No cussing, no menu
Before I tell you my latest oddball Costa Rican experience, can I tell you why I don't cuss? Much. Because sometimes, I really really mean it. If you hear me cuss, you may want to back away. But only one person makes me swear, mostly. I can stub my toe and not say a bad word. That's how I knew I finally kicked the habit when I was younger. It was the last great victory.
But I don't cuss for 2 reasons. The first one is that takes too much thought. And the second one is that I have a brain that likes to play with words.
It takes too much thought. First of all, I think it's pretty vulgar, and I don't like to be that unrefined. In most of life. And I never wanted to hear my children swear, so I didn't do it. It takes too much energy to swear. I have to first of all determine if there are kids around, or other people who might be appalled at me not noticing their young children are around. Or maybe those proper type of people who just get offended by it. Then I have to decide when to use the naughty word. Like, how many times in one sentence, or one conversation. Where to use it in the sentence? You know what I mean?
Then, I don't cuss because I like to use big words. I like my thesaurus. I like being able to explain myself, not just express myself. Why do people cuss? I don't really know. I do it when I'm very angry, and I try to keep it just in my head. I want it to be a big secret, how many times I just swore at you, on the inside. I don't like being angry, so I stop anger by amusing myself with how I explain my issues. I also avoid cussing because it makes me more angry.
In case anyone was wondering.
The Costa Rican story? Ok, so we went on a long moped ride, and I was so sore. We got home and hopped on our bikes to go somewhere, to work out those tortured muscles. There is a front gate, with a little slope right to the road. There are no sidewalks or shoulders on our dirt road. There is a little ditch out front, which gets put to the test during the rainy season. I was at that awkward moment when I was trying to get my feet on the pedals, and the pedals weren't where I wanted them to be. And the back tired slid on loose gravel on the slope. (remind me to post a picture later). So the point is, the wheel slips and I go over nice and slow, on this little ramp, on a bike with the seat super high, and a ditch keeping me from putting my foot down for balance. It's dry season, so as I rolled in slow motion it got pretty dusty. I rolled with my shoulder, and then ended up facing up. I was already laughing, I just had one small scrape on my palm. I jump back up, start dusting off, and get my bike back upright. I look for Ron. He is down the street. I dust off some more, and he turns back, seeing that I am not right behind him like he supposed. He asks me: Why are you taking so long? And I say: "Well, I was busy falling. I think I'm dusted off enough now!" And we off we went. My only saving grace was that Ron missed it. Agile as a cat, eh?
Then we stop at a little mom and pop place, which they call a 'soda' here. I asked in my broken Spanish if they have sandia, or a watermelon drink with water. She says no. Then she says, let me go see. Turns out they did have a watermelon somewhere, lol. This place is so small, it has 4 tables. Three out of the four wall are open. On one side you can see a partial view of the beach. We asked for a menu, and she said: there are no menus. Ok, what? Who has a restaurant with no menu? At all? How do we know how much our drinks cost? But we got them anyway. And the price was an ok surprise, in the end. I call it the Surprise Soda. Because the price of things cannot be expected. It was a good drink. And a lively experience. Despite the wicked sunburn that drastically changed the color of my face. No blisters though, so I've got that going for me. I just hate sunburns with a passion. Thank goodness for a spray bottle of liquid aloe vera with lavender essential oil. Without a whole lot of that, I would never have been able to sleep.
But here's the madness in it. Was it a restaurant at all? What makes a restaurant a restaurant? Did they just have a big even going on, and we stumbled in to it? How would we know? They gave us a receipt, so that helps us a little. So we go to a country that has no addresses, and go to a place to eat that has no menus. Absurd. Here they just have directions, not addresses. And I hope you like pollo y arroz, because that's the only sure bet to get something with no menu and minimal Spanish.
But I don't cuss for 2 reasons. The first one is that takes too much thought. And the second one is that I have a brain that likes to play with words.
It takes too much thought. First of all, I think it's pretty vulgar, and I don't like to be that unrefined. In most of life. And I never wanted to hear my children swear, so I didn't do it. It takes too much energy to swear. I have to first of all determine if there are kids around, or other people who might be appalled at me not noticing their young children are around. Or maybe those proper type of people who just get offended by it. Then I have to decide when to use the naughty word. Like, how many times in one sentence, or one conversation. Where to use it in the sentence? You know what I mean?
Then, I don't cuss because I like to use big words. I like my thesaurus. I like being able to explain myself, not just express myself. Why do people cuss? I don't really know. I do it when I'm very angry, and I try to keep it just in my head. I want it to be a big secret, how many times I just swore at you, on the inside. I don't like being angry, so I stop anger by amusing myself with how I explain my issues. I also avoid cussing because it makes me more angry.
In case anyone was wondering.
The Costa Rican story? Ok, so we went on a long moped ride, and I was so sore. We got home and hopped on our bikes to go somewhere, to work out those tortured muscles. There is a front gate, with a little slope right to the road. There are no sidewalks or shoulders on our dirt road. There is a little ditch out front, which gets put to the test during the rainy season. I was at that awkward moment when I was trying to get my feet on the pedals, and the pedals weren't where I wanted them to be. And the back tired slid on loose gravel on the slope. (remind me to post a picture later). So the point is, the wheel slips and I go over nice and slow, on this little ramp, on a bike with the seat super high, and a ditch keeping me from putting my foot down for balance. It's dry season, so as I rolled in slow motion it got pretty dusty. I rolled with my shoulder, and then ended up facing up. I was already laughing, I just had one small scrape on my palm. I jump back up, start dusting off, and get my bike back upright. I look for Ron. He is down the street. I dust off some more, and he turns back, seeing that I am not right behind him like he supposed. He asks me: Why are you taking so long? And I say: "Well, I was busy falling. I think I'm dusted off enough now!" And we off we went. My only saving grace was that Ron missed it. Agile as a cat, eh?
Then we stop at a little mom and pop place, which they call a 'soda' here. I asked in my broken Spanish if they have sandia, or a watermelon drink with water. She says no. Then she says, let me go see. Turns out they did have a watermelon somewhere, lol. This place is so small, it has 4 tables. Three out of the four wall are open. On one side you can see a partial view of the beach. We asked for a menu, and she said: there are no menus. Ok, what? Who has a restaurant with no menu? At all? How do we know how much our drinks cost? But we got them anyway. And the price was an ok surprise, in the end. I call it the Surprise Soda. Because the price of things cannot be expected. It was a good drink. And a lively experience. Despite the wicked sunburn that drastically changed the color of my face. No blisters though, so I've got that going for me. I just hate sunburns with a passion. Thank goodness for a spray bottle of liquid aloe vera with lavender essential oil. Without a whole lot of that, I would never have been able to sleep.
But here's the madness in it. Was it a restaurant at all? What makes a restaurant a restaurant? Did they just have a big even going on, and we stumbled in to it? How would we know? They gave us a receipt, so that helps us a little. So we go to a country that has no addresses, and go to a place to eat that has no menus. Absurd. Here they just have directions, not addresses. And I hope you like pollo y arroz, because that's the only sure bet to get something with no menu and minimal Spanish.
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