MIAMI TO COSTA RICA

Baggage.

I went to Miami for some shopping and alone-time last week.  Ten excitement-filled days of sleeping until 11, going to Starbucks twice a day (I love saying, "Venti non-fat latté, please") and spending the rest of my time wandering in and out of the Apple store, Target and Publix.  Ah, glorious stuff.  Well, to tell the truth, one of my kid's little friends gave me her fever, sneezing and hacking cough before I left and I did spent most of my trip stoned on Nyquil and Benadryl.  But that only made the shopping more pleasant for me.  I'm really not much of a shopper.  I walk into most of those places and my ADHD takes over and between the fluorescent lights (they cycle on and off at blinding speeds!), the colors and packaging and music and people talking...after a few minutes I can usually feel a panic attack nibbling at the very edge of my sanity.  Thoroughly sedated as I was, it wasn't so bad.  It might have been an almost Zen experience if I hadn't been with my pal, Ana, who's manically super-charged personality can make me jittery even with a double-dose of Nyquil coursing through my veins.  At the end of my visit though, I'd gotten to see a couple of other friends, picked up all of my Amazon deliveries and caught up on my sleep.  I flew out of Ft. Lauderdale airport on Spirit Air and, unfortunately, I believe I've seen the future of air travel and not only is it not pretty, it's not cheap either.  While Spirit had better fares than most, they nickle and dime passengers every way they can.  They charge for EACH checked bag (not just the second, as many have started to do) and though they give a discount if you pay for the bags when you purchase your ticket, it's not that great a savings.  I was only mildly annoyed when I had to shell out another $50 for an overweight bag.  Had I known beforehand, I would have maxed out the weight for the full extra 25lbs.  The shocker was when I was asked if I wanted to pre-select my seat - for another $10.  They may have had pay toilets too, but I never got up after practically shoe-horning myself into my seat, so who knows?  I think they were charging for beverages and snacks on-board.  I don't know for sure because cold meds take the edge off one's hunger, so I really didn't care and I couldn't hear over my iPod anyway.  The same iPod that I was asked by a scrawny, bedraggled-looking flight attendant with a Valley-Girl accent to remove.  Four times.  The first time I just smiled and nodded and ignored her.  The second time she waved and cocked her head to one side and bugged out her eyes and pantomimed removing ear-buds.  I just nodded and said, "yes".  I was hoping she'd just give up and bugger off, but it's amazing how black and white instructions and a uniform make some people so damn surly.  The third time she tapped my arm - jabbed it, really, with her bony little index finger.  I slipped out an ear-bud.  "Yes?"  "You need to shut that off.  We're moving."  No shit, really?  I just thought the terminal was rolling away. "Oh.  Well, it's just an iPod.  Do I really have to shut it off?  I've never needed to before."  "Yesssss.  You need to shut it off and put it away."  "Uh, okay, I'll shut it off."  Why did I need to put it away?  What?  Didn't she trust me to turn it off?  Even I didn't understand at that moment why I was getting so pissed at her and why I was so determined to keep my iPod on.  She walked away and I tucked the player into my pocket, but left it playing.  As she was walking to the back of the plane to take her seat, she saw me, rolled her eyes and said, "Ma'am, " (Oh yeah, that helped.) "you're going to have to put that away."  "Why, exactly?"  She seemed surprised at the question and proceeded to guess at the answer.  "Because...it can interfere with the plane's radio system." I smirked. "No, it can't."  I couldn't believe I'd said it and neither could she apparently, because she scowled and paused for a second and just then, I got a flash in my head of being escorted off the plane à la Adam Sandler in that Anger Management movie.  "S'okay, nevermind, I'll take it off and put it away."  She just shook her head and walked away.  I turned and watched her head to the tail section and then I tucked my iPod back into my pocket, slid the ear-buds and cord through my shirt and out of the neck, tucked them back into my head, cranked up Coldplay and snuggled into my seat - a happy asshole and, more important, a still-on-the-plane-and-not-in-police-custody asshole. When she passed by later, she glared at me and the white bits of plastic stuffed into my ears, but it was too late.  After we landed, I considered asking her why I wasn't told to turn off my music then, didn't that whole iPod-messing-with-radio thing apply to landing as well?  But I was so glad to be home in Costa Rica that I just smiled politely and said, "Buh-bye" as I passed her on the way out.  I still think I'm right about the iPod and I don't plan on turning it off on my next flight either.  So there.

Mommy's not a bimbo. Really.

