Almost Famous

“You aren't famous until my mother has heard of you.” -Jay Leno

Not only have I officially become a local, but I am now famous, well kind of. Does swimming and bowling with someone famous make you famous? And what if the person is only famous to the 8-25 year old sect (at least for now)?

Here is a friend of mine who moved in next door to me with his darling boyfriend Kevin (who is an amazing artist and is becoming famous in his own right) for 2 weeks of fun in Costa Rica.

Can you name him and what made him famous?

And no, I don’t mean Kurt… while he should be famous for his break dancing video that hasn’t yet happened. We remain hopeful.


Let me give you a hint…. “This is the true story... of seven strangers... picked to live in a house...work together and have their lives taped... to find out what happens when people stop being polite... and start getting real...”

Who ever names him (and the appropriate season) first, gets a prize.

He is a smokin' little piece of Latin hotness...and he happens to have a twin brother who is straight. I think I am in love!

Las chusas de la suerte

“The bowling alley is the poor man’s country club.” – Sanford Hansell

The Lucky Strikes… (las chusas de la suerte)

that is our team name. While we toyed with "el gringo barachos" (the drunk white people), we decided we needed a name that was more powerful and scary. Intimidating, right? Oh, and we had talked Victor into joining our team, and certainly he doesn't fit into the Gringo category.

Kurt was very pumped up for league bowling night and gave us a lot of “pep talks” leading up to the big night, seems he decided he was our team captain. A self appointed position, but it gives him much pleasure, so we decided to allow it (at least on the surface, because we all know Linda is really the boss). During our “pep talk” conversations, we decided we needed to have matching uniforms (which, because of our limited resources has become a matching shirt color for each night… though Brooke is working on something more official for us) and a special handshake. We also took it one step further (no surprise to anyone who knows us I am sure) and came up with a celebration technique as well (you will see more about that later in the blog).

In addition to our pep talk preparation, we also came equipped with 2 cheerleaders, as Brooke and Stefanie were still in town. While they looked for pom-poms in Quepos, seems cheerleading isn’t a big sport around here. Sad but true, and certainly something to think about if I decide to raise kids here, what in the world would my daughters do without cheerleading?

We arrived at the alley a little early to get in some practice and have a delicious pre-game meal of Bobby D’s pizza. Kurt had worn 1 white shirt to the bowling alley, and brought another one for Victor as we weren’t able to call him in advance to advise him of our uniform requirements. However, Kurt was so pumped up during practice (and it is 1000 degrees in the bowling alley) that he ended up needing the 2nd shirt for himself as his first one was drenched before we even began the official games. Victor, on the other hand, clearly came much more prepared than us and brought a towel to wipe off the sweat. That Victor is a thinker.

Here is our team photo before bowling began…notice Kurt’s shirt.

Also, when you join the league, you apparently get your names printed right on the score cards, if that doesn’t make us legit, I don’t know what does. Apparently paying $2 a week for league bowling gets you a lot.

As we were warming up, our opponents, "Parador" (the name of one of the hotels here, turns out it is the fanciest place in Manuel Antonio… sorry Lara) arrived with 6 players. Already we were out numbered. Only 5 are allowed to bowl for each game, so they swapped out a player for the 2nd game. Great strategy, we need to do some additional recruitment.

While 5 players are allowed to bowl, the lowest score gets dropped for each game, so it is a huge advantage to have an extra person. When Bobby saw that we had our 2 cheerleaders with us, he said we were welcome to have one of them bowl; to which we explained that they were only visiting and wouldn’t be able to bowl the rest of the league nights. Bobby D said no problem, turns out the league rules are very flexible (read: non-existent) so we had our 5 people. Delightful. What this also means for those of you coming to visit is: bring socks because you are bowling baby!!

After our opponents warmed up, we introduced ourselves and began to play. Bobby D’s has 2 “pin boys” for league night… too much work for one person I am sure. Those 2 guys worked their asses off… yet somehow didn’t get as sweaty as Kurt. While I would say it is because they are Tico and used to the heat, that would only be true for one of them. Though frankly, in Kurt’s defense, they don’t have an intensity level anywhere close to his.

While we were pumped up and ready to go, the Ticos were very good. Crap. Seems bowling is more popular in Costa Rica than we would have expected…guess they need an extra past time as basketball is clearly not an option. However, we weren’t going to let their abilities rain on our parade, we were going to have a good time and show them what the Gringos are made of.

As we were bowling we realized there were 2 glaring differences between their team and our team:

1. they didn’t wear the provided bowling shoes, they all wore their own everyday shoes

2. they drank sodas and not beers… what is up with that?

So we bowled away, and gave it an earnest effort, despite the strikes that kept occurring in the lane next to ours. The first game Linda and I didn’t do so well, but came back the second game to show our true bowling abilities.

Kurt, straight down the center.

Biggs, pulling her weight for the team.

Unfortunately at the end we lost by a total of 8 points, but not too bad for our first showing. We will get them next time.

After we were done playing we took a group photo. I might just have to frame one of these photos when I get home. I certainly need a regular reminder of my time as a member of La chusa del la suerte.

After we finished bowling, we hung out for awhile so people could play pool and Kurt and Angel could have another dance off. Brooke and Linda also had a little dance around of their own, while I provided the backup singing for “My Humps.” I would post the video, but really, the last thing you want is to hear me sing. I need to learn to shut up when I am behind the video camera…frankly that would be a beneficial thing to do in all areas of my life.

After leaving the bowling alley, we decided that we just HAD to take Stef and Brooke for a little karaoke. Brooke sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and had all the Ticos cheering. Especially the “hottest” lawyer in town, he just couldn’t get enough of her. Let me make clear, when I say “hottest” I mean the most well known and powerful… but he is also apparently a little bit of a drunk, and falls asleep at bars, as he was doing here.

Not that I had planned to, but I have officially decided I am not going to get arrested here. If the drunk, sleeping lawyer is my best chance at getting off, I’d rather not take my chances. Here he is
I am going to close with some videos … the first is of my amazing bowling skills. Sorry the video is sideways, but Stef didn’t realize the problem with the sideways filming… but even sideways you can easily see my mad skills.

