Betsy

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Birthday fun and a Concert

I turned 32 on Monday. Yay for me. I got lots of goodies in the mail, including Nordstrom gift cards from my in-laws and sista Katie, moolah from Aunt Shirley, and a sassy little Sephora gift card from best friend Nicole. T came home from work with this pretty little sparkly-

along with some beautiful flowers. He then took me to Chick-fil-a and to see The Hangover II. I've never seen a sequel that is just the same movie repeated. It was pretty lame.

The party continued the next day with a trip to see Ray LaMontagne in concert, birthday tickets courtesy of brother Robby.

I wore my new necklace that was a birthday gift from best friend Jamie, who took me to brunch on my birthday along with Allison. I regaled Allison with tales from my 12th birthday pool party. I reminded her that her job was to bring the cool factor then, as she was 16 and very awesome. Big sister Katie was her sidekick in coolness, as I looked adoringly at them while they organized my fellow gangly preteen friends into teams to toss water balloons. Sadly, neither of them remembered much about what I considered to be a very memorable day. Boo hiss. Allison still brought the cool to my birthday 20 years later.

We had a stunningly beautiful evening to listen to Ray.

Sweet Steph and I covered ourselves in blankets after it got dark. It was a tad chilly in Indiana in June. Fabulous!

Sunday, June 12, 2011

San Juan-You know You're not tired of it yet!

My last post of our vacation features my favorite part of vacation, the eating and pooling part. There are four posts of Puerto Rico, so if you like to read in order, I suggest you scroll down to part one. I like things in sequential order.

Sushi and Medalla Light, a fabulous combination!

T was smitten with his gray Polo shirt. I told him it would look like he never changed on vacation. He didn't.

We ate at a great Italian spot. I was so glad my right boob was able to make it to dinner too. My goodness!

Tiramisu and shiny face! I swear I showered.

My Kindle and Under the Coconut Tree drinks were essential by the pool.

I had a short foot modeling gig while Trinity ran on the beach in the distance.

Oh, now that was funny.

I read Tina Fey's Bossypants and laughed my tail off. I took this picture after she wrote about how to prepare for photo shoots. She said they ask if you want to use your iPod for music, but that is a trap. She wrote that no matter how much Velvet Underground and Beastie Boys you have on your iPod, when you put it on shuffle "We'd like to Thank you, Herbert Hoover" from the Annie soundtrack will undoubtedly play.

Oh so true. I too have filled my iTunes account with awesome coolness from those two bands as well as lots of Phish, Cake and Jeff Buckley. So why does "I Do (Cherish you) from 98Degrees and Kellerman's Anthem from Dirty Dancing always pop up when I try to shuffle? Oh, Tina, we could be BFF.

The pool was great and the ocean was so great that I swam in it a ton! What a fabulous trip!

El Yunque-Spanish for "This Hike will kill you."

Now I mentioned in the previous post that Trinity bought me a new slicker. That was because he claimed I needed a Patagonia rain jacket for my hike in the rainforest. It turns out he was right.

We rented a car and prepped to leave our hotel for an all day adventure in the rainforest. He packed a backpack and then strapped this thing to my back. It was a backpack with a water pack he called a bladder.

Gross.

It also had a tube that you could suck the water from, and it had a magnet that held it right in place. I love magnets. This kept me entertained for the entire 30 minute drive. Snap. Disconnect. Repeat. I'm actually a 4 year old boy.

See? Proof that we went!

Beautiful waterfall, with my left thumb prominently displayed!

Our first little jaunt took us to a small tower.

I was actually fascinated by the tree roots that looked like skinny carrots. Not baby carrots. Skinny carrots.

Ponce de Leon himself.

There were many different hikes, but he insisted that we go to the very top, which the sign said would take like 2 hours and 40 minutes. Uphill.

So off we went. The rainforest was awesome, I must admit. Everything was lush, green, and wet. It was humid, but shaded.

I was fine for like the first 90 minutes. Then I was just over it. This was when I had to push myself. Either it was me, or my husband, who suddenly turned into Bob, the "motivational" trainer from The Biggest Loser.

He kept saying, "Bets, we must summit!" "We will summit!"

I just wanted him to stop using the word summit as a verb.

It was grammatically correct, I just prefer to use it as a noun.

As in, "I shall reach the summit. Then I will rip your face off."

Is this the summit?

No. It was just another freakin' high point.

Not the summit.

This is the summit!!!

It took us 2 hours.

We are rock stars, and much faster than the sign writers.

Look at the angst on my face. You might think it was from completing that arduous journey. It was, sort of.

