New Blog Friends

I just wanted to post a quick note to say hello to the fun new bloggers that have started to follow my ramblings! I'm so excited that you have stumbled upon my page -here's hoping more continue to stumble.

This week has been crazy - I've planted 21 plants in my front yard. 19 of them were done all by myself [Husband dug 2 holes]. So now I'm exhausted and very very sore. But I have no time to worry about those things because my little brudder is in town all weekend!

I promise to come back next week with some entertaining debacles to blog about.

Happy Friday new & old friends!

Mexico: Ricky Bobby Racing Stripes

Guess what? This is the last of the Mexico Mini Series!
Okay so everyone remembers the adorable monokini right?
Well it was definitely a hit. However, it could also be classified as a hell of a miss too. Let me explain.
Okay, so those who know me [and/or have read that little blurb over on the right-hand side about me] know that I'm kinda retardedly obsessed with tanning. Don't judge. Some people have cigarettes, some are sex addicts and me? Well, I'm tanorexic. It could be worse. Deal with it. I keep telling myself that "when I grow up" I will "grow out of it." Well, I'm 26 and cannot see any forthcoming developments in the "growing the hell up" category. Meh.
I had been warned by Husband that Mexican sun is not the same as Charleston sun, so my SPF 4 was going to need to be upgraded to SPF 30. Humph. Fiiiiine. So I bought SPF 30 and 45. And I wore them on the first couple of days.
And then I noticed that my skin was not yet rivaling the Mexicans. And this was a severe problem.
Time for Nic's Plan B: NO SPF. So, for the first 4 hours one day, I opted for no SPF. I was in a regular bikini, so I had regular tan lines and very burnt forearms, but other than that, I was bronzed! Yesss, my plan was working! I put on some SPF after the hour 4 mark since my arms were crispy.
The next day, I decided to go the No sunscreen route again. And this time in the monokini. Okay, why I didn't see this coming is beyond me and I totally blame all those Miami Vice nom nom drinks for skewing my better judgement [if I even possess "better" judgement]. So, I laid by the pool alllll day. Sippin on my M-Vices and getting some serious tan skin. Yeah, tan skin on all the places that the monokini did not cover.You see where I'm going with this, don't you?

When I returned to our swanky ass room, I peeled of my pears and to my dismay, had perfect monokini tanlines.
Husband shouts through his hysterical laughter: You have racing stripes! You're Ricky Bobby! I'm calling you Ricky Bobby for the rest of the trip! Bahahahaha *pointing & laughing. Riiiiicky Booooobby!
So, I went with it and conjured up a dialect of Ricky Bobby-isms and blurted such things as:
I like speed
I like to go fast
Dear sweet baby Jesus in yer little ghost manger
Don't you stick that knife in yer leg, Ricky Bobby
And my favorite - Don't you put that evil on me, Ricky Bobby!
What's a bit ironic is that earlier in the week, Husband and I [for whatever dumbass reason] were quoting Ricky Bobby - we were bumbling around the resort talking like rednecks proclaiming that one or the other better not put that evil on one or the other. Strange [referring to the irony... and possibly just ourselves also].
And there you have it; Mexico the Mini Series as told by Nic. Err, I mean Ricky Bobby [because I so totally still have those asinine stripes].

Mexico: I Believe I Can Fly

The next outing happened on Thursday, and it was my pick: Tulum XTreme!
*throw arms in front of chest to make "x" and snarls lip.
First on the Tulum Adventure: well... Tulum, of course! It's basically a mini version of Chichen Itza (not to be confused with Chicken Pizza. Or so says the travel guides from the day before).

Ooooh pretty. I learned my lesson and opted for a sleeveless, airy top and the same teeny navy shorts. Tulum has a lot more trees and a much better breeze since it sits on the water. Right before I turned into a Pissy Pants, it was time to get back in the van and head into the Mexican Jungle.

Remind me again why I think I'm such a hard ass??

So, Cricket our instructor, showed us how to zip line properly. It consists of a lot of straps, a harness, some ultra-durable man gloves, a lopsided helmet, and a few more straps... oh and it helps if you have some courage too. And then we began our small trek to the first tower. The first 55 foot-tall wooden, rickety ass tower in the middle of the Mexican Jungle. WTF am I doing?! So, we climb. And climb. And eventually get 55 feet off the damn ground. When we got to the top of the tower, Cricket gave us a "psychological safety harness" and that is exactly what he called it. It was a stupid strap hanging from the top of the tower, which when you think about it, won't do you a damn bit of good if say, the tower plummets to the hard, jungl-y ground below.

