52 New Things -- Week 20 -- Tick Checks

Warning: This post is rated PG-13 for mentions of undergarments and private areas. Read at your own risk.

The short story:
Brad Paisley is a liar.

The long story:
I've been hiking for what -- fifteen, twenty years now? It wasn't part of my childhood, but ever since I got a summer job as a camp counselor in Colorado, I've loved hiking. And how many ticks have I gotten on me in those fifteen, twenty years? Exactly zero.

Kevin, Jenny, and Adam . . . getting infested.

So I wasn't horribly concerned on Saturday when our friend Jenny said she had a bunch of ticks on her shoelaces. We'd just completed a two-mile hike at the Ice Age Center near the cabin up in Northern Wisconsin. I rolled up my pant legs, pulled off my shoes, checked my socks -- nothing. I did find one crawling up the outside of my pants leg, so I felt like I could empathize with her at least.

Jenny declared she was going to the bathroom to take her clothes off for a more thorough investigation. I thought that was a little over the top, but after she'd been gone for five minutes, I got bored and went in to do the same.

"Ew, there's one on my bra!" I hollered over the stall dividers. Then I pulled down my pants.

"Aaaaah! There are three on my underwear!" So much for over the top. Yikes! I plucked each one off my undergarments and dropped them into the toilet. Then I pulled down my underwear, starting to get a little freaked out . . . and for good reason: a tick was crawling toward my privatest of private areas. Yuuuhhuuhuhhh. I flicked that sucker off and got totally naked in the Ice Age Nature Center bathroom. Holy cow. From zero in a lifetime to six in one hour?

I couldn't see any more, so I got redressed, stomped out, and declared we'd be doing tick checks the minute we got home.

Kevin didn't want to. He thought I was crazy when I dragged him into the bathroom and commanded he get naked (in a totally non-hot, non-sexual way). I stripped everything off again and told him to check me. After approximately three seconds -- THREE SECONDS! -- he muttered that I was fine.

"LOOK CLOSER!" I barked. "YOU COULDN'T HAVE EVEN LOOKED AT MY WHOLE BODY YET."

"You're fine," he said again, this time after ten seconds. Sigh.

"Alright, let me check you," I commanded.

"I think you're over-doing it a little," he complained as I thoroughly inspected every inch of him. I told him to turn around, and pretty soon he let out a howl I'm pretty sure half the lake could hear.

"I doubt there are any ticks in there!" he yelled, jerking his buttcheeks away from me.

"They like warm, dark places!" I argued. He huffily started putting on his clothes. I got the giggles so bad I actually snorted. Twice.

Back upstairs, Adam asked if we were in the clear.

"Yes . . . but I'm pretty sure I know now what happens on your first day in prison," Kevin whined.

Obviously his check of me was half-hearted, since I found a tick two hours later when I went to the bathroom.

"KEVIN!" I screamed out the bathroom door. The door opens out onto the lake, right where Kevin, Adam, and Jenny were on the dock. "There's another one, and this one's not coming off! It's already attached! Help me!"

Jenny snapped a picture of me peering out from behind the door, my uncovered half hidden.

He's gonna need matches, I thought, waiting for him to come in. Isn't that how you get ticks off? Burn them? Holy crap, he's gonna start my pubic hair on fire. And we are far, far away from a hospital.

About the time I was ready to launch into hysteria, Kevin came in, squeezed the head of the tick that had implanted itself in my dark, warm upper inner thigh, and plucked it off. Phew. Crisis averted.

The next day, I handed him a comb and made him check my hair again.

The day after that, I made him do another full-body search.

"You're being ridiculous," he said.

"Would you rather do this now or take care of my ever-degenerating body for the rest of my life when I get Lyme's disease?" I countered.

Brad Paisley? You suck and you're a liar. There is absolutely nothing hot about checking for ticks.

52 New Things -- Week 19 -- Colombia (Part Dos)

A continuation of new things I saw/did/tried/endured while in Colombia . . .

