I'll Never Make It as an Assasin

I'm from the country. I think that's been mentioned once or twice. And like a lot of kids from the country we grew up a little different than city kids. To wit: my dad and his family are avid hunters. I don't mean big game, let's go to Alaska and kill elk and figure out how to get it home on the plane kind of hunters. I mean we all live in the middle of many acres of woods and shoot deer and other things. Mostly which we eat.

Not so much my sister, but my little brother and I were kind of into it. We had bb guns and shot soda cans and practiced with bows and arrows. I liked bows and arrows the best. When I was in junior high or so I got sick of sharing a room with my sister and moved to the spare storage room in the basement. Instead of sharing with my sister, I shared with the piano, the cupboards full of canned fruits, vegetables, and meats, and my dad's gun collection.

Getting ready to go hunting with Dad!

Also around that time I told my dad I wanted to go hunting with him. I was really into Greek mythology when I was younger and I think I had some romantic image of hunting being like Artemis or you know, Hercules and Xena. I should have known better; really I should have. I learned though.

It wasn't deer season yet, thank God for small favors, so I went squirrel hunting with my dad. Frankly I don't remember much. It must have been the trauma. What I do remember though is vivid and horrible. We were walking along enjoying the nature when Dad suddenly lifted his rifle and shot into the trees-like you do. And kudos to Dad for being a good shot, winged a squirrel. Now, this was a regular old brown squirrel, not a flying squirrel (they exist, really) but I swear this thing didn't so much fall out of the tree as it did glide out of it.

Right. Over. My. Head.

Aaaahhhh!! really says it all here

The bloody (which I use both as an expletive and a description) squirrel, flew out of the tree, legs spread wide as though that would somehow stop its plummet to the ground. And in the process, brushed my hair and it passed directly over my head.

I may have screamed a little.

Good shot though my dad my be, he did just wing it. So while I was comforted to know that my hair was sullied only by an injured and dead rodent, I was immediately saddened and upset to see the poor little woodland creature sprawled on the forest ground, literally gasping for breath. It's poor little heart must have been going a mile a minute and its little chest went frantically up and down. While I was concocting how to turn the barn into an emergency vet clinic and save its poor little life, dad had other plans. He just grinned at me, and if you know my dad you know the grin I mean, the I'm-having-so-much-fun-even-though-this-looks-sadistic-and-mildly-sociopathic grin he gets.

And then

...

WARNING! THIS NEXT PICTURE CONTAINS VIOLENT IMAGERY AND IS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR ALL AUDIENCES!

SQUISH!

He stepped on its head! He freaking stepped on its head!!! Oh and I heard it crunch and squish...

That right there cured me of any romantic hunting fantasies and was used as a reminder about why I couldn't become a hit man (one of my two chosen careers in college). I never went hunting again, never expressed any desire to hunt, and am pretty sure never handled a gun again. 

Falling Right In It

Last month I was vacationing in Jordan with a friend. Of course while we were in Jordan we went to Petra! Petra was really great, except for all the walking. Part of that walking involved climbing up to the Monastery. Most people pay the 7JD to ride a donkey up the 800 plus steps that wind their way up and around in the extremely high hills of Petra.Not us. You can read about the full pain of the journey in my other blog, this post is about a small moment of the climb.

Standing in awe of how high we had to go.

I am by no means an in shape person but I do go to the gym semi regularly where I participate in vigorous dance classes. Since this experience wasn't going to be as awful as was traversing the Great Wall I figured I might be able to do it without too many problems. Not so. I found every excuse in the book to stop and take breaks. And because I needed so many breaks, I soon ran out of in the book excuses and hard to make up new ones.

Slipping off a rock

During one of these excuses we'd wandered down a small side path to check out an interesting rock formation. After a few moments of admiring and relearning how to breath, we turned to leave. As I was turning, my foot slipped off the rock I was standing on and I did this kind of slide/fall off the rock. Thankfully the rock wasn't so high so I didn't have far to fall. Mostly I got a little jarred when I stopped the fall with my right hand. I also got a bunch of that 'rose red' dust all over me for which Petra is so famous. However, I wasn't the only thing on the rock I slipped off.

Oh the consequences of donkeys.

Yup, right in it.

Yep. There was a big pile of donkey doo on the rock. I guess I've been so long out of the country that I never noticed in the first place. I sure as heck noticed it when I fell! There was a moment after I fell, after I was sure nothing was broken or bleeding, where Sarah and I froze as we simultaneously noticed where my hand was. Right. In. The. Center. Of. The. Doo.

Sigh.

And yet...fortune smiled. My hand mat have been in the center of the donkey doo...but the center was doo-free! Ha! So, Andrea - 1, Universe  - a lot more.