At first it's kinda like "oh this isn't so bad, I can see the ground... oh wait... no, no, those are tree tops. Shit."

There was 8 of us in the group with Cricket. I was smack in the middle of it. The chick in front of me apparently was married to some kind of Wilderness Man because he was able to hold a camera and take pictures of himself flying over the tree tops. Gina, Wilderness Man's wife, was not as wilderness-y. Cricket asked us if we had any questions before he started shoving us off the side of the tower. Gina piped up with a "yeah I have one question... is it alright if we swear?!" And with that, she was pushed from the tower and a lovely "hooooooly shiiiiiiiiiit" echoed across the Mexican tree tops.

And then it was my turn. Oh.dear.Jesus. So I squat down, lean back onto my "monkey tail" harness (damn you monkey tail, you better hold up my sissy white girl ass) and Cricket pushes me off the side of the 55 FOOT TOWER. Have I mentioned we were 55 feet in the air? In Mexico? And the only way down was a teeny little wire a few hundred feet long? That landed on another tower that you had to climb? That was even higher that the last one?!! WTF.

I squealed. A kinda screamed and chanted "keep your eyes open!!" Half way through, when I figured that if I died, it'd be quick so I might as well just enjoy myself, I decided to let go of the ropes and just hang there by my little harness around my hips and throw my arms out in the air. Awesome. Absolutely awesome. But then it was almost time to dismount. And I'm a self-proclaimed horrible, ungraceful, moronic zipline dismounter. Actually I think anyone who saw me dismount would proclaim the same. See, you have to keep your feet up so you aren't lobbed off at the shin when you come flying in. So I kept my damn feet up. Waaaay up. To the point where I'm all wobbly and unable to find my center of gravity and oh, did I mention I just flew over the Mexican Jungle and might be a little shaky?!! Well Mr. Zipline himself over there helping us dismount apparently forgot what his first time was like and so he rushed all of us to hurry up and stand up and get the hell out of the way because someone else is coming flying down the zipline with their feet all sprawled out in the air. I basically made these idiodic face-deforming snarls and bumbled around whining "I caaaaan't" when he'd tell me to stand up. Yeah I never got better at that...

So, Zipline #1 = Success! Success in my book = Living & not peeing my pants! Hooray, success!

On to Zipline #2. Which you would think would get easier, right? Ha. WRONG. This one is still 55 feet, but a few hundred feet longer. Which means you go faster, and further, which means higher chance of death or peed pants. Crap.

Well, same scenario: I squealed and told myself to keep my eyes open and then got brave and touched some tree tops and then put my feet waaaay up. And then I bumbled around, whined about how "I caaaaaaan't" stand up or be a graceful woman and Mr. Zipline just needs to deal with the fact that I'm a clumsy white girl from South Carolina that doesn't know jackshit about what she's doing or why she ever thought she should do this. Humph.

And now: the Mother Load ZipLine. This shit put the XTreme in Tulum XTreme. Clever, Nicole... Now we are at the top of a 66 foot-tall tower. In the middle of the Mexican Jungle. It's like a rollercoaster... just the Mexican version. instead of wheels and giant steel bars to strap you in, you have hip harness and tiny wires flying 800 feet across a jungle. A JUNGLE people! So yeah, this one was 66 feet tall and over 800 feet long. Scary.Ass.Shit. About halfway through my ride to the other side (no, not to Hell, just to the last tower) I was really picking up speed. Annnnd it got a little too fast for me. So I pulled my arms and legs in (which was probably dumb since it made me go faster) and started saying out loud "Too fast. Tooooooo fast!!" As if there was a set of breaks someone could tap for me. I tried to puff myself back out and spread my arms and legs, but it was too damn scary. So at the end, I just threw my feet up but I came in sooo fast that I seriously should have just done a back flip for my dismount. I absolutely could not find my center. I looked like a turtle on it's back all flailing around while internally screaming "get me out of heeeeere!" I eventually stood up, all shaky as hell, and thanked God for not having me plummet to a bloody, jungl-y death. Thanks, God!

I survived Mexican jungle ziplining! Check that off the list.