Backseat Barfing

Wilson: salsa teacher, comedian, and future Indy 500 racer

Despite the fact that I'd decided it probably wasn't a great idea to take non-FDA approved pharmaceuticals, I took another one when we left El Cocuy. Those winding roads were soooo nauseating . . . and after about half an hour, even with the anti-nausea pill, I made use of the Delta airsick bag I'd snagged before leaving the plane. Kevin -- sweet, stupid new husband that he is -- actually asked, "Do you want Wilson to stop?" I moaned "yes" into the barf bag, then followed up with barks of "open my door" and "seatbelt" -- short commands were all I could manage at that point. I stumbled out of the back of the SUV, still in the long dress I'd worn to church, but stopped abruptly when Kevin said, "Watch out -- that's an electric fence." Ughhhhh. I got back in the car a few minutes later . . . and puked again after another half hour. I warned Kevin that I only had one plastic bag left, but luckily I didn't fill that one. He wants to retire in El Cocuy someday, but unless they start helicopter service so I can avoid those winding roads, I'm not doing it.

Arepas and eggs -- yum!

Arepas
We ate a lot of good food in Colombia -- I have pictures of most of the new dishes since I'd never seen anything like them before. Kevin had warned me before we got there that we would be fed and fed and fed. He usually ended up eating his food plus half of mine since I just can't eat that much! My favorite thing, though? Arepas. I think it was kind of a bread dough-ish thing, rolled out and cut into little squares before being fried up in oil. Man. I think I ate about 50 of them for breakfast one morning. Moo.

LOVE this girl!!

Disney Monopoly in Espanol
We stayed a couple of nights with Kevin's old host mom and sister and the sister's husband and three kids. The eleven-year-old and the five-year-old challenged me to Monopoly. Have you ever played Disney Monopoly in Espanol? Let's just say thank goodness there were pictures! I also had to trust they were honest when they advanced after drawing a Chance card or told me I had to go to jail. The kids were adorable and enjoyed practicing their English with me. They tried to teach me Spanish but didn't have much more luck than Mrs. Hauge back in high school Spanish class. Sigh.

Sadness for American Schools
We walked Valentina to her bus stop before school the day we left. She was so adorable in her school uniform. I asked her what her favorite subject is. Mind you, this child is eleven. Her answer? Chemistry. I about fell over. It's no wonder America falls further and further behind in education statistics. Chemistry at eleven!!

Cheapest Pedicure Ever

Check out that pedicure...and the amazing hem on those pants!

My toes hadn't seen polish since last summer, so I was pretty excited that Laura had a friend who did pedicures. It was just like an American pedicure, but at the end, she said (in Spanish) I didn't have to pay anything! I balked and left the equivalent of $10 under a bottle of hairspray, saying, "You can't support a family by giving away free pedicures!" I'm sure she didn't understand a word I said, so I hope I didn't offend her by leaving money if she was trying to give me a gift. When we got home, I asked Laura how much it should have cost -- the amount of pesos was equal to roughly $4. Holy cow!

Dependence

Best travel buddy ever. ;)

The biggest new thing on this trip? I was not in charge. I've never really thought of myself as bossy . . . a bit independent, yes, but that's what happens when you are single until you're 37 and travel alone a lot. Kevin booked the tickets. Kevin made the arrangements with his old host family. Kevin did the talking, being fluent in Spanish. Kevin paid for everything, knowing the currency. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. I tell ya, it was strange. I may have done some complaining. And some pouting. And then some more complaining. I guess I'm a little bit used to being in charge. :) But big kudos to Kevin, because we had an absolutely fabulous time in Colombia!!

And finally . . . Broken Stereotypes
We spent ten days in Colombia, and guess what? We were not kidnapped, murdered, or even offered cocaine. A part of me wants to keep this a secret, because the beauty of this country was that it wasn't flooded with tourists. I'm afraid if people find out the Colombia of the 80's is long gone, they'll all go and destroy the pristine landscapes . . . but yeah, you should definitely go visit sometime. Just don't invite too many people to go with you. ;)

52 New Things -- Week 18 -- Colombia (Part Uno)

It's ironic -- I came up with the whole "52 New Things" resolution because I didn't think I'd get to go anywhere new and exciting in 2013. I wanted to try and find joy in new things wherever I was . . . and then my hubby booked two tickets to Colombia! I have enough material to last me months, if I were to write about one Colombian experience a week, but that kind of seems like cheating. Instead, I'll do two parts -- we were gone for ten days, so I think that's fair.