The Time My Brother and Mom Broke My Finger

The two hardest things about this blog are coming up with stories, and making the pictures. However I cannot believe that I forgot about this story so I quickly threw together a couple simple images...

I don't quite remember when this happened but I think sometime in high school. I was in the city with my mom and brother and we made a stop at Best Buy. I know, that we were actually going to Best Buy to buy something really dates the story. I'm all about Amazon now and have been for years.

Anywho-we stop at Best Buy and pile out of the van. I was clambering down from the front passenger seat, my left hand braced on the van, when my brother slammed shut the sliding door, as you do.

Right. On. My. Little. Finger.

And then my mom locked the doors.

Pinkie finger locked in the sliding door.

Without thinking I started frantically tugging trying to free my pinkie finger from the van while my mom and brother gaped at me. I'm fairly certain there was some screaming involved, or at least a lot of shrill yelling. My brother reacted first and tried to open the van door-far smarter than probably further injuring my finger as I was doing by tugging. Of course his efforts were in vain since mom had locked them damn door.

It took her longer than I would have liked to grasp the situation but thankfully she eventually did. Also thankfully she still had the keys in her hand. The woman has this thing with purses. She can never find one that she likes so she has had a ton of them. Which means every time she gets a new one she has to figure out where everything goes and it takes her forever to remember where something is inside it. Finally though she unlocked the doors and my brother threw open the slider effectively freeing me.

I clutched my hand to my chest, tears streaming down my face, and refused my mom's continued armchair doctor attempts to examine it. Seriously, if you look up armchair doctor you'll find a picture of my mom. She once prescribed me my sister's no longer needed Paxil because I was 'acting like a bitch'. Actually if someone could make a pill for that...

My poor finger was black and had a large dent

I insisted that I was fine and headed straight into Best Buy. I was both really determined to get the CD I wanted and to avoid the doctor. I am nothing if not my father's daughter when it comes to willingness to go to the doctor. We did our shopping and my mom drove straight to the doctor. She set the finger and put one of those bendy metal splints on it. I think I probably didn't even get good drugs out of it. I think I did get my mom to pay for the CD though.

There really is no way to nicely wrap up this vignette. Maybe it needs a moral like; Keep your hands and feet outside the vehicle at all times? Never lock your car doors until you know nothing is stuck in them? Shop on the Internet from the safety of your own home? Cry as much as possible to get the good pain killers?

Nah. The best lesson to learn from this is story is to bring up family-caused injury whenever you need a guilt trip. 

Ordering KFC in Taiwan

One of my absolute favorite things about traveling is food. I love food, I love to try new food, I will eat anything once (including the eyes, feet, brains, and testicles of various animals, dog, worms, and insects). But sometimes you just want something familiar - the comfort food syndrome. I experienced this in the worst way during my first trip to Taiwan.

A school-sponsored trip, a group of people from the Chinese language program were cooped up together in the ShiDa university’s dorm in Taipei. One of the girls and I were out wandering one evening when we were both struck with the urgent need for fried chicken. And conveniently enough there are a lot of KFCs in Taipei. Despite my willingness to be adventurous with culturally different foods I am a remarkably picky eater. When the question is foul, I don’t eat dark meat. This left me at somewhat of a disadvantage when ordering chicken. 

At this point in my language study I’d had little experience with practical application, and ordering at KFC was not a chapter in our text book. So I did the next best thing.

Charades

I told the extremely startled people at the order counter that I wanted white meat. But since I didn’t know the words I simply said that “I want these” (要這些) while pointing at my breasts and flapping my arms in a gross misuse of the chicken dance.

And that I did not want these (不要這些) while running a finger illustratively up and down my arm then lifting my leg as high as it would go to do the same.

Needless to say the employees and other customers that night at KFC were experiencing something unique.

In the end I didn’t even need my charades because by then we were both so hungry we ordered a bucket (my friend being happy with the dark meat) and thought to share it with some of our other classmates. Of course by the time we got back to the dorm we were ravenous and so sneaked in by getting off the elevator a floor early, walking down the hall to go up the last flight via the stairs and thus avoid having to walk down the hall where all our classmates were. We locked ourselves her dorm room and devoured our treat. While I might normally have felt a little guilty for eating that much fried chicken, I kind of felt I’d deserved it.

The *Other* Time I broke My Neck

Seriously, this does happen to me multiple times. Being me is super dangerous.*

For a couple years I lived on the edge of DC in a group house (if you don't know what a group house is you are LUCKY). It was a really great house, huge, in a semi quiet but you still might get held up kind of neighborhood. Built in the 30s-ish it was all hard wood floors and paneled walls. Easy upkeep because no vacuum cleaner required...but hardwood floors + me = never a good thing. The stairs were a winding staircase. I've always admired the aesthetics of a winding staircase but have now learned that they are best avoided.