This second clip, which is far more important, is the celebration technique we came up with for when someone got a strike or a spare. If you could have seen the Ticos’ faces when they first saw this, you would have died of laugher. I think they didn’t know what to make of us at first…but they warmed up to us quickly and we had a great time with them. You may have also noticed this technique in my bowling video, though it will be demonstrated more clearly here.

If you watch the video closely, you will see that Linda and I were so excited about the bowling league that we actually jumped at times that we weren’t supposed to. While it is not quite as good as Kurt’s "impressive video," it will certainly bring about some laugher. And just think people, this is only the beginning... who knows what will happen in the championship.

Day of White Trash

“I’m really white trash.” – George Clooney

While I had to work during the weekdays, I was able to spend the whole weekend hanging out with Brooke. As we had filled our day on Saturday saving the sloths and relaxing at the beach, we needed another fun filled activity for Sunday.

I had heard that the ATV tours were fantastic – and as you have previously discovered, while I can certainly be a classy girl (quit laughing)… I can also put on my trash suit and play that part too. Clearly I am very versatile; and if white trash is good enough for Clooney, it is good enough for me.

I asked Brooke if she would be interested in the ATV tour, and she agreed. I didn’t think twice about the ATV tour and was surprised that Brooke was a little nervous once we got there. Brooke, as it turns out, is a little bit of a scaredy cat. (Yes I know she carried a sloth across the street… but did you see the face she made?) Me on the other hand, put me behind the wheel (or handlebars in this case), and I am a happy girl…oh and the ability to remain on the ground is also a bonus. We chose the early morning tour and were picked up at my place a little after 7 a.m. rearing and ready to go.

I need to take this opportunity to give quick props to Brooke. For those of you who know Brooke, you know she is NOT a morning person. As she is a writer and works from home, she has a lot of flexibility in her schedule… thus she is a night owl who sleeps late every day. I also think that the all night yelling in her sleep prevents her from getting quality rest (or maybe that was just me) so she needs the extra morning zzz’s to make up for it.

I had warned Brooke in advance that the best time of day here is always the morning and that she would need to get up early every day in order to maximize the hours before the rains came in the afternoon. Brooke was a trooper… every morning she was up and at ‘em with no complaints and then would take a nap in the afternoon either on the beach or at my house while it was raining. That is the perfect way to get the best out of Costa Rica this time of year. Future visitors take note.

After picking us up for our day of ATV riding, they took us way out to the middle of nowhere to begin our tour. There were 4 other people on the tour… two redneck college boys from Mississippi and a redneck father and son from Florida. While Brooke and I were friendly to them, and ignored the first 10 or so offensive things they said, we stopped talking to them after they began a conversation about the current flooding in the Midwest. At first the conversation was harmless and sympathetic… but that didn’t last long. They then began to talk about how we should notice that there weren’t any of “those people” standing on their roofs stuck like there were in New Orleans. It didn’t end there, but I won’t waste my time with the rest; I decided I wasn’t going to let a chubby closed minded idiot ruin my day of racing through mud puddles. No sir.

When we arrived at the ATV "office," we signed our life away, paid an absurd amount of money and were given the usual “thorough” guide instructions:

1. most of the time we will be in 3rd gear
2. watch for my hand signals
3. brake with both your foot and your hand at the same time
4. these ATV’s have engines right below where you sit, so when we go through the puddles (of which there are many this time of year), you must put your feet up on “the dashboard” because steam will come out and burn your legs

Great. Aside from bird watching, there doesn’t seem to be any activity here that does not involve risking hospitalization. But hospitalization is still my preferred choice if my only other option is bird watching. At least if I am in the hospital I stand a chance of seeing an attractive guy.

After our 2 minute skin saving lesson, we were given helmets to put on. The helmets were full fledged motorcycle helmets… that clearly have been used for years… and have the funk to prove it. Might I recommend that others who do this trip put a bandana on their head as to avoid direct contact with the helmet padding? There also aren’t a lot of helmet options, so regardless of the size of your head, they take a one size fits all approach. My Dad would be screwed.

The Russell side of my family has very large heads… which I was “blessed” to inherit. While I like claim that my large head it is simply to hold my massive brain, we all know that is not true… it is just that I can’t really come up with any redeeming value for having a big head, especially when it comes to hat buying and apparently now, helmet wearing.

Because of this Russell trait, getting my helmet on was a little bit of a challenge and required a little pushing and grunting, but I was eventually successful. Brooke, on the other hand, clearly comes from a family of tortoises and had the total opposite problem. Brooke’s head is tiny (clear proof that there is no direct correlation between size of the head and IQ) and her helmet was absolutely huge (in comparison to her head at least) and was constantly shaking all around. If she didn’t have a chin strap, she could have hung her head upside down and the helmet would have easily fallen off. Nothing like feeling confident with your safety equipment.

I also think that having the extra space in the helmet allowed for the fumes of funk from the previous ATV’ers to come through more strongly as they had room to circulate as the wind and bumps moved her helmet around. While I previously said that Brooke didn’t complain at all during her trip, I have to amend that statement, as Brooke spent a lot of time on the ATV tour complaining about the funk smell coming from her helmet. She kept asking me if my helmet smelled, and when I would tell her yes, she didn’t believe me, or at least didn’t believe that mine smelled as badly as hers. But as I don’t play the “this stinks, smell it” game, I decided to take her word for it and allow her the title of smelliest helmet.

We began our trip with legitimate practice runs, which thankfully were nothing like the “practice run” they had me take at 450 feet in the air on the zip line. After Carlos (our guide) decided we were all sufficiently capable of handling the 4 wheelers, we set out. Our ride consisted of going up and down some long dirt roads and through some small Tico towns. We also passed some beautiful scenery, including mountains, but it was hard to really appreciate the scenery as we were cruising down roads watching for puddles in an attempt to avoid setting our legs on fire.

Please notice how Bigg's helmet is falling down across her face and mine is almost suctioned to my head.

Our first stop was at a “waterfall,” which is a generous term used in their advertisement documents. While it is a beautiful stream with water running over rocks, a waterfall it is not… esp. when compared to La Fortuna. However, the water was very refreshing...and by refreshing I mean cold (it was the first time I have experienced the feeling of coolness in the last 3 months) and we enjoyed the cool off.