The Amazing Race-Style Connection in Atlanta
Ugh. Here's a little update for ya from a few weeks ago when I tried to take up running: it lasted two weeks. It's unfortunate, really, because I could have used the training. Our flight from Minneapolis to Atlanta was delayed, delayed, delayed . . . we arrived with just fifteen minutes to make our connecting flight. We sprinted through the airport, bounded down the escalator, and caught the train just as the doors closed. Five stops later, we ran off the train. I hurdled a suitcase and kept on running, up, up, up the loooongest escalator I've ever seen. I was huffing and puffing by the end of it and started thinking maybe a night in Atlanta and a flight out in the morning wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I half ran/half limped my way to the finish line, staggering breathless to the ticket counter as the agent was about to give our tickets to vultures on standby. Not today, suckers.

Little did I know, it was about to turn into an actual weapon . . .

Spousal Abuse
Our first day in Colombia, my husband smacked me across the forehead with an umbrella. He says it was an accident, and if I weren't so short, my forehead would not have been at the same height as the umbrella tucked under his armpit which inadvertently hit me when he turned to talk to me. I'm documenting it here, just in case.

Potato Protest
Let it be known that this trip was educational as well as entertaining. Did you know Colombia grows huge amounts of potatoes? Nor did I. And did you know that the government has been importing potatoes from other countries, driving down the price of Colombian potatoes? Well, they are. And the potato protestors came to town to make it known they were not happy about it. We saw the whole thing go down. Power to the people.

Bogota Public Transportation at Rush Hour
Bogota buses at rush hour? Cray. Zay. I'd say their bus system is pretty high-tech. Very well done. We just chose the wrong time to use it. We stood in line, watching already-full buses pull up. One or two people would smash themselves on before the bus pulled away. When we got to the front and an already-full bus pulled up, we said, ah, we'll just wait for the next one. The crowd had different ideas. It surged forward and we had nowhere to go but onto the bus. Thank goodness Kevin has a totally flat butt, because if not, when those air-lock doors squeezed shut, it totally would have gotten pinched. I kept saying "sorry" to the girl I appeared to be slow dancing with, but Kevin told me to chill out since they're all probably used to this and I was making myself look crazy. I tried to swivel my head exorcist-style to see who was spooning me from behind but couldn't get a good look at him. Kevin reached up and grabbed the bar above his head; he looked like a mother hen with several chicks under his wings. Two young ladies kept glancing up at him nervously, hoping he wouldn't come crashing down on them. Luckily everyone was packed in so tight that no one moved when the bus lurched. So much for my personal space bubble!

Channeling Ricky Bobby
On day two, we left for the hills at 4AM. After a few hours, we left the wide-open highway for narrow, winding roads through the mountains. I'm pretty sure the further up and out we went, the more narrow and winding the roads became. Often there was no shoulder along the side of the road, just a sheer cliff. Every few miles or so, a little shrine was set up; on top of a pole, a box the size of a mini-fridge featured a glass front and a statue inside of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. As we wound our way up and around and around and up, I found myself praying to sweet baby Jesus a la Ricky Bobby, asking him to please not let us get hit by a truck or go careening off the sheer cliff or a combination of the two. The more winding the roads got, I also found myself asking sweet baby Jesus to not let me throw up, which leads to . . .

Colombian Pharmaceuticals

At least the scenery was amazing . . .

We were traveling with two members of Kevin's Colombian "family," people he knew and stayed with when he taught English in Colombia back in 1998. Wilson kindly pulled over at one point to let me get in the front seat when I was feeling sick. A few towns later, he went into a little store and came out with two small tablets. Kevin translated for me that it was something for motion sickness. It didn't strike me until later that maybe I shouldn't take drugs when I haven't read the labels and found out the numerous potential side effects. I guess if I have a three-headed baby in the future, we'll all know why.

No Seaties, Sweeties
Why are there toilet seats on the toilets in Bogota but not on the toilet seats in the mountains? It's a mystery. All I know is that I squatted/teetered for five straight days. Besides cardio, I also should have done some strength and balance exercises before this trip.