So-slippery wood floors, winding staircase, narrow narrow stairs, slightly unsturdy and flimsy handrail. Probably that's all you really need to know how this ends but let's keep going anyway.

For over two years I lived in dread of what I perceived to be my inevitable demise on those stairs. And one night it finally happened. It's all a blur so I cannot recall if I were hurrying down the stairs, wearing socks, moving-you know, any of those things that are dangerous-but just a couple steps down I lost my foot and began plummeting towards certain death.

Except I didn't die (or I did and am now the COOLEST BLOGGER EVER!!) because I managed to grab hold of the handrail with one hand. So instead of tumbling down the stairs, I fell down a few then jerked to a sudden halt and ended up twisted kind of around the inside of the staircase.

Two of my roommates came running (well one was on crutches at the time so she hobbled) to see my strange contortion and nodded sagely to indicated that they realized the stairs had finally had their way with me. I'm surprised people don't take bets on this; seriously.

Ok, no big deal, I'm still alive and nothing seems to be broken so that's great. I go to bed, get up stupidly early the next morning for a flight to Michigan to visit the family for some reason (honestly I have no idea why I was going to Michigan, it wasn't Christmas and it wasn't summer and those are usually the only times I go back). Spent a day in Michigan, all is fine and mid-westerny, go to bed.

And BAM! I'm a quadriplegic!

I woke up the next morning and I seriously, no exaggeration at all, could not move. I could not move. I honestly don't think I've ever been so scared (well except for the Wall but I think that actually came after this). I as lying on my back, which later I was thankful for because I often sleep on my stomach and that could have been very bad, with my head turned to the right. And nothing moved.  I could in fact wiggle my fingers and toes so I knew logically I was probably not actually a quadriplegic, but nothing bigger that would budge. So after calming myself (sort of but honestly not really) out of a panic, I did the only thing I could do. I started yelling for my mommy.

Poor woman rushed in still half asleep (I think it might have been pretty early) and looked at me blankly when I told her that I was now a quadriplegic. And who could blame her really. In the end we decided that  by grabbing the handrail when I fell and being jerked into a contorted stop I'd probably given myself whiplash and then exacerbated it by spending time on an uncomfortable plane.My mom toasted and liberally buttered cinnamon chip bread for me and then fed me and stayed in the room to talk to me. Which was really great because I couldn't hold a book while my body took it's time deciding that I really wasn't a quadriplegic and while there was a TV in the room my head was turned away from it.

Eventually I was able to start moving and get up and walk around and such. So that's good. My neck still hurt and I had to spend the whole weekend with my head stuck in that right-turned position which made walking, conversations, eating dinner...well everything really somewhat awkward.

So yeah. That was fun.

*A friend has convinced me to run a 10K with her. I just don't see that going well.

The Time I Broke My Catholic Muscle

Seeing as how Easter is almost upon us and I already posted the story about the frozen baby rabbit, the second best Easter post I can think of is the time I broke my Catholic muscles. Both of them. It was my first year in DC and I decided I was going to spend Good Friday at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception (something I still do every year). Stations of the Cross start at noon and I got there a little later than I'd planned because I was too busy making eyes at my oh so cute supervisor. Well I got my punishment! At the basilica, Stations are downstairs in the crypt church which hasn't nearly the seating as the great upper church. Not nearly. So since I only got there about 10 minutes before everything started I didn't get a spot in a pew. Which meant that for the 14 Stations of the Cross I had to genuflect, then kneel on the marble floor.

I did not then, and frankly still don't now, have terribly strong quads.

Then it was confession and a move upstairs for musical reflections and the service.* Good Friday service is pretty long and it's impressive that Catholics can stay still for it all. We have an internal timer that gives a warning bell at about 55 minutes, goes off at the hour, and a minute over is like a shrieking fire alarm urging you to leave. You can tell what time it is by how fidgety everyone is. But for the two plus hours on Good Friday people are pretty good. I think it's because there's so much moving around. There's way more sit-stand-kneel-walk than there is during a regular Mass.

What did me in this particular service were the Prayers of the Faithful. During a regular Mass you hear them while standing and there are maybe seven. Which seems to be an odd number (ha!) but it's a decent median. On Good Friday at the Basilica, I kid not, there are about two dozen. And you stand while you hear them...but you have to genuflect when you give the response. Now I was already feeling a little shaky in the leg after the Stations incident so I was practically in tears after these prayers. Getting up and down took an immense effort and I had to grip the pew back in front of me to guide myself.