Brooke, Carlos and I were the only ones who got in… the rest of the group were cry babies; though the redneck Dad did get in for a minute. Once we got all the way in, the water felt great and we adapted very quickly. Carlos then climbed up the rocks to lie under the “rapids” which seemed like a great idea to me and Brooke; so we followed suit. Aside from almost losing my bathing suit bottom and giving the rednecks the show of a lifetime, it was a great feeling to lay there. Biggs loved it too, and as she had on board shorts, she didn't face the same nearly very embarrassing situation I did.

After drying off, we headed to a local restaurant for breakfast…including my favorite…gallo pinto. Notice if you look at my plate, there is NOTHING left. My plate is always empty when gallo pinto is involved.
After our bellies were full, we began to head back. On our way, Carlos pulled over and grabbed a leaf off of a plant on the side of the road. He explained this leaf was henna, and if we rubbed it on our hands, it would “stain” them. He then walked down the row and gave tattoos to each of us. I mean what is the point of going on an ATV ride if you can’t get a tattoo? When he got to me, I requested “monos en el centro de corazon” (which I think is how you say you want a heart with the word monkey in the middle). While he gave me the heart, he did not write “monos” inside. Oh well. There is always Miami Ink.

Our tour ended at a house with chained up dogs that they warned us not to get close to, cold beer and ping pong. The perfect ending to a redneck day: ATV rides, swimming in the creek, getting tattoos, listening to racist comments, drinking beer and playing ping-pong with chained up dogs barking in the background. What more could a country girl want? I loved it all, aside from the racist comments.

Over all, we had a great time. The ATV tour was fun, though I think overpriced. However there was not a single moment on the trip where I thought I might die… which in my mind has a significantly high value.

As it was a day of redneck activities, I thought I would end this with a few Jeff Foxworthy jokes:

If you’ve ever gotten an official letter of recognition from a tobacco or beer company…. You might be a redneck.

If you've ever had to scratch your sister’s name out of a message that begins,"For a good time call..." … You might be a redneck.

If you think loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk…. You might be a redneck.

If anyone in your family died right after saying, "Hey, y'all watch this!" … You might be a redneck.

Biggs Sloth Removal Service, Inc.

“But I put my life on the line to save animals.” - Steve Irwin

Really, it is uncanny. I already told you about how on the first morning of her visit, the minute that Brooke asked where “her” monkeys were; they were scampering across my roof. That was not a made up story… it is absolutely true.

It gets better.

On the Saturday of Bigg’s visit, we took my usual Saturday morning hike down to the farmers’ market (stopping at Soda Sanchez for gallo pinto on the way) and trip to Gringo Mas. While we were in the Gringo Mas checkout line, Brooke decided that she desperately needed a visor. And I mean desperately.

If you have ever seen a lesbian go for 3 days, in the sun, without a visor… you might understand her level of desperation. As I have been to the Russian River, I knew this was the equivalent of me not having the right heels to wear on a hot date, and told Brooke to run across the street to the “mall” as she might find a visor there. When I use the word “mall,” I don’t want you to have any fancy visions of a mall back in the states; there are no Banana Republic stores in Quepos. However, at the “mall” as they call it, you will find a watch store, a place to buy fish, a butcher with pigs hanging in the back and a couple of “tourist” stores. While I knew she wouldn’t have great options, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Brooke came back pretty quickly (something I envy about the lesbian population – and yes I know I am stereotyping – shopping is not a long drawn out exercise… rather, you see what you want, it fits, you buy it) with a visor decorated with “pura vida” (the pure life – a Tico saying) and a gecko.

When she showed it to me, I said it was cute, but would be better if it had a monkey on it. Brooke said she disagreed, and that she would prefer a sloth. She then went on to “complain” (and I use that word very generously here, as Brooke not only didn’t complain during her trip, but was fascinated and thrilled the whole time) that she had not seen a sloth at my house. When I pointed out she had seen many at the National Park, she said that she knew that, but hadn’t been close enough to get a really good picture (without the benefit of the tour guide’s telescope). We then joked about my first day in Costa Rica and seeing the sloth crawl across the road. I also told her that Lara claimed that during her visit, she saw the same thing.

Brooke “whined” about how it wasn’t fair, and she wanted to see a sloth up close in the road… and I laughed and asked “When will it be good enough?”

We got in a cab to take our grocery’s home and when we had just passed my former school, the cab driver pulled over to the side of the road. At first I thought maybe I had told the cab driver the name of the school instead of the property where I live, but noticed that he kept looking back. When I asked him what we were doing, he pointed behind him where I saw a sloth in the road.

I yelled to Brooke to get out (she hadn’t yet realized what was happening, seems my Spanish skills are better than I thought), telling her that her wishes had come true…again. All the while not believing that once again right after she said she wanted something, it was here (Hey Biggs, how about saying you want me to win the lottery?).

In my mind, I just knew that Brooke was going to have the same experience I had… she was going to get to watch a Tico carry the sloth across the road to safety…only this time, I was going to help stop the cars.

To our dismay, our taxi driver grabbed a large bamboo stick off the side of the road and attempted to push the sloth to safety. While his intentions were very good, if you could have seen the results of his intentions, it would have upset you.

First of all, the sloth looked like he was being violated from behind, if you know what I mean. But worse, when our taxi driver pushed the stick up to his behind, it resulted in the sloth’s head curling under his body, as he couldn’t move fast enough to “self correct.”

In my attempt to try to make things better for the sloth, I resorted to my usual stressful time Spanish proficiency and said “No me gusta.” As it turns out, when I am in stressful situations, I am only able to form VERY short and simple sentences (if you can call them sentences) in Spanish… and am not able to use any descriptive words. Though even in hindsight, when I am not stressed, I don’t really know the polite way to use “usted” in the sentence “Quit shoving a stick up his butt and carry him across the street.”

While Brooke was not resorting to bad Spanish, it was clear that she was also very upset with the current situation. In case you don’t know Brooke, she, like my Mother, loves animals more that she loves people. While it is an endearing quality, I don’t ever want to be stuck in a sinking car with either of them and a dog… I would be destined to drown.

So I said to Brooke… “We need to carry him across the road.”… and clearly by “we” I meant “her.” She made some comment about how I should do it, so I quickly pointed out that she was only here for a week, yet I had 2 ½ more months for sloth carrying. I mean all along she had been saying that she wanted to live out the full Costa Rican experience…I was only trying to encourage her to do so.

