$20.00 For A Baby?

So, as we know I've been trying to get pregnant. However, my constant judging of other people's babies, my tendency to swear and the occasional stealing from work has, in my opinion, probably impeded the process. So, today I decided to summon the karma gods and finally do something right. (I realize my alternative motive probably negated my effort, but I still tried.)

Anyway, there's a guy that comes in often, who I would describe as surprisingly grumpy and rather cheap. Last week after he left, I went to clean his table and found a 20 dollar bill left on the ground. Now, after two years of serving this cheap s.o.b., I knew this wasn't a forgotten tip. So, I pocketed the twenty and wrestled with myself for the next few days on what to do.

Finally, judgement day came. As I went to get his orange juice and bran muffin, I heard the devil say, "Kate, twenty dollars could buy a dram of fertility drugs. Don't do it." And then the angel, on the other shoulder obviously, said, "Kate, give him the twenty and that baby is as good as yours." What can I say, Momma's desperate.

But here's the thing...okay, I told him about losing the twenty and how I felt like he should have it back, but the guy didn't even say thanks. He took the twenty. Just took it. No reward for being honest. No high five for "The Server of the Year." Nothing. ANNNDD...the guy still have me a crappy tip.

So, what did I learn from this? One, like The Steve Miller Band says, "Take the Money and Run." Two, karma can't be bought off with $20.00. And three, I think I need to come up with other strategies to get a baby - this approach is costing me way too much.

I Don't Sound 32?

Tonight a representative from the LA Times called me to see if I would be interested in getting a subscription to the newspaper. At the time of the call I was making dinner, which consisted of a bowl of cereal, and wasn't fully speaking into the phone. Consequently, the caller asked to speak to my parents. This statement made me laugh, and while putting a spoon of cereal in my mouth, I said, "Um, I don't live with my parents." In retrospect, I don't know why I said this, but the caller responded, "Well, I'm not talking to you because you don't sound over 21." Again, I started to laugh and said, "Really? You don't think I sound over 21?" This only infuriated her and she said, "I'm going to call back when your parents answer the phone." My response, "Great! Talk to you then."

Who knew sounding like a moron or a ten year old would get rid of solicitors on the phone. I'm totally using this again. Thank you LA Times.

My Mom is Better Than Yours

Being that is it Mother's Day today, I thought I would take a moment and express my love and admiration for my mom. I know people say it, but truly I have the best mom. Why? Well, here's 5 reasons:

1. Look at the woman, she's hot. 60+ and she has still got it.
2. She's hilarious. Tell her a dirty joke, or anything that involves farting, and the woman will be laughing. How can you not love that?
3. She knew that the husband was the one before I knew she was the one. So, she's smart is what I'm saying.
4. She is an AMAZING cook. (I wish that was hereditary.)
5. She always puts us kids first.


Barb, I love you. Thanks for having me and sorry about the 28 minute wait....

Unusual Brain Activity

Today, for fun* I got a MRI of the brain. For those of you who haven't had the rare opportunity of being locked down inside a little body capsule, while a loud beeping noise somehow takes pictures of your brain, let me give you some tips and insights into the process. (Because, sadly, this was my second MRI of the brain.)

Tip #1:
When the technician asks you what types of head traumas you've had to warrant your first MRI, just stick with your first answer of, "I started having migraines and they wanted to know what the cause of them were." Don't add, "And sometimes I talk back to my husband." No one will laugh, at least, mine didn't.

Tip #2:
When the technician asks you if you would like to close your eyes or watch a nature video on animals, choose closing your eyes. (Yes, there was a video inside my little claustrophobic chamber.) All of the sudden I'm watching a polar bear with her cubs, and then I'm watching a wolf chase down Bambi and slaughter it. I wonder what activity they'll see in my brain as I'm screaming out, "RUNN!"

Tip #3:
Don't try to read the face of the technician after the procedure. I couldn't tell if I have six months to live or he has indigestion. Maybe he was all torn up about Bambi also.


*And when I say "fun" I mean fertility.

Stellar Police Work

Dear Local Police Force,

Thank you again for my $234.00 ticket. I really appreciate the time and effort you put into turning your siren on, pulling me over like a reckless outlaw and teaching me about breaking the law.