And that was just the Prayers of the Faithful! There was still all the regular sit-stand-kneel-walking! By the time it was Communion I had to drag myself out of a sustained kneel, shuffle to the front of the long aisle, back to the pew, and reluctantly and stiffly kneel back down.

Finally the service was over and I shuffled painfully, but thankfully downhill, to the metro. Where I proceeded to look ridiculous as I tried to negotiate the stairs into the station; luckily for once the escalators were at least working and I got to the platform with not too much effort. After I boarded the train I remained standing for the three stops even though it was practically empty and there were plenty of places to sit. I just knew that if I sat down, I was not going to be able to get back up to debark. Also thankfully my apartment wasn't too far from the metro and there were no hills or stairs involved. By the time I got home all I could do was stiffly fall onto the couch. And I stayed there the rest of that day and all of Saturday.

Saturday morning I had to call my bellydance instructor to let her know that I broke my Catholic muscles and couldn't move and therefore couldn't make it to class. Seriously my legs didn't function at all. My quads had seized and were just not cooperating. There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone as my Jewish dance teacher absorbed that I had broken Catholic muscles...but then she told me she hoped I got better and maybe I should ice something.

My unsympathetic roommate doubled over in laughter every time I couldn't stand it (ha) any longer and had to drag myself to the bathroom. And drag myself I did. I'd roll off the couch, army crawl to the bathroom, and use the toilet and bathtub to leverage myself up. Then repeat sequence to get back to the couch.

Luckily by Sunday morning my legs eased enough that I was able to make it to Easter Mass. I did avoid kneeling during the Mass though.

So now every year that I manage to be in the country for Lent I go into training to prepare for Good Friday. This means going to church Friday night every week of Lent for Mass and Stations of the Cross. And even though I have a pew because so few people come for daily Mass, I stand in the center aisle and genuflect/kneel on the floor. This way, even if my insistence on getting to the Basilica 30-40 minutes early on Good Friday doesn't net me a pew, I'll be prepared.

*Interesting tidbit-Good Friday is the only service all year that's just a service and isn't a Mass. Know why? Please tell me because I don't know either.

Seriously Steve Madden Has It Out For Me

So not only does Steve Madden hate me, but I really think he's trying to kill me. And the most puzzling thing about this is that I just don't know what I did to him except wear his shoes and look pretty good in them. I mean maybe this was my fault. I was walking after all.

Halloween weekend (yes it's been a while since I posted) I went to a wine tasting with a girlfriend of mine. It was  a pretty nasty day, there was some sort of horrible sleety cold grossness happening. By the time I made it from the metro to the hotel for the wine tasting I was a solid block of cold. We spent a couple hours sampling wines from around the world and about a half hour before we left I cut myself off. I was feeling fine and on the edge of falling over so I decided to be wise and resist the last half dozen tables. Except maybe I did have one taste of this Moscato flavored with orange blossoms...but the point is I cut myself off.

I will now correct what I neglected to say initially and mention that I was wearing the same Steve Madden boots that caused me to fall down twice in the airport.

As we were leaving we concurred that the couple cubes of cheese we'd had just weren't cutting it and decided to have dinner. We went to Cleveland Park near her place to a restaurant that specializes in meat. I love meat.

We walked in, and I put one foot on their super shiny slippery fake wood floor and it was all over.

With one foot on the mat holding me in place, the other shot out and I wavered fighting for balance with everything in me. In those few seconds while I flailed my arms about desperate to not fall I managed to see my friend and everyone else there turn to me with horrified faces. Then it was all over and I fell on my face.

Now it's possible that the fall may have had something to do with highly waxed fake wood, sleet, and a slightly worn out heel (I was not drunk, thank you*) but given my track record with these boots I think this was, in fact, Steve Madden's second attempt on my life.

One of the most annoying things about falling down in public is that people, well except in Taiwan, don't just let you lay there. If you fall down, especially on your face, you not only need but want a few moments to yourself. You need to do a quick mental check to see if anything's broken and gather up your shattered dignity before anyone slips on it. What you don't need is hysterical restauranteur terrified that you're going to sue** for overly slippery floors flapping around you trying to haul you up and dust you off. I got up and somewhat stiffly made my way to our table insisting that I was fine. I was a bit sore and unfortunately could feel that the little headache I already had was growing but there was meat to be eaten.

