I spent a good three-fourths of my bus ride home from Taupo staring at the clouds with a seriously loopy grin on my face. I got to skydive this morning, on my second try, and to use a local expression, it was sweet as. Maybe sweeter than sweet as.

I've been flying in planes for forever, since my dad is a (private) pilot. And on every single flight I've ever been on, I imagine what it would be like to be sucked out an open door and to fall through the clouds. It's the stuff of nightmares - and I definitely slept fitfully the past four nights.

Today was cloudy but there were some blue patches, so eight jumpers, our tandem jumpmasters, and a cameraman for each pair loaded up into a nearly brand new 350 XL, a NZ-made plane built specifically for skydiving, because it can climb really fast. They told us to sit back and relax for the 15-min. flight. Yeah, right. The crew doesn't help either - when I asked my jump partner, Benny, why my harness was loose, he and his buddies made a huge scene, saying "Why'd you put her in one made for a 6-foot man?" etc. Yeah, I'm gullible.

There's really not as much instruction as one might expect. They play this 3-min. video while you're suiting up, but it's pretty hard to concentrate while they're tying, tightening, hooking you up to stuff. I had no idea what I was doing.

Around 10,000 feet, you sit up on your partner's lap as they hook you up, then they slap a cap on your head, and that's about when my palms started to sweat. I actually made it this far yesterday morning, but when we got up there, after opening the door 4 times to check out the cloud situation, we wound up heading back down. The sky had closed up, and without visibility at a certain level, you can't jump. Which sucks for the crew - they get paid per jump.

Today seemed even cloudier than yesterday, so I was surprised when the light turned green. You hardly have time to think. I was second out. We watched the first team perch on the ledge, smile for the "exit camera," then drop out of sight. Then Benny said, "Let's go, babe," and all of a sudden I was hanging over the edge. I shot a deer-in-the-headlights look at the camera, put my head back on his shoulder, he pushed off, and we did a backwards somersault into the sky.

Each tandem pair drops a drag chute to slow down, so the camera people can catch up. We assumed the banana-shaped face-first position, to drop like an arrow (make different body positions, and you'll travel different directions, a la aerial artists). We were in freefall for about 45 seconds. Right after jumping, Benny nudged my shoulder, meaning I should open my arms to "experience the freefall." Actually, I think he had to punch me twice before I felt it, I'm not sure. The freefall experience was crazy.

I looked up over my shoulder and saw the other pairs dropping out of the plane. Hamish, my cameraman (best name ever, huh?), dropped right in front of us, so we hammed for him a bit, but I was in a serious state of what Fritz (my Taupo Tandem contact) calls information overload. Stress and all the incoming images, etc., make your mind fuzzy so you can't remember it fully later. According to the logbook he kept while training, it took Fritz 47 jumps before he was fully aware of every single step of the process.

We started out in the sun, popped through a cloud, and then were out over Lake Taupo - NZ's biggest lake (which may or may not be bigger than Lake Michigan, I have to look that up. They say it's as big as Singapore). One of my favorite things about the world is that, no matter what the weather's like on the ground, the sun is always shining above the clouds.

I have no recollection of the chute opening - you'd think you'd be very conscious of that moment, but I was a little distracted by the view, and the wonder of gravity, and the feeling of hurtling through space. (Good to know: The safety chute is linked to a computer, called the cypress. I remember that because it made me laugh - cypress, Cypress Hill, "Insane in the Membrane," jumping out of planes... you get it. Anywho, the cypress automatically deploys the backup chute at 2,000 feet so, in theory, you don't have to be worried about that).

PS, Not that this compares to reporting in the real face of death, but I found it extremely challenging to be processing information/taking mental notes while shaking uncontrollably and as the voices in my head were drowning out said details with silent screams).

Anyway, we were practically on the ground before I realized our nine-cell parachute was a lovely shade of turquoise.

Back to the action: My fingers began tingling halfway down - I'm not sure if that was from the cold, or the fear, or from the harness cutting off circulation, but it was a weird sensation. My legs started to lose feeling, too. And, one thing they don't even mention to you beforehand, Benny started loosening my harness straps, while telling me there was no need to freak out. Um, yeah, I would've appreciated a heads-up on that one. The loosening of any strappy item in midair is a little panic-inducing, sorry. It's reflexive.

[Another note on reflexes: How funny is it that, even when falling out of the sky, you feel so much better as long as you have something to hold onto. I had to really force myself to let go of the shoulder straps for the freefall. And when Benny started fooling with the bindings, I instinctively grabbed onto my chest strap. Why this need to feel something between our fingers...?]

I thought once the chute opened we'd have a slow, graceful descent, but you're moving fast - and since the 16 of us were coming down in a spiral, aiming for same spot, we were making tight, naseau-inducing circles towards our target. I put my feet up, and Benny landed in a run, then I stood up and - piece of cake - back on Earth.

There really aren't words that come immediately post-jump. I just stood there and watched everyone else land, some ass-first, some on foot. Skydivers will beat the plane back down, so I saw it land, too. We had a brief video shoot to cap off our souvenir DVDs, which ended with us all kissing the ground - as instructed, so not spontaneous - I was ready to go again. It's too bad that there's so much emphasis on capturing the whole jump on film, because I think it sort of detracted from the actual experience. But, I suppose, for people who only do it once in their lives, it's good to get it on tape. I have my film in my bag, so expect my Super Woman pics soon.

The tandem crew immediately ran to grab new chutes and reload with a new group. Benny gave me a hug, and then he was off to take someone else up - they're a hardcore breed, them jumpers.

I loved it. I highly recommend it. It gives you a buzz like no other, and I still am in a state of disbelief that I actually jumped out of a plane.

I'm still mentally reliving the skydive story, but I shouldn't neglect the bungy experience. It's probably even scarier than the skydive for the fact that you, yourself, have to make that decision to leap. I was only on the edge for about a minute. Bungymaster Chanelle said it gets harder to jump the longer you wait, so I went for it, with 7.5-base-score swan dive. I was the first jumper of the day - hope my scream didn't wake the locals.

[Yep, that's me]

Taupo Bungy is 47m, over a beautiful green-blue river. I think that information overload business happened here, too. I don't really remember anything on the descent. I remember the bounce back, seeing the canyon walls, but not that first drop. And then crew is right under you, waving a pole at you to grab, and then they lower you into the raft. Just like the skydive, it's over in seconds. It's a shame there's not a longer moment to savor.

I may have to do it again. In Queenstown they have the world's highest bungy, and also one from a gondola that sits halfway across the gulley, and those are, I think, over rocks, not water. Ahh, yeah.

If I lived here, I would totally do skydive school. It would be an amazing rush to do that first solo jump.

(Note: Lord of the Rings is on. Love it.)