I don’t mean to sound like a pompous asshole (despite that I might be one), but for some reason, no matter what idiotic antics I pull, sh*t just always works out. That is, I’m incredibly lucky.

Take, for instance, how I got to Bogotá. I took a bus. OK, that sounds more like, “Ew, you’re poor” than “Wow, what a lucky sonabitch!” but hold on, let me finish.

I got to the bus station in Medellín around 10 a.m. expecting to be able to waltz onto a bus (yes, I literally ballroom dance whenever I alight a bus) whenever I felt like it. Turns out, though, most buses leave to Bogotá either in the very early morning or later at night. Zoinks. Which means I was quickly turned away from every counter when I asked to get on the next bus.

“The next one isn’t until tonight,” most of them snarled — a rare show of rudeness, as I found most everyone in Medellín to be incredibly friendly and helpful the entire two weeks I was there.

“Fantastical,” I thought to myself as I began to tear up. I tend to do that whenever anything remotely doesn’t go my way.

“What should I do?” I asked myself as I stood in the middle of the busy station looking every part the sad cracker.

But just as I began to think of alternative actions that didn’t simply involve me sulking in the corner like a homeless drunk out of moonshine, an old greasy man approached me.

Hermosa,” he said, as most of Medellín’s male population will say to anything with a vadge. “A donde va?

Quiero ir a Bogotá,” I mumbled sadly.

Ven!” he shouted, arms flailing wildly toward a side door while he kept talking. (Medellín’s population, which is mostly made up of Paisas, loves to gesticulate which is awesome because I’m too stupid to understand their weird accent.)

Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed my bag and ran off. “OK,” I thought. “I guess I really have no choice but to follow him into this strange parking lot. Eh, whatever.” Safety never trumps ill-advised, possibly dangerous decisions in my world.

And thank God because, as it turned out, this animated old man was the bus driver for a bus that was set to leave in 10 minutes. Sweet!

There was only one catch. I didn’t have a proper seat. Instead, I had to pay $30 to sit in a little mini chair that folds up over the bus’s stairway. Did I mention the ride was 10 hours up and down windy mountain roads? Needless to type, throughout the course of the ride, my sh*t went flying off my lap several times (as did I off my fake seat) and, by the end, well, let’s just say my ass has never felt so numb in my life. And I say this as a woman whose ass has been in some pretty crazy physically challenging situations.

Ew! Not those situations…pervs. I’m talking about situations like that one time when I was in Kyrgyzstan and I rode a horse for about five hours straight on nothing but a wooden plank. My butt is to my body as Jesus is to humanity. Both sacrificed themselves for the greater good. (Ooo! How delightfully distasteful that metaphor was!)

Anyway, in this case, that greater good was getting me (and my numb ass) to Bogotá. And as uncomfortable as the ride may have been, I was actually kind of excited to get this sh*tty seat in front because the view was spectacular. This is what you get for being in the right place at the right time and following a strange old man out into a parking lot — gorgeous Colombian countryside.

It’s even more gorgeous when your bus is forced to slow down for all the military checkpoints along they way (they’re making sure the road ain’t FARC’ed up); or when it gets stuck behind a truck filled with floppy-eared dinner cows; or when it comes to a near-stop for a donkey hauling whatever it is donkeys haul in the developing world. (Could it have been a drug mule?! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Cocaine.)

But you get the idea. It was a pretty cool ride.

And the best part is that the bus driver’s method of shaking $30 out of a foreigner ro pocket actually got me to Bogotá faster than had everyone simply followed the rules. What does that teach us kids? That’s right: Rules are for suckers.

But now the real work begins.

Before Sunday, when I fly out to the good ol’ U.S. of Awesome to take care of some bizness for a couple of weeks, I need to find a room or an apartment here to rent for the months of February and March.

Sadly, my patented, incredibly dumb brand of luck seems to be wavering a little, as this is proving a little more difficult than I originally thought.

Entonces, does anyone have any leads? I’m hoping to be in or very near tbe La Candelaria historic neighborhood, but at this point, anything is welcome. (How do you say desperate in Spanish again?)

So feel free to either leave a comment or email me privately if you have any information. In the meantime, please to check the ridiculously tight weather that followed me to Bogotá, where I was told to expect clouds and rain every day. Psshah! See? It just always works out.