After the meat we went back to her place. By now my head was raging and I quickly swallowed one of my previous migraine pills. I was having what I believed to be the worst migraine I'd had in years. Mine vary in pain level and while the pain and light/sound/smell sensitivity are never fun times; I'm lucky enough that I usually don't get the nausea and vomiting. Not so this time. This was my first visit to my friend's new apartment and I got to know her bathroom really well. Really really well. I had also wasted my migraine medication as it didn't stay in my stomach long enough to do anything. When I felt that I could move without more vomiting she drove me home. The 10 minute was even worse than the metro ride after I broke my neck. But I got home and immediately reacquainted myself with my own bathroom. I went to bed with ice packs wrapped around my head and a fervent prayer that it would be gone when I woke up.

Somewhat miraculously it was! I was a little dizzy and tired from not having slept well (which meant I nodded off one or two more times during church than usual) but no pain! Hurrah!

Later that day I talked to my mom to find out how she was enjoying her visit to my sister and brother-in-law in Florida. I mentioned the fall because now that my migraine was gone I could look back on it with humor. I also mentioned the horrible migraine I had had. She in turn mentioned this to my sister who told me that I was an idiot and that I hadn't had a migraine; I had a concussion.

Huh. My mind never even went there. I mean why would it? Massive stabbing burning pain on one side of my head + dizzy + nausea = migraine. Apparently it also equals concussion especially when coupled with that nodding off I'd been doing all day (which yay turns out I'm not a bad Catholic after all!). I thought about the fall again and realized that she was probably rights. I did hit my head on the way down and I'd assumed that knock had just turned a small headache into a major production.

Fall breakdown: 1. Slipped and went into a splits position

                2. Landed initially on my left knee

                   3. Slammed my head onto the floor

So conclusion...Steve Madden who, to my knowledge, has no power to cause migraines, has now made his second attempt on my life with this really cute pair of boots. I continue to wear the boots because I refuse to let him intimidate me.

*Yes yes maybe I was a little tipsy but tipsy is not drunk.
**Apparently in the end said restauranteur wasn't terrified enough over the prospect of being sued as we didn't even get complimentary dessert.

The Time I Tangled* with Chestnuts and Lost

Years after her visit to Taipei, one of the things my mom continues to remark on is the traffic. Often there are no sidewalks or they're very narrow/not well kept or they've been taken over as a parking lot. In Taipei everyone shares the sidewalks and roads equally be it cars, motor bikes, bicyclists, pedestrians, food carts, etc etc.

So that's my preface to the time I lost a fight with a food cart.

I was on my way back from one of my teaching jobs trying to navigate a particularly difficult sidewalk. It was very narrow, full of cracks and potholes, there was one huge tree you had to carefully circumnavigate...and all the other people trying to do the same. I had a strategy that involved a lot of duck and weave which usually worked for me, except for when it didn't. There was one evening when the foot traffic was pretty heavy and I was doing my duck and weave but apparently didn't duck enough.

I will further preface this by saying that I often wore my hair in pin curls because it was an easy way to get 3-4 days out of one hairstyle AND beat the incredible humidity there. I think this was before I discovered hair product and so needed all the help I could get.

Back to the ducking and weaving. There was usually a vendor on the corner of this street who sold roasted chestnuts. Usually I was able to get around but between the many pedestrians, my usual distracted state, and the fact that I'm a wee bit taller than your average Taiwanese person (who probably all fit under the cart roof just fine); this time I had a problem. One of the pin curls got caught on the edge of the cart roof. Without my noticing. Until I tried to walk on. And got yanked viciously back.

It took forever to untangle me. I could only feel whatever mess was going on up there and the poor little man who ran the cart was trying to help but couldn't reach my hair. I was doing my best to assure him that it was ok and no worries etc etc...but still. And of course it felt like the entire country was there to stare at me as they walked/drove by.

I did get a a handful of free chestnuts out of it though. He felt so bad he insisted I take some. I must have looked a sight walking the rest of the way to subway...big white girl whose hair was kinda crazy to begin with now made worse by some errant dangling curls and pins munching on roasted chestnuts.

*Also, get it? Hair, tangled...hahaha

That particular sidewalk featured in several embarrassing moments for me. In addition to the hair incident, there was also the time I fell down. This time it was the blasted tree that did me in. I was trying to step around the roots that had pushed their way through the sidewalk when my foot caught. And I went down. Hard. I fell flat on my face and lay sprawled across the sidewalk.

That's not blood...it's my hair. Just so we're on the same page.

There's an interesting little quirk about Chinese culture that I learned...others' embarrassment is so embarrassing for everyone (which is one of the reasons my roommate said I was Chinese...I even have to cover my eyes during movie scenes in which people do embarrassing things). So people in Taiwan often went out of their way to avoid noticing someone so as to not further their embarrassment. Which meant that before I recovered and lay sprawled across the sidewalk with my feet dangling into the street, other pedestrians ignored my plight and stepped right over me.