Oh, and I also wanted to thank you for keeping my community so safe. Just the other day I saw a car being broken into and when I called to tell you, you not only didn't respond in a timely manner, but managed to call once the car was pulling away. And there was the stealing of my bike from my own garage. I'll admit I had that coming. I mean, that bike could run more stop signs. Thank goodness that got stolen. And then how I look back on fondness, the time we found my husband's car broken into and my Ipod stolen. How you dusted that car for fingerprint....oh wait. And now, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you again, for all the hard work you put in. I mean, sure on Monday night my Thule bike and surf rack was stolen, but I'm sure again, someone who runs stops signs on their bike doesn't deserve a rack to carry the dangerous bike! No!

So, thank you again, and thank goodness that at least one real criminal (me) is being punished for breaking the law.

Kate

NASCAR and CBS

According to Wikipedia: NASCAR holds 17 of the top 20 attended single-day sporting events in the world, and claims 75 million fans who purchase over $3 billion in annual licensed product sales. So, who, I ask you, are all these people flocking to these events? And if there are so many people who are fans of NASCAR, and who buy items attached to NASCAR, why is there such a stigma attached to the sport of cars going round and round? I mean seriously, how come admitting you like NASCAR is like tweeting about Osama Bin Laden and saying, "@dkeller23 We’ll never know what really happened. I just have a hard time believing a plane could take a skyscraper down demolition style." (To read about this actual dummy check out this article) You just don't do it.

In addition to the mystery of NASCAR, I would like someone to explain to me, or tell me, who are all the people who watch CBS? I couldn't name you one show I've watched in entirety that airs on CBS, and yet, almost every single show in the top ten of viewership is from this network.

So, here's the only conclusion I can come to: The same mysterious people who show up and watch NASCAR, must be the same idiots who think Two and Half Men is one of the funniest shows on TV, and (insert city) CSI is just plain brilliant.

Who are you people and who is leading you?

Dentistry and Waterboarding

Today, I went to the dentist. I hate the dentist. Why? Well, for one I hate the accusatory looks and questions. Like, "Well, I see you have some receding gums (which I'm already sensitive about) do you floss?" To which I answer, "Yep, every night." To which they reply, "Every night?" I then say, "Yes, every night." And then they say, while getting out the torture towel and bucket of water, "Every night?" What do these people want me to say? "Okay, there was that one Friday night when I got strangely involved into a Lifetime movie and decided swishing warm water in my mouth was going to be my nightly cleaning." Seriously.

I also hate the entire cleaning process. I hate the suction tube that always gets left in my throat, I hate the cool air on my teeth, I hate the chipping away of my tartar, and I hate the different levels of "opening one's mouth" we are all supposed to know. Like how am I supposed to know that "Please open your mouth" actually means tilt your head back and show me the inside of your esophagus? And yet, "Please open your mouth" can also mean, just slightly release your jaw muscles so I can look at your first molar. There really should be signs.

And lastly, I hate the up sale at the end. Today's up sale: some stupid scrap that removes all the bacteria that accumulates at the back of your tongue, which causes bad breathe. As I sat there telling them politely no, I started to think, "Do I have bad breathe and that's why they are trying to sell me this?" I swear this office gives me a complex every time I leave. They either convince me I have early signs of pyorrhea (google it) and if I don't start wearing a full facial head gear I'm going to lose all my teeth, or my teeth are so yellow that it's almost a crime I haven't broken down and gotten them bleached. Why can't they just say, "Teeth are still there. You can still chew. Here's a toothbrush in a little bag?"

I hate the dentist.

Celebrities Are Weird

As I've mentioned before, I've had ample opportunities to see celebrities at my place of work. I've seen A-List stars like Kate Hudson, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Orlando Bloom, and I've even seen some D-List stars like, Urkel, Ed Rooney and the meathead from Can't Buy Me Love (they are such D-List stars they don't even deserve the time it would take me to look up their actual names). Now, in all these brushes with fame I've noticed a few things. One, a lot of them are tiny. For example, one of the hobbits from Lord of the Rings (not the famous one from Lost) is an actual hobbit, and Helen Hunt has huge hips but a tiny, tiny face (which is always in a permanent frown - what Soul Surfer wasn't what you envisioned after winning an Academy Award?) Secondly, I've noticed that celebrities, regardless of their status, feel like it's okay to exhibit a complete disregard for social norms on PDA. Worst offender would have to go to Kim Raver, who plays Teddy on Grey's Anatomy - who basically got on top of her husband while I was delivering their taco platter. Come on Kim, I supported the long face through 24, Lipstick Jungle and I'm even attempting to believe you can tame Yang on Grey's. Thirdly, I've noticed that if you are a celebrity it is alright to look homeless when you come to breakfast. Again, worst offenders would either be Alison Lohman, who starred in Big Fish and Flicka, (I actually told her she would have to buy something in order to use the bathroom) or Luke Wilson, who looked like he actually stole a homeless man's shirt and was wearing a beard that was eating his face.