She then asked if sloths bit (which made me laugh) and I reassured her that even if they wanted to be mean, they couldn’t move quickly enough to do so. But I understand her fear, if you have ever met Shirley (Brooke’s little spit fire of a dog) you would know why Brooke was cautious.

Keep in mind, everything that I am describing here took place in about a 30 second time frame, but that was just long enough for me to convince Brooke that she needed to save the sloth. So she, reluctantly, picked up the sloth and carried it to safety.


Brooke claims that when she picked up the sloth it first grunted and then squealed, but I was standing right next to them and heard nothing – not a peep. I think that Brooke expected the sloth to make noises and thus played the noises out in her mind. This is, after all, coming from the woman who YELLS in her sleep and makes noises that you have never heard before… so this sound creation wouldn’t be far fetched.

But I have to give Brooke props… she picked up a sloth and carried it to safety. How many people do you know who can say that? Now she can no longer ever complain that she hasn’t seen a sloth up close.

And for the record, as you would expect, she said the sloth was coarse and rough…and immediately washed her hands when we got home.

But here is the most fascinating part about the whole story… when you look at this picture… will you please notice that Brooke has actually taken on the facial characteristics of a sloth? And if you click on the picture it will open to fit your full screen… I encourage you to do so as you will see one of the funniest pictures you have ever seen in your life. A picture that has provided me with more tear filled laugher than anything I can remember in the last 5 years.

As Brooke wants to spend more time in Costa Rica, she has decided to start a sloth carrying business. We have begun to come up with slogans…

“Your morning commute getting you down due to sloths in the road? For the fastest and most effective sloth removal, call Brooke, she offers a money back guarantee and will honor any competitors coupons.”

So hats off to you Brooke, you saved the life of a sloth. Mother Nature thanks you for saving the sloth. I thank you for the face that you made while doing so.

The best find EVER!!!

"Shopping tip: You can get shoes for 85 cents at the bowling alley" - Unknown

Linda found a treasure. This isn’t just any treasure. Think of the greatest treasure you could ever imagine. This is better than the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow kind of treasure. This is better than winning the lottery kind of treasure. This is better than the shirtless wonder asking me out on a date kind of treasure. Ok, maybe that last one went too far… but it is good. Really really good.

Linda found the self proclaimed “World’s Smallest Bowling Alley,” – Bobby D’s and I would say based on what I have seen on MTV Cribs, that just might be true. I am sure that P-Diddy’s bowling alley is bigger than this one, but there ain’t no way it is better. No freakin’ way.

Coincidentally, Linda had a good friend in town at the exact same time Brooke was visiting me. Stefanie is darling; she is from Georgia and has the cutest little southern accent you have ever heard. She has the kind of drawl that makes her sound sweet, not stupid… and that is a huge accomplishment when you are from the south. Linda and Stefanie worked together as Physical Therapists in San Francisco, and Stef moved back to Georgia last fall. It was a lot of fun hanging out with Stef… but I have to tell you that my favorite thing about Stefanie is that she went on the zip line tour with Brooke, so I didn’t have to feel guilty for sending Brooke alone. Gracias Stephanie. Though frankly, I don’t know that I would have felt guilty, as you should not have to feel guilty for attempting to prevent your own death. But, I have now seen pictures of their zip line tour, and it was in no way as high, long or scary as the one I went on. I got jipped.

We decided with our guests in town, we were going to visit the bowling alley for a Friday night of entertainment. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. Come on y’all, I had my Willie Nelson themed 32nd birthday party at a bowling alley. While I don’t have any pictures of that on this computer, I can at least provide you with a gratuitous picture of me and Willie. I love this man… maybe even more than the monkeys… but please, don’t tell them.

Btw, seeing myself in a jacket actually just caused me to break into a sweat. I can't imagine what it will be like to put a down jacket back on again.

We drove down some very dark potholed roads to get to this bowling alley during which time we made bets about what the place would actually be like. While we brought socks as a precautionary measure, we were not convinced that we would need them and thought we would probably be bowling in flip flops. Linda and Kurt had previously driven past the bowling alley, but they had never been inside and none of us had any idea what was to come. We could have never imagined how spectacular it would be.

Here is a picture of Bobby D's from the outside.

We walked into the bowling alley at around 8:30 on a Friday night, and there was essentially no one there aside from two women sitting at a table, the bartender, and a kid who worked there and looked to be about 16 years old. However, as with everywhere in Costa Rica, we were welcomed with a smile. We knew, as the only Gringos, that this was the kind of place where we were really going to have to practice our Spanish… which is exactly what we need.

There was a pool table right inside the door, and we could see the 2 bowling lanes behind a locked gate. As we walked up to the bar we were also surprised to see a whole case of bowling shoes awaiting us, good thing we brought socks. And these were legit bowling shoes, the kind you would get in the states, but with the added bonus of neon green shoe laces. Now that is a good look.

I am not sure why the bowling lanes were behind a locked gate, but the shoes weren’t. I guess bowling balls have a higher value in Quepos than bowling shoes. Wait, maybe that is the reason for the neon shoe laces, there is no way you could sneak out of that place with bowling shoes on, the laces would glow in the dark and rat you out. Though based on that theory, how in the world would anyone sneak out a bowling ball out without anyone seeing?

We began to try on shoes (as an fyi, I am a 38 in Tico shoes) and ordered beers, and asked the very kind bartender to open the gate so we could bowl. The beers were only 800 colones – which is about $1.50. So let me make sure you fully comprehend what happened here...not only were we provided with the opportunity to bowl in shoes with neon laces, but we were also provided with the opportunity to drink super cheap beers… could this get better? Oh yah baby, it gets better. The bartender told us that if we drank beers we didn’t have to pay to bowl. WHAT?

No $2 shoe rentals?
No $20 per hour per lane?
No $4 beer?

So let me get this right, we get to drink the best priced beer in town and we get rewarded for drinking said beer with free bowling? Presidio Bowl, you can kiss my ass!

And btw, who in the world, over the age of 15, bowls without drinking?

Our delightful bartender, Edith, opened the gate for us to enter the two lane bowling alley; the “World’s Smallest Bowling Alley” claim just might be right.

When we entered the bowling alley Edith brought us some paper score cards to keep track of our professional like scores. It made me kinda laugh that we were going to be self scoring. Who knows how to self score these days?