Next up: 60 foot repel. Oh, what the hell... Seriously. One thing of note: ziplining is fairly easy because someone named Cricket pushes you off the tower and you have no control; repelling, yeah, not the same - YOU have control. And you have to lower your sissy white girl ass down a 60 foot hole in earth in the middle of a Mexican jungle.

So, for those of you who have never done a repel, you basically climb up another tower, similar to those wobbly wooden ones from the zipline. And like I said, instead of a good, hardy push from Cricket, the repel process is slow and painful and scary as effing shit, man! My first instinct was to just get really low when I first got to the top of the 60 foot tower. You know, kidna similar to how I got low when the lizard incident happened? Apparently my defense mechanism of choice, is to squat down slowly and be real still. I'm sure I'd do remarkably well with a burglar or foot-chase. Riiiiight.

I got done convincing this sweet girl (early 20s-ish) that she can totally do the repel and she'll be so proud. But then it was my turn and all I wanted to do was turn around and haul ass down the stairs. But for some reason, I bumbled toward the edge instead. Cricket harnessed me in and gave me a rope to lower myself down with. You're supposed to put your dominant hand a little behind your hip and your other hand near your stomach and slowly let go with your dominant hand. I understood the theory just fine - actually getting my body to cooperate with something so wrong was another story.

I first shuffled my heels half way off the edge of the 60 foot tower of doom. Then, I had to keep my legs locked at the knee and slowly lower my ass down so that it was parallel with my feet. To quote Gina: Hooooooooly shiiiiiiit. Cricket was like "Okay, you can start to lower yourself"

"No... I can't. I actually can't. I know what to do but my hand will not physically undo the death grip it has on the rope. You do it!!"

And so he did. Apparently, they've had many an experience with sissy white girls from South Carolina and modified their system to allow for a "safety" rope. The safety rope basically just means Cricket can lower your skeered little ass down until you can do it for yourself. So he helped me for probably the first 1o feet. Then I did a little bounce. And then I started to pick up speed, against my own will. But damnit, the rope was burning my hands even through the giant man gloves, so I kinda just flew down the last 20 feet or so just to keep my hands from catching fire. Oww. I was so shaky and scared and just glad I did it. Gah, it was really scary.

Our last adventure of the day: snorkeling in a cave! There was a big ass flood light under the water, so we could see all the fishies and big ass rocks that we were encouraged to avoid slamming into. Hi, remember me? I'm a clumsy ass and of course I kicked one of the big ass jagged rocks. Oww. Luckily no blood, just a bit of a scrap and some pain. It was so pretty down there, and holy crap did it feel go to swim in 75 degree water after sweating my ass off all over the damned jungle.

I must admit, I am so completely proud of myself for doing this. And now I get to claim that I am totally XTreme.

*throw arms in front of chest to make "x" and snarls lip.

