T Minus 9 days or The Exit Strategy

Notes on 5/25/09

So this past winter, amid panic attacks over incessant testing and half finished lesson plans that I was supposed to turn in but never did, I mulled over which destination I wanted to run screaming to this summer, cause damn, after my first year of teaching, I wanted to be anywhere that didn't have an over abundance of mind-numbing cinderblock construction and grotesquely hormonal teenagers. I ruminated on another hiking trip -- across England maybe? Nahhh, too much exercise at the moment for my slug-like, sleep deprived carcass. I meditated on that longed for trip to Chambodia to see the Buddhist temple of Angor Wat, with perhaps a jaunt to Bali to tread in Liz Gilbert's well traveled footsteps and meet my own Casanova? Nahhh, too much planning for my gelatinous brain to tackle at this point in the year. Then my good friend Rachel stepped in with an offer: "Why don't you come to Brazil with Rodrigo and I this summer."

Me: Really?
Rachel: Yeah, why not?

Truthfully, I could think of a few good reasons why not:

Me: Well, I'm kind of a solo traveller. I like to go off and get myself lost or in trouble on a whim and not have anyone around to witness my stupidity. I don't anyone to cramp my style.

Rachel: Oh, well you can go off by yourself whenever you want. There are all kinds of great places to hike in the mountains around Iuna (Rodrigo's hometown), with waterfalls and natural swimming pools.

Me: (thinking) Mountains? Waterfalls? Trails? Hmmm...

Rachel: And we're thinking of a trip to Rio, and to the beach in Vitoria, and up the coast to Bahia to a nature reserve.

Me: (thinking) Parking my butt on a beach? Partying in Rio? Exotic nature adventure? Hmmm..

Me: Ok..., but I don't want to cramp your style either. I don't want to be a third wheel or anything.

Rodrigo: You can always get a fourth when we're down there.

Me: (thinking, after accidentally swallowing too much beer) A fourth? Mocha skinned, dark haired, chocolate eyes....

Rachel: Kristin? Earth to Kristin...

Me: So, when do we leave?


Rachel is the gal with whom I have spent this first year of teaching incomprehensibly oblivious freshmen, making emergency runs to Moe's to consume vast quantities of queso dip and tortilla chips at the end of harrowing days of herding kids, and mindlessly hoovering cheap candy (the stuff we buy for the students, no less) whenever we were compulsively driven to emotional eating by fourteen year olds who seem to have a genetic inability to bring a pencil to class. "Really? No pencil? Where exactly did you think you were coming when you got on the bus today?" (Yes, 15 students cavalierly announcing that they don't have ANYTHING to write with when you tell them to take out their notebooks WILL drive you to eat butter flavored Crisco from the can if that is the only fat you can find. Ok, I exaggerate a tad, but not much.)

I've known Rach since my days in Grad School at Agnes Scott. She is a fellow memeber of the Black Ring Mafia. She has this shoulder length hair the perfect shade of strawberry blond, like berry juice tinted it after the sun kissed it, and she has these teal tourmaline colored eyes, the kind of crazy shade you can only get from fake contacts. Her husband, Rodrigo, is the classic Brazillian hottie, his only weakness: an impressive addiction to playing FIFA Soccer on Xbox. 90% of the time when I invade their apartment, he is mid-game, beer in hand. Sweet.

And so it is that with R&R (as they shall henceforth be know), I will make my first ever venture into the southern hemisphere on June 4th. I have been frantically purchasing new luggage, a new hot pink swimsuit with ample fabric (I look like a genetically modified extra large raspberry - there will be no Ipanema Beach butt floss for this heifer), sun screen, and wiskey to bring Rodrigo's father. Maybe I should get an extra bottle to bribe someone to be my "fourth."