Improper Footwear
The people in Colombia were AMAZING! While staying in the little mountain town of El Cocuy, Kevin's Colombian family arranged little trips to the mountains for us every day. Unfortunately, with my language barrier, I often wasn't clear on the plan. For example, the first day in the mountains, I thought we were going for a scenic drive. When we got out at the top of a 15,000-footer and started walking, I shot daggers at Kevin with my eyes and asked why he didn't translate for me that I needed hiking boots instead of the sandals I had on? It wasn't much of a hike, though. We just ate cookies after walking uphill about a hundred yards. No biggie. But later on, when horses suddenly appeared in front of us and we were told to climb on? Yeah. Shoes would have been nice. Worse, though, was two days later, when I specifically asked what we were going to be doing and showed the sandals I was wearing. I got a "yeah, that's fine" and away we went. That day we hiked for several miles, including through a cow pasture with fresh cow pies. I shudder two weeks later, just thinking about it. I was very careful where I placed each step, and I made it out poop-free, but let me tell ya, Kevin got the daggers again for that one.

I know what you're thinking: perfect footwear choice!

Hi-Ho Silver -- Away!
Let's back up to that horse ride again for a minute. Awe. Some. This was not a nose-to-tail trail ride like those I've been on before. This was a no-trail, three-hour ride through the mountains, past this farmer's sheep and that farmer's cows, up, up, up to the clouds. Unbelievable. At one point I found myself feeling that same feeling I had while driving around the country -- totally blessed. I wish I could find that sense of awe on a more regular basis and not just when I'm out doing something new or amazing; I'm sure it's an attitude shift and I just need to work on counting my every-day blessings. It was like being in a movie, looking down on this gorgeous, untouched landscape. But the ride down? A bit more scary. I reignited some of those sweet baby Jesus prayers on the steep parts, especially the couple of times when my horse lost his footing. Eesh. Even more worrisome was looking back at my gigantic husband and the poor horse that had to carry him; at one point on an incredibly steep part, I thought for sure Kevin was going to get launched right over the horse's head. Phew. Made it out alive. No horseback ride in the future will ever compete with that one, I'm pretty sure.

Mere moments before ramming my head into a steel beam . . .

Self-Inflicted Head Injuries
I'd like to say this is the fault of Colombians being short and therefore making their bridges too low, but the truth is I just wasn't paying attention. I was looking down at a camera, and BOOM. I walked straight into a bridge. With my forehead. It was painful. And the Colombians thought I was stupid, I'm sure. Luckily only two of them saw it, but man, did that ever hurt. Note to self: pay more attention to your surroundings. On the upside, we got some lovely pictures there!

Mother's Day the Colombian Way
Sunday morning I heard a siren for the first time in El Cocuy, the picturesque little village we spent five days in. I found out later that this wasn't an emergency, just a little something extra for Mother's Day. Shortly after the siren, some fireworks went off. Mother's Day again. We walked by the town bakery and saw ten cakes in the cases. They looked delish! Then music started blaring from the cathedral, loud enough to be heard all over town. All my poor mom got was a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. I kind of feel like a slacker. Sorry, Mom!

American Idol in Colombian Church
Before leaving town, we worshiped with the Lutheran church of El Cocuy. The night before, the pastor asked if we would sing something in English while the congregation took communion. No prob. I mean, most people there spoke little to no English, so even if we forgot the words, no one would know, right? I mean, we could sing anything. We considered a holy-sounding version of "Call Me Maybe," but neither of us knew enough words to even bluff it. We ended up doing two rounds of "I Love You, Lord" and two verses of "Amazing Grace." And we were both super-nervous, even if we could forget the words. I guess super-stardom is not in our future.

So that's Week 1 . . . .stay tuned for Week 2!

52 New Things -- Week 17 -- Hemming Pants (Shut up, you Martha's! I'm trying to learn a skill here!)

We're leaving for Colombia. Tomorrow. Why am I blogging right now? Because I spent half my day yesterday on this stupid project and I want someone to know about it.

I think everyone knows I hate shopping. I needed some travel pants, though. You see, when we went to India last fall for our honeymoon, it only took me half a day to realize every person there -- male and female -- was staring at my legs. I was wearing a cute little sundress, because hey, I hadn't seen my husband in six weeks and I thought he might appreciate seeing a little skin, even if it was blindingly white. I quickly realized, though, that the India women's saris went all the way down to their ankles. Whoops. Cultural faux pas on my part. 