Luckily, Linda once again proved to be a very valuable person to have around. And I am now proud to say that I know how to manually figure out a bowling score. Who knows when this skill will come in handy again? Though don’t be too impressed, it is not very difficult, but I will admit that the American luxury of having a machine do the math for you is nice; especially after a handful of the best priced beers.

It reminded me of when I was a little girl growing up in Oakshore Park. My parents played in a neighborhood bowling league every Saturday night, and all of the kids would come along. Who needs a babysitter when you can give each of your kids $2… which was enough to provide us with video game entertainment and candy all evening? And, let’s face it, they couldn’t just send us to spend the night at someone else’s house (which was the usual tactic) because the whole neighborhood was at the bowling alley (yes, we were a classy bunch). And you couldn’t count on the teenagers to babysit because they were all having drinking parties at their houses while they knew their parents were otherwise occupied…. at least that is what I did when I was in high school and my parents had Bridge Night.

So I spent every Saturday night at the bowling alley, getting candy from the vending machine, drinking Shirley Temples and playing Ms. Pacman and Frogger. And when we ran out of money, we would use the payphones to call the operator and asked for the numbers for the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. That provided us with HOURS of entertainment, and I am sure the operators loved it as well.

I remember that my parents used to have to score their game manually, but they would write the score on a board at the table which would then project up onto a larger screen so that others could see the scores. That seemed to do the job. But here, at Bobby D’s… not so much. You are provided with little pencils (with no erasers so you better get it right the first time) and paper to score. Good enough for me.

But let me tell you about the major difference between bowling at Bobby D’s and bowling at every other bowling alley I have ever seen… including the bowling alleys I visited with my parents almost 30 years ago.

There was no machinery! No mechanical devices what so ever!

No automated devices to pick up or reset the pins!

No machine to send your ball back to you after you bowled!

I realized this difference as I was choosing my ball and glanced down the lane and said “How do we get the pins back up after we knock them down?” Kurt and I then began to walk down the lane, and about half way down we realized that there was a padded pit at the end of lane where the pins landed when they were knocked down….and nothing there to set them back up. That’s right; this is a manual bowling alley in the fullest sense of the word. And while I thought it would be great to have computers calculate our scores for us, what would have been even better would be to have a machine to pick back up the pins.

Here is a picture taken while I was standing in the "pin pit"... you can't get this picture at Presidio Bowl.

I volunteered to set up pins first, because after all, I had already walked down to the end of the lanes to scope out the situation…which meant the others had already started their practice shots. I began “covering” both lanes, but after about 5 minutes of working and sweating my ass off, though not moving as quickly as my friends would have liked (and let me tell you, they know how to heckle), Brooke volunteered to come and take over one of the lanes. Gracias Dios, I knew I invited her to come to Costa Rica for a reason. So Brooke and I worked together setting back up the pins, which was a good workout and was hot as hell. There doesn’t seem to be much air circulation at the end of the alley, not even after Stef discovered the fan (another genius find - turns out there was something mechanical after all).

After the first game, Edith came to us and asked us if we would like for Angel (the kid who works at the alley) to come and set the pins back up for us. At first we said no, we were after all, trying to get the full Bobby D’s experience… but after Kurt and Stef had their turn and Brooke and I realized we would be up again, we called Angel over. Turns out, that is his job, so there was no reason for us to feel like high maintenance Americans. And, for the record, we tipped him at the end… and Kurt did offer to buy him a beer, before we pointed out he was young enough to be our child.

Action shots of Linda and Kurt

When Kurt saw this picture of himself he said "look at that form"... but I am pretty sure it was a gutter.
We bowled a couple more games, and towards the end, Kurt went back down to the “pin pit” to help Angel out. Kurt claimed that he was going to help him out because Angel was having to do so much work… but the truth is, Kurt had been surrounded by 4 girls for the past 3 days (which originally may seem fantastic, but probably gets old very quickly) so the poor guy just wanted to be around any testosterone he could find. And as happens when boys get together, Kurt all of a sudden started trying to be the “cool, funny guy” and was really trying to IMPRESS. While Kurt and Angel seemed to be enjoying themselves and joking around; this resulted, among other things, in Kurt demonstrating his “trailer trash” pose. Boy, I can see why Linda would quit her job and move to Costa Rica with him for a year.

While the boys were at the end, we girls had a great time bowling and talking about fashion. Notice that Stef has on socks with a pink rim that match her shirt. It is as if she knew we were going bowling during her vacation. See people, there is no such thing as over packing. Unless of course you are Hot Neighbor and have to carry my suitcase for me…. btw, HN, I will be home on August 27th, can’t wait to see you… I promise to make you zucchini bread and cookies the first weekend I am home. That is, if you survive carrying my suitcase up 3 flights of stairs.

As we were wrapping up our evening (read: were told we had to leave because it was already past their closing time), Edith could tell that we weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to Bobby D’s (as we asked her to take pictures with 3 different cameras) and informed us that there was a Monday Night Bowling League. WHAT???? How could we resist?

Yah baby, that is right, we joined a bowling league in Costa Rica… every Monday night, for the next 8 weeks, we will be kicking Tico ass at Bobby D’s. Oh, and incase you are wondering, we do have to pay to be in the league… but I am pretty sure I can afford the $2 a week. Bobby D’s is really the most fantastic place ever.

Here is Kurt signing us up. Team name YTBD.

As you can imagine, we had an amazing time at the “World’s Smallest Bowling Alley” with lots of cheap beers and lots of laughs… and while there were many hysterical moments and great discoveries, the highlight of the night was Kurt’s attempt to really IMPRESS his new friend Angel. After seeing this video, you will understand why I have capitalized the word IMPRESS, but may still be boggled as to why Linda, such a smart, cute fun girl… would move to Costa Rica with him. – Be sure you have the volume up... and for the full effect of this video, you will need to watch it more than once. The sound quality isn't great... but it is worth replaying to hear everything said... as it is quite IMPRESSIVE!

Biggs esta en la casa!

“Documentation is like sex: when it is good, it is very, very good; and when it is bad, it is better than nothing.” –Dick Brandon

It must be difficult to be a rapper in Spanish. Instead of “Biggs is in the house…” it is “Biggs esta en la casa…” Just doesn’t have the same ring. Plus, when you want to say “word to your mother” it becomes “palabra a su madre.” Again, just not the same ring. Litfin would have a hard time adjusting.