Lastly, I've noticed that old man rockers all sport the same haircuts. What is this? Does it still make them cool to have haircuts that make them look like they just stepped off the tour bus, or that they just finished a weekend bender with Led Zeppelin? Seriously, there's this guy, probably in his late 50s, that comes in all the time (no names because I sort of love this customer, but suffice it to say, he's very legit and plays with a legend) who has the most ridiculous haircut. It's sort of a cross between Bon Jovi 1980s and Gary Busey of today. What makes his haircut even better is when he has lunch with other old time rockers. The other day, there was a whole table of grown men, some older than my dear father, who were sporting crazy highlights, hair going everywhere, and two had long stringy hair, that you could tell was just longing for the days when women actually liked to run their fingers through it. Honestly, these guys need a quick trip to reality land...and maybe Supercuts.

Oh, Here Go Hell Come

Well, the verdict is in for my reckless biking. (For those of you who haven't heard I was pulled over ON MY BIKE for running a stop sign.)

Ticket Price is: $234.00
How many times I yelled, "You are a jackass Officer Knotts." - 234 times.

I will be fighting this. Until then, Redondo Beach Police Force...

32 and 3 Days

So, on Friday I turned the big 32. 32. Ah, that sounds old. At least my life plan, I made for myself fifteen years ago, is working out perfectly.

1. Wearing an apron every day and asking, "Do you want bacon or sausage with that?" - Check.
2. Living in a 1 bedroom apartment with a hot guy. - Check.
3. Having no sight of children. - Check.
4. Mildly healthy gums. - Check.

(I didn't set very high standards for myself. It was the mid 90s.)

Okay, seriously my birth day (yes, two words) was awesome. And here's the pictures to prove it.

First, I woke up at 6:15 and was unable to go back to bed. I'm not sure if I was just excited for my birthday, or I'm now so old, I'm incapable of sleeping in. Do I get to start watching Matlock?

After breakfast, I read for awhile and then drove up to Malibu for a ride up in the mountains.
Here's some pictures of my ride and views. 2 Hours, 1,600 feet climbed and 3 snakes spotted.













And then, because I'm old, after my ride I got a massage. I don't know about you, but whenever I get a massage I always have two thoughts, ONE: "This feels so good that I don't even care if he beats children after work, I really think I'm in love with this man." No? Just me? TWO: "Sure, I'm in love with this man and his hands, but do I really need to tip him 50%?" (Honestly, what is that about? All over the room are signs that read: "Tipping Recommendations" - which mind you, recommend about $30.00 for a $47.00 massage. I mean, this is good, but he's not giving me the secret to life.)

Once the tipping quandary was crossed, the husband and I went to dinner at Bandera. (Please said with a creepy Spanish accent.) What can I say? I thought I had experienced my best meal last year at Mastros, but this was unbelievable. Ribs, chicken, slaw, cornbread, cobbler - my mouth is watering as I write this. Honestly, this restaurant makes me want to live to see my 33rd birthday...and become ridiculously rich, so I can casually say to the husband on Tuesday night, "Hey what about swinging over to Banderas?"

Inner Therapy

I always find myself saying after a shift of work, "Well, that was it, I've seen it all." - And then, something else happens the next day. Today, I was taking the plates off one of my customer's table when she said to me, "Now this will not effect your tip in any way, but can I ask you something?" Immediately, I thought she was going to ask me something about the restaurant, so I said, "Sure." She then said, "Um, what do you think of me?" Now, I should mention that I have never met this lady before, and I really didn't spend a lot of time at her table because I was really busy, so, I replied with a confused stare. She then said, "You know, what is your impression of me?" Oh, I thought, "Thanks so much for clarifying your initial bizarre question. Now, I feel a lot less awkward answering your request."