I don't know if Colombian women are all about the coverage, too, but I thought I'd better play it safe this time. I headed off to Goodwill to buy some cheap pants to make the journey south with me. The only problem? I'm an oompah-loompah, I guess. I couldn't find a single pair of pants that weren't way too long. The price was right, though, so I bought two pair and figured I'd hem them.

I've had a few bouts with Susie Homemaker Syndrome in the past. I don't know if it was Molly Ringwald and her homemade prom dress in Pretty in Pink or my jealousy of other girls' projects in 4-H or what, but I had grand delusions in high school that I could make my own clothes. I took freshman home ec., and while other girls were making shorts, I fashioned a jumper. Yeah. A jumper. Horribly uneven gathers and all, I wore that jumper to church repeatedly. Even worse? I made three more jumpers before I graduated. Not sure what the weird fascination with jumpers was, but I wore those things out in public. For real. (Later on in college I donated them to the clown closet at the summer camp where I worked . . . that's a little taste of how awful they were.)

I took another home ec. class my sophomore year: clothing. An entire semester dedicated to learning how to make your own clothes. I am not making this up. I spent weeks working on the most hideous pair of pleated pants you can imagine. We are talking MC Hammer-but-not-on-purpose pants. I beamed on the day I finished them, then triumphantly strutted to the closet Mrs. Fondroy had us use as a dressing room . . . only to find out, to my horror, that I hadn't used enough elastic in the waistband and I couldn't pull them up past my thighs. Needless to say, I did not get an A.

My delusions of homemade fashions-grandeur ebbed for a few years, only to come back during my senior year of college. Using some of that hard-earned camp counselor money, I went out and bought a sewing machine and some bold sunflower-printed fabric to make my sunflower-loving sister a Christmas present. The look on her face as she opened that gift did not express wonder at my even stitches; when she tried on the skirt, it definitely looked like a sunflower-covered tent. Later on I refashioned it into a tablecloth. Yeah. It was that big.

When I moved away from Colorado, I sold the sewing machine. It had been collecting dust in my closet for ten years and I was not interested in moving it again . . . 

. . . which brings me to the dilemma of the too-long Goodwill pants. How could I hem them when I no longer had a sewing machine? I wasn't about to actually stitch them by hand. That would take forever.

I searched the web for no-sew hem ideas and found that lots of people recommended iron-on hemming tape. Easy peasy. I was in. But when I went to buy it, it was right next to a tube of Liquid Stitch.

Liquid Stitch! I had half a bottle of that sitting at home! I'd used it to make these little doosies for an ugly Christmas sweater party:

I know what you're thinking: can I borrow those for next year? The answer is no, since they didn't last the night. The Liquid Stitch held the tinsel on just fine, but the purple ornaments, hand sewn on, kept falling off on the bowling alley floor all night. I'm sure the owners loved us and our shattered purple balls. What does that tell you about my sewing skills? (And yes, there are lights on those shirts. They were pretty fabulous. I mean, with my track record for craftiness, I knew I had a great shot at creating the ugliest of ugly Christmas sweaters.)

So anyway, why buy hem tape when you can use the Liquid Stitch you've got sitting around at home? And also, why go to the trouble of trying on the pants again to measure how much needs to be hemmed when you could just compare them to a pair of pants you already like, right? So that's how I started this little Martha Stewart of a project.

I remembered using pins back in my home ec. days, so I stuck some pins in. Also, note here that the last time I bought second-hand pants that were too long, I just cut them off and didn't even bother hemming them. They've lasted like four years now, so whatever. 

And then I was like, oh hey, I think the pins are supposed to hold the fabric where you want the hem to be, not just randomly stuck in the pants. I went to move them and found that I had pinned the pants to the comforter on my bed. I'm pretty sure I'll never get hired in a sweat shop.

When I pulled the pins out of my old sewing box, I also found this dandy little plastic six-inch ruler. It has a Bible verse on it and it says, "Lutheran Layman's League." I don't remember exactly when I acquired this important piece of sewing equipment, but I'm pretty sure it was a prize I won playing Bingo with my grandparents at the annual church picnic, sometime in the 1983-1987 time frame.

So anyway, once I figured out how to pin the hems, I ironed for the first time in I don't know how long. If it's any indication, the ironing board cover is an Aztec-y kind of pattern, so back when Aztec-y was an acceptable home fashion trend is how long ago it was. Then I slathered on the Liquid Stitch and let it seal my no-sew hem. Awesome.

