Jamaica Mistaica, part 2

I didn't grow up on the beach, okay? If there's one thing I can't stand, it's the inescapable stereotype that accompanies a California license plate, the assumption that I grew up sandy-haired and brat-spoiled like the girls in "The OC." Well, maybe I actually like having that projected on me. :o) My point is, though, that there are a ton of things I've never done before when it comes to the ocean. Before this trip, I had never swum in deep open water (except for my triathlons, but those don't count because there's a dude in a kayak making sure you don't drown), I'd never cliff dived, and I'd certainly never peed in the ocean. Who said that was okay, honestly? Everyone was doing it, so I went ahead...

Unfortunately, Mr. Ocean was NOT okay with the pee party. He got me back when I cliff dived: after a 43 foot drop, I hit the backs of my legs in the water and scored a bruise that earned the pity of all. Now, when I pee in the proper way, sitting on a toilet, it hurts like hell because my legs and butt are battered up. That, my friends, is not coincidence, but revenge!

The good news: I got over my fear of heights and my fear of water in one fell swoop (my fear of public urination was conquered at some point last semester on a really long walk to Adams Morgan Metro)

The bad news: my vitamin deficient diet, described below, has enhanced my bruisability such that my post-jump DCAP BTLS may be around for awhile