Finally, after enduring her piercing eyes into my soul, I stumbled out a few things that I'm not proud of - remember, I work for tips. I think I said something like, "Um, you didn't seem like you were going to be difficult. A lot of customers can be difficult. Um, you seem nice. I like your hat, and you seem happy." I kept hoping she would cut me off and say, "Just kidding. I just wanted to see you make an ass of yourself," but she just stood there. Finally, I stopped complimenting random things and said, "How's that? Are you going to leave me a dollar now?" She then replied, as serious as possible, "Thank you. I'm just doing some inner therapy and I'm working on my self-image."

Only in LA.

Are You A Waitress?

The other day I went to the bank to deposit about two weeks worth of tips. As I pulled out my wad of money, with almost 89 1 dollar bills included, the teller, AS ALWAYS, asked, "Are you a waitress?" Now, this is where I find myself in a joking quandary. Of course, I could just disregard the joke lob and nod my head and say, "Yep, just depositing the ol' tips," but who wants to hear that? I mean, these innocent tellers are basically begging for me to give them some fantastic responses. So, what am I to do? Disappoint my local tellers? Of course not.

The following are my favorite responses to give. (Remember readers I'm a 5"8, blue-eyed, blonde chick, who just learned about the song "Regulate" from her ghetto Fairfield friend last week.)

1. "Nope, not a waitress"...pause for a friendly chuckle..."Just the neighborhood drug dealer." Followed by asking them if they need anything for a "headache."

2. "You would think I'm a waitress, but actually I steal from collection jars around supermarkets and cafeterias." Followed by friendly chuckle and complete eye contact.

3. "Waitress? I wish. Actually, my husband gives me an allowance for cleaning the apartment, picking up his dry cleaning and cooking dinner. It's been a good month of work." Followed by uneasy chuckle and no eye contact.

4. "What did you say?!" "Yeah, whatever - just hurry up." Followed by looking over my shoulder and at all security cameras.

And lastly, my tried and true...
5. "A waitress? Almost right. I'm actually a stripper." Followed by pointing out a hundred dollar bill in the wad and saying, "He's a great customer."

Sadly, only #5 gets a laugh. What, don't I look like I could be a stripper? Geez Citibank....

Another Kitten Bites The Dust

So, lately, to either torment me or to cause me to find him not attractive at all, the husband has started insisting on watching old re-runs of Star Trek at night. At first, I thought he was kidding, but the habit has persisted. Tonight, I couldn't take it and had to resort to torturing him with tickling. I know, it sounds childish, but my husband crumbles at even the mention of tickling.

So, there I was, tickling the crap out of him, when he screamed out, "I swear every time you tickle me God kills a kitten!!"

I had to stop.

Crazy Train

I realize I'm a little late to the game on this movie review, but last weekend, Roger Egbert and I finally rented Unstoppable. (Just in time before it started showing weekly on FX.) Now, I realize that many people found this movie to be "Exciting" and "Grabbed our attention and didn't let us go for 98 nail-biting minutes of non-stop action and tension..." (as said by Louise Keller of Urban Cenfile), but I'm not sure I was as "riveted and excited by the show." First of all, and not to spoil the movie for those six of you who haven't seen it, but it's a train. Just a train going fast without a driver. I wouldn't call that non-stop action. If anything it's just non-stop stupidity watching this train move along because a fat idiot couldn't run fast enough to stop the train from starting in the first place. Now had a diabolical terrorist sent the train down the track, laced with explosives and threw in some fifth grade kids into the caboose, I would have had a little more "tension" watching this.

Second of all, the attempts of stopping this train were just plain ridiculous. Roger had an especially hard time with this aspect of the movie. I think he shouted a total of seven times, "This is so stupid, just put some people on the train and they'll stop it." (Spoiler alert: That's what happened...well, after they tried to shoot at the emergency brake button - which was, of course, right next to the fuel button. You CAN'T write more high tension stuff than this.)

And lastly, my problem with this movie was the incredibly anti-climatic ending. Of course, I knew at some point they were going to stop the train, but watching Chris Pine pull the lever off autopilot and watching the train slow down left me feeling empty inside. There was no final fight scene between the disgruntled Amtrak employee, who wanted to kill everyone, and the rookie operator, who still believed in the integrity of the train system. Or was a new love formed after surviving such a horrifying experience. No instead, we had to watch Denzel flirt like an old man with Rosario Dawson, and Chris Pine win back the love of his wife after pulling the lever that stopped the train.