Don't you love how I'm showing you pictures and explaining the step-by-step process just like those Pinterest women who tell you how to do all sorts of awesome things that you pin to your page knowing full well that there's not a chance in the world you're ever going to make it? I know!!

Unfortunately, friends, this is where the photo-blog stops. Why? Because after the glue dried and I tried the pants on four hours later, my foolproof method of comparing vs. measuring left me with pants that were still too long. As in, two inches too long. As in, you've got to do this whole stupid process over again if you want to wear these pants without tripping on them too long. I had to wrestle that stupid ironing board back out of the closet and repeat the whole freaking process. I was cursing Goodwill and their cheap pants at that point. 

I didn't bother trying them on again after fake hem number two. They're in the suitcase. I may look like I'm preparing for a flood as I walk around Colombia, but after all that work, I'm wearing the dumb things -- short, long, or in between.

So the final cost of my travel pants?

-- $4 per pair for a grand total of $8

-- Way more of my Saturday than I wanted to spend on this stupid project

-- One partially maimed plastic Lutheran Layman's League ruler (but I really think that's not bad considering I hadn't touched an iron in ten years and could have caused way more damage) but I wasn't using the centimeter side of it anyway

Next time I think I'll go back to the "just cut off the bottom" method. Happy Pinning!!

52 New Things -- Week 16 -- Earth Day Celebration

I have to say, I'm pretty bummed to be leaving the La Crosse area so soon. I mean, we're just starting to grow close to some really cool people, and now we're leaving already. It kind of stinks.

Also stinky? We missed some stuff this year that we thought we'd have plenty of opportunities to check out in the future, not knowing we'd be headed south again so soon. La Crosse has a gigantic Octoberfest celebration, but we only went to the parade; Kevin was leaving for his six-week trip to Asia two days later, and we didn't want our last few days together before the long separation having beer sloshed all over us. Then in December, there was a giant light display in the park down by the river; crossing the bridge over the Mississippi, I could see all the trees covered in lights. I'm not a fan of the cold, though, so I kept waiting for a warm night to go walk through it . . . and it just never warmed up enough for my liking.

So when I saw a flyer for an Earth Day festival, I thought, heck, here's my chance to see a La Crosse event before I take off! It was set for Sunday, and we planned to meet some friends there at 11AM. We went to a church other than the one we normally go to since they had a 9AM service; our usual 10:30 service wouldn't get us there in time. Kevin and I gave each other a little grimace when the pastor included a warning against Earth Day enthusiasts in his sermon; could he somehow tell we were bound for the festival right after worship? He said we should stay away from those who worship Mother Earth and give her all the credit for creation . . .

. . . so we headed out for the park and guess what? There wasn't a Mother Earth evangelist in sight. Just lots of kids and grown-ups checking out rain barrels and baby turtles and bike blenders. And this, the highlight of my day:

One of my goals in life is to be a costumed character someday. Mickey Mouse, Chuck E. Cheese, a fruit or veggie at the La Crosse Earth Day Festival . . . it makes no difference to me. I just want to be in one of those outfits and spread joy to little kids everywhere (and weird adults who love them, too).

And hey, there are still 36 weeks, friends. It could happen. 

52 New Things -- Week 15 -- Macbeth

You would think that as an English major, I would have seen a production of Macbeth at some point in my life, right? Nope. I had the opportunity this week. I won't go into detail since I'm really behind in my blogging, but here's the one thing stuck out most to me that night. Since the audience was made up primarily of high school students, the cast came out at the end of the play to sit on the edge of the stage and answer questions. One student asked how many of the actors had been in a Shakespearean play before, and almost everyone raised their hand except THE GUY WHO PLAYED MACBETH.

For real. He'd never even been in a play before, and what did he take on as his first-ever stage performance? The lead role in a Shakespeare production. Lots of soliloquies. Pretty much the entire show being on his shoulders.

So was I inspired to try out for the lead in the La Crosse Community Theater's next Shakespeare production? Heck no. Who's got time for memorizing all that? But I was impressed with the guy and reminded that trying new things is awesome . . . I just prefer my new things on a smaller scale. ;)