But my friend Brooke (last name Biggs) arrived yesterday and already it is so fun to have her here. She loves it and is so amazed and appreciative and frankly just darling.

So you may wonder why I started this blog with a quote about sex… no I didn’t switch teams… nor have I had sex…(sadly nor have I seen the shirtless wonder again, starting to think maybe he was a figment of my imagination) but this morning at around 6:45 Brooke was getting ready for her daily fieldtrip (as I have to work during the week, I have booked her solid with daily activities here to keep her entertained and more importantly to keep me employed) and asked “Where are my monkeys?” Just as I said “Not here yet.” I heard the scampering across the roof. As if on cue, the monkeys arrived, so Brooke and I stepped out back to see them, and she was thrilled.

And we watched 2 monkeys have sex.

Monkey sex is kinda funny. And over quickly. Poor monkeys.

I thought about videoing it, but decided that was a violation of privacy. While it may be cool in Hollywood to have a sex tape, I believe in the “do unto others” principle, and as I would not want the monkeys to post a tape of me having sex on their blog, I decided to pay them the same respect.

So while I am not posting a picture of the monkey sex, I thought I would post a picture of the closest thing I have had to sex in Costa Rica…


Pathetic I know.

Here is a picture of Brooke and I last night… many more to come. And no, the outfit coordination was not planned.

And while this is not a video of monkey sex, it is a pretty fun video of some monkeys actively playing this morning. Have I mentioned that I love monkeys? Oh, and if you look closely you will see the first monkey is actually a mama with a baby on her back. Could they be any cuter?

Quiero presentarle

"A friend is a gift you give yourself." - Robert Louis Stevenson

So I moved all the way to Costa Rica to make friends with a couple from San Francisco, who are my age and lived only blocks from me back home. What are the chances?

I first met Kurt a month and a half ago, when he and 2 of his friends showed up at Las Palmas after a bike ride from Guatemala. Yes, that is right; they went on a month long bike ride from Guatemala to Costa Rica. I can’t fathom doing something that crazy, I have told you how hot it was here in April, right? Well, they rode for 30 days during the hottest time of the year here. While it is totally crazy, it is respectable… though heavier on the crazy side. Here is a picture I took for them to commensurate their ride completion.

The night the guys arrived in Manuel Antonio was the night there was the small pool party at our property, so they came to the party and we all had some beers and chatted. I found out that Kurt needed a place to store his bike in the month that he was back in the States packing up to move here, so I told him that he could store his bike in the extra bedroom at my house. While I was offering to be nice, I have to admit I was not thrilled about having SF neighbors here in Costa Rica. After all, I moved here for a break from San Francisco… and here it was following me. Turns out I have changed my mind, having them here has been amazing; aside from having to play the “Gap Game” (Everyone in San Francisco either formerly worked for Gap, or has a friend who did… so anytime someone finds out I spent 3 years at Gap, it results in the “Name Game” … “Do you know Sam from Accounting? Um, no.) they have turned out to be some of the coolest people I have met… and I don’t just mean in Costa Rica. I mean ever.

When I got back from my weekend away with my parents, Kurt and Linda had arrived at the property, and since then we have been hanging out and becoming fast friends. I hike with Linda in the mornings, and beat Kurt at cribbage in the evenings…well, that was only once… but seeing as he always cheats when he plays games with Linda, I thought I should mention it here.

They live 2 houses up from me and have a darling dog Sam, who has quickly become my pal. They will only be in this area for around another month as they plan to live in various places around Costa Rica for the next year… but I am sure you will hear plenty more about them on the blog during that time… so I thought it made sense to do a formal introduction.

So here they are… this past Friday night at Bamboo Jam… which was the most crowded, sweaty, hot place I have been since arriving. It is actually a very cool little spot, but apparently gets VERY crowded on Friday nights. Remind me to only go there on Wednesdays from now on.


P.S. if any of you from San Francisco happen to know them, it is going to freak me out a little. And no, neither of them worked for Gap, though Linda’s longtime roommate did (of course).

Humbled and thankful

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” – Winston Churchill

I don’t even know how to write this post because I am so grateful, and so touched and so lucky to have you as my friends and my family…. and this small posting isn’t going to do justice to those feelings.

I just sat down to tally the money that was donated to my Tico friends whose houses flooded. I had planned to do this last week, but as the donations were still coming in, I decided to wait a few more days. I am blown away by how many of you donated and am so proud of what we accomplished. Our grand total today was $1350.00!

To put this in a little perspective, the teachers at the school make about $2 PER HOUR! I made more than that babysitting for the Rutledge kids when I was 11 years old, so when I said that every dollar counts, I really meant it… but never expected that it would result in such a large amount.

Wow. As I said before, every dollar counts, and everyone’s contribution, regardless of the amount, was equally generous and amazing.

“Generosity consists not of the sum given, but the manner in which it is bestowed” - Unknown

What can I say that is a sufficient way to say “thank you?” I know that when I give the checks to the teachers they are going to be blown away. If I hadn’t become so close to them, I might feel uncomfortable giving them such a large sum of money because I wouldn’t want to offend them. But because I know them so well, I feel as though I will be able to convey to them that my friends were just trying to give them a small fraction of what they have given to me.

It is interesting because after my sister Claire read my email, she sent me a very profound response. As I told you before, Claire is fluent in Spanish; she previously lived in Ecuador where she volunteered for a variety of organizations and taught English to high school students. Here was Claire’s response to my email:

“You know, the folks you've been blessed to know in Costa Rica are so positive in part because poverty gives one amazing gift: it teaches you what's important. Mitzi and all your other new friends know how fleeting the material possessions of life are. And they know that if they have their loved ones, and hope for the future (e.g., her job), then they are lucky indeed.

I was always amazed in Ecuador by how quickly my really poor students smiled and laughed, by how easily they found joy. These kids had hard lives and very little to look forward to in the future. And the immediacy of that poverty taught them to live in the now, to appreciate every small thing, to take the moments of joy, however fleeting, and live them fully. My rich students were the opposite. They and their families always had difficulties, and life was always one drama after another. Their lives were complicated - about money, status, etc. and maintaining that. They giggled like teenagers, but I rarely heard full belly laughter from them. I'm not sure they knew how to feel pure joy. I think they were too encumbered to find it.