It was really quite polite of them if you think about it.

Not Even Escalators Are My Friends

I had this tradition at my previous job. The day I traveled for work (or the day before if I were leaving on a weekend) I always had lunch at the 5 Guys in the International Square food court. I figured since I'd be stuck on airplanes for 8+ hours with nothing that resembled actual consumable food, a bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon, mayo, lettuce, fried onions and ketchup and a side of Cajun fries wouldn't kill me.

Until one day it almost did.

The escalators at International Square are of the super narrow kind that only has room for one person (rather than two people side by side). I was still in the throes of fear over the scariest experience of my existence so rather than walking down the very short escalator as I had done in the past, I not only stood for the ride but held onto both railings. However not even that saved me.

To this day I am unclear as to what actually happened. The best I can guess is that I misjudged how close to the bottom of the escalator I was so when I stepped off, thinking solid ground would be right there, it wasn't. And I managed to fall down the last two, steadily disappearing, escalator steps. My right foot folded under me and for a wee moment I was standing on my ankle before I completely collapsed. I can only be grateful that my embarrassment was limited to the one gentleman behind me (rather than the hoards of people who usually swarm International Square). He was thankfully far enough behind me on the evil people mover that we did not collide because I couldn't get up. My problem being not only what I was sure was a broken ankle, but the fact that I was trying to use the escalator rails to push myself up but the buggering things kept moving me forward. So maybe I half fell down a few more times.

I was finally able to launch myself into a semi standing position and all but threw myself on the lip of the giant cigarette ash urn thing that was handily located right at the bottom of the escalator. Once I was out of his way the gentleman  rushed to me to ask me if I were ok while nicely ignoring my previous floundering. I assured him that I was fine (I was decidedly NOT fine), that this happens all the time (sadly true) and that I just needed to rest for a couple minutes. I sat there for about 10 minutes until my ankle went from screaming pain to a throbbing dullness, all the while smiling at everyone who passed as though I sit on cigarette urns every day.

When I felt well enough, I dragged myself reluctantly off the urn and limped to 5 Guys. Because hell yes I was still getting my bacon cheeseburger and fries. As if I was going to have nearly killed myself for them and return to the office sans their artery clogging gloriousness.

Shortly after getting back to my office and demolishing my well deserved burger I realized that the trauma and grease had made me quite thirsty. I gazed longingly at the empty water bottle sitting on my desk but my ankle, which was propped up on my CPU, had vigorously renewed it's throbbing. I guiltily sent a Skype message to a coworker with whom I'd been working only a short time and asked if she would do a very menial task and please get me some water. Bless her, she came right over and when I explained what had happened she suggested she get some ice for me as well.

Coincidentally or not, she's now a very good friend.

When she came back to my office with the requested water and ice our ueber boss was in there talking to me. She made this little gesture towards me like, do I give this to you with him in here or not. I waved her forward because I didn't care, set the water on my desk and slapped the bag of ice on my ankle, which my boss was now noticing was propped up on the CPU. I just looked at him and said, quite simply, "I fell down again."

He just rolled his eyes at me and continued talking.

I had an opera opening that Saturday so I did not leave for, Moldova I think it was, until Sunday. At the opera, the season opening no less, my lovely black cocktail dress and black sequined shoes looked odd against the Ace bandage holding together my ankle. For the flight I found a different kind of wrap, this odd blue gummy thing that acted like an Ace but was cold! It was brilliant for the flight. Of course then I had to change planes in Germany and go through security and almost miss my flight cause they were all 'what the heck is that'. Despite the many times I have almost missed flights in Germany (due more to my office's travel agent and his "legal" layovers that to the Germans) I will say that as uptight as Germans are about security, they still manage to be more efficient, more polite, and don't require that you off your shoes than the invasive, power hungry, masochistic folks at the TSA.

So yeah, from then on I stopped being so cocky while on escalators and now I firmly plant myself (on the right, thank you) and ride the escalator all the way down.

Mutant Spider Attack

When I first moved to Taiwan I lived in a dorm somewhat on the fringes of the city. I initially chose the dorm because, well how was I going to look for an apartment from Michigan? and because they'd pick me up at the airport. I moved out after about a month I think.

 You can see why I moved out.

However while I was there I was attacked one day by a mutant spider! We have spiders in Michigan but nothing like this. Mostly we have Daddy Long Legs which I don't think are actually spiders...they're creepy insects with itty bitty bodies and super long spindly legs. We also have Wolf Spiders which are freaking scary. They range from quarter to silver dollar in size, are fat and hairy, and JUMP. They're super hard to kill because they JUMP. This mutant spider was not like either of these.