I'm thinking about opening a special bank account for my kid.  One that, every time I do something that I think/know will result in a visit to a shrink many years from now, I will deposit at least $50.  Today probably would have been a good day to open that account. 

Costa Rica is known for it's cheap elective medical procedures and I'm determined to avail myself of a few of them.  I've decided to start with Laser Depilation.  Basically, a beam of light is used to zap body hair and, eventually, kill it at the root so that it never grows back.  I would have never thought to do something like this, but my pal Ana in Miami had it done and the idea of never dealing with a Brazilian wax or bikini emergency again sounded pretty good.  She did tell me that it would hurt a bit, like a rubber band smacking the skin, and it did.  The first time.  That first time I decided that the frozen water balloon used to freeze my bikini area before zapping me with the laser hurt WAY more than the laser itself.  That was until I found out that they increase the intensity of the laser with every visit.  No wonder the hair eventually dies.  By my third visit I was practically levitating off the table with every zap. 

Today I had my fourth procedure and it was the first time that neither my husband, nor the maid, was able to watch the kid while I went off and did my thing.  Not wanting to reschedule for the third time, I decided to take her with me.  While I think leaving the house without diapers when she was an infant (over and over again!) is still the winner in my personal gallery of crappy parenting, taking my prudish little germ-phobe with me to my laser appointment is definitely near the top.

She was already freaked out about being in a hospital ("this place is crawling with diseases!") when she asked me why we'd come.

"What are we doing here?"
"I have a doctor's appointment." 
"Is this like the boob squishing place?" 
"No.  I'm, uh, getting some hair taken off." 
"Hair?  Off of where?"
"Um...my, uh, hoo-hoo."
Stunned disbelief.  "Why?"
"Um...because.  I want to wear a bikini this summer."
"So shave it."
"Nah.  This is better.  Not so itchy."
"Yuck."

I would have left her in the waiting room but for the fact that she's 6 and was carrying lots of interesting electronic equipment to keep her entertained and I wasn't convinced that she wouldn't wander away to look for a magazine and get all her cool toys nicked.  When the doc's assistant came to get me, she just followed us into the room.

I won't go into every detail, but let's just say that my kid made it very clear that she thought I was crazy for letting someone "electrocute" me and freeze me over and over.  She did ask at one point why I would bother with this since "...no one's gonna see any of that anyway."  (Real ego boost there.)  She asked if there was any chance of my "hoo-hoo" catching fire.  I laughed so hard I had to translate this for the nurse, who proceeded to laugh so hard she had to stop for a minute. 

When it was over she asked that I never bring her with me to this sort of thing again.  "I didn't need to see this."  she said.  "I understand why you got a tattoo, but this was just stupid."  As I paid for having been tortured for 45 minutes, I decided that if and when I get my forehead Botox-ed not only will I hire a sitter if I have to, I won't even tell her I've done it.  Can't exactly spend years convincing her that Barbie is a superficial bimbo and then spend good money to take the crinkles off my face. 

I want....

I want a 'venti' latte. This is the land of coffee, right?  So, why the Hell can't I get a cup of coffee bigger than what Starbucks refers to as a "tall"?  All I want is a cup that holds at least 24 ounces of caffeinated goodness....and some whole milk.  So far, the best tasting coffee I've gotten, made for me, with milk, has been from a crappy little plastic machine at the AM/PM down the street.  I get one every Saturday morning as we walk to the feria (farmer's market) and I finish it a couple of blocks later, before I reach the next stop light.  That's because there's only about 8 ounces of coffee in that cup.  Granted, it is delicious, but in a perfect universe, I'd still be nursing that coffee half-way through the feria.  A perfect-sized cup of coffee, for me, is one where by the time I drink the last drop, I've had enough liquid that now I've really gotta pee.  By my estimation, that's gonna take at least 20 ounces.  This country supposedly makes fantastic coffee but, apparently, it's all exported for the likes of Starbucks and (the home of truly magnificent coffee) Dunkin' Donuts.  Does any place here make really great coffee served in a HUGE cup?  Don't email me telling me that there's one near you.  I live in Pavas.  I want it to be within walking distance.  Happy, short walking distance - not long, sweaty schlepping distance.  Better yet, how about someone opening a Dunkin' Donuts near here.  That'd be heaven.  I'll bet then we'd know where to find the cops in this country.  If I could have access to a DD, I'd never ever want to leave Costa Rica.  What for?  If I can walk a block or two and get a Boston Cream, two toasted coconut donuts and a large Coffee Coolatta, I might flush my passport down the toilet.  Well, a Dunkin' and maybe a Target.  A Target would be nice too.