As I was flying home from Alabama I discovered, in a moment of panic and disgust, that I had a stowaway attached to the nape of my neck. While running my travel weary fingers through my hair I discovered, to my horror and bewilderment, that a tick had burrowed its way into my head and was feeding on my life fluids. Not only that, but I had been to the woods three days before, a calculation that meant that I had a parasite living comfortably at the base of my skull for three days! The worst part however, was the realization that I had one more hour on the plane accompanied only by a plump tick and a woman from Uruguay who spoke three words of English, and every other word of Spanish that she uttered escaped her lips in a whisper. I can understand more Spanish than I can speak. Unfortunately, I was unable to relate that knowledge to her, being vastly unaware of how to say, "I can understand you if you talk louder than the stream of air shooting from the vents."
It was fun talking to her. Taking half an hour to discover her country of origin, and another half hour understanding that she was flying to Phoenix in order to see her sons, took my mind off of the little conniving pest attached to my brain stem. I could almost feel its manacle laughter, "Ha Ha Ha, I'm eating your BRAIN!" I've never had much respect for zombie ticks.
Which is why I did what I did when I got home.
After declaring loudly to everyone that I had a stowaway attached to me, one that had somehow managed to get through airport security, my mother, born and raised in Mississippi, escorted me outside to perform surgery. A hot needle, tweezers, soap, and a lot of wincing later, I had the tick in my possession, rather than the other way around. I snapped a few pictures, and then, in cold blooded revenge, I soaked him in alcohol on the tip of a q-tip and lit him on fire. It was not as epic as I had imagined, more of a sizzle than an explosion, but it made me feel better.
I then dumped the contents of my suitcase into the washing machine, refolded everything, and packed for my five A.M. drive the next morning.
Durango Colorado is beautiful, and entirely worth the twelve hour van ride north. I spent one beautiful week walking the streets, and living in the not so beautiful dorms of Fort Lewis College. For some reason, I am entirely fine with sleeping in dilapidated surroundings in a third world situation. Sleeping in tents outside doesn't bother me. Sure, I am not a fan of bugs (ticks especially) but I am fine with their presence when I expect them. However, sleeping in a dirty, human-fecal-matter-smelling, human-tooth-on-the-window-sill-next-to-large-unidentifiable-stains, type rooms, when expecting something nicer, gives me the literal heebie-jeebies. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever had the heebie-jeebies, but I had shivers going down my spine almost to the point of convulsions.
Needless to say, I went to bed late, and woke up early, spending as little time as possible in those prison cell rooms. If ever in Durango, the best way to spend a day is to start early, drink the worlds best coffee at Durango Joe's (it's legendary), walk the town and see all of the tribal Asian shops, admire the cute houses and boutiques, count how many people have dread-locks and skateboards, watch people water their lawns in a very 1950's suburban America fashion, and then have lunch at one of the many delicious local restaurants, have a swim in the river, and end the day looking down at the town from the college in the sky, Fort Lewis, that looks down over the entire city. The town is so beautiful, young and local friendly that it makes me want to live there, settling down into that domestic American lifestyle that is so symbolic of the American Dream. Durango Colorado is my favorite town in the world, just waiting for me to settle down and open a bakery. If you know me, you know that settling down is the last thing on my mind, but I feel as if part of my soul belongs there. I will always go back, and if not to settle down, then at least for another cup of Durango Joe's legendary coffee. I have a loyalty card there, and I only go once a year. Already, I can't wait until next summer. If I can't go back as a leader for my churches youth group, then I will find a way. Who knows, maybe one day I will open a bakery there. I have always wanted to buy a human-sized bag of flour!
It was fun talking to her. Taking half an hour to discover her country of origin, and another half hour understanding that she was flying to Phoenix in order to see her sons, took my mind off of the little conniving pest attached to my brain stem. I could almost feel its manacle laughter, "Ha Ha Ha, I'm eating your BRAIN!" I've never had much respect for zombie ticks.
Which is why I did what I did when I got home.
After declaring loudly to everyone that I had a stowaway attached to me, one that had somehow managed to get through airport security, my mother, born and raised in Mississippi, escorted me outside to perform surgery. A hot needle, tweezers, soap, and a lot of wincing later, I had the tick in my possession, rather than the other way around. I snapped a few pictures, and then, in cold blooded revenge, I soaked him in alcohol on the tip of a q-tip and lit him on fire. It was not as epic as I had imagined, more of a sizzle than an explosion, but it made me feel better.
I then dumped the contents of my suitcase into the washing machine, refolded everything, and packed for my five A.M. drive the next morning.
Durango Colorado is beautiful, and entirely worth the twelve hour van ride north. I spent one beautiful week walking the streets, and living in the not so beautiful dorms of Fort Lewis College. For some reason, I am entirely fine with sleeping in dilapidated surroundings in a third world situation. Sleeping in tents outside doesn't bother me. Sure, I am not a fan of bugs (ticks especially) but I am fine with their presence when I expect them. However, sleeping in a dirty, human-fecal-matter-smelling, human-tooth-on-the-window-sill-next-to-large-unidentifiable-stains, type rooms, when expecting something nicer, gives me the literal heebie-jeebies. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever had the heebie-jeebies, but I had shivers going down my spine almost to the point of convulsions.
Needless to say, I went to bed late, and woke up early, spending as little time as possible in those prison cell rooms. If ever in Durango, the best way to spend a day is to start early, drink the worlds best coffee at Durango Joe's (it's legendary), walk the town and see all of the tribal Asian shops, admire the cute houses and boutiques, count how many people have dread-locks and skateboards, watch people water their lawns in a very 1950's suburban America fashion, and then have lunch at one of the many delicious local restaurants, have a swim in the river, and end the day looking down at the town from the college in the sky, Fort Lewis, that looks down over the entire city. The town is so beautiful, young and local friendly that it makes me want to live there, settling down into that domestic American lifestyle that is so symbolic of the American Dream. Durango Colorado is my favorite town in the world, just waiting for me to settle down and open a bakery. If you know me, you know that settling down is the last thing on my mind, but I feel as if part of my soul belongs there. I will always go back, and if not to settle down, then at least for another cup of Durango Joe's legendary coffee. I have a loyalty card there, and I only go once a year. Already, I can't wait until next summer. If I can't go back as a leader for my churches youth group, then I will find a way. Who knows, maybe one day I will open a bakery there. I have always wanted to buy a human-sized bag of flour!
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