Mexico: It's Gettin' Hot in Here

Good news people, I took the little stupid finger splint off so now typing, writing, shampooing and living in general have become much easier. Do you even know how much you use your pinky?! Sheesh...
So, lets go back to Mexico (please?) and continue our little recap of my wonderful trip. Husband and I are always up for a little adventure or two. I knew I wanted to do something nuts (like zipline over 2000 feet of the Mexican jungle) and he'd most likely want to do something "smart" like go learn about history. He always wants me to learn... perhaps he is trying to tell me that my knowledge of tanning beds, pedicures and high heels just isn't vast enough. So he suggested we go see Chichen Itza, the 5th Modern Wonder of ze World.
So Wednesday morning we get up at the ass-crack of dawn to take the 2.5 hour journey to the Yucatan Peninsula to see these crazy Mayan pyramids. We were loaded on to this little skeezy van first and the driver didn't shut the door all the way, so you could hear the palm trees wooshing by and you could see the pavement through the crack of the door. Oh God, I have to ride like this for 2.5 hours? About 10 minutes into the trip, the driver pulls off the road pretty quickly in front of a Quicky Mart. I thought they wanted coffee but instead they told us to get out. What the hell?! Then I looked in front of us and saw the massive bus that was going to take us. Oh. I'm an idiot. So, as soon as we board the bus, the crazy driver & hosts bust out the 40s of Corona. It seriously was no later than 9 AM. We passed. I didn't want to wander around some foreign tourist trap with a buzz and wind up getting kidnapped or something. I'm so paranoid.
About an hour into our drive, we stopped at a cenote (a pool of water underground that formed when the earth decided to collapse into the underground river). There was like a billion people, it was like a billion degrees and there was no way in hell I was going to jump off a 30 foot cliff into a pool of underground water. I took pictures of the fools who did. We got some really awesome pictures and then boarded the bus to get to our final destination. More beer was offered. I still declined because (1) I didn't want to get kidnapped (because obviously I am more prone to kidnapping when I'm intoxicated... or so says my logic) and (2) I don't even think I drank beer at 9 AM during Spring Break when I was damn 18 years old and (3) I have a finicky stomach and feared morning beer would give me Montezuma's Revenge (which we'll discuss later...which I inevitably contracted).
So we finally made it to Chichen Itza. And it's pretty awesome. It's also at least 110 degrees in the middle of the afternoon. In June. In Mexico. Dear God, why? We trekked around for 3 hours looking at all of the giant pyramids and walls and columns. So it gets so hot that I actually do the tacky sleeve-roll up thing and tucked my sleeves into my bra straps. An hour later, I got even tackier and moved my cute, low side ponytail to a big fluffy crooked knot on top of my head. And finally, a half hour later, I did the tackiest of all, and tucked the bottom of my shirt up so my entire middle was hanging out in the sweltering heat. I didn't care! I was so damn hot! I seriously was dizzy and having trouble breathing. Thank God I didn't have any more hair on my head or fat on my body because I would have so overheated and died.
We found some shade which happened to be where all the little Mayan vendors were hanging out so we bought stuff from 3 out of the 300 of them. It got a little annoying after the 50th one approached us "$1, $1... half off... free." Even after we bought stuff, they were like "one more, one more" and when we told them we had "no dinero" they were like "okay, then it's free!" Bah. Leave us alone, already! We bought a "good fortune" mask that is pretty scary looking, an obsidian statue of some kind of cat (puma? jaguar? tabby?) and a pretty necklace for me.
After our long, hot tour of the ruins, we were fed some really gross lunch. Like, really gross. And then we got back on the bus... where there was more beer. And this time, I was too hot, too tired and too flustered to worry about being kidnapped so I openly welcomed the cup after cup of Corona from a 40. And about 3 hours later, when we returned to the resort, I was happily buzzed and finally back to a normal temperature.
So while it was absolutely awesome to see the 5th Wonder of the World, it might have been a lot better to have done so, say in the snow. Because 100+ degrees just doesn't work for me.

Next Up: Ziplines & Ricky Bobby

"Breaking" News

Uhh, so I can't really type since I had a little mishap this weekend. Want to hear the lamest story ever? Okay, here it goes:
I'm the clumsiest hoomin on earth. I was at the beach Saturday and I have one of those excellent lounge chairs that folds out 3 times so you can prop your feet up or lay on your stomach. Well I was trying to lay down on my back so I put my left hand out to brace myself. I managed to miscalculate where my hand was going to land, and instead of bracing myself, I crumpled my left pinky into the metal "gear" of the chair. Note: I wear fake ass nails, so when the gear went up under my nail, there was immediate intense pain. And blood. I held my finger as tight as I could and tried to hold back tears and cuss words. My finger nail now feels similar to a loose tooth...which gives me the heebie jeebies.
I held some ice on it and toughed it out. My father-in-law made me a stout bourbon & ginger when we got back to the condo and I just wrapped it tightly in a band aid. I woke up Sunday still with a heartbeat in my pinky and now also some yellow ooze under my nail. Crap. I WebMd'd that shit and it basically said "see a doctor, you idiot." So, Husband and I spent our afternoon at the Urgent Care. The nurse was like "so when's the last time you got a tetnis shot? How about a flu shot? What about a pneumonia shot?" I was like "uhhhh."
So I now figured I'd be getting 3 shots along with someone trying to clean out the ooze from my mangled finger. Not cool.
Much to my surprise, the doctor opted for some x-rays. He thought I had fractured my finger! Who fractures their finger trying to sit down?! Seriously. I got to see the x-ray and it actually looked like there was a teeny crack near the top of my finger. The doctor told me it wasn't fractured though - just jammed all to hell.
So now I get to wear this wicked splint all taped with white medical tape and take some pain killers and tell people that I'm a klutz and almost break bones while trying to sit my fat ass in a beach chair. Moron.
So needless to say, I will not be typing more of the Mexico Mini-series until I can use all 10 digits. Doh.

Mexico: Jerk Birds, Strip Clubs & Sake. Oh my!

