted, and looked absolutely beautiful. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of that beach, the water taxi, Fred's headfirst dive into the water taxi, or anything else that happened after the kayak picture below. You'll soon see why.
  
After a five minute water taxi ride, we arrived at our final destination, Las Animas beach. I have to admit, it sure beat an hour-long hike.

Kayakers we passed as we hiked.

Lesson #4: Bring enough cash with you.


After getting off the water taxi, we could see several restaurants all along the beach. We headed for the one nearest the dock, with several outdoor tables right on the sand. We walked by an older couple sitting at one of the tables and said hello and it turns out they had done the hike too, only they actually hiked the whole thing and I have to say, didn't look near as wore out as us. (What is WRONG with us? Wait...don't answer that.)

I had to use the bathroom, and fortunately, since we were about to be paying customers, the bathroom didn't cost any money.

Let me tell you...you get what you pay for in Mexico. The bathroom was disgusting. The only toilet that was not plugged, didn't have a seat on it and there was no way I was going to sit my tired behind on it. 

Ladies, have you ever tried squatting to pee, after a strenuous hike? It goes something like this:

  1. Squat
  2. Pee till your legs begin to shake
  3. Stand up and rest 
  4. Repeat
It took me like, 15 minutes to pee.

But I'm getting off track. I was talking about enough cash.

You see, we weren't planning on buying souvenirs in Mexico. We didn't need anything, and any trinket we bought would probably end up in a yard sale a couple years down the road anyway. To me, memories and pictures were enough.

So when we were figuring out how much money to take with us to spend in Puerto Vallarta, we tallied up bus fare, one water taxi ride, lunch on the beach, a little extra for a cushion...about $70 US dollars seemed like enough.

We ordered lunch, then counted how much cash we had left, after the sunglasses, bus fare, snacks, and water taxi. We had $37 left.

Lesson #5: Understand the conversion rate and/or ask for the prices in US dollars.


$37! That was less than we expected, so we double checked the cost of what we had ordered (the menu was in pesos) and figured our lunch would come to about $27 US dollars. A bit overpriced for an order of beef fajitas, some ceviche, a Corona, and a Coke, but okay.

That would leave us just enough for a water taxi back to Boca and the two bus rides to get back to the port. We stressed a little, but after refiguring the pesos to dollars conversion (which we thought we had a grasp on) figured we would be okay.

Then the bill came. It was in pesos and since our money was tight and we couldn't afford accidentally over paying (the tip was included in the bill), we asked what the amount was in US dollars. The waiter had to check with the manager.

The bill was $37. Everything we had left.

This was Fred when he realized we may have to beg for money in Mexico. (Source: Giphy)

Talk about stressed! Granted, not having enough money to get back to your cruise ship is definitely a First World problem, but when it happens in a Third World country, it's a BIG problem, nonetheless. I thought we were going to have to literally beg for money from strangers. In Mexico. Now there's a twist for you.

After Fred choked on his overpriced Coke, he talked to the manager to see if he would take $27 and let us make our way back to the cruise ship, get more cash from our room, and return with the remainder. The manager was actually very gracious and kind and said that was no problem and we could do that. And we would have... but we didn't have to.

Which brings me to the last lesson in my story.

Lesson #6:  There are kind and sympathetic people in the world and not everyone is out to scam you.


The nice couple that we met at the table next to ours evidently heard our whole sorry story. The man came over to us, handed Fred $20, and said, "Here. Pay it forward."

They were not passengers on our cruise ship, so there was no way we could immediately pay them back. We asked for their address so we could send them the money when we got home, but they refused (gee...can't imagine why they didn't want to give two needy, poor-planning, overspenders their address).

We thanked them profusely, of course! They saved us from begging on the beaches of Mexico, AND from having to take a water taxi, two buses, a regular taxi, and another water taxi, to bring the shortfall of money all the way back to the restaurant.

Later I wondered, if they had not overheard our plight, and we actually did have to ask them (or anyone else) for money, what would we say? And would they have even given us money, not knowing if we were telling the truth?

I guess the bigger question I was asking myself is...would I have given money to someone with a crazy, hard luck story like ours?

The truth is...I have given money to strangers with a story, but usually with the assumption that the story was just a ruse to get money. But now...having been in the shoes of a person in a scary situation who needs money...I understand that not all hard luck stories are scams. 

Either way, there's nothing wrong with having a little "pay it forward" in the bank, so to speak. You never know when you might find yourself in a situation where you're at the receiving end of it.

So...between the grueling hike and our chagrin at the restaurant, we decided we really couldn't be trusted in Mexico and we had better head straight back to the safety of the cruise ship.

Somewhere in there was a happy hour drink special I really needed to get to.

A water taxi and two buses later, we made it to the ship, having never stepped foot in the ocean water that enticed us on the hike. 

We headed straight for the ship's swimming pool.

One of FOUR pools on the ship.

Oh, and it was later that night that we realized, had we not spent $10 on the sunglasses, we would have had enough money. The sunglasses had sunk us.

By the way, those sunglasses broke the next day, in Mazatlan.

This post was brought to you courtesy of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and her prompt to write about something learned in March.

Also...if you like this post, please help someone else avert disaster by sharing!


Six very important things you need to know before going to Mexico!


Related Posts with Thumbnails