It was more a look of disgust when I reached the top only to stand next to a sweaty, hairy buffalo of a man wearing only tight rock bike shorts!

EEEEEWWWWW!!!!!

I was actually thrilled that we did it!

It was a stunning view and a fabulous memory.

My day did not end there. We continued to Fajardo to do the bioluminescent kayaking tour. With my legs half dead it was time for my arms to catch up.

I have no pictures. You get so wet that you don't want to have a camera unless it's waterproof, which we know I don't have.

I do have 23 mosquito bites on my arms, neck, back and face.

T stopped counting there. He didn't even bother with my legs and ankles.

Fun, with a possibility of malaria!

San Juan Part II

One of our favorite days was when we went into Old San Juan to be total tourists. T was peeved that of course I stopped into a Starbucks for my tall soy chai tea latte. It was $4.42 in Puerto Rico. That was my last Puerto Rican Starbucks experience. On the way to the bathroom I saw this room. On the door it said "Starbucks Coffee Support Center." I have never seen one of these before. Perhaps they offer support and counseling for addiction. I might require their services.

We took the ferry over to tour the Bacardi Rum factory. T rocked one of his Bonnaroo tees and lamented his absence from that beloved event. When he whines that he doesn't get to go, I remind him that I spent my 30th birthday on June 13, 2009 being a volunteer beer wench in a tent serving drunk hippies at the Roo so he could see Bruce Springstein. That usually shuts him up.

Now this place was awesome! T and I usually incorporate brewery and winery tours into our trips. Together we have visited:

The Bourbon Trail in Kentucky to see Maker's Mark and several others

George Dickel and Jack Daniels in Tennessee near his old house

Coors in Denver

Coca-Cola in Atlanta.

Does that count?

Here was T with one of the tour guides who had just explained the Cuba Libre, an original drink of Coca-cola and Bacardi rum. Since T is the Cuban Thunder we felt a photo op was necessary.

Did you know that Bacardi originated in Cuba but was relocated to Puerto Rico after Castro took over and ruined everything? That bastard!

It was cold inside, so I had to put on my new slicker that T bought me as an early birthday gift!

The bar/tasting area was such a cool piece of architecture. This felt very Sinatra to me-

I had a Bacardi daquiri which was just rum and fresh lime juice that made my lips purse and feel a filling I got back in '96. It tasted good but was oh so tart! I used my other drink ticket on a modified Cuba Libre. I had Diet Coke and Bacardi. I figured Cuba isn't free and neither are calories.

We then docked back in Old San Juan and commenced our annoying tourist behavior. T led me down the beautiful cobbled streets, even though I was the season San Juan traveler.

Which is why he turned and discovered this.

I'm not following you, fool husband.

I located the tiny man selling that fabulous sorbet out of a cart for $2.

Passionfruit and coconut sorbet that is the nectar of the Gods.

I don't have cankles, I swear. I just wore thin sandals that made my feet flat as a pancake and walking difficult. See? I'm no tourist!

El Morro.

Built in the 1500s to ward off all of those pesky attacks.

It surrounded the city and was truly amazing.

T likes signs as proof that he's been somewhere. This isn't exactly material for the mantel. Of course, we don't have a mantel.

There were tons of feral cats.

I'm a cat lover, but this was a little creepy.

They were everywhere. I counted 15 in like a 200 yard walk. I felt like they were going to steal my breath. Then I longed for Kashmir. She enjoyed a week of fun with Robeghan, I'm sure trying to hoard food from their obese cat, Ziggy.

We finished the day with a trip to El Catedral de San Juan, the second oldest Cathedral in the Western Hemisphere, built in 1521. The oldest is my childhood church, Saint Benedict's in Terre Haute. If I didn't teach elementary I would have totally been a high school history teacher. I know lots of facts, and the ones I'm not sure of, I just make up.

San Juan Part I

Trinity and I arrived in San Juan late Saturday night for our week long early anniversary trip. We stayed at La Concha, as I wrote about a few months ago.

We checked in to our ultra swanky, modern, these living quarters are far too hip for Betsy room and then headed down to the lobby/lounge that fit the same description.

We toasted our journey with $12 margaritas-

and were quickly reminded how nice and carefree an all-inclusive trip is! Not here, peeps! Trinity was shocked at how shocked I was about how expensive the drinks were. He was like, "we're at the hotel, duh!"