I saw it first on the wall of my dorm. It was not a small spider and I think the largest one I've ever seen. And it was black and fat and hairy and scary. I briefly considered throwing a shoe at it but vetoed that plan as I'm not a good thrower and was afraid of pissing it off. So I ran.

I looked back at the creature once before slamming the door and noticed that it had, unbelievably, grown even larger!

I want first to the front desk and tried to explain that there was a mutant spider in my room and someone needed to call Taiwan's SWAT team to deal with it. Unfortunately at that time I knew neither the Mandarin words for 'spider' nor 'mutant' (蜘蛛 and突變體 btw) so the front desk guy wasn't a lot of help. He did give me some bug spray but I was sure nothing short of napalm would stop this monster. So I rounded up some of the people I knew and a few more came to my aid out of curiosity.


I'm sure the big white girl shrilling about a mutant spider was entertaining.

However once other people say the creature, which by now had grown to be larger than my desk, they were also convinced that it needed to die. Armed with the bug spray, some shoes, possibly a broom, several of the onlookers attacked the beast.

It was surprisingly fast for a creature so large. Surely a genetically mutant freak should have a flaw? If the continuously growing spider beast had one, slowness was not it. Eventually though, the brave offensive attack was successful and the creature was vanquished.

And the villagers celebrated.

I danced around crowing that we had killed the monster while everyone looked at me sceptically wondering what was with this 'we'? While they went in to attack I cowered in the hall. Well not cowered specifically...more like provided moral support from a safe distance so as not to interfere with their tactical maneuvers.

The scary spider was about the last straw for me and I started to look for an apartment shortly there after. Granted the place I moved into often had dead gecos in the bathroom, formerly had a rat problem, had no heat, and had demons...but it did NOT have mutant spiders.

Hair Flips Are Dangerous

My showers are a fairly involved process due largely to my hair. Before I discovered quality conditioner and product there was nothing that would help get a comb through the frizzy, tangled mess that it was. What did work was loading my hair with tons of conditioner and combing it in the shower before rinsing. Even after discovering really good conditioner I have continued this practice because, even though no longer strictly necessary, it makes things easier.

A couple years ago I was taking a shower and doing my comb out thing.

I wanted to hurry because we had guests and I wanted to join them. Apparently I was in too much of a hurry and at one point flipped my hair to the side with a little too much enthusiasm.

So much enthusiasm in fact, that I threw myself right out of the shower.

Totally not kidding. I actually hair flipped myself out of the shower. After the initial shock I thought it was pretty funny. I mean, how many people have ever hair flipped themselves out of a shower? I lay there laughing hoping that no one heard the crash and thought to run upstairs to check it out. Sure I thought it was funny but I was still lying half in and half out of the shower stark naked. I also thought I was pretty lucky that I neither pulled down the shower curtain nor flipped myself the other way. If I had tossed my head powerfully enough to catapult myself out of the shower what would have happened if I'd gone the other way? I could have smacked my head against the wall, got knocked out, and drowned.

That would have been somewhat less funny.

So think of this as a cautionary tale and think before you flip your hair. A little forethought could save your life.

The Most Terrifying Experience OF MY LIFE

A few years ago, my roommate and I went to China for three weeks. While there we visited several cities including Beijing. Obviously while in Beijing we had to take an excursion to see the Great Wall. Little did I know it would end up being the most terrifying experience of my entire existence (including the time I got hit by a truck pulling a boat, both of my dad's heart attacks, and the 2009/10 DC Snowpacolypse).

We thought we would be so clever to not go on the Badaling tour and instead took the Jinshanling tour. Badaling is closer to Beijing and the time you spend on the wall is much shorter so we thought we were getting a good deal.

In the end I did not find this to be so.

We got to Jinshanling to discover a crumbling ruin. If you see the Great Wall on the Discovery Channel or in travel brochures and it's all smooth and reconstructed then you're looking at Badaling. If you see a crumbling ruin with steep, broken, sometimes barely there steps (which vary from 6-18 inches each in height) then you're looking at Jinshanling.

Have I mentioned I don't do stairs very well?

At the beginning of the tour we were joined by several locals. These folks apparently make the hike (was it 8 miles?) at least once every day and look for the weak members of the group. Onto these they glom in order to "help" people along the path. At the end they do their darndest to make you buy extremely overpriced souvenirs. Clearly in this group I was the weak member.

Actually it ended up turning out pretty well for me to have the helper. My roommate was at least a (guard)tower ahead of me most of the time and I got to practice my Mandarin. I hadn't really spoken Chinese in years, not since moving back to the States from Taiwan. It's funny how certain words come back in certain situations. For example, during the hike I clearly remembered the words "terrified" and "going to die". I have a feeling that she thought I was pretty funny when I wasn't crying.