So, overall...not my favorite movie. I mean the train did stop soooo it wasn't exactly "unstoppable." Just sayin'...

I Love These Jeans...I'm Headed for the Sink

The other day I was riding my bike home from work, and yes, I do now stop at every stop sign, fire a rifle, hold out some flares and then cross through the dangerous intersection - thank you Redondo Beach police force for ruining the joys of commuting on a bike - ANYWAY, sorry about that passive aggressive diatribe. What was I saying? Oh yes, I was riding my bike down Broadway, between 4th and 5th, if you local Santa Monicans were curious, when I saw a ridiculous ad for Joe's Jeans. Just how ridiculous was this ad? Well, basically it showed a strung out chick, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing on top. Now, I get the whole edgy attempt here, but the thing that bothered me the most was that she was sitting in a sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Really? Come on Joe's Jeans. What chick, who hasn't been snorting coke all morning, would decide your jeans were so cool she had, I mean had, to take off her shirt and go sit in the sink? Really? Just for that I will not be buying Joe's Jeans. I mean, my sink isn't even that big.

The Dos and Don'ts of Winking

So what are your feelings on winking? Good? Bad? Sort of creepy? Here's my guidelines:

Okay Winking:
1. Indicating to someone you are murdering them in the fun filled game of "Murder."*
2. If you are over the age of 80 and are actually Santa Claus dressed up as a normal old man.
3. If you have a glass eye, which prevents you from blinking both eyes together.
4. If, while making fun of someone, they start to believe you and tear up, an immediate wink is absolutely acceptable. (I've been caught in this situation many times. Too many times.)
5. If you were the star of any 80s hair band. (Somehow I just expect Bret Michaels and Sebastian Bach to use winks in an appropriate manner - like right after they say - and mean it - "You're sayin' my love won't do yeah
But that ain't love written on your face
Well honey I can see right through yeah
Yeah who's on who at the end of the race." Truly poetic.

Not Okay Winking:
1. When someone says, "Try the soup. I always put a secret ingredient in it that may or may not taste like the sweat I rubbed off my dog."
2. When someone comes in and asks for an application and when you give it to them they say "thanks" and then wink at you. Really, a wink? That's going to make me disregard the fact that in the column "Crime Record" you are a registered sex offender? (The first part really happened. The second part I just guessed.)
3. If you are over 65, wearing old man spandex shorts and a fanny pack, please don't wink at me as I bring you your 1 freaking pancake and refresh the coffee you brought in from Starbucks. (The catalyst for writing this entry.)
4. At a pirate. That's just mean. He can't properly respond.
5. If you are a 2012 presidential hopeful from Alaska.


*Who decided turning murder into a fun game? I suppose the same ones who decided throwing playground balls at weak kids would be fun. "Hey kids, run outside and play some murderball."

Shuhhhh

So, did anyone hear a rather large woman singing? Or did a pack of pigs fly over your house? Or did hell actually freeze over because yesterday something happened to me that can only be described by Wayne Cambell as, "Shuh, and monkeys might fly out of my butt." (Translation: what the...?) Enough build up?

Okay, in two weeks my sister and I are going to ride another century ride in St. George, so yesterday I went out for a 70 mile ride. At about mile 40, the skies opened up and it started to pour. For awhile I tried to keep my glasses on because getting pelted with rain at 30 miles an hour really hurts, but eventually, the rain and the steam, coming from my face, was making it so I couldn't see anything. So, once I navigated a busy street of potholes, suburbans and puddles I took my glasses off and tried to find somewhere to store them. Unfortunately, as I was fiddling with my glasses and trying to bear the rain I managed to run through a few stop signs. Now, in my defense these stop signs are about an half a block apart and there was no one on the road. AND if a car had been there I would have stopped. (I'm usually a very safe rider. I promise David Pulsipher.) Anyway, as soon as I propped my glasses into my helmet I heard a siren and turned to find a police officer behind me.