I would never argue that poverty is better, but one of the ways Ecuador changed me profoundly was that it taught me the virtue of simplicity. The more stuff I have occupying my life, the more occupied my time and clouded my vision - with things that aren't really important to me. When I simplify, I find my vitality, my true happiness in living - my pure joy.”

Claire, I could never have said it better.

So to all of you who kept my Tico families in your thoughts, and to all of you who donated, thank you. I am amazed by your generosity and thankful that you are my friends.

Here are some pictures of the families you have helped. I will take a picture of Jose, his mother and little brother next time I am out in Parrita.

Mitzi, German, Alejandro and Jose Pablo

This is Victor, he is the one who had to move out of his house and lost everything except his clothes.

No me gusta!!

"I'm not afraid of death. It's just that I don't want to be there when it happens." - Woody Allen

During our trip to Monteverde, my parents decided to spend our final day on a bird watching tour. As I could hardly stand listening to the bird watching conversations between my parents from the porch of our hotel room, I couldn’t fathom spending 5 hours listening to a group of people and a tour guide discussing birds. And, as I was pretty sure I had heard every imaginable bird fact in the previous 48 hours anyway, I knew Mitzi and I had to come up with a more enjoyable way to spend our time.

Let me give you a small list of things “I’d rather” do than go on a bird watching tour:
1. swim with very hungry crocodiles
2. be left alone over night in the African Palms
3. camp out at the bottom of an erupting volcano
4. carry a dead body up the La Fortuna steps
5. never eat gallo pinto again

Get the point? In the “I’d rather game,” bird watching loses every time.

My Mother just can’t understand my disinterest in birds. She told me that she doesn’t understand how I can live here (or anywhere for that matter) and not care about the names of the birds or the trees. It isn’t that I don’t care about them, it is just that my “caring” stops at “Wow that bird/tree is pretty.” As I generally live in an apartment in San Francisco, where my “view” is the building across the street, it is not like I need to go tree shopping for my landscaped garden and know the names of the particular species of trees. (Is that the right word, do trees even have a species?) And if I do decide to move to Costa Rica, it isn’t like I will need to plant anything, there wouldn’t be any room to do so. So my method of simply appreciating the beauty works just fine for me.

And frankly, while my Mom can’t understand how I can go without knowing the names of the birds and the trees, I can’t understand how she thinks that speaking Italian to the Ticos seems like a reasonable thing to do. Yup, that is right; my Mother spent her entire time here attempting to speak Italian to the Ticos. As you can imagine, it was not a huge success. Unless of course you consider causing my embarrassment a success, in which case consider this a National Championship.

In my Mother’s defense, she actually did well picking up the Spanish words for the things important to her (“Café con leche caliente, por favor.”). However, when she didn’t know how to say something in Spanish, which was often (not faulting her here, after 6 weeks of Spanish instruction, I often don’t know how to say things in Spanish either), she, instead of speaking in English (which most of the Ticos she encountered would have understood), spoke in Italian. A mysterious choice. My Father, who used to live in Italy and speaks more Italian than my Mother, didn’t ever resort to this technique… but by the end of her trip, my mother had this technique down to an art form. And by art form, I mean state of confusion for the Ticos.

When I would remind my Mom that we were not in Italy and were actually in Costa Rica, where people speak Spanish, she would respond that “The romance languages all sound the same.” Um, ok crazy lady, tell that to the Ticos who don’t understand a word you are saying. Though as I am trying to learn from the Ticos and be thankful for the small things, I would like to report something positive here. While my Mother was clearly having flashbacks of her trip to Italy last year, the flashbacks were luckily not severe enough for me to find old underwear in the trashcan. Hallelujah.

And while I don’t know the names for the birds (though I do know how to say bird in Spanish), I don’t dislike them (the way I do cats)… and actually felt very sorry for them recently. During my usual early morning activity of watching the monkeys on my porch, I heard a lot of loud bird chirping, and noticed the birds were flying quickly towards the monkeys in a very aggressive fashion. My first instinct was to be very angry with the birds and to tell them to leave my monkeys alone, they are endangered after all (and way cuter than a bird could ever hope to be).

Then, to my dismay, I realized that the reason the birds were angry and aggressive was because the monkeys were stealing the eggs out of their nests and eating them. No, no monos, don’t do that! It broke my heart. My perfect monkeys all of a sudden didn’t seem so perfect to me. For a minute I was angry with the monkeys and tried to decide if this would cause me to not like them anymore (which lets be honest, would be impossible), but then I reminded myself that is the circle of life, so while I was still sad, I was no longer angry.

Then one of the monkeys did a little flip around the phone wire which made me laugh and was the cutest thing I have ever seen, and all anger and sadness was instantly forgotten. That didn’t take much; I wonder if that is what it is like for parents with their kids? Yes, I know I just compared a parent’s love for their child to my love for the monkeys… but I really really love them… and as we are decedents of the monkeys, it is kind of like family, right?

Geez, how do I get so sidetracked, and how does every posting come back to the Monkeys? Sorry, back to my need to come up with an activity other than bird watching. Well, let’s add one more item to my list of things I would rather do than go on a bird watching tour:

Have an anxiety attack while over 500 feet in the air hanging on a very thin wire.

That’s right people, Mitzi and I decided to take a “Zip Line Canopy Tour” which I now refer to as “Hell on a Wire.” Who ever invented these zip line tours is one narcissistic son of a biscuit.

After paying a lot of money to carelessly risk my life, I was immediately asked to sign a form acknowledging that there is a significant chance that I may not return from this excursion. On this form, they also ask you to write down your passport number, which I have now come to realize is so they can easily notify your next of kin when you don’t return.

After giving them the necessary death certificate information, I then walked into a small room with a lot of equipment, and a handful of remotely attractive tour guides… cute, yet short…which frankly is a problem with most of the Tico population. While I have not researched whether Costa Rica has a National Basketball Team, I would be willing to bet they don’t.