I alternated the entire hike clinging to the wall when there was one and whimpering and crying and desperately hoping I wouldn't slip thereby plummeting to my death far below into the chasm that was China on side and what used to Mongolia on the other.

 

 These were seriously some of the most unpleasant hours of my life. I rested for a couple - ten minutes at every tower to get my breath back and stop shaking. If only for a couple minutes. At one particularly harrowing downward slope (where there was maybe one discernible stair and a drop on either side) I clung to the crumbling wall at the top and was openly crying. The tour leader and my guide were chattering too fast for me to understand but my roommate was at the bottom of the death drop and told them I was fine with an offhand "she's afraid of stairs". Which is true.

Finally, what seemed like years and multiple grey hairs later, it was over. And I wasn't even the last one to finish. And I bought an extremely overpriced paper fan from my helper. In retrospect I probably should have bought a couple things from her. As my roommate and I approached the last tower before we broke off to go back to the tour bus we paused for a few pictures. It was over. I had done it. I conquered Jinshanling.

And now I never have to do it again.

A Monkey Tried to Eat Me Once

While I was living in Taiwan I finally did something I’ve wanted to do since I first read books by Francis Hodgson Burnett…I went to India. I spent three weeks traveling around northern India and I’m still not sure if I enjoyed it or not. I went to markets in Delhi, saw the Taj Mahal and got stuck for two days in Agra (which is a horrible city), spent several days in the holy city of Pushkar and another couple days studying massage in Daramsala. There were some good things: I discovered coconut coffee frappes (dude you haven’t lived!), butter chicken, and did some major shopping. There were also less pleasant things: being groped, 50C weather, long pants and sleeves, hiding from my massage instructor who asked me to marry him…and I got attacked by a monkey.

Pushkar was one of my favorite places I visited. Even though it was low season I actually met a fairly large amount of foreigners there; an interesting mix of Europeans bumming around and Israelis who were all just released from the army. One of the people I met was the petit little blond thing who chirpily informed me that she was a fighter pilot. That was weird.

Pushkar was a great place to just be and absorb. It gets mad busy during the season and if you want to go to the big annual camel trading festival you have to book your camping spot like a year in advance.  The Pushkar Lake is sacred and there was plenty to see along the ghats. There was a restaurant I frequented several times that looked over the lake. I liked to go in the evening for a lassi and watch the GIANT BATS fly over the lake. There are also several temples including a Brahma temple to Lord Brahma, one of the holy trinity of Hinduism. There was also some pretty awesome shopping.

After a couple days I gave up wearing shoes all together because every time I entered a temple or shop I had to take them off. Saved so much time just not wearing any. However before that happened I was out exploring one day, just wandering around with my camera and a bottle of frozen water (50C desert, thank you) and I came to a bridge that crossed part of the lake. At first I was busy looking around admiring the pinkish orange stone that made up so much of everything but then was literally hot footing it barefoot across the holy bridge because it was baked by scorching sun. 

Once I crossed the bridge to path on the other side I took a moment to put my shoes back on. I poked around a little but didn’t see much worth going on for. As I turned around to go back though I noticed a large monkey sitting in a niche in the stone cliff face only about two feet away from me.

Ah ha! How opportune! I was two feet away from a monkey and by golly I was going to get a great picture!

You know this is going to go badly for me.

I picked up my camera and tried to creep a little closer because I was greedy. I don’t know if it was just me being there, the creeping, the camera, what…but the monkey was not happy. He leaned forward on a rather massive fist and glared at me then slowly opened his mouth really wide to show me his freaking enormous fang like teeth. Then he screamed at me. 

I’m not entirely stupid so I fled instantly. 

I flew across the bridge having totally forgot to remove shoes but apologizing to the Hindu gods during my brief flight. Convinced he was pursuing me I tried to dash up the narrow set of stairs which lead up from the bridge only to have my path blocked by a cow. I am not Hindu; I am Catholic and find cows to be one of the tastier animals. However I was hesitant to offend the local gods twice in a row by both neglecting to take off my shoes on the bridge and then by shoving aside the cow. Also I was afraid it would step on my relatively unprotected, sandal-shop foot and break it. So I kind of stood there for a few minutes feeling stupid and making little shooing motions at the cow.

The one bit of good news was that the monkey was sufficiently happy with scaring the daylights out of me and had indeed not made a pursuit. And it was a scorching hot day so the only ones around to witness both my lack of cultural sensitivity and general idiocy were the monkey and the cow.