Immediately, I stopped my bike and waited for the gestapo (That's what my mom calls them because of their ridiculous boots.) to get out of his car to arrest me for selling cocain...oh wait, I'M ON A FREAKING BIKE! Anyway, after explaining my glasses debacle, my attempts to "slow down at intersections," and even a brief attempt at begging I was given a ticket for running a stop sign. I have to admit I sort of missed Mexico at that moment. Had I been there I would have just given the officer five bucks, a packet of Gu and promised to not tell anyone.

S0, what I have learned? Um, well...wait there's got to be something here...Oh yeah, I just wanted to thank all the police officers out there that are doing such a great job at protecting us and fighting crime. I really appreciated the time they took to find the perpetrators, who stole my my bike from my garage, and who spent countless hours tracking down the thugs that broke my husband's car door to steal my 2003 Ipod and some CDs, and that one officer, I can't remember your name now, but thank you for rushing over to my apartment when I called in and reported a car being stolen outside my window. I really appreciated you calling me and asking me, while they drove away with the stolen car, if I remembered which way they went. Just incredible police work all around. And, finally, for stopping my reckless abandonment on the bike. Had that gone unchecked...well, I don't even want to know what would have happened.

---

Wayne Campbell: All I have to say about that is "asphinctersayswhat".
Noah Vanderhoff: What?
Wayne Campbell: Exactly.

That's Camp Director To You

On Sunday, I was named the new camp director for our church. Apparently, the first girl they chose decided her life was too "complicated" and needed someone to take over. (Because this is right up there with curing cancer.)

For those of you not of my faith, let me give you a little description of what this means. First, I have to create and coordinate a week long camp, that is semi-religious and semi-fun, for 4o girls. Second, I have to attend this camp I created, and try to maintain that semi-religious angle. And third, I have to enjoy this experience. (Actually, number three might be optional.) So, what were my thoughts on this new calling? Well, here's what was going on in my mind:

Thought 1: These people do know that last year, when I attended camp, I spent most of my time taking notes so I could sarcastically criticize and report about it on this blog when I got home?

Thought 2: My first act as camp director is going to be abolishing all camp songs and singing during the week.

Thought 3: Abolishing singing will probably ensure that this is a one time deal. Definitely going after the singing.

Thought 4: I'm definitely moving next year.

Thought 5: I'm stealing the golf cart on day 1, from the fatties of last year, who drove their carts to their camp sites and back so they didn't have to walk ten feet.

Thought 6: I can't wait to see them hold out their thumbs for a ride as I whiz by.

Thought 7: This will actually be cool.

Thought 8: Stop trying to sound all positive just so God will think you are a good person and give you a baby.

Thought 9: If I get pregnant before camp do I have to go?

Thought 10: Probably not. Crap.

Thought 11: What about naming the camp: Camp Kate? Too much...?

And yes, there will be more entries as we get closer to camp.

The above picture is the chair I plan on bringing to camp. I really want to impress upon the girls who is in charge.

Welcome To Mexico: The Scenic Tour

As I mentioned in my last entry, Cancun was beautiful, but "slightly dangerous." I wish I could say that my only brush with death involved the menacing Caribbean ocean, but unfortunately, the locals proved to be just as uninviting. I know what you are thinking...start the chant...story, story, story...

One day Juan (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to rent a car and drive out to Chichen Itza and see some Mayan ruins. After talking to our helpful* concierge, we decided to take the scenic route through some local Cancun towns on the way to the sites. After two hours of driving over six foot speed bumps, moving at a pace of 30 km and almost hitting three stray dogs we realized our concierge was an idiot and we were idiots for listening to her. As we started to discuss how we were going to steal her Marriott uniform and burn it, a sketchy police officer, who was riding a dusty dirt bike, drove up to the side of our car and waved us to pull over. Quickly, Juan pulled the car over and the "police officer" strutted up to our car and told us we needed to follow him to the police station so he could write us a ticket. Apparently, we were speeding. (You really should have seen our rental car go at a blazing 40 km. I'm surprised we didn't end up in the future.)

