Liveblog de Floripa

OK TWO things about Brasil:


(I will spell it with an 's' rather than a 'z' because my Rbf lived here, plus traveled here a lot after his mission, visiting year after year, and therefore I wore Havaianas before they were cool in the states, and I'm going to be obnoxious like that while acknowledging the obnoxiousness therein, and this stream of bullshit/consciousness brings the total to THREE things about Brasil. This being (1.))


2.) We are the only white people here, ever. I've been in touristy places this whole time. Rio during Carnaval? Yeah. That = tourist. Florianopolis {current location} is a surf town with an economy solely based on surfing and repairs to surf boards and restaurants that employ surfers and feed only tourist surfers. And me.


3.) I'm ugly in Brasil. I'm not being my normal self-deprecating self, either. Seriously being white makes you invisible or something. I wear swimsuits that cover both cheeks, and those cheeks are pretty flat if you think of the general human population. I've always referred to myself as papoose/banjo butt. But this is just ridiculous. Everyone must think we're so gross. Little girls bound down the beach looking like mini-Gisele-Bundchens and speaking to baby B and baby E in Portuguese. Everyone here is either like Shakira or my BFF Wendolyn (the Costa Rican Pocohontas with an amazing rack). I, on the other hand, feel like I am one of those children on Barney in the early 90's. 


Screw this numbering thing. I'm just going to verbal vomit this like you knew I would. Blah. I got soo sick the last night in Rio. Head cold sick. Remember my mutant sinuses? Yeah when I get a cold, it's not pretty. I ran out of cash and couldn't go to the ATM at night alone...I ditched the group on the boardwalk to go back to the apartment and retch alone in my room (not to get too graphic, but sinus issues nauseate me big time). So I couldn't buy cold medicine and I used up the little bit I packed. (Kirsten: I AM SO SMART as I pack one or two cold medicine capsules. GOLD STAR FOR SELF). Dumbass me should have replaced half the clothes I packed for 3 boxes of Sudafed. Anyway back to my whining, I had to wait until the next morning to get some cold medicine. By that time, the head cold had become an infection. 


Note: I don't understand Portuguese.


I went to the ATM and drug store the next day with the guys and got 1 nighttime and 1 daytime box of cold medicine. I took the night stuff mid-day, and decided I'd just tough it out and maybe sleep a little on the plane from Rio to Florianopolis. Night medicine has the antihistamine, and I REALLY needed an antihistamine. This story is so long. Too lazy to go back and abridge. Sorry. Anyway in the southern hemisphere apparently, their medicines work in duo format. One tablet contains one agent and does one part, and the other tablet contains the other agent and so on. I did not read the Portuguese instructions with giant IKEA-grade arrows explaining this to idiots like me. I took two tablets...two of the SAME CATEGORY. I believe these were the category that knocked you out. 


I was like a cow with palsy stumbling through the airports and into the apartment and probably a few places in between. My friend made sure to capture me passed out and draped over the bags in the terminal. Then passed out in a hammock outside the apartment. They were extremely flattering. Like, I looked all fat with multiple chins...SIDE chins. 


Her: OMG! You look fat! 
Kirsten: Dude! 
Her: Right? 
Kirsten: It like, doesn't even hurt my feelings. That's how sick I was!


She added that I was PROTECTING their bags from thieves in the airport...and that I was HIDING in the hammock (the latter was actually true; in my unconsciousness, I was aware that I looked like a Neanderthal, and hid my face in a fold of the hammock). 


I took it like only Jed's woman can, from then on. The meds in their proper sequence kicked in after that. A and G knew I was feeling better when they saw me horking down a bag of Oreo-bites and probably talking about the parasite I surely have from brushing my teeth with the tap water here, and how it will make a good diet. They said the old Kir was back. This was nice.


The end of this trip had me and A going down to this "Biqini" store where they sell thong swimsuits. Nobody in Brazil covers a butt-cheek on a beach. Nobody. After about 15 minutes on the beach I started to feel self-conscious about my swimsuits. They covered full ass. Nothing rode up crack, anywhere. I do not own thong underwear. I prefer boyshorts (which I think are in the granny p**ty category) (and I hate the word panty so I treat it like an expletive). So the thought of a thong SWIMSUIT...as in, PUBLIC...made me want to dig a hole in the sand and bury myself in it. Of course I bought my own, later. It was hot.


We decided to call them biqueenies. My travel companion's was an actual thong and mine was more like a spandex wedgie. Oh, and we got one for E too. She was not the only 2 year old with bootie on the beach.


Not being able to use words in excess and communicate to the max, is what castration must feel like to men. Maybe.


The fat hammock picture of me passed out on Brazilian drugs...well it's in my friend's possession. I'll have to get her pics later. Sorry, you'll have to use your imagination. The end.

B in my Carnaval mask

Us in our Carnaval masks

More

So that you know it was a real party. Brazilian energy drinks, teething toys, prostyboots, and a mess of makeup on a jungle boogie rug...yes we had fun.

E's biqueennie being swallowed whole by her two year old bootie.

Oh. Did I mention someone had some AWESOME tan lines from her normal American swimmers? And that we weren't afraid of posing for a super trite picture of me slathering her with sunscreen?

The spandex wedgie in action

This pervy little boy was making our Disney princesses make out.