One of our first nights at the resort was spent exploring (it is unfair for you to assume I can keep track of the nights considering a drink was in at least one of my hands during almost every hour of every day). It was a bit maze-like and you can easily find yourself asking "how the hell did we end up here? And where the hell is here anyway?" We heard some music coming from somewhere, so we kinda bumbled toward the sound. We turned a corner, and all we see through a small doorway is a half-naked group of girls that moderately resemble the Pussycat Dolls.

Dave's response to the sight: Did we just find the strip club?!!

We would too. If ever there were a couple of maniacs to randomly stumble upon a strip club in the damn middle of a foreign country, it would totally be us. So, instinctively, we wiggled our way to the doorway to peek inside to see exactly what the hell was actually going on.

Not a strip club... but rather a mock performance by 5 mediocre Mexican girls. The "lead singer" did resemble the real PCD lead but the dancing was atrocious. They were all sloppy and droopy and off beat. Ugh. I could have done a much better job. And the thought did briefly cross my mind to march my tipsy ass up to the stage and push little miss "PCD Nicole" out of the way. After the bad rendition of the PCD group, oddly enough, a Michael Jackson rendition came on, which of course, turned out to be quite eery since he passed away the day after we saw the little skit. Weird, huh?

The following day, we relaxed out by the Snack Bar Pool and we happened to be sitting close to the cabana that housed all the yum-yums. Little did we know, this cabana belonged to a bird. A very angry, aggressive, pissed off bird. After reviewing his jerk-like characteristics, I appropriately named the little asshole none other than Jerk Bird. Man, Jerk Bird was If you were a bird, and you got anywhere near him, or his cabana, or any of the tables near his cabana, he would fly straight at you, get right up next to you, puff up, scream and flap his giant puffy wings until you got the hell out of his space. Jerk Bird was quite the jerk, indeed. And he had a very particular schedule. He'd fly in around 8:00 AM to clock in and he'd leave later in the day around 6:00 PM. Seriously. Mexico apparently hired the meanest crow (or something resembling a crow) they could find to watch over the Snack Bar to ensure no other bird came anywhere close. Oh, Jerk Bird. He was there everyday too. Occasionally, he'd take a break and hang out next to the pool and wiggle around in the water to take a bath. And on really special days, he'd poop in the pool right after he was done with that bath. Nice guy, huh? I bet Jerk Bird started Bird Flu with his pool-pooping antics. Jerk.
So the last topic of Blog 2 in the mini-series: Sake. We had made reservations at the Asian restaurant called Sensai on Night 2 or 3. I was having a hard time deciding what to drink. Beer was too heavy, I was sick of the fruity frozen shit and I wanted to catch a good buzz without too much effort. Therefore, the drink selection for the evening could only be one... or two... things: bitter house wine and bitter house sake. No delicious fruity flavors to mask the distinct afterbite that makes me involuntarily click my teeth either. The wine was basically straight vinegar and the sake, like all unflavored sake, tasted like hot vodka. We... no Husband... ended up making friends with the couple to our right. They were young and apparently were also looking to destroy their livers via sake shots. Every time the waiter came around, another round of sake came too. Husband talked sooo much. You know Husband is drunk when he busts out his bar stories... the rounds of sake were coming so much that I didn't realize the waiter had kindly placed a full shot glass conveniently behind my elbow. Apparently, I was going to grow fingers from my elbow and grab the glass, or so the waiter thought. Pfftt, no. I knocked my big ass elbow right into that sneaky little shot glass and poured the hot vodka right down the front of me. My blue/white striped dress because quite see-through in the white sections and my thighs were burning from the hottness... oh, and it looked like I peed myself. Moron. I opted not to tell anyone, but instead act as though I took the shot and carefully wrap my arms awkwardly around my middle. Riiiight. I eventually just started flapping my dress and grinding my napkin into it. And I just took more shots to forget that I cared that I looked like a dumbass. Husband continued to tell stories throughout dinner. From what I understand, he doesn't recall anything he ate, but remembered that it was good. How sad to not remember eating fried ice cream... damn you sake! *Shaking fist. We continued our binge right over into Onyx (the Privilege bar). And exactly how did I know when to stop our binge? When Husband thought we were in Barbados. "Husband, do you know where we are? I think we should call it a night... you seem... tired." Bah! As any good wife would do, I kindly reminded him of his little mishap with geography and ensured that he did in fact know we were in Mexico. Not Barbados. *Smirk

Up Next: Hottest Place on Earth & Extreme Zip Lines