Now, here's where Juan and I are different. I see a desperado on a dirt bike, carrying his Dad's revolver from the Alamo and I'm like, "Sure let's head to the police station." Juan, on the other hand, is an attorney, and as an attorney, you negotiate. So, that's what we did. After thirty seconds of arguing about heading to the police station, our "friendly" town ambassador told us to follow him down a dirt road and we could take care of the matter. Once off the main road (as seen in above picture), our corrupt cop saddled up to our car and announced we could pay $100 and walk away. Now, again, here's where Juan and I differ. I would have paid him $100 and given him my address in Santa Monica in case he wanted to take my TV and car once I got back. Juan wasn't feeling as generous. Instead, he pretended not to fully understand the guy's Spanish and claimed we didn't have that much money. Finally, after some broken Spanish back and forth Juan struck a deal with bastardo (I learned some Spanish) and paid the guy $30.00. After a secret exchange of money, our corrupt amigo hopped on his bike and headed off.

Looking back on this experience I sure hope a few things. One, I hope this great crime fighter was promoted for his professionalism and necessary force while dealing with us incorrigible foreigners. Two, I hope he and his friends enjoyed the cervesa and tacos we bought them. And lastly, I really, really hope he was either run over by a mac truck or choked to death on giant burrito.

Again final score. Mexico - 2 Kate - 0.

*Who was actually working on the side for this desperado.

My Belt of Experiences

I would say there are only a handful of times I truly thought I was going to die. For example, there was the time an angry Mongolian tried to throw a rock into my head for not paying a $2.00 cab fare. Another time, while snowshoeing, I slid down the face of a mountain and miraculously flipped over a stump, that would have definitely left me in two pieces or seriously disfigured. And of course, who can forget, the car accident I survived in D.C., while laying in the back of my parent's station wagon with no seat belt? (Which also happened to be the week I got my period - so I guess, God was feeling like I had had enough bad news that week.)

Anyway, I'm happy to report that I now have another notch I can whittle in my "near death experiences" belt. (Which happens to be something I only wear on special occasions.) A few weeks ago, Paco (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I visited a little place called Cancun. While there, Paco and I decided to go scuba diving. Now, I'll admit I was sort of nervous about this activity, but Paco, who is certified, assured me that as long as I didn't hold my breath I would have a great time...and not die.

So, there I was, sitting in a rocking boat, trying to convince myself that the 20 minute video I watched, and the 30 minutes I stood in a pool with our instructor, was going to be enough to ensure my safety under water, when all of the sudden a wave of nausea swept over me. Have you ever gotten off a roller coaster and then been sucker punched in the stomach? No? Me either, but I have a pretty good idea of how that would feel. Words cannot explain how badly I wanted to ralph my buffet breakfast, but here's the thing - 1. We paid for this activity and I'm just too frugal to waste that money. 2. I have always prided myself on being just a little tougher than most girls, so sea sickness was not going to stop me. and 3. Did I mention we had already paid for the day?

So, foolishly, I strapped on my tank, jumped in the water and headed 30 feet down. I wish I could tell you that once under water everything went swimmingly, but I don't put notches in my belt for nothing. After about 10 minutes of being under water I quickly realized that I was either going to throw up under water, drown from throwing up under water or get the bends from rocketing up to the surface so I could throw up. As these scenarios played out in my head, I started to panic and then I committed the cardinal sin of holding my breath. Now I'm really starting to panic. Finally, after making several unsuccessful signals to Paco about my stomach (which were always responded with pointing to fish and then giving me the thumbs up sign) I grabbed the fin of my instructor, pointed to my stomach, and while channeling my inner mime, tried to describe an atomic bomb. Again, she didn't seem to get it, so I decided the only thing I could do was head for the surface. And so up I went.

As soon as I broke the surface, I grabbed my air piece and started to throw up. The rest is sort of a blur. I remember waves hitting me in the face as I was throwing up, and thinking that maybe I had died and gone to hell because only such a place would throw waves at you as you are trying to vomit. Then I remember fish attacking me, which if you think a little harder about this detail you might figure out what attracted them to me. (No, it wasn't my shiny blond hair.) Then I remember a bunch of boats and people getting ready to snorkel. Can you imagine? Just as you are about to enjoy a fun filled day of seeing fish and coral a crazy chick flies up out of the water throwing up? Bet they didn't know that was included in their package. And lastly, I remember my instructor asking where Paco was. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the message and was still on the bottom of the ocean watching his wife get attacked by fish.

Anyway, I finally made my way over to our boat, got my stuff off and collapsed - and as you probably already guessed, the ride back was nothing short of pure torture.

So, there you have it. Mexican scuba diving- 1 Kate - 0.

Before

After