Night over Manaus

Exactly a year from now, is my mom's 60th birthday.  She's always wanted to travel, but my step dad isn't a fan of getting on a plane (something about not sitting still or smoking for more than an hour!) So, since my mom does me the favour of watching my dog while I'm at work each day as well as when I go on business trips or try to find myself in other parts of the world, I'm taking her away for her big celebration!

I asked her where she was interested in going.  Because I have airmiles, I gave her a rough idea of physical limitations of where we could fly.  I figure for her first big trip away (asides Europe) she'd pick somewhere "safe" like Mexico or Hawaii.  She surprised me when she told me her dream trip was to go to the Amazon!

So, planning begins! Air Canada handily flies into Sao Paulo.  Since she wants to experience a bit of everything, I've done some research and have come up with a very vague itinerary. Sao Paulo, Praio de Forte (a beach town) Igazu falls (in Argentina), Rio, and Manaus, a city that's the gateway to the Amazon.  In order for her to get the full experience, I've looked up some eco lodges that boat you in/out from Manaus.  They range between 3-5 nights and one of the ones I looked up, you even spent one night in a hammock (that you build) sleeping in the jungle.  I'm not sure if my mom's gonna be up for quite that much adventure! I do remember her massive paranoia of any bugs and creatures!  I'll never forget the time in florida when she ran into a preying mantis in the shower.  I've never heard screams that loud!  I only hope that my obsessive planning will live up to her expectations!

Victim of marketing

When I'm browsing through the liquor store, looking for a new bottle of wine to try, I look at a number of factors: country, grape, price and looks.  Not necessarily in that order. I would much rather buy a bottle that I know is good, but if I'm going blindly, any of those single items can lead me to try it. 

Case in point.  I was looking to stock up the wine rack and pick out some I knew were good, and went blindly on some others.  I bought one bottle purely on looks.  The label was pretty and the name was cool.  The name? Bitch.  How can I not love a wine with a title like that? and with a pretty pink label and cap, I was sold.  Bitch is a South Australian Grenache with an alcohol content of 15.5%.  So I was expecting a big flavorful wine.  My disapointment started right when I poured it into a glass.  It was light in color and almost opaque.  I poured my girlfriend a glass and we tried our first sip.  eeew. weak, watery and unflavorful.  What a disapointment!  I should know better, the prettier the wine bottle, the worse the wine.  What a disapointing bitch!

Unleashing my inner drummer

When my marriage ended, early last year, I went on a subconcious quest to do as many cockamanie things as I could.  One of the first things I did, was take a trapeze swinging class.  That ended after only 1 session.  I had full intentions of doing it for fun, but when I discovered that my trapeze mates were 3 13 years olds who were 2 steps away from auditioning for Cirque de Soleil, I slinked away with my bleeding toe. 

Since then, I've had boudoir pictures taken, made out with a guy 10 years younger than me in a pool in Thailand (he was Spanish and cute, like I had any chance of resisting?), went on a  3 week trip to South America where I went paragliding and finished the trip with a tatoo 2 hours before my flight home. 

So, it makes perfect sense that I continue on this cockamamie adventure.  What started out as distractions to help me forget what happened, make me feel desirable and alive, seems to be continuing.  So, tomorrow, as an early birthday present to myself, I'm taking drum lessons.  I've secretly always wanted to be the cool chick in a rock band banging away on the drums.  I have no illusions that I'll be any good, let alone in a band.  But somehow, it's fitting that now that I'm comfortable in my own skin (after going thru such hell) that I at least slightly attempt to pursue this.  I just hope the instructor doesn't laugh me out of the studio!

In my mind, I'll be the hot (tatooed) edgy chick.  A la Sheila E.  More likely, I'll end up looking like Animal from the muppets!  I have confirmed with the instructor that it is a private lesson, so I know I won't be showed up by any 13 year old Melissa Auf Der Mer want to be's. Thank god.  It was all I could do to pick up my ego (& bleeding toe) out of the circus gym that day after trapeze class...