I was quite distraught that we had to miss Uncle Maurice's funeral and visitation. His visitation was Sunday, so we walked 3 blocks to Stella Maris Catholic church in San Juan for a little misa en Espanol. That's right, we honored our precious priest by attending mass in Spanish. Now everyone knows that the rituals of the Catholic church don't change. We knew when to sit down, stand up, kneel and take communion. I caught about every 5th word that the priest said but couldn't string it together to understand much. Oh well, prayers were said and we left feeling a tad better.

We walked to brunch and saw this in a store window. Pope John Paul II or Juan Pablo II or JP2 as I call him was there! It was a sign! I was so happy about this.

Friday, June 10, 2011

A Spa Tale

This is going to be one of those oddball story posts. I started laughing at this memory yesterday, so I thought I would share it with all 4 of my readers. Trinity and I have been traveling lots lately, and it seems that most hotels have hoity toity spas. Now I love a good spa treatment. I have actually had a couple of facials lately, and they are marvelous. I also enjoy going to my local strip mall nail salon for a pedicure where I'm sure the women are chattering in Vietnamese about my giant feet with finger-like toes.

Now back to my story. Whenever we go anywhere, I always check the menu of delights that are generally overpriced and are described in a way that sounds more like a food or beverage than a treatment. Avocado masks, cucumber infused oil pedicures, etc. generally try to convince women to part with their moolah for a few moments of pleasure and relaxation. I don't usually do this, but I will gladly accept these experiences as gifts.

This brings me back to 2001, when I had the spa treatment that nearly killed me. I was a senior in college, and had received an amazing spa "experience" including an hour Swedish massage and a 45 minute Peppermint Oil Body Wrap as a gift. The giver shall remain anonymous to protect his/her's safety. Let's just say, the massage was not the problem.

I will never forget those 45 minutes as long as I live. I will share them in detail. The woman walked me back to a lovely room that was illuminated with candles and fragrant and fabulous. So far, so good. She told me to strip except for my undies. Again, no red flags yet. I wasn't in Amsterdam, so I had no reason to be concerned. She then returned and opened the lid off of a device that resembled a crock pot and removed what looked like a small tan towel. Wait...no that's an Ace bandage. What?

It was warm and moist, as it had been resting in that pot, which will now be referred to as that "Cauldron of Terror." She began to wrap it around my toes, around my foot and then it stopped just above my ankle. I was growing concerned. This was a spa, not my high school locker room. I was not getting my ankles taped for volleyball practice. She then reached into that Cauldron of Terror and pulled out another one. That one wrapped up to my undies, encompassing my shin, knee and thigh. Oh my God. This was not feeling good. Repeat on the left side.

Then she did the same on my right arm, starting with my fingertips and moving up to my shoulder. Repeat on the left. Then came the torso. Oh my I was really starting to wig out. Now why didn't I just say "Stop, I'm done!!!!!" Well, now I would do that now as an almost 32 year old mature woman. Please recall that I was merely 21 years old and was embarrassed to speak up. This was a chic-chic place and I was clearly just being a weenie. Actually I was a weenie. I was literally being trussed into a sausage casing.

It gets worse. My torso was wrapped up to my neck. My entire body was completely covered in Ace bandages. I had been mummified. Those damn wraps were tight. And wet. I wondered how in the hell this was intended to be an enjoyable experience. That She-Beast prattled on about how college was for me and yada yada yada. Then she left the room and returned with a giant piece of aluminum foil. That's what it looked like, but I guess it was some sort of metallic like blanket. She wrapped that around my entire body, burrito style. Oh sweet Jesus, what had I done to warrant this?

It looked like this-

minus the pleasant face.

Then she wheeled over a heat lamp!!!!

I'm not kidding. It glowed red like the eyes of the devil himself.

She carefully positioned that piece of hell on earth over me

and

LEFT THE ROOM!

For eternity.

Okay, it was probably more like 15 minutes.

The heat was causing the oil to evaporate from the wraps, apparently taking my toxins (and my soul) with it. I felt like the chicken nuggets in the holding pen at Chickfila, but smelled like an old Starlite mint that had been left in the car too long.

What did I do?

I distinctly remember trying to calm myself by continuously singing "Dutchman, Dutchman" which was a song my mother used to sing to me to make me fall asleep as a child. The whole traumatic experience had caused me to revert back to infancy. It was quite sad.

Finally the woman returned, removed my wraps and sent me on my way. As I left she asked what big event I was attending that evening? I looked dazed and confused at her. She then explained that the Peppermint torture treatment was intended to purge toxins and help you lose inches temporarily. It was a quick weight loss trick! The giver had not know this, or maybe shim was trying to send me a message.

I left with fewer inches and less brain matter.

I implore you readers, resist a wrap at all costs!