Upon entering the equipment room they point you in the direction of one of the tour guides who straps you up with a bunch of gear, and provides you with a bright yellow helmet and some very large and sweaty gloves. You are then shuttled off in a bus to the beginning of the course. When you arrive at the course, they divide you into 2 groups (one for the English speakers and one for the Spanish speakers) to give you their best advice on how not to die while on the zip line. The “zip line instruction” goes something like this:

1. put one hand at your waste buckle and one hand back behind you
2. if you want to slow down, use the hand behind you to break….BUT don’t stop yourself as you will then be stuck in the middle of the line and someone will have to come get you
3. if using one hand as a brake isn’t working well enough, use both hands and sort of “bounce” on the wire
4. if you start to spin around, reach your hand farther back

You mean you are about to push me off a bunch of platforms to fly above the rainforest and that is all the advice you have? Great, thanks for the instructions, but where is the practice, isn’t this sort of like driver’s ed where you have to complete a certain amount of hours with an instructor first? Nope, not so much; they believe in the “sink or swim” approach to zip lining.

We climbed up to the first platform, which they told us would be the “practice run.” I thought what that meant was that we would have a short, low to the ground line to get a feel for it. While that wasn’t even remotely close to the truth, this was the only zip line on the whole course where I could actually see the landing platform before being pushed off the starting platform. The rest of them were blind starts.

The first line wasn’t really that bad, I didn’t like it per say… but I wasn’t feeling panicky… yet. As it turned out, the further we got on the course, the more that I became panicked. I have never had an anxiety attack before, but at over 500 feet in the air on a zip line that was a kilometer long, I was probably as close as I will ever be.

On the longest zip line, before pushing me off the platform, the guide said “What ever you do, don’t brake at all on this one because you will get stuck in the middle.” I did not like the sound of that one bit, especially when I was flying at speeds faster than I was comfortable with (which frankly is anything over 5 miles an hour).

As I was flying above the trees, I made the mistake of looking down. Now, I couldn’t see the ground because it was just trees below me, but it all of a sudden dawned on me just how high up I was and I started to feel panicked. About that time I started to swing back and forth and felt like I was going to start spinning in circles like a ballerina in a music box.. though she is graceful, and small, and in pretty clothes… AND NOT OVER 500 FEET IN THE AIR ON A WIRE THE SIZE OF A CABLE CORD. I don’t care that these are the same cables that NASA uses, NASA just sent a bunch of astronauts to Mars with a broken bathroom, I am not so sure I want to trust NASA.

As I was swinging, my natural instinct was to brake and stop myself from spinning… but then I remembered the one instruction they gave me before pushing me to my impending death “don’t brake.” Well shit, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t see the platform at the end, so I knew I still had a considerable way to go, and I certainly didn’t want to have to do the rest of the line backwards… or worse, while spinning in circles, so I started to panic. Which immediately resulted in the "I'd rather" game:

Would I rather be stuck in the middle of a kilometer long cable, over 500 feet in the air, hoping that one of the guides came to get me before the line broke, I peed my pants, or someone else came barreling into me...
or
Spin around and around and around on a zip line while traveling at ridiculous speeds

I really think this is the most scared I had ever been in my whole life… so I was running through my mind all of my possible life saving options (which as far as I could tell there weren’t any), and quickly moved onto repeating the instructions they gave at the start, when I remembered that they said if you were starting to spin to reach your “brake arm” farther back. So I did, and I stopped swinging, but continued to fly at a speed at which no human should travel without the safety of metal around them. When I arrived at the platform, I decided that I was done, I wanted off… yet there didn’t seem to be any place to go and sadly there were about 8 more lines, as there were a total of 17 on this course. And by course, I mean death trap.

Which makes me wonder, what is that stupid yellow helmet for anyway? They call it a “safely device,” but if I fall from the zip line, a little plastic yellow helmet is not going to help me, or save my life. However it probably would make it easier for them to spot me during their search efforts. Notice I didn’t say search and rescue, because if you fall from that zip line, there ain’t no way you are walking out of there alive.

Let me tell you this, despite all their licenses and certifications, I know for sure this is officially the least safe method of transportation in Costa Rica, and that is quite a powerful statement. Give me cars with no breaks and crocodile waters any day of the week. And while I usually resort to praying during my scary transportation situations, this time I was too scared to come up with the words necessary to pray. Unless of course it is considered praying to scream “Holy shit I am going to die!” In which case I was praying like the Pope. Hey, at least I said “holy.”

Here Mitzi on one of the zip lines. Notice that you are not able to see where she began... but you can see how high she is in the air....and some of the lines were completely above the trees.



You can see Mitzi is smiling, she enjoyed this much more than I did... and she wore flip flops. How she kept those things on her feet while flying at those speeds is still a mystery to me.

Here is one of the tour guides (aka satan's helpers) waiting at the end of one of the lines. Now to me, this is the perfect height for a zipline...if I am only a few feet above the ground, I could sit back and enjoy the ride.


Here I am, thankful that I could cross one more line off the list and counting the minutes until this tour was over.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, we came upon the Tarzan swing. I remembered doing one of these Tarzan swings at Young Life Camp back in 9th grade, and here in Costa Rica the people who were swinging were yelling with enjoyment, so I thought maybe I too would like the Tarzan swing too. Nope.

I got to the top of the platform, and Juan hooked me up to the swing and started moving me towards the edge. It was at that point that I decided this was a bad idea and definitely not something I wanted to do. So, in the best Spanish I could come up with in that moment of terror, I said “Yo no quiero.” But he moved me to the edge of the platform where again I said, only this time louder “No, no, yo no quiero.” At that point Juan pushed me off the platform and I went wildly swinging through the air yelling “NO ME GUSTA!” “NO ME GUSTA!” The guides all thought this was very funny; me, not so much. When they let me down off the swing I decided then and there that I was never meant to be a jungle girl... though I am still not opposed to coming down with a case of jungle fever.

Then it was Mitzi’s turn, and after seeing my traumatic experience, she was having second thoughts. So I, as any good friend would, yelled up to her “Oh no Mitzi, if I did it, you have to do it too.” Misery does love company.


Preparing to plunge to my death. This is much higher up than it looks in this picture, as the platform is really at the top of a hill.

If only there was video of this, you think the monkeys outside my house are loud... you should have heard me screaming.

And not only are the hats worthless from a protection standpoint, but couldn't they make them any cuter?

Although I tease my wild and adventurous parents a lot.... they are clearly smarter than me. Here is one final picture... this is their version of zip line excitment.

I am proud to say that I successfully completed the course alive, without breaking down in tears, and have now officially checked "zip line" off my life list…

So for those of you who are coming to visit and want to do the zip line, I am happy to make your reservation… and I will meet you at the pool when you return.